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Post by Hobbit-eyes on Aug 27, 2006 18:51:13 GMT -5
I tried resisting, but I couldn't. I'm posting the sequel to that godawful Mary-Sue I wrote. For those who never saw the first one, 'Angel's Wings', which I wrote for a competition (which I won, BWAHA), it can be found at the links below. ennaani.livejournal.com/1989.htmlennaani.livejournal.com/2168.htmlennaani.livejournal.com/2168.htmlThere is, however, a significant difference between the first one and the second one. The first one was the chance for me to vent my grievances against Mary-Sue fanfic, and go completely over-the-top - to sickening effect. Seriously. I wrote about half of it over three days, and felt physically nauseous afterwards. But this one is somehow more bearable. Possibly because the main character is slightly less annoying. Possibly because it actually steers way clear of canon LOTR characters, and actually feels like an original story at times, so there's less OOCness and it feels less like blasphemy. Also possibly because there's an evil genius, and I LOVE writing evil genii ;D Anyway. Apologies. But here we go. Angel's HopeIt was nighttime. The stars twinkled in the velvety black sky over Mirkwood, spectators to what unfolded below; the glow from the moon glimmered off a tall beautiful woman flitting between the trees. She was creeping towards a campfire she could see in the distance. She could already hear the conversation of the elves sitting around it perfectly, but she still crept closer, and finally halted in the shadow of a towering silver birch. She stood and watched, and listened intently, her hand drifting to her lightsaber at her hip. These were the elves she was looking for – dark elves, spirited away from their Mirkwood home when they were young by some unknown shadow. They had not been seen for hundreds of years, but had suddenly returned and attacked the Elven King’s Palace. The slaughter had been devastating. Not only were they skilled in traditional elvish combat, they were Jedi. Elvish knives were nothing to lightsabers. But she had survived. And now she had come for revenge. “Didn’t put up much of a fight, did they?” one elf was laughing, “Practically threw themselves onto our lightsabers!” “Waste of training,” dismissed another elf with a grin, “If I’d known they were going to be such a pushover, I wouldn’t have bothered.” “I wanted the king,” said another, “I wanted to kill the legendary Legolas Greenleaf myself. But no… the Master insisted he dealt with him personally.” “Selfish git,” muttered another, and they all burst out laughing again. The woman, who had been about to strike, suddenly drew herself back, icy rage flowing through her entire body. Every impulse screamed at her to run out, to hurt them, torture them, kill them, make them suffer as she had suffered – yet she realised that she couldn’t do anything. Not yet. Their leader was not there, and she needed to kill him most of all. If he suspected an attack, he would flee, and she might never be able to track him down again. She once again felt her fiery anger rising at the thought of him. The ones who had killed her family, the elf she loved, were laughing and joking just a few feet away... Suddenly both her arms were seized tightly and pulled away from her body so that she could not reach her weapons, with such force she thought her arms might have been dislocated. She suppressed a cry, and tried to pull herself free; but, she realized with rising dread and not little astonishment, the people holding her were too strong, and the agony of struggling too great. Suddenly she felt herself freeze. She couldn’t move a muscle. She felt her arms be released from the cruel grip, and instinctively struggled, but instantly realised how futile it was – the only way she could tell she was still connected to her body was the aching pain in her shoulder joints. But she had no power over it – she hovered, frozen, a few inches off the ground, arms stretched out from her. She heard someone approaching from her right, but couldn’t turn her head to see. By the way the elves holding her had fallen back respectfully, almost fearfully, she could only assume that this was the long-awaited leader, the so-called Master. If only she could reach her lightsaber… He stopped just out of her line of sight. He didn’t say anything, and she waited, rage searing through her so strongly she felt she could burst into flame. She felt him softly run his finger along her right hand, tracing each of her fingers delicately and circling her palm, as light as a morning breeze. He then gently slipped his hand into hers and clasped it. Still, he said nothing. Without any warning, without even releasing her hand, she felt him move with lightning quick speed – she saw a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye, a flash of silver – and suddenly a burning pain seared up her back. She would have screamed this time, but her mouth was frozen in place. She heard a quiet flumpf behind her, and sudden, overwhelming horror and despair rose in her. He couldn’t have… He released her hand, and slowly stepped round in front of her, and she at last stared into his eyes. The eyes of a murderer. The campfire behind him made his white hair glow orange and red and cast shadows onto his face, making it seem not human or elven, but the face of some monster from the dawn of time. There was no pity in his icy-blue gaze, and a slight smile played around his face. And he was holding her wings. They were no longer pure white – they were already stained by the dirt on the ground, and from the blood from her shoulders. He held them out to her, as though presenting them as evidence, and the smile widened slightly. They faced each other, silently, not blinking. Then he casually threw her wings to one side, drew an elven knife, spun it in one hand and plunged it into her heart. He had already killed her. Stabbing her was just a formality.
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Post by Hobbit-eyes on Aug 27, 2006 18:51:44 GMT -5
Ashara Celestia woke up with a start. Her right hand instinctively flew to her chest, almost expecting to still feel the elvish blade still embedded there – but, of course, there was nothing. She sat up in her bed, breathing heavily as though she had just run a long distance, as the images from her dream flashed through her head.
It had been so vivid, so real – but she had no idea who any of the people involved had been. She remembered the name Legolas, but had no idea who it was. She struggled to remember the dream as it started to fade in the morning light… there was that woman, she had been that woman, wanting to kill the elves, wanting revenge… but they stopped her… and there was that other man, the one who stabbed her… did she have wings? Ashara frowned. No-one had wings.
She slid out of bed and looked at herself in the mirror. As always, she found herself staring at her black hair, hating it. She had no idea that most girls would envy her long waterfall of ebony hair, which caught the light so that it glinted with silver; to her, it was just one more thing showing that she didn’t belong. Everyone else in Rohan had blond hair, but here she was, standing out like an elf in a dwarf drinking party.
Ashara had lived in Rohan as long as she could remember, but she knew she had been born somewhere else. A group of Rohirrim returning from the Lonely Mountain had discovered her on the edge of Mirkwood when she was a baby, and had brought her back, where she had been raised in Edoras. But she’d always been different. There was the black hair, and then there were the pointed ears. But she wasn’t an elf; she aged more quickly than other elves.
There was a knock on the door. “Are you awake, Ashara?” came a male voice.
“Is that you, Astaldin?”
“Who else do you know who’d dare come and wake you up?”
“I AM up,” insisted Ashara, and went to the door and opened it. There stood a young man with blond hair and green eyes – and a grin on his face.
“Only just though,” he said, “All right for some, I’ve been up since dawn on watch…”
“That’s what you get for joining the guard,” scolded Ashara, “I have no sympathy. What is it?”
“King Eomer wants to see you. You might want to get dressed first, though.”
“Oh – all right. Hey, can we go riding later?”
“Can’t – I’m on guard duty again.” Astaldin rolled his eyes. “You’d think being best friends with the adopted daughter of the king would get you some time off, but no…”
“Best friend, huh? That’s a bit presumptuous,” said Ashara, grinning as well, “Right, I’ll just get dressed, tell him I’ll be there in ten minutes…”
Astaldin left, and Ashara quickly pulled on a plain green dress and dragged a brush through her hair. As she headed for the door, she hesitated in front of the mirror once more. She fingered the silver locket hanging around her neck. She had been wearing it when the Rohirrim found her, and she’d never taken it off since. She had no idea what was inside it, but she couldn’t open it. From time to time she’d try again, but it would stay stubbornly shut. She kept wearing it anyway.
She hurried down to the main hall. When she reached there, she saw that Eomer was deep in conversation with a dark-haired elf. The elf was talking, and Eomer was listening, frowning thoughtfully, and occasionally nodding. She hovered in the doorway, not wanting to disturb them, but the elf suddenly broke off and looked towards her. Eomer followed his gaze, and smiled at the sight of Ashara.
“Ah, there you are!” he said, “Come in, come in – Ohtar, this is Ashara.” Ohtar was watching her approach, and Ashara began to feel slightly uneasy; she felt as though she was being examined. She stared defiantly back at him. He, however, did not seem embarrassed, and continued to examine her, tilting his head slightly, looking thoughtful.
The silence stretched on, until Ohtar gave a sudden nod. “Yes,” he said to Eomer, “Yes, I think she will be perfect. If she is agreeable, we shall leave within the hour.”
With that, he turned and strode from the hall. Ashara watched him go. She waited until he was out of earshot – which took a long time for elves, she knew – and then turned to Eomer and said, “Who was that?”
“He is an ambassador for an elf called King Valistar, from a place called Uialtum – the Twilight Valley. I’ve never heard of it either,” added Eomer, seeing her face. “It’s further east than our maps go, beyond the Lonely Mountain. Apparently some of the Avari elves have a large settlement out there.”
“What did he want?”
Eomer hesitated before replying. “He came to ask for your hand in marriage,” he said finally.
Ashara stared. “What – marry him?”
“Not Ohtar – Valistar,” said Eomer hurriedly.
“The King?” Ashara was completely bewildered. “Why ME?”
“Apparently,” said Eomer, “Valistar has been searching for a bride for some time. Ohtar saw you out riding a while ago, and sent word back to Valistar, who asked him to make enquiries.”
Ashara’s head was spinning. “It could be a wonderful opportunity for you,” reasoned Eomer, “Ohtar promises me that Valistar is a good man, kind, noble… you would be a queen, you can make a life for yourself away from Edoras-”
“Don’t-” cut in Ashara, voice quavering slightly, “Don’t you want me here any more?”
Eomer’s expression became sad. “Of course I want you here,” he said, taking her hands, “I just want what’s best for you… You could have such a better life than you have here. You would be a queen – not just an orphan skulking in the shadows of a palace… You could have your own family.”
“I have a family,” insisted Ashara, but started thinking. She’d never thought much about her future; it had always seemed so far off in the, well, future. When she was little she had imagined she would marry Astaldin and they’d ride off and have adventures, but as she got older, that dream seemed less and less attainable. She had given up on it by now. She had nothing to look forward to staying at Edoras… but journeying off to a distant land… it spoke to her sense of adventure.
“I’ll go and meet him,” she said finally, “Just meeting, mind you. Then I’ll make up my mind.”
Eomer’s face brightened. “I hope you understand this is the right decision,” he smiled, “But we will miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too,” said Ashara, “When do we leave?”
“Within the hour, Ohtar said,” said Eomer, “I know it’s sudden, but you have a long way to go, and Valistar hopes that, if you agree to marry him, the wedding will take place on Midsummer’s Eve. We’ll send your belongings after you.”
“Oh,” blinked Ashara, “Oh – all right. I’d better go – go get ready…”
She hurried back to her room, grabbed a bag and quickly packed her favourite belongings, thoughts racing through her mind but not leaving any imprint. She couldn’t quite grasp what was happening; all she knew was that she hoped she was doing the right thing.
As she headed for the door, her eyes fell on the sword mounted on her wall. She had been given it for her sixteenth birthday, when she had complained that traditionally only boys were given them when they reached that age. Eomer had handed it to her, laughing that he hoped she would never have to use it. She hesitated, and finally, not knowing why, took it down and buckled it to her waist. She left before she let herself think any more about it.
Ohtar was already waiting at the entrance on a black horse. Ashara’s own white horse was saddled up ready for her when she arrived, and most of the court had assembled to say goodbye. As she walked towards Eomer, she scanned their faces. “Where’s Astaldin?”
“That guard you’re friends with?” frowned Eomer, “No idea. Probably out on duty or something.”
“Oh,” said Ashara, “Can I stay just to say goodbye?”
“We must leave immediately,” cut in Ohtar sternly.
Eomer shrugged apologetically. “Well,” said Ashara, trying to ignore her disappointment and forcing a smile, “Tell him I said goodbye…”
She hugged everyone goodbye, and swung herself up onto her horse. Without a word, Ohtar spurred his horse on and rode away down the hill. With one last backward glance, Ashara followed him.
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Post by goblingirl on Aug 28, 2006 13:44:34 GMT -5
Do you want some constructive criticism?
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Post by Hobbit-eyes on Aug 28, 2006 13:48:14 GMT -5
Erm. Yes please. Bearing in mind that all cheesiness is deliberate.
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Post by goblingirl on Aug 28, 2006 13:58:41 GMT -5
Well.....your style of writing is fabulous, as always, and the dream being an introduction to the new character is a good trick, but the idea of a girl, perfectly happy with her surroundings, getting up and going off to marry and man she's never met, at a moment's notice, without even saying goodbye to her best friend is not so much cheesy as a bit too obviously a plot device, particually as we've just the affection of Ashara and Astaldin, and of her and Eomer.
Mind you, I've just been reading about how Muslim women are used in marriage agreements, and it's a bit of a sore subject at the moment.
Okay?
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Post by Hobbit-eyes on Aug 28, 2006 14:06:40 GMT -5
Yup! And yes, it is a plot device. But there is a point. Really Eomer had been right – it WAS a long journey. Ohtar would wake her before the sun was really up, and they would ride as long into the night as the horses could manage. At first Ashara would sit up, looking around wide-eyed as they travelled, marvelling at the new scenery they entered and the sights of places she had never been; but after a few days of this hard pace, she would sometimes find herself dozing in the saddle. Ohtar spoke little to her, but if she fell asleep, he would catch her before she fell out of her saddle. They travelled almost due east, the sun rising in front of them as they set off in the morning and setting behind them, constantly reminding Ashara of what she was leaving behind. They ate mainly lembas, which Ashara eventually tired of, but occasionally came across large packages of food on their road, which had been left by other Avari for their return journey. They met very few people on the journey, and none heading west from their destination. “I’m not surprised that you haven’t heard of us,” Ohtar said in one of the rare occasions of conversation, “We travel into Middle-earth only rarely. We have everything we need where we are, so why risk it?” “Did you fight in the Last Alliance?” asked Ashara. “No,” said Ohtar, “I don’t think we were asked.” They travelled further and further east. The terrain became rougher, with more rocky outcrops and large cracks in the rocky ground, but Ohtar guided them expertly through it. The Lonely Mountain appeared on the northern horizon, and vanished again. Once they were past it, Ashara began to notice Ohtar becoming more relaxed, and he became more talkative. She could only assume it was because they were entering a landscape he knew better, and that he coming closer to home. She took advantage of his better mood to occasionally press him for details about Valistar, trying to form a mental portrait of the man she was going to meet; but he wasn’t forthcoming with information, most of the time just smiling and saying, “He does not want me to fill your head with tales of his heroic deeds and suchlike. He wants you to meet him, not his exploits, and form your impressions from him.” Which Ashara could understand, even think was quite nice, but it didn’t help much. Finally, after Ashara had even lost count of the days since the Lonely Mountain vanished over the western horizon, just as night began to fall, they saw four horsemen on the road ahead. They looked rather imposing, black silhouettes against the darkening blue of the sky, but Ohtar smiled as he saw them. As they got closer, one of them called, “Quel endome! An lema?” “Nae saian luume’,” said Ohtar with a weary smile. “Ya na tanya?” asked one of them, suddenly looking at Ashara, “Elandili?” “Elandili,” confirmed Ohtar. Now they were all looking at Ashara. “Saesa omentien lle, arwen en amin” said one of them, smiling at her and nodding his head. At the look of confusion on her face, he frowned and asked, “Lle quena i'lambe tel' Eldalie?” “No, she doesn’t speak elvish,” said Ohtar. The others laughed, and Ashara reddened. The elf smiled again. “All I said, my lady, was that it was a pleasure meeting you,” he said. “Oh,” said Ashara, “Thank you.” The same elf then said to Ohtar, “Esta sinome. Amin nauva auta yeste. Quel esta, tenna’ tul’re.” With that, he swung his horse around, and galloped off into the night. “We are close,” explained Ohtar, “He has gone to inform King Valistar of our arrival. We will camp here tonight, and should arrive at his palace by tomorrow afternoon.” “Oh,” said Ashara, slightly surprised that their journey was suddenly at an end. Part of her was relieved – she doubted she’d want to ride a horse for weeks after this – but the doubt which had first arisen in her room in Edoras suddenly returned at full strength. She took a deep breath, and told herself that if she didn’t like the king, she didn’t have to marry him. They stopped for the night in the shadow of a large rocky outcrop and, for the first time on their journey, they lit a campfire with wood which the elves had brought with them, as there were no trees to be seen. Normally, by the time they stopped at the end of the day, Ohtar and Ashara were too tired to do much other than eat a last wafer of lembas, wrap themselves in their blankets and fall asleep. But tonight they built a roaring fire and had hot food, which Ashara fell upon with such enthusiasm that the elves laughed. The following morning, when they set off again, Ashara was surprised when the elves led them into one of the large cracks in the ground which Ohtar had been leading them around in the journey before. There was a long, sloping path downwards into the ground, the walls just wide enough to allow them access in single file. As they got deeper, the walls widened, until two could ride abreast, and then three, and then on some of the wider avenues, all could ride side by side. Ashara immediately understood why they had chosen to come below the surface here; had they come across these cracks up on the surface, they would not have been able to cross. But it also surprised her; she thought elves hated it underground, away from sunlight and trees. She tried to remember the path they had taken, but it was a natural maze down there; she was soon completely disoriented, but the elves continued to lead them confidently, choosing paths at junctions without any hesitation. Ashara tried looking for markings which they might be following, but eventually gave up. Only at noon, when the sun was directly overheard, did the sun reach them at the bottom of the chasm. Ashara lifted her face to it, enjoying the warmth, but all too soon it was hidden again by the cliff face. Ashara began to hope that wherever the king lived wasn’t going to be as clouded in darkness as the paths leading there… Uialtum, it was called. The Twilight Valley. “Perhaps, arwenamin,” smiled Ohtar, “you would like to close your eyes for this part of the journey… the first sight of the palace is quite spectacular.” “Er,” said Ashara, feeling a funny jolt in her stomach as she realised they must be very nearly there, “All right.” “Don’t worry,” said Ohtar, “We won’t let you stray.” He took her horse’s reins and held them with his own, so she closed her eyes.
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Post by Hobbit-eyes on Aug 28, 2006 14:08:44 GMT -5
By the way, in the last one, that was real elvish I researched. Go me. And in this one, the cheese REEAALLY kicks in, so please bear with me. It all goes horribly horribly wrong soon enough.
They rode on a little further, and turned a corner. Immediately she felt the change in the air, that they had gone from the cramped tunnel to a large open space; she could feel a breeze on her skin, and faint warmth on her face from the sun once more. She fought the temptation to look as they rode on further. But after only a minute or so, she felt them stop. She heard Ohtar slide off his horse, and then gently help her down. Leading her forward a few steps, still with her eyes closed, he finally stopped, and said, “Open your eyes.”
She did, and gasped. He was right, it was spectacular. They were still below the surface of the ground, but in a wide open cavern. A city was built into the walls of three sides, looking as though it had been carved directly out of the rock. At the top of the cavern the walls curved in like a dome, leaving a relatively large circular opening, which sunlight streamed through; however, the entire cavern was bathed in a beautiful ambience, as the light was reflected around the cavern by glimmering crystals and glowing minerals in the walls. There were trees and plants as well, growing seemingly from the solid rock, and Ashara could hear birds singing.
Directly in front of her was the palace. A staircase cut out of the rock lead up to it, and it appeared to be entirely carved out of crystal. Ohtar and the others lead her up them as she stared around, trying to keep her mouth from falling open, and trying to take it all in.
They entered the main hall of the palace, which had delicately carved pillars twisting their way up to the roof as though they had grown, not been built, and was tiled in multicoloured shimmering crystal. An elf greeted them and spoke a few words in elvish to Ohtar, eyes flicking constantly onto Ashara, who was running her hand up one of the pillars, feeling the intricate carvings. Eventually, Ohtar came and said to her, “There is a room ready for you. King Valistar sends his greetings, and says you may wash and change and rest, and then he would like to meet you. Eranil here will show you where to go.”
“Oh – thanks,” said Ashara, “And thanks for, you know, bringing me.”
Ohtar smiled and bowed, and then walked away with the other elves. Ashara watched him regretfully, not because she would miss him – they’d hardly spoken, after all – but because he was the only one she knew here.
Eranil led her up the stairs – carved out of polished stone, with veins of gold, silver, even what she thought was mithril running through it – and along a corridor to what she supposed would be her room while she was here. Again, it was polished stone, but with crystals glowing from the walls, and sparkling in the light streaming through the window. Ashara immediately ran to it and looked outside. Below her was a garden, a beautiful garden, with trees and flowers and a large pond, seemingly in broad daylight. Looking up, she saw a mirror mounted onto the cave wall, which was reflecting light from the central sunstream directly onto it.
She was tired, but was too restless to sleep. She had a bath, in hot water pumped directly from the ground, and plaited her hair while it dried. She changed from her green dress (which was now a bit woebegone, considering she hadn’t changed throughout the journey) into a red one with gold trim which was a bit more elegant. She waited uncomfortably in her room for a while in case anyone was sent to find her, but eventually got bored and decided to go and explore the garden below. If anyone came looking for her, they’d be able to see her through the window anyway.
She crept through the palace, hoping not to see anyone. For some reason, she wasn’t sure she was allowed to be doing this. She felt as though she was breaking a rule, even though they hadn’t said she had to stay in her room. All the same, she was relieved to reach the gardens without meeting anyone.
Whoever had built it had made it as close to being in the open air as they could manage; there was the daylight being reflected down onto it, and a breeze playing through the grass and the leaves on the trees. It was even beneath an overhanging rock face encrusted with sky-blue and silver crystals, so you could fool yourself it was the sky. She sat down at the pond’s edge and looked into the water, playing with the grass next to her.
Reflected in the mirror-like surface of the pond was the palace, and Ashara’s eyes drifted from the image to the real thing. It was really was magnificent, she thought. This whole place was magnificent. A girl could put up with a lot to be queen of such a place, she admitted to herself. But no matter how much they made it seem otherwise, it was still a cave – and already Ashara longed to be outside, in the open air, watching sun travel across the sky and the horizons. She found herself wishing she could just fly out of the opening in the cavern roof, up into the sky and not come back. She sighed and wondered if she could get used to it.
Her gaze returned to the pond, and she started in surprise. In the reflection, she could see someone sitting in the tree behind her. She span round, feeling her cheeks reddening, and saw an elf sitting in the branches, looking down on her.
“Lirimaer,” he said, “Vanimle sila tiri.”
“Sorry, I don’t speak elvish,” said Ashara, hurriedly getting to her feet to leave.
“I know,” he said, “I said, ‘Your beauty shines bright’.” He jumped down from the branches and came up to her. “I was just a bit too shy to say it so that you could understand me.”
He had black hair and green eyes, and a playful and slightly embarrassed half-smile. He looked about her age, but he was an elf, so he could be in his hundreds for all she knew. He was also, Ashara noticed, cheeks reddening even more, extremely hot.
“Um,” said Ashara, “Thanks.”
“Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you Ashara?”
“Yes,” said Ashara, “Yes, Ashara Celestia.”
“Ashara Celestia,” he repeated, and grinned. “Well, Ashara Celestia, what do you think of this place so far?”
“It seems nice,” she said, “But I haven’t seen much so far.”
“Haven’t you?” he said, “Come with me, there’s a great view over here.”
He held out his hand. Hesitating for a second, she slipped hers into his. He grinned, and pulled her away across the garden. They ran along a path through the trees, up a slope, and suddenly emerged in the bright light again at what appeared to be the top of a cliff.
“There,” he said, “How about that?”
They were looking down on the cavern. The light from the sunstream made the roofs of all the buildings shine and glimmer. From up here, Ashara began to get an idea of all the planning and design that must have gone into constructing this city; it was as though it had all been built to look its best when viewed from this very position. The lines of the roads and walls all fitted and flowed into each other, as thought part of a beautiful intricate statue than a working city.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
He looked at her and smiled. “You’ll fit in perfectly, then.”
He still hadn’t released her hand, and Ashara found that she didn’t mind.
“So, you’re here to marry the king?” he asked.
“I’m here to meet him,” she said truthfully, looking up at him, “But I’m not sure if I want to get married yet.”
“What if you met the right person?” He hadn’t taken his eyes off hers.
Ashara thought carefully. “If he earned my love, and my respect,” she said finally, “then nothing would keep us apart.”
He smiled again. “Whoever does that will be extremely lucky. I wish him good fortune.”
“Do you know the king, then?” she asked, hoping for more details about him.
“Yes,” he said, “But not very well.”
He suddenly turned to face her. He didn’t say anything, but looked into her eyes. She was suddenly very aware of his hand in hers, and how close they were standing together. She felt she ought to say something, or move away, but seemed to lack the will to do it.
His eyes wandered from hers, taking in her entire face, and settled on her locket. “What’s that?” he asked.
“Oh,” said Ashara, taking it in her other hand, “My locket. I’ve had it since I was a baby.”
“It’s beautiful,” he said, eyes straying from it back to her eyes for a second as he said it, and reaching towards it. His fingers brushed hers, and she slowly withdrew her hand as he took it from her. “What’s in it?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged, looking down at it as he moved it so that it flashed in the light, “I’ve never been able to get it open.”
His hand moved from her locket to a tendril of hair which hung free from her plait just in front of her ear. He gently twirled it around his finger, his other fingers brushing the side of her face. Words deserted Ashara, she just looked up into his eyes. At the look on her face, he hesitated. “May I?” he asked.
She really shouldn’t, but Ashara found herself nodding, barely able to breathe. He stopped twirling the hair and rested his hand against the side of her head, following her hairline round to the back of her neck, and running his hand down her plait and taking out the fastening so that it fell loose. He lightly ran his hand through it, and Ashara found herself closing her eyes. For the first time, she actually liked her hair.
His fingers were cool against her head, fingering her hair. She forced herself to open her eyes again. His eyes had returned to hers, and as soon as she looked into them she felt as though she was falling. She could hear a little voice in her head reminding her that she was here to meet the king, that he wanted to marry her, but it was so hard to concentrate on that with this boy’s fingers brushing lightly against her scalp.
Almost as though he knew this, he withdrew his hand, and said quietly, “I don’t think the king deserves you.”
“And you do?” she teased, smiling.
His eyes were sad. “No. I don’t think I do.”
She looked at him. He sounded as though he meant it.
Before she could think of anything to say, she heard footsteps coming up the path, and turned. It was Eranil. Ashara immediately stepped further away from the elf – she hadn’t even known his name, she realised, and… She felt herself reddening deeply again. Looking at the elf, he showed no similar sign of embarrassment, but was still looking at her, something like regret on his face.
Nor did Eranil seem to recognise anything amiss. “Dinner is served,” he announced, and, with a small bow, headed back down the path.
The moment between the two of them was broken, and Ashara suddenly felt extremely awkward. “I’d better go,” she said, not meeting his gaze, and walked away, subconsciously tucking her hair behind her ear as she went. Without saying anything, the boy followed her.
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Post by goblingirl on Aug 28, 2006 14:45:27 GMT -5
I keep having to remind myself "Noooo Thea, don't scream and close the window....Katie is writing this, and she's promised it'll be alright...just keeeeeep reading....no, the bad guy at the beginning WASN'T Julian, honestly.....stop talking to yourself and keep reading...."
And sadly, I actually want to read more. So Update!
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Post by Hobbit-eyes on Aug 29, 2006 10:36:13 GMT -5
Oh good good, it's still interesting despite the cheese!
Ashara didn’t mention it until they returned to the entrance hall, where she turned to him.
“I have to go,” she repeated, more forcefully, “I have to go have dinner with the king.”
A smile was creeping back on his face. “Do you know where you’re going?”
“Er…” Ashara looked around. “No,” she admitted.
“It’s just down there,” he said, gesturing towards a corridor, “Come on, I’ll show you.”
“I’m not sure you-” began Ashara, but he set off, hands in his pockets. A little uneasy, she followed.
They reached the large dining room, and once again Ashara stopped at the threshold just to take in the room. It was constructed from seamless white stone, as though carved from the living rock. Set into the back wall, behind the head of the table, was a waterfall, streaming from a hole in the wall over elaborately carved stone into a crystal pool. Large windows set along the far wall looked down on the cavern, and through them Ashara could see the cliff edge where they had just been. A chandelier of beautifully carved shining crystals hung from the ceiling, the candlelight reflecting off them and sending many-coloured specks of light dancing around the walls.
The elf was sitting down at the head of the table, one of the two set places, and helping himself to some wine. Ashara slowly walked to the table and sat down at the other seat, on his right.
“Don’t worry,” said the boy, grin back in place, “I’m sure he won’t mind. Drink?”
“Er. All right,” said Ashara, nervously looking at the door and the two servants standing next to it, waiting for someone to comment. Neither of them looked taken aback, or annoyed. Neither of them showed any sign that anything was wrong. Ashara looked again at the elf, and started to notice things – his posture, the way he handled the wine so expertly, just the way he held himself…
“No way,” she said.
He looked up from the wine he was pouring. “What?”
“You’re… you’re not…” His smile was widening. “You’re King Valistar?”
“Sorry,” he said, “Does that upset you?”
“No, but…” Images raced through her mind – him looking down at her from the tree, him pulling her through the trees, him running his hand through her hair… all that time, he’d known who she was, known that she’d been brought here to marry him. “Was that all an act?” she asked, sounding a bit more accusing than she meant to.
Valistar set down the wine, smile fading. “I didn’t want to get married,” he said, “My father was recently killed, and it was his dying wish that I find a queen… I couldn’t go against his wishes. That’s why I sent out people to find one, instead of just marrying a girl from here; I doubted they’d ever find one, and I wanted to delay the inevitable. But then I got word from Ohtar… that he’d seen a girl riding in the fields near Edoras. He said she was beautiful, and that when she laughed, her face shone brighter than the sun. But what he particularly noticed was your spirit. You were no ordinary girl, he could tell. You had a fire burning within. I wanted to meet you, so badly. But I thought you’d have the same misgivings towards marriage that I had… I wanted to meet you as me. Not a king. Just me. I wanted you to want to marry me. Not a king. Me.
“I meant what I said before,” he said, gazing into her eyes, “I don’t think I deserve you. Because as soon as I saw you, I saw you were so much more special than Ohtar could possibly describe. You deserve so much better than me. You deserve someone you love…”
He said she was beautiful. Under his gaze, she felt beautiful. She tore her eyes away from his and smiled down at the table. “You’re not what I was expecting,” she admitted.
“I don’t want you to feel under pressure,” insisted Valistar, “I’m just happy to have met you. Consider this a holiday – stay here for as long as you like, and as soon as you want to leave, just tell me and I’ll organise an escort to take you home. But if you… if you start to imagine that you could possibly be happy with me…” He reddened and smiled, and seemed too embarrassed to finish the sentence. Ashara smiled as well. She still couldn’t fully grasp that this boy – this nice boy, sitting in front of her – was King Valistar. She’d spent so long building up an image of King Valistar in her head, and he was so very different to him that she couldn’t think of them as the same person.
“I think I’ll be staying for some time,” she smiled.
For the rest of the meal, Valistar prompted Ashara to tell him about her childhood. Ashara found herself telling him all about how she had been found in Mirkwood as a baby, with only her locket, and brought back to Edoras and raised as a ward of the king. She told him about Astaldin, and even made him laugh with an account of when they stole two of the best horses and rode them through the palace. He really seemed interested in learning about her, and their conversation lasted all the way through dinner into a stroll they took through the palace grounds when they had finished.
Ashara, in turn, asked him about his childhood, but he insisted it had been far less interesting than hers. “I was barely allowed out,” he said, “My father was very protective… our civilisation has remained underground for so long that we rarely bother returning to the surface. I didn’t get to go up top until I came of age, and even then only with an armed guard. The outside world has always seemed so adventurous and exciting… that might be another reason I was so eager to find someone from up there,” he added, looking into her eyes with a half-smile that sent tingles down her back, “Now that he’s gone, I could go up more often… but I’ve just been so busy…”
“We could go tomorrow,” Ashara heard herself saying. He looked at her. “Couldn’t we?”
“I suppose…” For a moment he looked disconcerted, but then the expression cleared. “There’s no reason why not,” he said, a smile suddenly appearing on his face, “Yes! We can! We can get horses first thing in the morning and ride out of the labyrinth…”
They had emerged from the trees down onto the cavern floor. They walked out into the centre and looked up to the opening above them, through which they could see the dark velvet blue sky studded with diamond stars.
“I used to come down here all the time…” he said, looking up at them, “The stars looked so close – I used to think that if I could just get up to the surface, I could reach them.”
She stood at his side, and looked up at them as well. “They are amazing though, aren’t they? I used to climb onto Edoras’s roof with Astaldin just to look at them…”
Valistar smiled slightly. “I could say something about how I’ve always wanted to have the stars down with me, and now I do, because they’re there in your eyes – but frankly, it would sound a little cheesy, and I don’t think I could carry it off.”
“I don’t think anyone could carry it off,” laughed Ashara, but could feel her cheeks reddening again. The casual compliments still caught her off guard. What was she supposed to say to them? “Top marks for creativity, though.”
“Sorry,” he said, “I can’t help myself.”
“Yes, well, I’m not really used to it,” muttered Ashara, looking down at the ground.
“Me neither,” he admitted, “I really don’t know what I’m doing… I just keep saying what I feel like.”
“That’s fine,” smiled Ashara.
“What about you?” he asked, “How do you feel?”
“I feel…” Ashara looked up at the stars, and then at him. “Happy.”
He held her gaze, and slipped both his hands into hers, turning her to face him. Her breath caught in her chest as she looked up into his green eyes. Gently, he raised one of her hands and kissed it.
“So do I,” he said.
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Post by Hobbit-eyes on Aug 29, 2006 10:39:52 GMT -5
Cripes, I couldn't leave it on that cheesy a moment. OK, let's have it all start going horribly horribly wrong.
Ashara woke early the next morning with a smile on her face. She watched the reflected sunlight falling through her window, and let the memories of the night before idly flow through her head. Valistar was… nice, she thought, smile widening. He was kind, funny, and kept complimenting her for some reason. And really, the only thing that had occasionally stunted conversation the night before was the fact that they were both very aware that she had come there specifically to decide whether she wanted to marry him or not.
Had she met him ordinarily, she would certainly be very interested in meeting him again – but would she ever be able to see this as anything other than a, a ‘trial run’? Would one day she be able to just turn around and say, “Ooh, yes, I think I would like to marry you after all” – or, even worse, “Nope, you’ve failed, I don’t want to marry you, can I go home now please?”
She sighed. She’d just have to wait and see what happened.
Valistar had said that he’d send someone to call her, but hadn’t said when. She didn’t want to just sit around though – if she could, she wanted to find him, to see him again. She slid out of bed and quickly dressed in a blue gown, and brushed her black hair until it shone. She examined herself in the mirror, decided that she would do, and headed out into the palace.
The corridors seemed empty as she wandered through them. She made her way down to the entrance hall, and walked along to the dining room where they had eaten the night before. It was empty, so she continued along that corridor.
She rounded a corner and found a flight of steps heading downwards, ending in a heavy-looking door. She went down them and tried turning the handle. It was locked; but a ring of keys was hanging on a hook on the wall. Curiosity aroused, she looked around, then lifted the keys from the hook and tried them in the lock. When she tried the fourth one, it clicked open easily, and the door slowly opened.
It was dark in the corridor beyond. Ashara hesitated on the threshold, wondering whether she was overstepping her bounds, exploring behind locked doors before she’d even been a guest in the palace for 24 hours; but then she heard approaching footsteps, and instead of stepping back from the door, she found herself jumping through it and closing it quickly behind her. She pressed her ear up against it, and heard the footsteps recede into the distance.
She turned round to see where she was. As her eyes became adjusted to the darkness, she saw that she was at the top of another flight of stairs. There was no crystal back here; the stairs were carved roughly into the rock of the cavern. She glanced back briefly, and then set off down the staircase into darkness.
“Ashara – Ashara, wake up!”
A voice was whispering urgently in her ear. Ashara wanted to open her eyes, but her entire body was feeling very warm and heavy. It wouldn’t move, so she just gave up and began to slip back to sleep.
Someone shook her. “Oh Force, Ashara, please, open your eyes!”
With a lot of effort, Ashara managed to force her eyelids open. She was back in her room. It was dark outside now. There was a white-haired boy with icy-blue eyes sitting on the edge of her bed, leaning over her, looking concerned.
Her first thought was that he looked familiar, but a moment later Ashara realised that she still had no idea who he was. But before the thought to scream could travel through her sluggish mind to her mouth, he clamped a hand over it. “Don’t scream,” he whispered, “We’re in great danger.” With the other hand, he slid an elvish knife from his belt and held it very close to her face. “I’m taking my hand away now,” he said slowly, “Promise not to scream?”
Nothing seemed to be making sense. All Ashara could do was nod. The boy took his hand away, and with extreme difficulty she asked, “Who are you?”
“The boy from the cell,” he said, “From this morning.”
Ashara’s brain felt as hot and heavy as her body, and just as unwilling to move. “Cell?” she said, and could already feel her eyelids sliding shut again and darkness creeping in at the edges of her consciousness.
The boy tapped the side of her face. “No, Ashara, stay with me – open your eyes-” Ashara forced them open again, and found his icy-blue eyes only inches from her own. “Don’t you remember?” he asked slowly.
“No…” said Ashara. He was still leaning over her very closely, and his knife was grazing her cheek, but she couldn’t move away from it. She couldn’t move at all, she realised. She was entirely lacking in energy. “What’s going on?” she managed to ask, just managing to keep a grip on consciousness.
The boy’s grip on his knife tightened, and anger blazed in his eyes. “He’s done something to make you forget seeing me…”
“Wha?”
“Valistar.” The boy sat up away from her and looked nervously towards the door. “He couldn’t risk me telling you about him… look, I can’t stay long, they’ll realise I’m gone,” he said, looking back at her. His eyes were icy-blue, and filled with a furious fire, yet they chilled Ashara slightly when saw them. “Listen, everything Valistar tells you is a lie. Don’t trust him. He didn’t bring you here because he wants you to marry him, he’d kill you if he got the chance. But don’t ask to go home, or he’ll hurt you. Don’t try to run away, you’ll never make it out of the labyrinth. Get him to take you to the surface. You have to escape. I don’t know how to make you believe me,” he added, looking very sad at the expression of confusion on Ashara’s face, “There’s now a guard outside your room making sure you don’t wander off again. That might support my story somewhat. But please believe me, I don’t want anything to happen to you. You are Ashara Celestia Greenleaf, and I will save you, if I can. If you can’t get away, I’ll be back. Be brave…”
He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but seemed to lose his nerve. He leant forward and kissed her on the forehead, before turning and leaping out through her window, leaving Ashara to her extremely confused thoughts. Before she could try to make sense of them, she felt sleep creeping back over her, and let herself sink back into unconsciousness.
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Post by goblingirl on Aug 29, 2006 10:50:50 GMT -5
I trust him not!
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Post by Hobbit-eyes on Aug 29, 2006 11:13:13 GMT -5
Which one?
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Post by goblingirl on Aug 29, 2006 11:18:09 GMT -5
The white blond one. Valistar seems to be bearably sweet, but harmless.
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Post by Hobbit-eyes on Aug 29, 2006 11:18:55 GMT -5
Was that supposed to be 'UNbearably'?
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Post by goblingirl on Aug 29, 2006 11:23:48 GMT -5
No.
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