View Single Post
Old 05-11-2004, 12:52 PM   #202
mark12_30
Stormdancer of Doom
 
mark12_30's Avatar
 
Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: Elvish singing is not a thing to miss, in June under the stars
Posts: 4,396
mark12_30 has been trapped in the Barrow!
Send a message via AIM to mark12_30 Send a message via Yahoo to mark12_30
The Flet: Dec 16

Chalk walls, covered with ash. Daylight filtering through low-hanging mist, coming to rest on a layer of dust. Nothing green; nothing blue; nothing gold or silver; only grey, turning to black with nightfall. Bones, skulls, rotted teeth scattered about. No decay; there is nothing left to decay. Even the air is dead.

Amroth muttered and grew restless. Erebemlin turned to Nethwador, but the boy had already crawled to Amroth's side, and was hurriedly speaking to Amroth and trying to calm him. Amroth struggled in his sleep.

Taitheneb had departed with the other elf, and now Erebemlin wished that he hadn't. Erebemlin considered calling him back.

"Lord Amroth must rest, Nethwador; yet if his dreams are evil, will his body gain strength?" Erebemlin hesitated. The redness of Amroth's skin had only turned darker, his pulse was pounding in his veins, and he had begun to sweat. Erebemlin stepped to the edge of the talan and drew breath to call Taitheneb. But there was no need. The elf was running back along the path.

"Wake him!"

Erebemlin strode to Amroth's side, shook him and spoke his name. He heard Taitheneb climbing the ladder in haste, and in moments Taitheneb knelt by Amroth's side. "My lord, wake. Lord Amroth!" He placed his hand on the young man's brow, and spoke to him, calling him. Taitheneb's face grew strained, and he trembled. Just as abruptly he released Amroth and sat back, wide-eyed. Amroth now lay quiet and still. Nethwador still chattered at him, til Erebemlin touched his finger to his lips.

"Taitheneb, speak," said Erebemlin.

"He drowned, " said Taitheneb, who had turned pale. "Dusty, filled with dry choking ash. He drowned in death. The dust of mortal decay filled his breast, and he drowned. I heard his cry, and then it was cut off."

Erebemlin glanced at Amroth; his pulse still thudded in his veins. "He lives."

"I heard his cry and it was the cry of one who departs this land." Taitheneb stared at the young man's body, at a loss.

"Why does he lie quiet now?" asid Erebemlin.

"Call him, Silmaethor. He has despaired. You are stronger than I."

Erebemlin studied Taitheneb, and gathered his courage. Taitheneb had braved the lord's dark dreams; he could do no less. He returned to Nethwador's side, and laid his hand on Amroth's brow.

Dust... grey, choking listlessness. The days wear on, each like the last, grey, grim, silent, choked with ash and mist. Each step is like the last; each breath is like the last. What is joy? It is all but forgotten in the grey ash. Where did it go? What was hope? Did I have joy? Did I have hope? Why did it leave me?
mark12_30 is offline