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Tear Maiden

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Nin
Post subject: Tear Maiden
Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 5:35 pm
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It's still the same old story....

Ages ago, on TORC I decided to write out the story of my first (and main) RP character, Nienor-Niniel, in short Nin.

After months of hesitation, I decided to resurface the posts here, maybe one day to continue the story line and certainly to add a few pure RP posts from various RPs in which I have written Nin.

Her story is mainly for my pleasure... somehow I have grown fond of her. And just added for information: the major parts of this story have been written in 2002/2003....

Last edited by Nin on Mon 30 Jan , 2006 1:10 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Nin
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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 5:35 pm
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Character biography: Nienor-Niniel

Name : Nienor-Niniel ,
Nickname : Nin
Age : varies according to RPs, born in 2992 Third Age
Race : Human
Gender : Female
Marital state : varies according to RP, travelling alone until year seven of the Forth Age, when she meets Anorast, then alone again
Height : 1m63 (not the slightest idea in feet)
Weight : definitively not enough, though she loves to cook and to eat, especially chocolate,
Appearance : N-N is blond, with long, straight hair , she has a green-blue eyes. She doesn’t care a lot for her looks nowadays. Her hair is mostly attached in a ponytail and sometimes hidden under a helmet if she wants to be taken for a man.
Outfit : usually with dark-brown leather pants and shirt, leather boots and a large cape, with which she can almost make a small tent if necessary.
Weapons : owns a Rohirrim sword, that she is not afraid to use and a knife. She has a bow, but this is not her preferred weapon, for she is shortsighted. She wears a dagger that she never uses and avoids to touch but never puts down. After year seven F.A, she carries for some time a Dwarven sickle, a magical weapon whose use remains enigmatic for her and she drops it then.
Horse : She was allowed to keep her horse when she left Rohan and she loves it dearly, even if the memory that is connected to it sometimes make her almost curse it. It’s name is Gedeon. Gedeon dies in year seven.
Skills : N-N is very quick, she runs and moves very swiftly and without being tired. Once she was a great singer in Elrond’s house (see bio), but her singing voice is now lost forever. She has a beautiful silver flute, that replaces her voice and she can almost stun people who listen to her play. She is a good cook. N-N prefers to listen than to talk and does not willingly reveal her past or her plans. She doesn’t like to lead but is a good follower and never gives in if she has promised to follow a quest. She speaks elvish (quenya), Rohirrim, but is not always sure of her Westron. (translate : I’m not a native speaker of English)
Biography :
When only a baby of a few weeks, N-N was found on the steps of Rivendell. She wore nothing permitting to identify her and was in bad shape: a skinny little thing with some bruised bones and a peculiar scar, all along her left arm, almost like a snake. The left hand had six fingers, the sixth has been cut when she was six years old. Elrond could heal the baby and agreed to keep her in his house, after all other humans had been fostered at Rivendell, though of nobler lineage. The elves named her Nienor-Niniel after the story of Turin-Turambar, because like in this song, she didn’t know where she was coming from and too seemed to be a child of tears. She lived a happy childhood in Rivendell, but never felt really home there. Nobody was her exclusive parent, she was a little bit everybody’s and nobody’s child. Elrond’s attitude towards humans had changed since he knew that Arwen would give up her immortality for Aragorn.
N-N had a beautiful voice and became a fully trained singer in Elrond’s house. When aged sixteen, she fell almost madly in love with one of the elves of Rivendell, named Liudares. She was then a requested singer and very beautiful. But it was obvious that Elrond would not tolerate another union of elves and men in his house, thinking that they brought to much suffering upon the world. So she became Liudares lover in secret. When she understood that he would never give up his immortality for her and that, one day, he would leave for the West and the undying shores of Valinor, she decided that if he would not share immortality with her, that she would share mortality with him. She couldn’t bear the idea that she would spend the rest of her life without him, or that he should have any happiness without her.
In the grey morning after their last love night, she pulled out a dagger and cut both of their throats in a swift movement. Liudares yell for help brought a lot of people along, so N-N could be saved, but for him all help came to late. And she lost the child she was bearing without knowing it. Her singing voice was lost forever.
When she could get up again, she was banned from Rivendell, because even if the Elves know that it is a seeming death, the slaying of an elf is a hideous crime followed by severe punishment. She was then full of anger towards the elves and sixteen years old.
For the next five years N-N wandered in the wild, alone most of the time. In her heart she was looking for forgiveness and the feeling of guilt never really left her. Often, she tried to make herself forget by drinking or starving, but always found a way back. She was lacking the beauty of the elvish songs and learned all alone to play the flute. As she had seen only very little humans during her years in Rivendell, she was afraid of them. But still she wanted to believe in men rather than in elves. She quickly learned to hide herself quickly and to follow a group of warriors without being seen. She can move almost as silently and swiftly as an elf.
These years of wandering have hardened her mind and filled her with regret, but her anger and her restlessness were as vivid as ever. Though she was always looking for a key to the mystery of her origins, she never found someone who knew anything about her scar or a six-fingered baby.
When she arrived in Rohan after five years of errant, she was sick and weary. She found shelter in a Rohirrim village and stayed there. After a fierce fight against orcs, the other villagers adopted her, and she married to one of the Riders of the Mark, named Théadon. Together they had a child, a son (Haleth), whose name she does not speak out loud. For a long time, she remembered those three years in Rohan as moments of bliss. But she was tormented by remorse and by the memory of the child she had killed before it was born. So she decided to open her heart to her husband, hoping and trusting his love for her. However, when she told him about her youth and her crime, he realized that he couldn’t live with her anymore. He first would allow her to stay for the child’s sake, but if she couldn’t live with Théadon, she didn’t want to stay in the village. She had understood that finally she loved her husband more than she had loved her elvish lover, though it was in a quiet way and not with the mad despair of her youth. So she left her son with his aunt, Eolynd.
So she parted once more, cast away. But she was not as hopeless and angry as she had been eight years ago. She was then out in the wild for two more years, fighting with the wild men against the orcs of Isengard. It seemed to her that she should be home nowhere, and that from the day she was born, nobody ever wanted to keep her.
In year one of the F.A. she met with SilverScribe and travelled for a while with her group. At the crossing of Rohan, she heard for the first time that Théadon had not returned from the War. After her voyage with the company, NN decided to look for him and took the road through all MiddleEarth. Though she never had got any news, she accepted after a while that he would never come back and has fallen in the War.
A few visits in Rohan showed her that her child was growing up happily and she stayed on the road, becoming a bard, playing flute in various places. The feeling of guilt was still her main motivation for anything she did.
When she heard for the first time of the Mithril Knights, she did not even dare to hope to join them, but Lord Elbren took her in training. This is where she met Anorast, falling deeply in love with the elf. However, she is was doubtful if her love for an elf would not be her doom once again and never managed trust her own feelings completely, even lest his.
Indeed, soon her doubts would prove right and feeling the familiar call of madness and fear rise in her heart, she decided to leave him, the Mithril Knights and the Sickle (see above) to take the road again, heading for a simple life.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Nin
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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 5:37 pm
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Childhood memories

The first birthday, Nienor-Niniel remembered very distinctively was her sixth. Actually it was the anniversary of the day she was found, her real birthday remained of course unknown.

This day Elrond himself had asked for her, a rare thing to happen, for the master of the house was most of time preoccupied, too busy to care for the daily needs of an inexperienced and unknown human little girl. But this day he had asked her to come, and he was alone, there only for her.
Entering the room, her little girl’s heart was beating fiercely, the echo of each heartbeat resounding in her ears. She had been dressed properly, combed, like every child who is prepared for an important reunion.

Elrond bowed down to her, his kind eyes searching silently her face. He seemed almost a giant to her, and she was intimidated by this stranger, having no memories of their former meetings. But she had heard the name of Elrond almost everyday, sometimes whispered in respect, sometimes sung, ever present. So it seemed to her that this meeting was her birthday present, like a God coming down to earth looking on her. Nervously she stepped from one foot to another, fearing to displease the lord of Rivendell. She chewed one of her tails, and that detail remained in her memories for a long time.

Elrond spoke to her in his soft, melodic voice. « I recall very well the day when you were brought to me for the first time, six years ago from today. Now let me see, how you have grown, and what child you have become. » For a long moment, Elrond watched her in silence. He hadn’t seen a person so young, so small someone who was still just becoming herself, for a long time. There were not many children who had been raised in Rivendell, and none of them recently. His thoughts went back to his own children –and the joy and the pain they had brought upon him.

« Nienor-Niniel “, he said, « I wanted to see you today for I think that you are old enough now to start a new phase in your young life. You should start to learn to read and to write, and maybe some music too. But I fear also that the time has come to hurt you – let me have a look at your hands. »

The child stretched out her hands, she was used to this vision. Elrond took only her left hand, very softly, almost caressing her. N-N knew why, even if she did not yet know how to count. This hand was different, and had always been. There was a sixth finger beside the little one, a little weaker than the others, but perfectly built and moving. « My dear foster-child, I would want to see this finger cut off, if you agree, today. » The girl held back her breath in surprise and fear, she had seen the difference, but then there had been other differences between her and the elves, so she had never really cared. She lifted her eyes until she could catch the glance of Elrond clearly, and then asked the only question that came to her mind: « why? » The half-elven sighed; this would be difficult to explain. For one, he feared that this finger might handicap her, when she was beginning to write, or if she would chose to play the harp what he hoped for. But that was not the true reason, many tribes, he knew, thought that six fingers were a mark of evil, the proof of a born sorcerer or witch. He had always thought that this had been one of the reasons why the baby had been abandoned. Now in Rivendell, such superstition would not touch her, but one day she would have to set out and live with other men, and their judgement could proof difficult to stand against. He wished to protect her.

He tried to put this in words fitting for a child’s mind and reluctantly, N-N agreed. You mustn’t forget that she was a small girl and Elrond a century old, powerful and wise lord – what chance did she really have to refuse.

Elrond had prepared all that was necessary for this operation and gave her a bit of Miruvor before, to calm her down and to hide the pain. It was a small finger on a small hand and took only a moment and one neat cut to fall down. N-N screamed, because she saw the blood, before she realized that this was her own blood and before she felt the pain. But then the feeling of pain was overwhelming, she had heard her heartbeat in her ears, but now it seemed as if he entire heart was concentrated in the fingertip that wasn’t there any more and exploding her entire body at every beat. She cried loudly, tears were running down her cheeks on her dress, that was spoiled with blood too, she crooked herself together to be as small as possible, her tiny body shaking with sobs. Elrond took her in his arms, even while the bandage was fixed. He had known how much the girl would be hurt, but nevertheless judged the operation inevitable. He gave her another spoonful of Miruvor, the healing drink of Rivendell, and the first piece of chocolate of her life. While the sweet was melting in her mouth, mixes with the salty taste of tears, N-N slowly clamed down, but not yet stopping to cry. Her hand was painful long afterwards and even as a grown up she felt sometimes pain at the place where this finger had been, something that would never leave her. And the taste of chocolate was forever related to the salt of tears, like for her the sweet and the bitter went always together.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 5:39 pm
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Meeting Liudares


A welcoming party for long expected guests had been going on the entire evening and Nienor-Niniel had enjoyed the company and the excitement, a welcome change in the dreaded days of winter. The hall was arm, as usual, a fire burning in one of the fireplaces and the laughter and the singing echoed in the walls, as if a living dream had come true and the images of the past were still alive, not only in the songs, but in the minds of all those who listened.

After years and months of learning, N-N had trained her natural beautiful voice to a crystal clear sound, going easily from height to depth, from minor to major, a fluent, warm, living voice of alto. In these days she used to play the harp rather than any other instrument, letting her fingers glide on the soft strings of her instrument, that vibrated in her hands, letting the notes fall like pearls lined up on a string in a perfect harmony, no space between one or another, she was even dreaming of the strings and didn’t really know where her fingers were ending and the strings beginning. She was often asked to sing, the elves compared her voice to others, but she could easily hold the comparison with any elf.

Thus Liudares heard her singing before he saw her. She as singing a ballad about Turin Turambar, the black sword and his fight against the dragon and against his fate, that had made him marry his own sister, after whom she had been named. She was sitting close to the fire, and the flames enlightened her face, as if she were surrounded by a ring of fire. Her clear eyes were sparkling and her lips showed her white, regular, warm smile. He listened to the music, then saw the singer and spoke out loudly in surprise: Nienor, repeating a word of the song, But to his surprise, the girl paused, lifted her eyes and said: Who is asking for me? So he learned, that her name was Nienor-Niniel and it always seemed to her that she had stepped right out of a song to enter his life. He had been to Rivendell before, but not since she lived there and hadn’t known that Elrond had taken another human under his roof. Later they often laughed about their first meeting and the liking of the meeting between Beren and Luthien, but when N-N began to realise that their fate would be different, she went silent and laughed no more.

Liudares was an elf from Noldorian lineage; he lived mostly in Eriador, but had also spent many years wandering and came to see Elrond regularly, for they had fought together in the last Alliance. Unlike many elves, he had short hair, of raven black but eyes of green, so clear, that they almost seemed to be of amber, according to the light. N-N had never seen somebody so fair, his skin had a very special colour, almost like bronze or a living, breezing, wonderful wood, shimmering golden in the fire light and the contrast to his eyes, the black, full and soft hair was seizing. He was tall and well built and his hands were living pieces of art, as if the hands of a marble statue had come to live, suddenly breaking the stone around them and moving with the same quiet perfection that had sculpted them.

N-N began to tremble all aver her body, for she knew, she was doomed, listening to his very voice as if it were music and wishing he would say her name again again and again. Who is asking for me, she repeated, in a whisper who has come and found me?
Liudares smiled at the girl, aware of the impression he had made on her, and touched by her emotion. I am Liudares, he answered and I am here now. Sing for me, Nienor, now . And that was what she did for the rest of this memorable evening, already a slave to his will.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 5:41 pm
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A conversation between old friends

Liudares had stayed in Rivendell for six months and a half, and seemed willing to stay longer, so a private room had been granted to him, where he and Nienor-Niniel could meet easily, freely and often. Nobody ever asked Nienor-Niniel directly, and she was completely unaware of some gossip that was going around, she was in her very own world, where nothing and nobody could touch her, where the sun was rising with a smile of Liudares and the night was passing with dreams of Liudares, and all music was the sound of his voice and the sparkle of his eyes brighter than the stars in the sky.
Yet Liudares had not overheard all rumours and whispered words, his keen elvish ears were open to the outside world and not all his life seemed to lie in the eyes of the young woman. When others were around, he hardly spoke word that Nienor-Niniel, and though he had convinced her that secrecy was the best for them so far, she suffered his distant behaviour with great pain.
One day, not to Liudares surprise, Elrond asked for him. They hat met regularly, since his arrival in Imladris, very old friends from the war of the Last Alliance, companions of many roads and fights
Elrond looked with sorrow upon his old friend, though a wise and powerful elf, Liudares had always had a kind of lightness about him and could make laugh whomever he wanted to and be obeyed by his soldiers as easily as a king. He did not often use this gift, but nobody had ever easily resisted his charm.

Mellon, it seems you have come to stay at last in my house. You know, that you are a more than welcome guest and that my house is yours as long as you desire, said the half-elven in his soft and melodious voice.

And I owe you gratitude for your hospitality, answered the guest; waiting for what was Elrond’s actual aim and the reason for this conversation.

It has come to my ears, continued the Lord of Imladris, that maybe it is not my hospitality that holds you back, but the beauty of my pupil, the young woman who has been named after the legend of Turin Turambar.

I have met her, and indeed, she is beautiful and her voice is like an echo of older times and lost beauties. I understand that you took her as your foster-child.

Liudares, Elrond’s voice rose slightly in a light flicker of anger and disbelief, I know you for long, and I don’t want you to lie to me. I cannot order the ways of your heart, but if the rumours are true, your interest in hers would not be called fatherly. So I will give a warning, and ask for a straight answer, then I shall not question you no more. It is perilous for an elf to love the mortals. I have paid a high price to the unions between the two children of Illuvatar, and unless all hope shall fall, I will pay an even higher one and shall loose the child who I cherish most, my beloved Arwen. Now Nienor-Niniel has lived in Rivendell all her days and doesn’t know a lot about mankind. She has always been sheltered here, and knows nothing of the dangers that threaten the world and the hardness of life. She is young, so very young, this age, where humans think that a year is eternity and that their lives shall last forever. She must feel that she knows you well – and you must know how wrong she is. And for all that she has grown in Rivendell, we do not know where she is coming from and whose blood runs in her veins. Many surprises can come from this young woman,
Beware, my companion, the fate of mankind is not envious and not easy to share, and if you’re not willing to share the end, you should share the present, if you will deceive her, you shall be deceived yourself. So, now tell me, what is your aim for her young and pretty person?

Liudares had listened in silence. He had put these heavy matters aside, when he had become her lover, but he had always known that one day he would have to face them, one of the reasons for the secret about their liaison. Now he sighed. Elrond, my dear friend, forgive if I have troubled your household. he answered; I fear that you are disappointed with my behaviour. I have taken a great liking for the girl you named Nienor-Niniel, and she returns my inclination. Her company lightens my heart and my soul and her youthful trust in me and in life give me the feeling of being young and confident again. For in my innermost self, Elrond I feel weary, I feel the heaviness of Middle-Earth upon me and long for other shores and sounds. And I know that my fate lies not in Middle Earth forever, and I will go with you in the West, if you shall take me along when time has come.

But the love of an innocent being is no cure for your longing. answered the peredhil, smiling.

I know, was the answer, yet there is something else. The girl loves me sincerely, and I have never met someone who was longing so much for loving and being loved. I think she must have been very lonely until now and nobody has ever given her some real affection. Whatever my wrongs may be, but for some time I have feelings to give her.

Maybe you are right, said Elrond, for I’m quite sure, that nobody has ever given her real affection. But I sincerely hope that the poor creature does not pay the regrets and longings of both of us.

Liudares left, and though Nienor-Niniel never knew about this conversation, she felt that the distance between them began to increase.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 5:42 pm
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Nienor-Niniel writes in her diary:

Something strange has just happened. I woke up; the sun is already shining even if it is still early in the morning. Liudares is sleeping. It is the first time in all these months that I see him sleeping. He is lying there, in my room, on my bed his eyes closed, the hand stretched out as if he were reaching for me.

He is beautiful. He is so beautiful that I can hardly believe he is real. Yet he is real, and I know how he will smile when he wakes up. He will smile at me. I can’t wait for this moment!
I have never seen his eyes closed before. It makes him even more look like a statue, with the closed eyes. A marble statue of old. No living thing can be so beautiful.
He is a living perfection.

Why is he sleeping today? I have asked him once, why the elves sleep, even though they don’t need to. « It’s a bit like eating, when it’s just delicious, but you are not hungry. It’s just for the pleasure and the taste. The dreams you have in sleep are not like the dreams you can let your mind wander on. They are more powerful and more colourful and leave you with excitement and refreshment you cannot find elsewhere. » What is he dreaming about? Is he dreaming about me? Why does he love me? Does he really love me?
Oh stupid thing, you mustn’t doubt. He is here, isn’t he?
How nice it is to watch him sleep. I would want this moment to last forever. This moment when he is entirely mine.

I’m afraid sometimes that he will leave again and take the sunshine away from my life. What have I been without him? A lost, useless orphan, everybody pitied me. But his love makes me precious and gives me a reason to live and hope. I can bear a day if I know that he will be there in the night. Even this room is fairer with him inside and the very air has a different taste. I love him. I love saying it, I love thinking it. I love him. Without him I do not entirely exist. He cannot leave me here in the cold of my life. And he will not. Has he not said that he will be with me?

We will be together forever, like Luthien and Beren. I want to believe this. I do believe it.
Wake up now my beloved. I want to see my reflect in your eyes and see I’m still alive. I want to be kissed and I want to lie at your side. I want to taste your skin and I want our nights to become an endless day of love and desire.
Be with me. Stay with me.

His hand has just moved a little, and I think he will awake. Maybe he feels my thoughts. He is so beautiful, I cannot believe it.


At this moment N-N stopped writing at once. Liudares eyes had flickered, and from the moment he woke up, she wanted only to be with him, no more words had any importance.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 5:44 pm
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The window-pane was cold, almost ice-cold in this grey early spring morning. Nienor-Niniel was sitting on the windowsill, leaning her face against the cold glass, tears still running down her cheeks, without that she clearly knew why. Her breath became steam on the glass. Dawn hat not yet fully raised and the light outside was greyish, a bit yellow, not the warm shades of orange, rose and red that usually make dawn trustworthy and the expectation of the new day thrilling. It was so early, a really grey morning, it seemed threatening to Nienor-Niniel.

These last days she had felt weary and tired. Liudares had been gone for a few days and without him her life-energy was drifting away and kept loosing herself in daydreams. Now he was back, truly back, sleeping in her bed, as an ultimate proof of his love. Yet, the weariness had not gone. She shivered and it was not only the cold of the windowpane. She was afraid. In the very evening he arrived he had asked that his horse should be reforged and tended with special care. So he would leave again, as he was doing more and more often. And maybe never come back - or come back after such a long time that she would be old and grey like this morning, and for him it would have seemed like a day. And though he was smiling and treating her with his usual tenderness, her dread didn’t leave her. She knew he would leave. She just knew it.

Closing her eyes, she could almost feel the touch of his finger on her skin again; recall the taste of his lips and his kiss on her neck. Turning around, seeing his peaceful face in sleep, new tears urged into her eyes, She returned back to his side, wrapping herself in the sheets that his skin had warmed and his perfume filled. Her movements were slow and careful not to wake him up. She looked at him and only one thought filled her mind: I want this moment to last forever. I want this very moment to last forever. I don’t want it to end, not now, not at any time. This is all my life.

She remembered their first meeting, when he had heard her sing. She had often sung for him, since that day. When he had come to her in the night, she thought she was dreaming and ever since she was not sure if she wasn’t dreaming. She remembered when she had watched him sleeping for the first time, a few months ago. It had happened two or three times since, and each of these moments was cherished in her mind. His cloths were lying behind him, and his bow and dagger leaned against a chair standing beside the bed. He had tried to teach her, but she would never be a good archer.

He smiled in his sleep, murmuring a sindarin word that she couldn’t understand. However, he wasn’t murmuring her name, He wasn’t dreaming of her.

She looked at him again and the one and only clear thought was there again: I want this moment to last forever. I want him by my side forever. I want to lie at his side each and every day to come. She caressed his skin very lightly, his cheeks, his marvellous hands, the most beautiful hands she had ever seen or touched or that could exist in all of Middle-Earth. The tears had dried, and her saliva was salty in her mound.

I want this moment to last forever. This moment, this very moment. Forever.

A first glimpse of the rising sun entered the room and Liudares eyelashes were shimmering in this small ray of light.

I want this moment to last forever. This moment, this very moment. Forever.

The idea was hammering in her mind and her sleeves were hurting. And then she knew. There was only one way to make this moment last, to make it the last of their love. She didn’t even have to rise to take the dagger, his silver dagger. She lay down beside him at the same height, so that her throat was in line with his. His right hand was firmly lying in her left and she closed in her fingers around his. Her breath was heavy and fast as a few moments went by. This was the only way to keep him.

I want this moment to last forever. This moment, this very moment. Forever.

She took the tiny, beautiful, razor-sharp weapon, holding it in her right hand, lifting it high over their heads, then swiftly sank it into his throat, moving towards her, longing for the touch of the weapon on her own skin. The blood came as a surprise to her. His blood, pouring out of the wound, his scream, even before her gesture was over. Her hand dropped, powerless and empty, the dagger fall down on the marble floor with a metallic, cold sound.

Liudares was screaming, loud and painful, and she hadn’t expected it. She had only thought of the image of two enlaced, dead peaceful lovers, united forever. But this was pain, blood and hurt. Liudares turned towards her, his lips opened for a last smile, whispering: I have not seen this come. I don’t want to die. Touching his chest, he felt the blood, screaming once more, of fear, surprise or pain, she never knew.

She was now heavily bleeding herself, the blood running thick and sticky on her dress. She tried to talk, tried to say Forgive me but her mouth was filled with her own blood. The she felt something wet running down her legs, out of her very body, wet and warm and she knew it was even more blood. Why and whence, she did not know.

Liudares eyes were wide open and stared at her in panic, his hand had released hers. Someone opened the door and she heard a voice yelling, and calling for Elrond. As she turned to Liudares, his eyes were closed. A small strain of blood was running down his cheek. Nienor-Niniel heard voices all over the room now, steps that were running towards them and then nothing no more.

All was over.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Nin
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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 5:44 pm
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The evening before, Liudares had come back from a short inspection of the environments. On the demand of Elrond, the surroundings of Rivendell were closely watched, especially the Shire, and though he didn’t neither know nor care for the exact reasons of this careful observation, Liudares had decided to be a part of it – his warrior instincts and the habit of wandering in the wild made an even longer stay at the same place almost unbearable for him.

He was whistling while riding, looking forward to the next excursion, for the land was scarcely known to him. A smile was on his lips, as he approached the fair house of Elrond and he thought of Nienor-Niniel who would await him as eager and as happy as ever. Sweet Nienor – she always seemed to be happy and grateful for everything he did, every breath he took, every word he spoke, every night they spent together. Happy and cheerful like a child, still shy with him and constantly astonished that really he came back every time. He didn’t fully understand her, and was not trying to do so, her warm welcomes, her eversmiling face, when he was there were enough for him. She never asked him anything, never told any of her desires, never complained – so he just believed her happy. And her silent devotion pleased him infinitely, and to be true flattered him, even after so many years of life.

When away, he hardly spent a thought on her, as if he felt that the sparkle was gone from her life, when he was not there. But now, riding towards Rivendell, whistling he was looking forward to hold the sweet creature in his arms and to look in her eyes, to see the admiration in each of her gestures.
So he asked at the stable that his horse should be well looked after, knowing his turn in the watching would come again soon. But this way, he could get quicker washed and dressed to be ready for the halls of beauty and for a night at the side of Nienor-Niniel. His whistles had become a song, and N-N heard his voice at one of the terraces, where she was sitting and playing chess. Of course she lost the game and all the others once she had heard Liudares’ voice.

Sometimes he wondered why she seemed to care so little that he wanted to keep their liaison secret. Once she had told that she was afraid of Elrond, so probably she didn’t want to face him. Also this way their time together was time on their own, and this seemed to be more precious than anything to the young lady.

The evening passed in a glimpse, and he joined N-N in her room to spend the night. The voyage and the love had made him tired and a bit weary, like someone who had danced too much and feels dizzy. So he felt asleep, a soft and light slumber. He did not awake, when she rose from the bed and dropped his hands, he did not feel her gliding in their sheets again. His dreams had taken him far away, to times and places only the elves remember.

All of a sudden, a great pain seemed to cut his very soul in pieces, and he screamed, before even knowing that he was not sleeping any more. Enemies – was his first thought, longely trained by battle. But then, when he opened his eye, he saw his dagger, his own dagger above and Nienor-Niniels, shaking hands holding it. She had cried, her face was wet and a bit red, she did not look at him, her eyes stared to something or someone far away fixed – and she was about to cut her own throat. So he screamed again, wanting to stop at least this. He had not seen this come, not been aware of her loneliness and her despair not of anything. This was despair, or after their night, it could not be hatred. He was trying to talk, but the blood was running into his mouth, and he could not hear his own voice. But it was too late, and when she turned her face towards him, her features were torn and blood began to cover her cheeks. Her lips moved, but like him she could not talk. He tried to rise, but the loss of blood made him dizzy and he fell immediately, down at the side of the bed, his feet slipping away under his body. He was still bleeding. N-N had lost consciousness, lying still a statue, covered with blood, a part of which war dripping from her dress, as it had flown out of her. It almost looked as if she had another cut through her belly.

Someone opened the door, and her heard the screams and elvish voices, hasty steps running away. Someone helped him up, and laid him down again, so he could look at N-N again. The dagger had dropped from her hand and lay on the floor. And now he understood why she was so much covered with blood, much more than himself.

Elrond had been warned and arrived, running through the corridors, in haste, panic and fear as he had seldom felt before. None had been able to tell what exactly had happened, but he knew that his dear friend was wounded, maybe to death and that the fostered girl seemed to be dead already. When he entered the room, he saw them lying there, both of them covered with blood and the weapon on the floor behind the bed. The smell in the air was heavy, like on a battlefield or in butchery. The elven Lord felt sick. He saw the dagger and the stretched hand of N-N, and he understood, that she had been the author of this slaughtery. Liudares opened his eyes slowly, and it seemed to be an unbearable effort. Elrond bowed down to his friend, and he heard his last words like a whisper : I have not seen this come. Let me leave. Save her. She has only this one life to live. Save her and save my child if you can.
Then he closed his beautiful eyes.

Elrond turned towards the girl. Indeed, she was not yet dead, her chest was moving up and down, very slowly, her eyes were closed. Holding back the tears, he leaned over her, calling for help and surgical instruments, while watching his friend breathe for the last time. He could not save both of them, so despite of the grief, he would obey to his last words, to his last will.

The woman needs help, he said to the servant, who waited for instructions. And the Lord Liudares is beyond any help. We have to be quick.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 5:49 pm
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When she opened her eyes, everything around her was turning. It took Nienor-Niniel a little while to understand what she was looking at: the light blue painted ceiling of one of the healing rooms in Rivendell. So she was alive. The sunshine was entering the room, which was filled with light. She was blinking, trying to get used to the brightness.

When she tried to swallow, she felt as she was a stream of fire was running through her throat, her stomach, deep into her guts. The pain brought tears to her eyes, but no scream came out of her wide-open mouth. She wanted to touch her throat, but her hands were attached to the bed. She felt the strings at her wrists.
She heard the door, but could not turn her head to see who was entering. The sound of a clear elvish voice said: Tell the Lord Elrond that she is awake. The door closed, and she was alone again. Nienor-Niniel closed her eyes; these few minutes of being awake had exhausted her. But then, with eyes closed, she instantly thought of Liudares – his torn face and the scream and the panic, the blood dropping from his wound. She shivered all over her body.

As soon as he heard the news, Elrond hurried to the room where Nienor-Niniel was as well healed as guarded. She had been unconscious for more than ten days, and he had not known if he wanted her to live or to die. Liudares last words had asked him to
save her and his child, but he had not been able to do so. The woman was safe now, but there had been no way to make the baby hold. It was too early in the pregnancy to have any hope. When he arrived in the healing room, she was sleeping again, still too weary to stay awake for a longer moment. He stared at her, as he had often done ever since he had been called after her attack on herself and his friend. Her face was quiet, but torn with pain and grief. Ever since this terrible morning, he had wondered what had gone wrong with the girl. She did not seem bewitched by any evil, but clear of mind and he did not know at all, what had been her reasons for this slaughter. Liudares wouldn’t have left her, as she was pregnant with his child. How could a woman want to die, when she was bearing a new life? It was a mystery for him, as it must have been for his friend. I have not seen this come – Elrond remembered the words clearly. But who had seen it or who could have?

Nienor-Niniel moved now, then opened her eyes, quicker this time, aware of the place, the light and knowing who she was. Thus she saw Elrond, sitting beside her bed. Again, she tried to talk, she wanted to know where Liudares was, but no sound came out of her lips, and she only felt her throat burning as she moved her lips and each bit of air was like a cutting knife.

With a bitter smile, Elrond looked at the young woman in pain. He knew that she suffered, and he realized that he wanted her to suffer. So, you see, that there is a risk in cutting throats, yours or others. You may loose your life – like Liudares. Or you may just loose your voice – like you. He saws her eyes widening in panic – she had not yet known that Liudares had perished, and Elrond did not want to know how this must made her feel. But his loss is forever, whereas you will talk again, or I shall not be called a healer. Sing, I do not think. But speak, yes. He paused. The girl was shaking, and attached as she was, she could neither talk nor lift herself from the bed.

So, my old friend is dead, the Lord Liudares is dead by your hand. And if you live, and not he, it is only because I obeyed to his words – Save her, he told me, and even I could save only one. Save her – Elrond had moved his face now very close to hers – and she could feel his breath as he talked, she was unable to turn her eyes of his face- cold like stone with an expression of fear and disgust. Save her he told me and save my child if you can – so why would you do this? Why?

In the very moment she heard Elrond’s words, N-N felt the urge to vomit –and she remembered how hard she had been bleeding, like blood running out of her very body. Elrond saw her eyes change – in disbelief, terror, shame and grief. If she could, she would have screamed or cried, but only silent tears ran down her cheeks and she tried to tear her hands out of the bandages to wipe them off. Watching her reaction, Elrond understood – so she hadn’t known. This might explain some; at least she had not wished to kill the child she was bearing.

Nienor-Niniel was now heavily crying, her body shaking with sobs. She had given up even the try to move her hands and to wipe her face clean. Some tears had entered her mouth and as they were salty, they were burning on the scars inside her throat, even more than the air had done before. She would have wanted to scream, so loud that she would not hear Elrond’s voice any more, but she couldn’t. She would have wanted to run away, out of the reach of his voice, but not only was she very weak, but attached. Like an animal, like the criminal she was. Through the tears she could not see the Lord clearly any more, but the voice still kept on and there was no way to get out its reach, out of the reach of the truth.

If you live today, you live because he asked me to let you live. It was not my will, but his will, his last will. So live now. I have had the time to think over what I would do with you. So this is my judgement.

Elrond had raised form the side of her bed and was standing beside the window. He could not bear to watch this woman. All he saw was his dead friend and the blood that had been shed in his house. So he looked outside, trying to keep his voice quiet and not to shout at her. Her guilt could not bee doubted and according to some members of his household, she deserved a death penalty. However he was hesitating and Liudares last words had forbidden him to do so anyway.

As Liudares has asked for this, you shall live. You shall be condemned to live. But punished you shall be and leave this place – forever. Do not come back, or your sentence shall be revised. As soon as you will be able to rise, you must leave and your ban will be permanent.

Elrond turned on his heals, and took the girl’s face in his hands, their faces were almost touching each other. She stared at him, she could see her reflect in his eyes. She was paralysed, her eyes and her mouth wide open, trembling, shaking.

You are a murderer, an assassin. Nothing will ever change that. You will have to live with it, every day of your existence. Your crime shall haunt you. Do not try to die again, or the pain shall be unbearable. You have to live this out. I hope that I will never have to see you again. Is there any hope for you? I do not know, but there are things even the wisest cannot see. Whatever you will do, you cannot come back in time, so you will be guilty as long as you live. Do not forget it, not a minute, not a second. This is my judgement, and I am merciful according to many.

He dropped her face, almost throwing her back on the bed.

She will gain strength quickly now. he said in a detached voice to the healer assistant who had not left the room. Watch that she eats something – if necessary force her. She can be detached soon and should be able to get up not later than in two days. She should not be helped. She will be alone from now.

On these words he left the room.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 5:50 pm
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She left Rivendell a few days later, still unable to talk and shaking on her legs, when trying to walk. She had not seen anybody, except the healers and nobody had come to talk to her. Elrond had seen her a second time and judged that she was fit to travel. Though weary, her life was not threatened any more. This must be enough for this time.

A horse had been prepared and a package, with the bare necessities for a stay in the wild – at least for a few weeks. It was a nice beast, as all were in Rivendell, well fed and cared. A rather small, rather elderly little horse, whose name she did not know. A used saddle to which were attached two leather bags with different things. She did not examine them now, unable to foresee how it would be to be alone and in the woods. Not a second did she consider the possibility to seek for a village or other humans.

Nobody was in the stables. In the evening, Alassea, the main healing woman in Rivendell, had told that tomorrow morning she had to leave and that all would have been prepared. She had looked on the wall above her, when talking to Nienor-Niniel, avoiding her eyes, or even just to look at her. Once, she was a bit further from the house, she turned around, to have a last look at what had been despite of all the house of her childhood. Somewhere in her deep self, she had the mad hope that someone would be standing there, looking at her, someone who would miss her. But all was empty. She bowed her head and rode off.

The first weeks in the wild were harder that anything she had known before or even imagined in her darkest moments. Only when she was too tired to sit, she managed to sleep and even then the nightmares often woke her up, trembling, crying, covered with sweat. So she tried to remain occupied all the time, occupying her hands, her thoughts, her feet. She had never hunted before, but only after a few days, hunger was gnawing on her, making all clear thought impossible. The voice of hunger had covered all her mind, letting her no other choice than to kill her first prey. She spent hours to set up traps, and most of them were emptied without catching a beast, because of false manipulating. She ran out of baits, so she cut off pieces from her blanket and dipped in the blood of a wound she had cut into her hand.

When she captured her first squirrel, she looked on the little beast in her hands, helpless. It was still warm, but unmistakably dead. She had never opened an animal before or cleaned its guts, torn off the skin and cut the raw meat off the bones. For a second she feared that she would faint or vomit – who could help her if she was ill? The first cuts were done by shaking hands, but then once a part of the fur torn off, it was nothing more than meat and leather in perspective.

She learned quickly. After six months, she had a small hut, some provision for bad hunting and searching days, and various objects to ease her life. She spent most of her evenings carving wood at the fireside – spoons, plates, and pipes. She did neither use nor need all of them, but when her hands were lazy, she thought that she could almost feel the touch of madness on her cheek, like a caress. She was afraid.

A lot of time was also spent for tanning the skins of the various animals she hunted. Though her skills with the bow proofed quickly to be limited, she had become a rather good hunter and fisherman. The disgust of the first victims had gone, and her knowledge of the use of animal body parts like bones and intestines had greatly improved. She made her bowstrings herself, leather gloves, a shirt. She tried to have no moment to think.

One day a nightmare woke her up and she screamed. Thus she knew that her voice had indeed come back, just as Elrond had told. But never again she should be able to sing, be it only a few notes. Now she talked sometimes a few words to the horse. If she could have seen herself, it was not sure that she would have recognised her glance in a mirror. She was very skinny now, and the childish expression on her face had made place for grief and hardness. Her hair was attached by a leather string, no longer flowing in the wind. Her hands were hard now, often full with wooden splitters of her work. Sometimes she touched the horny skin as if it were not fully a part of her, but something she could blow away on a sunny morning. Not a lot was left of the singing maiden wearing silk dresses in an elvish household.

She knew now which berries could be eaten – and for mushrooms Bilbo had been the best teacher that could be imagined. Autumn was near, and more and more often she thought about visiting a village. There were a few things she would need to survive in the winter and not all of them could she make herself. After a few completely sleepless nights, she decided to try her chance. Maybe she could exchange some of her leathers of furs or even of her woodwork – she had made some beautiful with elvish decorations. One morning, she saddled the horse, took all the things she had been thinking about and left. She took care of marking her road on the trees, so that she could find it again. The tiny wooden hut had become a kind of home, even if she would never acknowledge it.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Nin
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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 7:38 pm
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Village contacts

It took her a few days until she found a village, a little marketplace surrounded by some streets, if the muddy, narrow ways could be called streets. The houses were mostly small, often with straw roofs, not all of them made of stones. The first time, she crossed the village without stopping, looking at the houses and watching the people. Never before had she seen so many humans. They seemed small to her and often dirty, she saw the lacking teeth in many mouths. Their skin seemed reddish to Nienor-Niniel, who was used to the clean and beardless faces of the elves. The voices were harsh to her ears and the smell in the air almost unbearable.
Yet she had to come back. One of her knives was broken and she needed a new one, also arrows and warm winter-clothes. She had taken many decorated wooden objects, several pairs of leather gloves she had made, strings of dried mushrooms, the furs of some beavers, tanned and smoothened, smoked fishes and dried fruits. It was easier than she had thought to exchange them on the market place – though her accent seemed strange to most of the people, she spoke a fine Westron, only a bit old-fashioned and slow. She did not ask for any money until she had all she wanted and even more- she had exchanged some flour and was looking forward to preparing bread, and maybe even a few pancakes. Then she sold the rest of her items to a merchant for a price that later, when she had got used to exchange, she esteemed ridiculously low. She brought her new belongings to her horse and attached them. Later she should be very grateful for this.

With those coins she went into the only Inn of the village. The first time, she stepped right out again, suffocated by the smoke in the air. Then, getting her courage together she stepped back in. Several – all she thought – heads turned towards her. Strangers were rare in this part of Middle-Earth, and the whole village had already heard about the unknown woman selling items on the market place.

Nin looked down on the floor, trying to avoid the eyes of the costumers. But her curiosity was greater than her fear, and after such a long time alone, she enjoyed the sounds of living voices and would have liked to listen to them simply for the pleasure.

Slowly and shyly she moved towards the bar. She had never been in an Inn before, and did not know, how to behave, whom to talk to and what to order. When she stood at the bar, for a while she did not talk. Suddenly a voice behind herself surprised her. „And the luv’ly foreigner, what woud ya like ter drink? What can I do for ye?“ Nin looked at the barkeeper, an elderly, short man. His hair was sparsely set, grey and a bit filthy. The pores of his skin were rather large, and his face rather red, especially around the nose, as a result of the regular consume of alcohol. Several teeth were missing and one of the front teeth was almost entirely black. But more than the look, the smell of his breath, a mix of smoke and cheap wine, sweetish in a way, shocked Nin.

She swallowed, and took all her courage together to answer. « You are very kind, sir. If I could just drink what you usually sell, I would be greatly rejoiced. » The innkeeper laughed a bit at the young woman’s old-fashioned and formal way of speaking. He served her an ale without further comment. « And wher’ ya cumin from, m’lady? » he asked Nin. Several pairs of eyes turned towards Nienor-Niniel now. She felt rather uncomfortable and to avoid talking, she emptied almost entirely her beer. Though surprised of the slight bitterness of the taste, she swallowed it.

She did not want to talk about Rivendell, which seemed so far from here as if it were another world. So she just mentioned that she was travelling. Most of the costumers in the inn were looking at her and she wished she had a place to hide. Then, she heard a voice behind, seemingly friendly.
Could I offer a stranger another drink? said a man, she had not seen before. She turned around and looked at him – a man in his forties, not very tall, a bit thick around the waist, a smoking pipe in his hand, out of which he blew her a cloud of smoke in the face. He smiled in a rather smeary way, but Nin in her youth and lack of experience thought him quite friendly.
She nodded. Nienor had not seen the gesture of the man towards the barkeeper, asking to add something strong to her drink. He had seen the young woman sell her stuff on the market and rightfully thought that she must still have a huge part of her earning in her purse and that she would make an easy prey for an experienced thief as he was.
When Nin took a draught of this second drink, she only realised it was not as bitter as before. She did not know it was because of the added liquor. Already, she began to feel a stream of warmth in her body. Then all around her began to turn and the voices to sound weird. Two glasses later, she was drunk to tell her own name correctly.

She woke up at some time the next day; lying on a field, close the village. She felt as if her heart had been put into her head and was beating fiercely there. For a while, she did not know where she was, She felt something wet and sticky around her hair and saw in disgust that she had slept in the rests of her dinner, that she must have spit out at some part of the evening. Except her shirt and trousers, all was gone, even her boots – fine light, soft boots, made by the elves. Nin set down in horror, freezing and crying. Later she would crawl back to her horse, which luckily had not been found. But once back in her lonely lair in the forest, she thought more and more often about one moment of this dreadful evening: for the first time, there had been a moment, when she had forgotten all and a night where she had slept without nightmares.

Slowly the memories of the disgust and the fear vanished, but the memory of this blissful moment of forgetting came back to her after every night when she woke up, sweat on her cloths and tears on her face, shaken by nightmares.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 7:42 pm
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The sound of silence

Uthyor had not seen somebody interesting enter his tiny inn for months. He watched the young woman, barely adult, very careful. It was rare to see a woman travel alone in Middle-Earth, especially one so young and so exceptional.

She was small, and looked it even more, because her head was bend, almost constantly. Her long, blonde hair was floating openly over her back, carefully combed, a sign of care. Her clothing was simple, practical and entirely made of leather, very solid. But what had stroke the barkeeper most of all had been the look in her eyes, when she had entered the room. For a long moment she had fixed him, before sitting down at a table hidden somewhere far from the windows. Uthyor had seen many enter his inn throughout the years with this look in their eyes, this look of hunger and emptiness, like an abyss to be filled by alcohol as quickly as possible. Her hands were not shaking, her face was not marked, no red skin or wide pores, and yet he was sure of his judgement. The skin over her face and her thin and long fingers seemed almost tensed, so skinny was she. She would not hold long, he was sure, and wondered of he could use her weakness. A pretty girl, he thought, for those who like bones, or for anybody.

Nienor had been aware that the innkeeper had been staring at her. Since her first visit to a village, others had followed. First, she had tried to stay alone again, but quickly her mind had been obsessed with the memories of this first escapade. She longed for the moment when all had blackened out, when the pain and the shame and the loneliness were gone, whatever was the price to pay in the morning after. In the first weeks after her trip, she had worked even more than before, trying to pretend that she was preparing herself for the winter. She found it difficult to stay at the same place for more than a few seconds, restless all the time, unable to sleep but four or five hours a day, often unable to eat, too often. Quickly, she realised too that fasting brought her a form of drunkenness, that in the moment when all her body was filled with hunger, she could almost feel, how she could detach herself and fly away. It seemed than that her body had almost become unreal, not longer something that could hold her back. When she saw herself, her reflect in the water or when she was swimming or taking a bath in the ice-cold water, she saw that she was dangerously thin, she could count her rips and her clavicles were peaking out of her skin. But she enjoyed almost the moments when she was too weak for an effort and could feel the world around her turn like a spin.
She had spent entire days without speaking, and when the silence in her mind became a scream on the horizon, she wished that she could sing again. In those moments, she cried, sometimes for a long time, crouching herself together, taking her knees to her face, to make a little bullet, balancing forth and back for hours, listening to her own sobs as the only living sound she was still able to make.

Several times during the winter, she had made excursions to villages, selling and exchanging things. Each time she had tried to resist, feeling rather than knowing that she was gliding to an endless abyss of pain, still each time she had drunk herself to complete forgetting, to a rush of darkness, where the nightmares and the remorse were gone. However much she concealed it form herself, most of her work was done for this purpose and even a part of the fasting in the aim to use as little as possible and to sell the rest. The only real useful thing she had bought during the winter had been new boots.

Spring had just arrived, and Nin realised that it must be soon a year that she had left Rivendell. Thus was her state of mind when she had entered that inn, yet another inn, and felt the inquiry look of the innkeeper lying on her. It was not the first time that someone was staring at her. NN did not know and did not pay any attention to it, but despite of her hard life and her gauntness, she was very beautiful, almost like an apparition, and her graveness gave her this expression of a doomed soul, an aura of tragedy floating around her, a call for those looking for a victim.

She had ordered the strongest draught in the inn, as usual. She did not care for taste or pleasure; the only moment was the one that brought her freedom of ignorance. Then she saw on the wall, fixed for decoration the most unusual object in this kind of place. It was a beautiful, shimmering silver flute. Nin knew she wanted to have it. How must it be when in the lonely and silent nights of exile, a sound could come down to her, like a voice of another living being?

When the innkeeper brought her a second glass, she looked straight in his eyes and asked, if the instrument was to buy. Uthyor was surprised at the request. Once a brigand had paid with this flute, and thinking it was valuable, he had kept it, although he was sure the flute must be stolen. Then he saw the girl looking at it, and an idea began to take form in his mind.

If you want that flute, you must earn it. It cannot be paid with money, but there is a price I could fix for it. Regarding the expression of his narrow, brown eyes, the way he had looked on her before, Nin understood what price he would claim to give it to her. She was decided not to give herself so easily and not to let that flute go so lightly.

If you want ME as a price for this flute, proof me first that you can match me. Inside, she was shaking at the idea, but tried to make her voice a firm as possible. She had risen and propped on her fists on the table. They were standing like this, facing each other and the other costumers in the inn had stopped talking, looking at them. Slowly, Uthyor nodded. What proof do you want?

Nin took the bottle of crystal clear liquid from his tray, and put it with a resounding sound on the table in front of her. Without saying a word, she took her glass and the new one that had been on the tray and put it beside the carafe. She looked at the keeper with a cold expression in her eyes. The first under the table gives the other one all he wants. Uthyor hesitated slightly, but then remembering how tiny and thin she was, decided that this was the best chance he could get.

The other costumers gathered around them and Nienor-Niniel could hear them betting. Once she had made this proposition, she felt as if she had entered a globe separating her from reality. She did not hear the voices, even when she was still sober enough to distinguish them, nor look at the faces. She focused on her hands; every time she lifted the small glass filled with the clear liquid whose origin she preferred not to know. She was breathing regularly, wishing to control herself. Not once, did she lift her eyes to see her opponent, for fear to break the bulb protecting her from the outer world. But she saw the moment his hand began to shake, twenty or more little glasses later and then, for the first time, she felt that she could go through this safely.

Uthyor fell on his knees after much more time he had thought the contest would take. He could not believe it. The young woman had not shown a single emotion, not a single sign of weakness, not one shaking movement, not one drop spilled.

He cursed himself now, for having underestimated her, but also pitying someone who at such a young age was so hardened already to stand this quantity. Take whatever you want and never come back. he murmured between closed teeth.

NN stood up like in a dream, stretching her hand to take the flute from the wall, holding by the sheer strength of her will and the sudden glimpse of hope that it would mean in the darkness of her loneliness. How she managed to walk out of the door, she never knew. Only a few yards further, she broke down, shaken with cramps and it took her a long time to take the road back to her last resting place.

In the evening, at the shine of her fire, she tried for the first time to play a few notes and it proofed not to difficult. From now one, she played every evening, every moment when she felt the touch of madness coming too close. And when she heard the notes rising in the sky, she thought for the first time that indeed she might not only survive, but live.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Nin
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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 7:46 pm
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Nienor-Niniel’s nightmares

Never again, NN’s nights have been quiet. But some nightmares came back more often than others, waking her in the dark, making for a long time all idea of sleep almost unbearable.

She dreamt of herself, lying on her bed in her room in Rivendell. The rising sun was entering through the curtains, diving the room into an almost unreal atmosphere of warmth. It was the hour before Liudares left, before the house started to live, the hour before life.
She turned around, feeling the sheets crisp under her body, turning to see if he had already gone. But he was there, his eyes lying on her, his chin in his hands, watching her. She turned towards him, put her arms around him, and kissed him, her lips had been longing for his kiss, all her body had been calling for his touch, and nothing existed except his scent and his touch on her face. Her eyes were closed.
But in the moment, their mouths were going to separate, she felt something holding her back, warm, liquid, alive. Opening her eyes, she saw the strain of blood between their lips, the blood running out of his lips, into hers, thickening behind her teeth.
She screamed, even in her dream.
Liudares was now creeping towards her. I have not forgotten your kiss, my love, nor forgotten the depth of your bite, or the taste of your mornings. His face was now over her, and he opened his beautiful lips as if he wanted to kiss her in return, opening them slowly, unveiling his perfect pearl teeth. But as his face was so close that she could feel the perfume of his skin, only blood came out of his mouth, covering her face, mingling into her hair, dripping, running all over her body.
And he was speaking: Is this not the way you wanted to make love to me? Is this not the joy you have been looking for? Look at me, look at me now, my love, for what I am, I am by your deed. She could not even see him, the blood had dripped into her eyes, and often she awoke at this moment, her tears covering her face like the blood had done in her dream.
And like an echo she heard the sentence again: What I am, I am by your deed.

Later she dreamt less often of Liudares, but of his child – their child. She saw the fair half-elven child running towards her, as if he had really lived, as if it had been a son, their son, with black hair floating in the wind and his father’s eyes. He carried something in his hands, she could not see clearly, running to her, like a child to his mother, as if her wanted to climb in her arms, she stretched them out to catch him. But in the moment, she lifted the little being from the ground, she saw what he had been holding in his hands – a dagger, the same she had used. While she took the boy in her arms, he sank the weapon in her back, she felt the blade in her heart, then all of a sudden, the child stood in front of her, opening her womb with a straight cut. What are you? My mother or my murderer? said the boy, not a child any more, not even a living being. Murderer, murderer, murderer, the word echoed in her mind until she woke up.

Yet, even later, new images came and ever again Elrond and his judgement. And Theadon and Haleth began to haunt her dreams during the lonely years after she left Rohan. Sleep was never easy again.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 7:51 pm
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Time went by. Day after day, season after season, year after year. Five years. In the middle of the second winter, the horse she had been given in Rivendell died. Nienor-Niniel had never named it, and did not mourn it. It was just another remnant of the past to go. From that day on, she travelled by foot. She sought not to search for another. Never again, she stayed as long in a place as she had done in the first winter. She was restless, but less desperate than before. In the evening, wherever she was, she played music. And throughout the years, she had become a master that almost nobody could equal. But never anybody listened to her, and when she visited the villages, she never played, although it could have been a way of earning her life. The music was only for her, to rescue her.

And slowly, Nienor-Niniel changed. Nothing more was left from her maiden dreams in Rivendell, nothing was left but the bitterness of loss. Only the remorse and the feeling of guilt did not diminish with the years of wandering. She had become very quick in all her movements, the only way of hunting for a small and tiny woman, living alone. She owned a sword now, and was no more afraid of using it. She had bought it during the second winter, when she had been more able to control herself in her visits of the villages and managed to keep some of her earnings behind.

Nevertheless, she did not get along to spend an entire season without visiting some village in the only intention to get utterly drunk, to forget, to dive into the fogs of her mind, where she could see for a second Liudares smiling at her again, where it was over.

The winters were often harder to bear than the summers, too dark and feeling the cold bite often. Food was then more difficult to get, and sometimes she did not make the effort to hunt, to search, to light the fire. She was then looking for the sensation of starving, for the illusion of dying and leaving the pain and the regret behind. Each time, she came back to herself in time and Elrond’s judgement was echoing in her mind: You will have to live with it, every day of your existence. Your crime shall haunt you. Do not try to die again, or the pain shall be unbearable. You have to live this out.

Never she could have gotten over those words.

It was the fifth winter since her ban. In the autumn she had stayed for a while with a group of mercenaries, as long as their cause seemed to fit her. It had not been the first time and her fighting skills were more than she ever thought she could expect from herself. She did not use her own name and told nothing about her life or where she was coming from, she spoke hardly at all. One morning she had left, without a word, finding suddenly the company of others unbearable.

But now, that the winter had come, she realised that she had lacked time to prepare herself, that she was lacking warm clothes and supply of dried food, of plants that could be medicine, of fur. It was one of the coldest winters in year and already by the end of the autumn, she had been sick for a first time. By January, Nin realised that she would need to spend a part of the winter in a village, even if she did not have the slightest idea what to do there and how to make a living. Nevertheless, at the rhythm her supplies and her strength were diminishing, she would not survive an entire winter in the wild. Yet, she hesitated. Why keep on struggling and fighting?
By the end of January, she began to feel very weak. Her sleeves were hammering in the morning, when she got up and often she needed a long time to be able to think a clear thought. When she tried to rise, sometimes she fell, or at least searched for something to find hold on. Often she felt cold, and then within a blink heated from the inside. Breathing became painful again and for the first time in years, she felt the scar in her throat.

After a few days, she began to cough and could not play the flute any more. It seemed to her that no air entered her lungs, when she tried to breathe or that when it entered it became a knife in the very moment. Sometimes, when she coughed, she spit blood. NN was not a healer, but needed not to be to understand that her condition was serious. She knew that she was somewhere in the mountains near the Eastfold of Rohan, and tried to move on towards to the country, to find people and maybe help. But weak as she was, she moved slowly only, nothing more than mile per day and often she did not know in which direction she was moving. She knew she had fever, and often could not tell what she had been doing in the moments before. But she was alone, never meeting anybody.

One morning – in fact it was the 27th of the first month of the year, she rose slowly, her bones were aching. She tried to make a step and grab for her bag. and fell down, right forward, face into the snow. The pain paralysed her; she just stayed there, lying on the ground, closing her eyes, waiting for the end.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 7:57 pm
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Eolynd was tired of being closed up in her house. There was still a month before the baby should be born and she felt just a bit more tired than usual, not exhausted at all, and the warnings of the elder women to gain strength for the time when the child would be born, seemed exaggerated to her. It was her first child, she was young and healthy, and felt like this should never change.

But most of all, she felt lonely. This winter, she was the only pregnant woman of the village. It was also her first winter as a married woman, no longer living in the house of her father, where the noise from her brothers and sisters covered the silence of the evenings, where music was played and stories told. Where even the smell of the air was familiar.
Her father had warned her not to marry a soldier, who would be on duty parts of the year, just like her brother Théadon, he was opposed until the last moment to this marriage and if now she would come to the house, he would triumph. I told you that this man would not make you happy, my child - she could almost hear the words. So she did not give him the triumph, and stayed alone in her new home, waiting sometimes for friends to knock on the door, while she was knitting the children's cloths.

Leodred’s orders had called him on winter’s patrol, but he should be back soon, soon enough for the birth of his child and then be able to stay for a while, maybe throughout the spring, if the situation of the country was stable and neither Theodred nor Theoden would claim for more guards on the borders. If only the king’s men could stay at home! Their house was only small, and when Theadon was home, he stayed often with them, sharing memories with his brother in arms as well as with his sister. And Leodred’s presence was enough; she needed then nobody else, listening to his voice only, when he told about their adventures as Riders of the Mark, not feeling the silence as a weight any more.
Everybody told her to stay at home. The winter was cold and long, and any baby could be early, but today Eolynd could not stay at home any more, it seemed to her that the walls were shrinking down on her, and that she could not breathe any more. She had tried to make herself some herbal tea and be calm. The visits to sick people were her only distraction, but she had not yet the full skills of a healer and all that could be contagious was to be kept away from a pregnant woman, then people asked for her mother instead. The tea had not helped, and Eolynd started to walk around in her little kitchen, turning on her heals, not knowing what to do with the day. It was a clear and cold winter day, the sky was deep blue and a heavy wind was blowing over the country. Finally, she decided to go for a walk in the woods, avoiding to be seen when she was leaving the village, avoiding the comments about the risk she was taking, even if she admitted that she should not ride.

The walk had calmed down some of her nervosity, and she had decided to pay a little visit to her new family and see her sister in law, who had already two children and might give her some advice. The forest was quiet; no animals were to be seen. Yet, all of a sudden, she spotted something, in the snow that intrigued her. Maybe it was he body of a deer that had died from cold, a little spot in the snow, half covered by it. She went over to have a look.

On the frozen ground lay a young woman, her face half covered with long strains of blonde hair, pale almost white and completely motionless. She wore dark brown leather cloths and boots and seemed to have broken down on this very spot- her footprints could still clearly be seen in the snow. Light footprints. A pack was lying beside her, but also a light pack, not holding a lot of things.

First, Eolynd thought, that the stranger might be dead, but when she put her hand in front of the woman’s mouth, she could feel that she was breathing. Only a flicker of a breath, but still a breath. Then, Eolynd turned her around to have a look on her face. The woman was small and very thin, but looking even younger than she had expected. She must be barely older than myself, thought the young Rohirrim, or maybe even younger.

She tried to wake the woman, but she did not move. Eolynd panicked a little moment: she could not bring the woman to her village on her own, but she feared that any delay might mean her death. Eolynd looked once more at the face of the stranger: she was very thin, but her features were noble and expressive and even unconscious, she looked like someone who had had a hard time, light wrinkles of grief were around her eyes. Her hands were not in gloves – she had long and thin fingers, which showed signs of intense handwork, broken nails and rough skin. Those were the hands of a wanderer, a ranger maybe, but not of a maiden.

The Rohirrim could not bear the idea of letting the young woman lie here and let her die. She hurried, almost ran back to the village. Now, she felt that she was pregnant and that it had become difficult to move quickly and to hold an effort, be it for short while. The cold air was cutting in her lungs, but the sense of emergency gave her the strength to keep up her speed until the village. Instinctively, she headed for her father’s house, where she was sure to find someone, at least one of her younger brothers.

She flung the door open, breathing heavily. Three heads turned towards her: her mother, Weolf and Idreard, her younger brother and sister.

I have found someone in the forest – a young woman; she is unconscious, but not yet dead. She needs help and warmth – and.... Eolynd was searching for her breath, and searched for support on the door.

Be calm, my dear child, said Cealynd, looking at her daughter, this child that had suddenly grown and was standing there, eyes wide open and holding her heavy womb with her hand. We will help you, Eolynd.

Weolf prepared his horse, while listening to the description where his sister had found the stranger.

Bring her to my house, said Eolynd, I have place and knowledge, I can heal her. And she thought, I would not be alone any more.

Weolf came back less than half an hour later, he had laid the light body over his horse, and in front of Eolynd’s house let her glide form the saddle, carrying the unconscious woman into the tiny house.

She looks so very young, he said to his sister. Will she live?

Yes. answered Eolynd, without a moment of hesitation. I will take care of that.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 8:12 pm
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Eolynd and Nin

When Nienor-Niniel opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the light of a fire, the flames flickering and cracking. She tried to move and doing so, moved the blanket that had covered her, a thick wool blanket, and she saw that she was wearing clothes she had never seen before. The room she was lying in, was visibly the main room of a small, wooden house, a most usual place. Her mind was clear, and her head not hurting any more, but she did not remember how she had come here, nor recognize the place. There was a strong smell of plants in the air, the only one NN recognised among the others was garlic, but also peppermint, as if it had been spread into the air to ease breathing.

At the table, close to the fire place, sat a woman, turning her back on Nin, leaning against the back of the chair, obviously pregnant. When she heard the sound of the blanket falling, the woman turned around - looking at the stranger she had found four days before in the woods. NN was sitting on the bed now and for a short moment, the two women were facing each other and scruting their eyes for a mutual recognition.

Nin had never really had a friend in her life - the elves in Rivendell had always been somehow to different, and since her ban, she had not sought for any contact beyond the exchange of marchandise. Eolynd was the first human woman, whom she mustered from so close, and would be her first and only friend for many years, and much more than that. Her pregnancy was touching its end, even Nin could see it, so the usual strong but slender body of the Rohirrim was heavy, and her face a bit swollen, larger and less expressive as in normal times. Eolynd was blonde, like most of the Rohirrim, but her hair was a bit darker and shorter than Nin's and very slightly curled. She had attached in in a tail. Her eyes were dark green, almost brown, and she looked friendly and concerned at the young woman of whom she had taken care the last days, without even knowing her name.

« Bitu rewak? We bitu? Furht hantu us matten, thenket ihan, dat nit levetu wed. » The young Rohirrim continued to speak in her language of which Nin did not understand a single word. She only listened to the voice of the woman in marvelling - it proofed indeed that she was alive, and not dreaming at all. Never she could have dreamt in a language that she did not even know.

All of a sudden, the other woman stopped speaking, aware that there was no reaction. For a short moment, she stared in doubt at Nienor, wondering if she still had fever.

Nin cleared her throat - whoever this woman was, she clearly owed her her life, the last thing she remembered was the snow coming closer to her face as she had fallen.

« My name is Nienor-Niniel. What is your name? » Nin was speaking clearly and slowly, making an effort to accentuate every letter. Not for a second had she thought of using a false name as she had done so often before - maybe she was too weak and surprised too to think her future and actual behaviour clearly over. Then she repeated slowly once more, pointing on herself « Nienor-Niniel ».

A smile of understanding appared on Eolynd's face: the solution had been so easy: the stranger just did not speak or understand Rohirrim. Her own Westron was limited and a bit rusty, but she had understood what Nin had told her.

Eolynd smiled widely. She answered as slowly as Nin had spoken. « I am Eolynd. Eo-lynd. » she repeated slowly and heard how NN tried to pronounce her name. You are in Rohan. You were been very ill, but now a lot better. » Then Eolynd too tried to repeat: Ninor-Ninel - and Nin did not have the heart to correct her. Later almost all the village would call her Norlin, double names were rare among the Rohirrim, and she liked it well too. None was speaking elvish, so the meaning of the words did not have any sense any more.

Those first words spoken, however trivial they were, laid the foundation of the friendship between the two women, both of them happy to find someone to talk too. Nin was still a bit shaky on her legs for the next days, and wildly hungry. She spend two more days entirely in the house, mostly eating and sleeping and starting to learn Rohirrim words. She had quickly understood that Eolynd was wainting for her husband to come home and to see the baby born. Not knowing how long they would be only two, she preferred to use ever second of this time, fearing how the other villagers would treat her.

Outside the little house, a lot of talk had been going on about the stranger that Eolynd had found - too much folk on the roads those days to be quiet about it - but as it had been a woman, and looking weak and inoffensive, it was decided that she could stay and more than one villager hoped that she could tell the tale of some adventures in the long evenings of the winter around a fire. She was not contagious, Eolynd was up and in good form and if ever Leodred did not make it abck in time for the birth, it was good that someone should be with Eolynd. Nin's fears were thus unbased - when she got out for the first time, six days after Eolynd had found her, everybody welcomed her friendly. Little did she know then, that not even a month later she would fight one of the hardest battles of her life so far to save this village which would be her first home later, the first place of which she would think back after Rivendell.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 8:27 pm
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No news from the soldiers had come so far, and Eolynd was getting more and more nervous that Leodred would not be home for the birth of the baby. Talking to NN had done her a lot of good and distracted her most of the time, but today she felt restless. She turned around in the little house, lifting every item and wiping off imaginery dust. She folded and unfolded every piece of clothing that had been made for the baby, cleaned the windows, and the pots and pans, refusing every offer of help that Nienor-Niniel formulated with harsh words.

Since four weeks that she had stayed, Nienor-Niniel and Eolynd had gotten along rather well. Both of them had made a lot of progress in the other's language, bust most of the time they were speaking Westron together and only the contacts with the other villagers had given Nin the opportunity to use the first sentences of Rohirrim she was able to say. She was no longer used to speaking often with people and was silent most of the time. Only to Eolynd had she told a bit more, mostly about her life on the roads and in the forests of Middle Earth. In return, the Rohirrim talked about her home country, her herb lore, her husband who did not come back as soon as he was supposed. Eolynd was talking a lot more, introducing Nin to all her family and to most of the rest of the village. The skinny, silent, blonde woman followed her rescuer and everybody got used to the two of them - and Eolynd felt comforted by the idea that if Leodred did not come back in time, she was at least not alone.

If Leodred did not come back in time.... Today it looked as if he would indeed not come back in time. Eolynd rose from her chair, holding her heavy womb and then suddenly turned pale. A tearing pain had gone through her body and for having assissted other women in childbirth, she knew that her labour would start soon. « Go to my parent's house and tell my mother to come » said the Rohirrim to NN, although Eolynd was still hoping that it was a false alert and that she would have another few days of rest and that Leodred would come hom. Leodred........ Eolynd had tears in her eyes, when she thinking of him.

NN walked through the light snow on the streets of the village. The air was cold and it was almost unnaturally silent. It must not be later than six in the afternoon, but it was dark already. Nienor had understood that maybe Eolynd's time had come and felt the worry because Leodred had still not come back. Of course, she had never seen her friend's husband, but the concern of the healer had been enough for her to make her concerned too. He should have been back already, as far as she had understood. Apparently, something was going in Rohan and many of the conversations seemed to turn around attacks on other villages, and often it was question of women vanishing, of lost troups. She did not understood it all, but enough to be frightened.

Cealynd left immediately for her daughter's house, when NN came to catch her, but Idreard offered her a cup of tea to warm herself up, before she would go back and help. Idreard was as curious as the rest of the village about the stranger her sister had found, but speaking only very little Westron, she had not been able to know more about her. So it came that Nin was not with Eolynd when the alarm was risen and did not assist the birth of her future niece.

Idreard had put the water to boil, and chatted quickly about first names, Nin following her with her eyes, trying to understand each and every word of the flow of Idreard's ideas. All of a sudden, the loud and clear sound of a horn resounded in the air, and Idreard dropped the cup that she had hold in her hands, the tea was spilled all over on the ground, and the cup broken in hundreds of pieces. Only then the Rohirrim screamed. But not Nienor-Niniel.

Outside, the few men left in the village gathered, around the rider who had just arrived, covered with strains of blood and holding the rests of a broken lance in his hands. « Hurry » he managed to say, « hide and hurry. They are hundreds - mostly orks - ten minutes and they will be here. He almost fell off his horse of exhaustion.

« We cannot leave » said one of the villagers « time is too short and we have women, children and elderly people. »
« No » said Nin, loud and clearly in Rohirrim « we cannot leave, but we can defend ourselves ». Heads were turning towards her - she thought of the time she had spent with the mercenaries the preceeding automn- and she nodded - « yes, we can defend ourselves. We can't defend all the village, but put the women and children into two houses close to Eolynd's house. Eolynd can't move out and then all effort can be concentrated. It is close to the forest and we will have to defend only one side. And - she added, already gone to search her sword - « light some fires. It will not be daylight, but all of the orcs hate all form of light! »

The barely had the time to rise a defense line. NN posted herself close to Eolynd's house and behind the close shutters, she could faintly hear the voices of several women talking and Eolynd moan. So indeed her time had come and the baby was to be born this night.

The attack arrived quickly and with a strength that few had suspected. The orks were by foot and some of the men had formed a circle of riders around the houses that they had decided to protect, of whom most were hidden behind other houses. The first vague of assaliants mostly fell under their arrows, coming from above. But then in the yellow light of the fires, Nin saw them coming closer, they were groaning and yelling, there were so many it seemed to her that a black wall of hatred was walking towards to them. Just before she could distighuish them clearly, she stretched her hand out for a torch, raised it high and from the depth of her mind came a scream, a yell, in which she put all her energy, all her wrath, all her fear. Holding the torch in one hand, her sword in another, yelling, she ran towards the attackers, she did not think any more, she just knew that she wanted to survive this night to see the baby, that she wanted this village to be entire - the first place where none had asked questions and where she had been welcomed.

She was the first to run towards the assaliants, but a lot of others followed her, all of them screaming with the same wrath. The first few orcs she hit, she almost did not feel them, only from time to time she could feel their fell breath, see their cat-like eyes glimpse and before she knew her clothes were soaked with blood - the black blood of the orcs. To her surprise, none of the attackers seemed to aim to kill her - or any of the other women who had taken the defense of their village. In fact, what would have been a disadvantage in usual times, turned out to be an advantage, the mission of the orcs had been like so often lately to try grabbing some of the Rohirrim women for a purpose none was speaking about. Arms stretched out to try to reach her, but she fiercly defended herself. When she felt for the first time the touch of a hairy hand on her arm, tearing her away from the battlefield, she lifted her blade almost in a reflex, sinking it into the forearm of the creature, and with a swift movement cut the claw from the rest of the body - the blood was squirting out of the wound, covering her face, and the hand was still there, cut off, but still grasping at her. She threw it down, not even thinking about it.

The air of the village was filled with the moans of the orcs and their filthy language, and their black blades seemed to come right out of the night as if the night had made them. Only, they had not expected any resistance. They always attacked the villages at the fall of the night, when all was quiet and most people home and rarely had they been warned before. Thus, they could walk back to their lair in the shelter of the darkness. As their aim was not to kill, but to take, they were used to hide, grab and leave, but not to fight. Regarding only numbers, a victory against the huge troup of orcs seemed impossible. But between those fighting for their homes and families and those just obeying an order which did not make them sense for them, the difference was not made in the amount of strikes, but in their strength.

The battles took less than the night, even before dawn the last orcs were running back to whatever punishment would expect them form their master. Nin was almost in trance now, tired, dirty, covered with the blood of the fallen orcs, of her own wounds, and still weary after her illness. She had been close to Eolynd's house all the time, hearing her sometimes moan, sometimes scream of pain. Now, that the quiet had almost returned, another sound rose from the tiny wodden house - just before dawn, the sound of a little new tender yet strong voice. The voice of a newborn baby.

Nin was tottering, opening it, searching for something to hold on. Cealynd was standing there. « It's a girl, » she said « a beautiful, healthy girl, born in as much peace as anybody could have this night » She turned to Nienor-Niniel, watching the young woman, covered with blood, and heavily breathing. Then, in a sudden impulsion, she took Nin in her arms. « Thank you. » was all she said.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 8:28 pm
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Nin had never seen a newborn human in her entire life before, and felt not ready for it now, at least not immediately. She felt too dirty, too violent stepping like this out of a battlefield. She only nodded to Cealynd's words, a bit dizzy from all the emotions of the night. She had not even realised that her left arm was hurt and that blood was dripping from it. She wanted to get washed- and she wanted to sleep - but she did not know where to go, Eolynd's house had been the place where she had stayed since she arrived in the village. But now it was the house of a family.

Cealynd watched the tired, young woman carefully. Whenever she had looked out of the room during this dreadful night, she had seen Nin, like a war goddess almost. Many of the Rohirrim women had some skill with the blade, but Nin had fought like someone who wanted to die, rather searching for the ennemy than avoiding him. She looked dark now, in her blood covered clothes, only her eyes were clear and wide open and the expression was wonder. Cealynd was aware that the entire defense of the village had been focused around her daughter's house, so that the baby could be born in peace. And most of it had been Nienor-Niniel's deed.

Another of the Rohirrim women who had helped with the child birth, took care of NN now, leading the tired woman to another house, heating water for a bath, preparing a dress for the stranger, whom she had seen so often those last days in Eolynd's company. Nin's Rohirrim was by far not good enough to understand everything that was said, but she would have been too tired to follow the words anyway. She did not remember, when she fell asleep.

When she woke up, a pale winter sun was shining into the room, which she had never seen before. Astonished, she looked around and then at herself - she was wearing a dress, made of light brown wool, and inmidst all this it made her smile. She did not remember the feeling that a dress or a skirt made on her legs. The house was empty, and when she stepped out, the village seemed rather empty too. But the few people on the streets, turned their head when she went out, and began to talk. Now, she only wanted to see Eolynd and the baby. She did not listen to the words, but if she had, she would have understood that her status in the village had won a lot of prestige after the preceeding fight. She was known to all now.

Eolynd was lying in her bed, still pale, but with a smile in her eyes and on her face that gave her a beauty far beyond her usualy nice, but ordinary appareance. The baby was lying beside her, her head so small, that first Nin had not seen it.

« Do you want to take her » asked Eolynd, seeing the hesitation of her friend. Nin nodded and then, very carefully, took up the little package, which was surprisingly warm, and heavier than she had thought. In wonder, she stared at the tiny little nose, the small, closed eyes. As she touched the hands of the baby, they opened and before she knew, Nin found her own fingers firmly closed in the warm little fist of the girl.

« Isn't she beautiful? » whispered Eolynd's, as if she was afrait to break the spell. « Without you, I was told, she might not be here, the orcs might have killed us. Or taken us. »

« Everybody was fighting. » answered Nin in a strangled voice. « I have not done more than others. »

« But this the home of all the others, and you had no reason to defend it. » Eolynd paused for a moment, looking at the tiny creature in the arms of this little blonde woman whom she had come to like so much in so little time. « I would like to name the baby after you. She owes you her life. »

« No! » Nin's answer was louder and quicker than expected. « My name is no good gift. It is too heavy to bear. She owes me nothing »

« We will see that when Leodred comes back. » Eolynd was smiling now and stretched out her arms to take her child back. « You know what you look like in this dress? You look like a Rohirrim! »

They chuckled. « No, I am too small to be a Rohirrim. »

« A small body, but a great courage... »

Nin was reluctant to give the baby away- even to its own mother, and even more reluctant to leave. She did not know where to go.

But the villagers had found a house for her - one of the men who had fallen in the attack had lived alone. A small delegation waited for her in front of the door, and in a slow and stuttering conversation, made her understand that they would want to give her this hut. When she stepped in, a fire was already burning, someone had put food on the table, a blanket was lying on the bed.

Nin stopped amazed. She felt tears rise in her eyes. This was the first place which would be hers in all her life. People had prepared it for her - people she did mostly not know personnaly. It was the most beautiful gift she could have expected. For a while, she just stood there and watched, and then sat down at the wooden table, put her heand in her hands and cried and cried and cried as if the tears could wash the past years away.

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Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Nin
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Posted: Sat 28 Jan , 2006 8:29 pm
Per aspera ad astra
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The image in the mirror was familiar - and yet it was not. After several months in Rohan, Nienor-Niniel had got used to mirrors again, to the possibility to look at herself to study her features. It was her image that she saw there, no doubt about this, she recognised her long, blond hair, which was open today, lying over her shoulders, her slim face, her shoulders which had gained some substance and of which the clavicles peeked out less than most of the time in the last five years. She had got used to the expression in her clear eyes, this expression of being lost and lonely, always a question in her eyes, always a regret. She had laughed more than in years during the last summer, but the wondering echo in her glance had never really disappeared.

Yet the image was not familiar. The flowers in the hair, the beautiful white symbelmine of Rohan, the light lines and the soft tissue of the ivory dress - it could not be her. Amazed she looked at the stranger in the mirror, moving her arms up and down, to see the sleeves falling, to be sure that it were her arms, her sleeves. And she tried to smile at the mirror. The woman she was looking at was unmistakeably a bride. So she was a bride. And today was her wedding day.

Nin closed her eyes as if it could wipe off the image in the mirror. It seemed strange to her to be this woman. And she was not sure that she would be able to do what all those people, including herself expected from her - walk in the centre of the village under the eyes of all of them, smile and promise herself to a man, as long as she would live, be kissed as the bride, pick the rice out of her hair... Would she be able to do that without running away? And what would be her life after this day?

How had it all come?

Leodred had come back, when the baby was ten days old, arriving at dawn, after having ridden all the night. Now Eolynd's house was the home of a real family, the parents and their child, the little Nolynd - Nienor-Niniel had refused all attempts to give the little girl a name close to hers, and finally Eolynd had chosen this one. It was still far too much alike to be a chance, but still so much Rohirrim, that Nin could not refuse.

Leodred never forgave himself that he had not been there to protect his wife and daughter, even many years later. He was the one, who made the proposition to adopt N-N formally in their village, even though he was then the one who knew her least. A real delegation had arrived at her house one day, asking her to be adopted, to become a member of their community, a horse standing at their side, a fine, Rohirrim beast, even in Nin's eyes who did not know a lot about horses. Yet, she hesitated. Then the images of the life she could live here rose in her mind: Eolynd was her friend, maybe her first friend in all her life, she could teach her a lot in herb lore. And as far as she knew no one in the village had ever met the elves, written their way, known their legends and songs of old. She could teach them. And if the air became too thick, she could still take the road again, coming back for the winter. She thought, how ill she had been, how weak and how alone. She thought of the faces of the few people for whom she had already played music when they had gathered in her small house, the eyes of those whose soul were still like blank sheets, open for the miracle of music, innocent minds. And she had said yes.

Théadon had arrived after Leodred, even if he was serving in the same eored as his brother in law. He had taken upon him to ride to Edoras and to report at court about the attacks of orcs, multiplying slowly but steadily all around the March. When he had arrived, the preparation for the party for Nienor-Niniel's honour and acceptance were almost ready. It would not be a great ceremony, but the winter was not yet fully over and many of the inhabitants were enthusiastic about a reason to celebrate when the days were still short and the memory of the attack on the village fresh enough to be glad to be alive. The horse had been given to Nin as a gift, which she could keep as her one, it was named Gedeon. But Nienor was not used to riding a lot, and she thought that she would need lessons in the early days of spring to become a real Rohirrim and to feel as sure on a saddle as everybody else.

Others gifts were prepared of which she did not know - curtains for her house, siblings for her future garden, garden tools, paper and quills, knitted socks and gloves, a summer dress. Everybody knew that she owned little, and for the villagers it was not a lot to give away, but for her it was a lot to receive.

She had met Théadon very quickly after his return, and both Eolynd and Leodred had already told a lot about this brother who was also the husband's best friend - and the region's finest smith. When finally N-N had met him, she did not have the impression of meeting a complete stranger, but rather a long lost relative, although Eolynd had often managed that her brother was « special » and that he held many surprises, even still for her. But first Nienor did not find anything particular about the brother of her friend. He looked very much like most of the other villagers, blond, blue-eyed, tall and well built and like the other men he had a short beard. And more than the other Rohirrim, he was not talking a lot, often silent, like herself, weighing each of his words, and not telling much of his adventures as a soldier. Before the party that was foreseen for her, N-N had not seen him more than a dozen times and exchanged less than a few sentences. She had been surprised, when he offered to give her riding lessons, but not really thought about it. All those events and emotions had been too much for her, unprepared, as she had been to live again among people, and for the first time in her life, among humans.

Théadon was a good teacher, and in fact N-N was a good student, never complaining, never questioning, never tired. After all her years of living alone, she had become so used to doing everything by her own that just the company seemed luxury for her. They did not talk a lot, at least in the first weeks, and Nienor had not realized that she was looking forward to their meeting every day. Slowly, the winter had come to an end, and spring had come.

For a long time, Nin had not even realised how used she had become to those daily meetings and how, slowly they had begun to be longer and longer – one day they had exchanged a few words, and then every day a few more, both of them like blind people carefully stretching their hands out in the dark to find their way. There had been a day; N-N remembered it very well in the early days of spring. It had been raining heavily, and Théadon arrived soaked already at her house. Although she was used to difficult living conditions, Nienor easily accepted his offer to go to his forge instead and to see some of his work. Not that she had any particular interest in weapons or smith’s work, but she did not want to be impolite, and it was one of the few things she had never been able to make by herself. Théadon had only very few objects in his forge, and while she was listening to him, explaining why, how and for whom he had made each of them, Nin admired every word. This silent man put all his devotion in the weapons he made. Each of them had a history, had been chosen, and made with care. And for the first time, maybe she had gotten a glimpse of the reason why Eolynd had always referred to her brother as someone special. In return, she proposed to play some music for him. He had already heard her play, but it had been in a group, when she had played some dancing music. NN carefully chose a piece of music, an elvish melody of the story of Nimrodel.

“You learned that from the elves, didn’t you?â€

_________________

Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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