The Music in My Heart
folder
Lord of the Rings Movies › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
75
Views:
3,782
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Lord of the Rings Movies › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
75
Views:
3,782
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings book series and movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 30 But You, My Ghost
Title: The Music in My Heart, Chapter 30 betaed
Author: Sorsha
Fandom/Pairing: Elrond/OFC, Glorfindel/Haldir, Elladan/OFC, Elrohir/Legolas, others implied
Rating: R for violence
Warning: AU (Story set 770 years after ROTK); Slash and het.
Feedback: This is my first fanfic, so constructive feedback appreciated.
Archive:
Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Alex Cat for her help in betaing this fic. Thanks also to Lady Victoria for her comments and support.
Disclaimer: Any of the residents of Middle-earth and Aman that you recognize belong to Prof. Tolkien’s estate. The same is true about Middle-earth and Aman. I’m only visiting and admiring the “views”.
Summary: Sauron may be gone, but his legacy of evil still lingers. As Middle-earth faces the threat of another dark lord, a party of elves departs Aman on a mission for the Valar, a mission of mercy long delayed.
Chapter 30 --- But You, My Ghost
“There are heroes who have heard the rally
and have seen the glitter of a garland round their head.
Theirs is the hollow victory.
They are deceived.
But you, my ghost, if you can go
Knowing that there is no reward,
no certain use in all your sacrifice,
then honor is reprieved.
To fight without hope is to fight with grace,
The self reconstructed, the false heart repaired.”
Herbert Read
*****
“Elrond, tangado haid!” (“Elrond, hold position!)
Startled from his sleep, Elrond tensed as he searched the dark for whomever or whatever had disturbed his rest. A muffled groan followed by a stifled cry drew his gaze toward the balcony adjacent to his. /Who is that? Who is calling my name? Has Imladris been attacked?/
Silently, cursing his lack of a weapon, Elrond quietly eased from the chaise lounge where he had fallen asleep several hours earlier. Moving slowly to his right, the sounds of a struggle and someone in distress grew louder. Trying to still the fear that gripped him at the realization the sounds were coming from Seere’s balcony, his keen elven eyes searched the area for the source of the noises.
“Aphad-im Edhil!” (Follow me, Elves!)
/There! Who was that? / Another moan and the sounds of something heavy hitting the floor galvanized Elrond into action, as he swung his legs over the waist high balustrade separating the two balconies and dropped onto the next with barely a sound.
Surprised that his arrival had gone unnoticed, he moved swiftly toward a small cluster of chairs and other furniture that seemed the source of the sounds that had ended his sleep. As he approached the back of a chaise identical to the one he had just left, a flailing arm cut through the air in front of him, accompanied by a string of half-heard whispers. Steadying himself for a confrontation, Elrond rounded the side of the chaise.
*****
A shaft of light from Ithil fell over Seere’s sleeping form. A quick scan of the area revealed no intruder. A large leather bound book from the library lay on the floor beside the chaise. A loud groan from the sleeping maiden drew his eyes back to the chaise’s occupant.
The startling gold of her eyes was obscured by the mists of elven sleep, sleep that was obviously plagued by a nightmare. Her red brown hair gleamed in the small pool of light, seemingly animated as Seere shifted, struggling against the images gripping her mind and body. Her pale ivory skin glowed in Ithil’s rays in sensual contrast to the dark blue silk of her sleeping robe. A soft, quickly drawn breath caught in Elrond’s throat.
Taking a moment to steady himself, Elrond knelt at her side to gently rouse her from her sleep. As he lifted his hand to wake her, a hoarse shout left her lips --- “Cuarrim, leithio i philinn!” He was puzzled by the sense of recognition her words brought to him. Close enough now to hear the words whispering from her lips, he froze… his hand hovering above her as the import of what she was saying hit him; hit him hard! (Archers, fire the arrows!)
/It cannot be. This is not possible! My mind must still be clouded from sleep. There is no way she could know. I could never bear to write it down and none of the others that were close enough to have heard survived that day, save for Glorfindel and Erestor! And Erestor is no more likely to have told her these things than I./
Yet, the ring of command, the cry of a warrior, the heady, numbing mix of fear and bloodlust tumbled forth all too apparent in her speech. His mind turned over slowly as he grappled with the truth that all that and more was coming from an elf maiden that should not, nay, could not have this knowledge.
/HOW!?!/
More startling than the words themselves was the echo he heard of a voice long gone, the voice of a warrior --- his friend, his king --- long dead and lost to Mandos Halls. Despite logic and reason, he clearly heard it etched in the cadence of her speech, the passion of her war cry, the authority that radiated from her very being.
Shocked and unable to move, Elrond froze at her side locked in the thrall of the personal demons she had unleashed. His chest tightened as his subconscious took control and long suppressed memories claimed him.
*****
Flashback
The long lines of elven archers flanked him, the lines of his troops stretching for a quarter of a mile on both sides of his position and equaled again in depth. Their beauty and majesty made him catch his breath. His eyes swept the field and the lower slopes of Orodruin; he was struck by the shear number of warriors gathered for this final assault, their heraldic splendor an awe inspiring sight.
/It is well war is so terrible a thing or else the temptation to again marshal such a spectacle might well entice us.*/
The armies of men and of elves had joined in a common desire to see the end of the Dark Lord, even if little else could or would unite them. The long years of the siege had taken their toll. This day they would risk all for a final resolution.
A faint glimmer reflected off armor and off weapons telling him the sun was rising. Hopefully, Anor would aid them this day as Yrck hate sunlight, even the stifled, smoke obscured sunlight of Mordor.
To my right and left stand Glorfindel and Erestor, both as dear as brothers to me. /I wish there was a way to order them back to camp, or better yet, Imladris. I doubt I would have any more success in that endeavor than Ereinion had in trying to maneuver me to a safer location! I cannot see Cirdan and Celeborn, but I feel their presence. I fear for my friends more than I do for myself. They are my family and I have lost too many I love already. /
/Ereinion! I can see him at the head of his division. Almost a half mile between us and yet I can feel his thoughts. I know I must keep my head free of the visions that have tortured my dreams for years. I fear I will lose him this day and I know there is little I can do to protect him. So much has been left unsaid between us. It has never been as we might have liked, has it, Ereinion? So much we could not say and so much we were afraid to say. Aiya! I sound like he is already lost and the battle has not yet begun! Tir aen Eru Ilúvatar or le! And, by the Valar, let my vision be false!/ (May the Creator watch over thee!)
A shout to my right… Glorfindel! It brings me back to myself. A wall of black-clad Yrck is moving toward us at an alarming speed. /Let them come; closer--- we must wait. Too soon and we waste arrows, lose the advantage; too late and we will be overrun. Closer, yes, soon… Now!/
“Tangado haid! Leithio i philinn!” ('Hold position! Fire the arrows!')
A rain of deadly arrows arches forth from around me and the first wave of Yrck is cut in half. A groan can be heard, nay felt, coming from their line as the first of their numbers fall. A blood-curdling screech follows as they give into their rage. Our lines stand firm and the arrows continue to fly.
I can hear Ereinion’s voice rising above the din, issuing orders, and reminding the troops our King is among us. I can see, out of the corner of my eye, that some of our lines have surged forward to meet the enemy. Orders fly to close ranks and hold. “Tercáno, hold your position!” (Herald)
I hear him, as do my troops. My warriors anchor themselves in position and become a solid wall of silver and blue armor. Our right center holds. The enemy is met with a brutal sweep of steel as my troops unleash the fury of their scimitars in an almost choreographed display of deadly precision.
With that, I raise my sword high and give the order --- “Herio!” (Charge!)
The battle surges around me as we sweep forward into the mass of oncoming yrck. My sword connects with an orc’s neck and I see his head fly free from his body. The down swing of my blade cleaves an arm from another as I swing to my left to cover Erestor’s back and gut a third with a single thrust.
The next nine hours pass into a blur as my blade seldom falls back to my side. In the press of battle, the mass of killing, I scream orders to my elves to stay together and fight as a unit. As the day wears on, the effects of exhaustion and the call of their bloodlust make that an increasingly difficult task.
Through it all, I can see Ereinion. He moves endlessly from position to position issuing orders, seeing that gaps are filled in the surging lines, inspiring his troops while relentlessly moving us forward.
Slowly, oh so slowly, the tide turns in our favor. The enemy feels it as much as we do. Panic begins to show in their eyes and that makes them careless. I begin to hope, when....
The gates of the nearby fortress clank open… and out strides the very image of all evil. Sauron has joined the battle.
The air became charged with the malice and cruelty of his corrupt nature. I find myself freezing in horror as I feel the tide roll back against us. The pull of the One Ring calls to Vilya and I can feel as much as see Sauron’s gaze turn toward me. Before I can react, I hear an anguished scream to my right “N’UMA! ELROND!!” and my own answering cry “N’UMA!!!!”..... (No! Elrond!!)
End Flashback
*****
Elrond forced his thoughts into the present --- unwilling and unable to live that next moment again. A cry of “EREINION!!” tore from his throat as he became aware of the fact he was staring into wide, panic filled golden eyes. Silk clad arms wrapped themselves around his neck. A cry, “N’UMA! ELROND!!.... Ai! Elrond!!!” echoed, sighed in his ear. (No, Elrond!)
*****
* A/N--- Apparently, Elrond is a student of American lore, as well as, that of Middle-earth as he is paraphrasing Robert E. Lee’s famous/infamous quote --- "It is well that war is so terrible--we should grow too fond of it." (Lee’s observation while watching thousands of Union soldiers hopelessly charge against an unassailable Confederate position in the slaughter that was the Battle of Fredericksburg).
* A/N --- In writing this scene, I was inspired by the images in the opening segments of Peter Jackson’s Fellowship of the Ring. I tried to blend the visual references of the movie with canon facts to create Elrond’s memory. I hope I succeeded in doing so.
Author: Sorsha
Fandom/Pairing: Elrond/OFC, Glorfindel/Haldir, Elladan/OFC, Elrohir/Legolas, others implied
Rating: R for violence
Warning: AU (Story set 770 years after ROTK); Slash and het.
Feedback: This is my first fanfic, so constructive feedback appreciated.
Archive:
Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Alex Cat for her help in betaing this fic. Thanks also to Lady Victoria for her comments and support.
Disclaimer: Any of the residents of Middle-earth and Aman that you recognize belong to Prof. Tolkien’s estate. The same is true about Middle-earth and Aman. I’m only visiting and admiring the “views”.
Summary: Sauron may be gone, but his legacy of evil still lingers. As Middle-earth faces the threat of another dark lord, a party of elves departs Aman on a mission for the Valar, a mission of mercy long delayed.
Chapter 30 --- But You, My Ghost
“There are heroes who have heard the rally
and have seen the glitter of a garland round their head.
Theirs is the hollow victory.
They are deceived.
But you, my ghost, if you can go
Knowing that there is no reward,
no certain use in all your sacrifice,
then honor is reprieved.
To fight without hope is to fight with grace,
The self reconstructed, the false heart repaired.”
Herbert Read
*****
“Elrond, tangado haid!” (“Elrond, hold position!)
Startled from his sleep, Elrond tensed as he searched the dark for whomever or whatever had disturbed his rest. A muffled groan followed by a stifled cry drew his gaze toward the balcony adjacent to his. /Who is that? Who is calling my name? Has Imladris been attacked?/
Silently, cursing his lack of a weapon, Elrond quietly eased from the chaise lounge where he had fallen asleep several hours earlier. Moving slowly to his right, the sounds of a struggle and someone in distress grew louder. Trying to still the fear that gripped him at the realization the sounds were coming from Seere’s balcony, his keen elven eyes searched the area for the source of the noises.
“Aphad-im Edhil!” (Follow me, Elves!)
/There! Who was that? / Another moan and the sounds of something heavy hitting the floor galvanized Elrond into action, as he swung his legs over the waist high balustrade separating the two balconies and dropped onto the next with barely a sound.
Surprised that his arrival had gone unnoticed, he moved swiftly toward a small cluster of chairs and other furniture that seemed the source of the sounds that had ended his sleep. As he approached the back of a chaise identical to the one he had just left, a flailing arm cut through the air in front of him, accompanied by a string of half-heard whispers. Steadying himself for a confrontation, Elrond rounded the side of the chaise.
*****
A shaft of light from Ithil fell over Seere’s sleeping form. A quick scan of the area revealed no intruder. A large leather bound book from the library lay on the floor beside the chaise. A loud groan from the sleeping maiden drew his eyes back to the chaise’s occupant.
The startling gold of her eyes was obscured by the mists of elven sleep, sleep that was obviously plagued by a nightmare. Her red brown hair gleamed in the small pool of light, seemingly animated as Seere shifted, struggling against the images gripping her mind and body. Her pale ivory skin glowed in Ithil’s rays in sensual contrast to the dark blue silk of her sleeping robe. A soft, quickly drawn breath caught in Elrond’s throat.
Taking a moment to steady himself, Elrond knelt at her side to gently rouse her from her sleep. As he lifted his hand to wake her, a hoarse shout left her lips --- “Cuarrim, leithio i philinn!” He was puzzled by the sense of recognition her words brought to him. Close enough now to hear the words whispering from her lips, he froze… his hand hovering above her as the import of what she was saying hit him; hit him hard! (Archers, fire the arrows!)
/It cannot be. This is not possible! My mind must still be clouded from sleep. There is no way she could know. I could never bear to write it down and none of the others that were close enough to have heard survived that day, save for Glorfindel and Erestor! And Erestor is no more likely to have told her these things than I./
Yet, the ring of command, the cry of a warrior, the heady, numbing mix of fear and bloodlust tumbled forth all too apparent in her speech. His mind turned over slowly as he grappled with the truth that all that and more was coming from an elf maiden that should not, nay, could not have this knowledge.
/HOW!?!/
More startling than the words themselves was the echo he heard of a voice long gone, the voice of a warrior --- his friend, his king --- long dead and lost to Mandos Halls. Despite logic and reason, he clearly heard it etched in the cadence of her speech, the passion of her war cry, the authority that radiated from her very being.
Shocked and unable to move, Elrond froze at her side locked in the thrall of the personal demons she had unleashed. His chest tightened as his subconscious took control and long suppressed memories claimed him.
*****
Flashback
The long lines of elven archers flanked him, the lines of his troops stretching for a quarter of a mile on both sides of his position and equaled again in depth. Their beauty and majesty made him catch his breath. His eyes swept the field and the lower slopes of Orodruin; he was struck by the shear number of warriors gathered for this final assault, their heraldic splendor an awe inspiring sight.
/It is well war is so terrible a thing or else the temptation to again marshal such a spectacle might well entice us.*/
The armies of men and of elves had joined in a common desire to see the end of the Dark Lord, even if little else could or would unite them. The long years of the siege had taken their toll. This day they would risk all for a final resolution.
A faint glimmer reflected off armor and off weapons telling him the sun was rising. Hopefully, Anor would aid them this day as Yrck hate sunlight, even the stifled, smoke obscured sunlight of Mordor.
To my right and left stand Glorfindel and Erestor, both as dear as brothers to me. /I wish there was a way to order them back to camp, or better yet, Imladris. I doubt I would have any more success in that endeavor than Ereinion had in trying to maneuver me to a safer location! I cannot see Cirdan and Celeborn, but I feel their presence. I fear for my friends more than I do for myself. They are my family and I have lost too many I love already. /
/Ereinion! I can see him at the head of his division. Almost a half mile between us and yet I can feel his thoughts. I know I must keep my head free of the visions that have tortured my dreams for years. I fear I will lose him this day and I know there is little I can do to protect him. So much has been left unsaid between us. It has never been as we might have liked, has it, Ereinion? So much we could not say and so much we were afraid to say. Aiya! I sound like he is already lost and the battle has not yet begun! Tir aen Eru Ilúvatar or le! And, by the Valar, let my vision be false!/ (May the Creator watch over thee!)
A shout to my right… Glorfindel! It brings me back to myself. A wall of black-clad Yrck is moving toward us at an alarming speed. /Let them come; closer--- we must wait. Too soon and we waste arrows, lose the advantage; too late and we will be overrun. Closer, yes, soon… Now!/
“Tangado haid! Leithio i philinn!” ('Hold position! Fire the arrows!')
A rain of deadly arrows arches forth from around me and the first wave of Yrck is cut in half. A groan can be heard, nay felt, coming from their line as the first of their numbers fall. A blood-curdling screech follows as they give into their rage. Our lines stand firm and the arrows continue to fly.
I can hear Ereinion’s voice rising above the din, issuing orders, and reminding the troops our King is among us. I can see, out of the corner of my eye, that some of our lines have surged forward to meet the enemy. Orders fly to close ranks and hold. “Tercáno, hold your position!” (Herald)
I hear him, as do my troops. My warriors anchor themselves in position and become a solid wall of silver and blue armor. Our right center holds. The enemy is met with a brutal sweep of steel as my troops unleash the fury of their scimitars in an almost choreographed display of deadly precision.
With that, I raise my sword high and give the order --- “Herio!” (Charge!)
The battle surges around me as we sweep forward into the mass of oncoming yrck. My sword connects with an orc’s neck and I see his head fly free from his body. The down swing of my blade cleaves an arm from another as I swing to my left to cover Erestor’s back and gut a third with a single thrust.
The next nine hours pass into a blur as my blade seldom falls back to my side. In the press of battle, the mass of killing, I scream orders to my elves to stay together and fight as a unit. As the day wears on, the effects of exhaustion and the call of their bloodlust make that an increasingly difficult task.
Through it all, I can see Ereinion. He moves endlessly from position to position issuing orders, seeing that gaps are filled in the surging lines, inspiring his troops while relentlessly moving us forward.
Slowly, oh so slowly, the tide turns in our favor. The enemy feels it as much as we do. Panic begins to show in their eyes and that makes them careless. I begin to hope, when....
The gates of the nearby fortress clank open… and out strides the very image of all evil. Sauron has joined the battle.
The air became charged with the malice and cruelty of his corrupt nature. I find myself freezing in horror as I feel the tide roll back against us. The pull of the One Ring calls to Vilya and I can feel as much as see Sauron’s gaze turn toward me. Before I can react, I hear an anguished scream to my right “N’UMA! ELROND!!” and my own answering cry “N’UMA!!!!”..... (No! Elrond!!)
End Flashback
*****
Elrond forced his thoughts into the present --- unwilling and unable to live that next moment again. A cry of “EREINION!!” tore from his throat as he became aware of the fact he was staring into wide, panic filled golden eyes. Silk clad arms wrapped themselves around his neck. A cry, “N’UMA! ELROND!!.... Ai! Elrond!!!” echoed, sighed in his ear. (No, Elrond!)
*****
* A/N--- Apparently, Elrond is a student of American lore, as well as, that of Middle-earth as he is paraphrasing Robert E. Lee’s famous/infamous quote --- "It is well that war is so terrible--we should grow too fond of it." (Lee’s observation while watching thousands of Union soldiers hopelessly charge against an unassailable Confederate position in the slaughter that was the Battle of Fredericksburg).
* A/N --- In writing this scene, I was inspired by the images in the opening segments of Peter Jackson’s Fellowship of the Ring. I tried to blend the visual references of the movie with canon facts to create Elrond’s memory. I hope I succeeded in doing so.