The Music in My Heart
folder
Lord of the Rings Movies › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
75
Views:
3,795
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Lord of the Rings Movies › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
75
Views:
3,795
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 43 I Have Seen War
Title: The Music in My Heart, Chapter 43 betaed
Author: Sorsha
Fandom/Pairing: Elrond/OFC, Glorfindel/Haldir, Elladan/OFC, Elrohir/Legolas, others implied
Rating:.NC-17 for future chapters
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 43 --- I have seen war
‘I have seen war. I have seen war on land and sea. I have seen blood running from the wounded. I have seen men coughing out their gassed lungs. I have seen the dead in the mud. I have seen cities destroyed . . .I have seen children starving. I have seen the agony of mothers and wives. I hate war.”
Franklin D. Roosevelt
***
“It is only those who have neither fired a shot
nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded
who cry aloud for blood, more vengeance, more desolation.
War is hell.”
William Tecumseh Sherman
*****
"They walked slowly, stooping, keeping close in line, following attentively every move that
Gollum made. The fens grew more wet, opening into wide stagnant meres, among which it
grew more and more difficult to find the firmer places where feet could tread without
sinking into gurgling mud. The travellers were light, or maybe none of them would ever
have found a way through.
Presently it grew altogether dark: the air itself seemed black and heavy to breathe.
When light appeared Sam rubbed his eyes: he thought his head was going queer.
He first saw one with the corner of his left eye, a wisp of pale sheen that faded
away; but others appeared soon after: some like dimly shining smoke, some like
misty flames flickering slowly above unseen candles; here and there they twisted
like ghostly sheets unfurled by hidden hands. But neither of his companions spoke a word.
At last Sam could bear it no longer. "What's all this, Gollum?' he said in a whisper.
"These lights? They're all round us now. Are we trapped? Who are they?'
Gollum looked up. A dark water was before him, and he was crawling on the ground,
this way and that, doubtful of the way. 'Yes, they are all round us,' he whispered.
'The tricksy lights. Candles of corpses, yes, yes. Don't you heed them! Don't look!
Don't follow them! Where's the master?'
Sam looked back and found that Frodo had lagged again. He could not see him.
He went some paces back in the darkness, not daring to move far, or to call in
more that a hoarse whisper. Suddenly he stumbled against Frodo, who was standing
lost in thought, looking at the pale lights. His hands hung stiff at his sides;
water and slime were dripping from them.
'Come, Mr. Frodo!' said Sam. 'Don't look at them! Gollum says we mustn't. Let's
keep up with him and get out of this cursed place as quick as we can - if we can!'
'All right,' said Frodo, as if returning out of a dream. 'I'm coming. Go on!'
Hurrying forward again, Sam tripped, catching his foot in some old root or tussock.
He fell and came heavily on his hands, which sank deep into sticky ooze, so that his
face was brought close to the surface of the dark mere. There was a faint hiss, a
noisome smell went up, the lights flickered and danced and swirled. For a moment
the water below him looked like some window, glazed with grimy glass, through which
he was peering. Wrenching his hands out of the bog, he sprang back with a cry.
'There are dead things, dead faces in the water,' he said with horror. 'Dead faces!'
Gollum laughed. 'The Dead Marshes, yes, yes: that is their names.' he cackled. '
You should not look in when the candles are lit.'
'Who are they? What are they?' asked Sam shuddering, turning to Frodo, who was
now behind him.
'I don't know,' said Frodo in a dreamlike voice. 'But I have seen them too.
In the pools when the candles were lit. They lie in all the pools, pale faces,
deep, deep under the dark water. I saw them: grim faces and evil, and noble faces
and sad. Many faces proud and fair and weeds in their silver hair. But all foul,
all rotting, all dead. A fell light is in them.' Frodo hid his eyes in his hands.
'I know not who they are; but I thought I saw there Men and Elves, and Orcs beside them.'
"Yes, yes,' said Gollum. 'All dead, all rotten. Elves and Men and Orcs.
The Dead Marshes. There was a great battle long ago....'"
The Two Towers
J.R.R. Tolkien
*****
Imladris, FA 774
A low moan of pain and remembered grief split the quiet of the sleeping chamber. The sounds of disturbed sleep --- the restless shifting and tossing of a body tangled in bedding… the harsh, rapid breathing of a sleeper struggling for control… the gasps and groans of distress drawn from a vulnerable fëa as it grappled with scenes that would shock the waking mind --- filled the air. As the dream state deepened, the sleeper fell fully… helplessly into the nightmare landscape of the mind… of memories… of an ancient pain.
The dead stretched out across the low, flat plain, their bodies left where they fell as the living surged past, struggling to survive the day. The moans and cries of the wounded, the dying, the hopeless competed with the terrible roar of two armies making war… making death. Slowly, the clash of metal striking metal, the din of shouted orders, and the sounds of rage slipped away. All that is left are the moans, the cries, and the bitter reminder that war is hell.
Yet still, the voices of battlefield linger on…. “What have we done?”
*****
Seere lay shivering under the weight of her blankets, the cold heavy in the air of her room. A steady flow of tears fell from her eyes. She was blind to both… lost in the vision of a desolate battlefield marked by death, a lonely plain… a marsh given voice by the ceaseless cries that had found no peace, no comfort, and…. no hope.
*****
Elrond stepped out onto the balcony beside his bedchamber. The roar of the nearby waterfall helped muffle the screams and moans that haunted his sleep. Ignoring the bitter cold of the early winter night, he did as he had done for millennia. He searched the night sky for his father’s star. Finding it, he sought the answers that had eluded him for so long… clinging to the inadequate comfort of a ghost from his long-ago childhood.
*****
Dagorlad Plain, SA 3434
“What have we done?”
*****
Imladris, FA 774
Erestor was quick to notice the signs of distress and poor sleep marking Seere’s features as she sat down for breakfast. As he was about to comment, he noted the same signs on Elrond’s face. /What does this mean? Have they had another argument? Nay, that is not it as they seem to be drawing toward each other for comfort rather than away in anger. Then what?/
“Seere? Are you well this morning, pen vuil? You seem tired and somewhat dazed. Have you had another vision? I would ask the same of you Elrond, for your appear to have slept little and your eyes are full of dark images,” Erestor observed. (dear one)
The two turned toward each other, judging the truth of Erestor’s words. In a manner that disconcerted their family, they began to reply in unison. “Not so much a vision as a dream of a memory… an event that happened long ago.”
Realizing what they had both said, the couple stopped and stared at each other. “What event plagues your dreams, Seere?” Elrond asked.
Breaking eye contact with her suitor, Seere focused her gaze on the edge of the table, seeking words to explain a memory that had long haunted her sleep, a memory of a battle fought long ago. Realizing no words could explain why she knew it to be a memory to any but Elrond, she settled for a simple reply.
“Dagorlad… the Dead Marshes.”
*****
Author: Sorsha
Fandom/Pairing: Elrond/OFC, Glorfindel/Haldir, Elladan/OFC, Elrohir/Legolas, others implied
Rating:.NC-17 for future chapters
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 43 --- I have seen war
‘I have seen war. I have seen war on land and sea. I have seen blood running from the wounded. I have seen men coughing out their gassed lungs. I have seen the dead in the mud. I have seen cities destroyed . . .I have seen children starving. I have seen the agony of mothers and wives. I hate war.”
Franklin D. Roosevelt
***
“It is only those who have neither fired a shot
nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded
who cry aloud for blood, more vengeance, more desolation.
War is hell.”
William Tecumseh Sherman
*****
"They walked slowly, stooping, keeping close in line, following attentively every move that
Gollum made. The fens grew more wet, opening into wide stagnant meres, among which it
grew more and more difficult to find the firmer places where feet could tread without
sinking into gurgling mud. The travellers were light, or maybe none of them would ever
have found a way through.
Presently it grew altogether dark: the air itself seemed black and heavy to breathe.
When light appeared Sam rubbed his eyes: he thought his head was going queer.
He first saw one with the corner of his left eye, a wisp of pale sheen that faded
away; but others appeared soon after: some like dimly shining smoke, some like
misty flames flickering slowly above unseen candles; here and there they twisted
like ghostly sheets unfurled by hidden hands. But neither of his companions spoke a word.
At last Sam could bear it no longer. "What's all this, Gollum?' he said in a whisper.
"These lights? They're all round us now. Are we trapped? Who are they?'
Gollum looked up. A dark water was before him, and he was crawling on the ground,
this way and that, doubtful of the way. 'Yes, they are all round us,' he whispered.
'The tricksy lights. Candles of corpses, yes, yes. Don't you heed them! Don't look!
Don't follow them! Where's the master?'
Sam looked back and found that Frodo had lagged again. He could not see him.
He went some paces back in the darkness, not daring to move far, or to call in
more that a hoarse whisper. Suddenly he stumbled against Frodo, who was standing
lost in thought, looking at the pale lights. His hands hung stiff at his sides;
water and slime were dripping from them.
'Come, Mr. Frodo!' said Sam. 'Don't look at them! Gollum says we mustn't. Let's
keep up with him and get out of this cursed place as quick as we can - if we can!'
'All right,' said Frodo, as if returning out of a dream. 'I'm coming. Go on!'
Hurrying forward again, Sam tripped, catching his foot in some old root or tussock.
He fell and came heavily on his hands, which sank deep into sticky ooze, so that his
face was brought close to the surface of the dark mere. There was a faint hiss, a
noisome smell went up, the lights flickered and danced and swirled. For a moment
the water below him looked like some window, glazed with grimy glass, through which
he was peering. Wrenching his hands out of the bog, he sprang back with a cry.
'There are dead things, dead faces in the water,' he said with horror. 'Dead faces!'
Gollum laughed. 'The Dead Marshes, yes, yes: that is their names.' he cackled. '
You should not look in when the candles are lit.'
'Who are they? What are they?' asked Sam shuddering, turning to Frodo, who was
now behind him.
'I don't know,' said Frodo in a dreamlike voice. 'But I have seen them too.
In the pools when the candles were lit. They lie in all the pools, pale faces,
deep, deep under the dark water. I saw them: grim faces and evil, and noble faces
and sad. Many faces proud and fair and weeds in their silver hair. But all foul,
all rotting, all dead. A fell light is in them.' Frodo hid his eyes in his hands.
'I know not who they are; but I thought I saw there Men and Elves, and Orcs beside them.'
"Yes, yes,' said Gollum. 'All dead, all rotten. Elves and Men and Orcs.
The Dead Marshes. There was a great battle long ago....'"
The Two Towers
J.R.R. Tolkien
*****
Imladris, FA 774
A low moan of pain and remembered grief split the quiet of the sleeping chamber. The sounds of disturbed sleep --- the restless shifting and tossing of a body tangled in bedding… the harsh, rapid breathing of a sleeper struggling for control… the gasps and groans of distress drawn from a vulnerable fëa as it grappled with scenes that would shock the waking mind --- filled the air. As the dream state deepened, the sleeper fell fully… helplessly into the nightmare landscape of the mind… of memories… of an ancient pain.
The dead stretched out across the low, flat plain, their bodies left where they fell as the living surged past, struggling to survive the day. The moans and cries of the wounded, the dying, the hopeless competed with the terrible roar of two armies making war… making death. Slowly, the clash of metal striking metal, the din of shouted orders, and the sounds of rage slipped away. All that is left are the moans, the cries, and the bitter reminder that war is hell.
Yet still, the voices of battlefield linger on…. “What have we done?”
*****
Seere lay shivering under the weight of her blankets, the cold heavy in the air of her room. A steady flow of tears fell from her eyes. She was blind to both… lost in the vision of a desolate battlefield marked by death, a lonely plain… a marsh given voice by the ceaseless cries that had found no peace, no comfort, and…. no hope.
*****
Elrond stepped out onto the balcony beside his bedchamber. The roar of the nearby waterfall helped muffle the screams and moans that haunted his sleep. Ignoring the bitter cold of the early winter night, he did as he had done for millennia. He searched the night sky for his father’s star. Finding it, he sought the answers that had eluded him for so long… clinging to the inadequate comfort of a ghost from his long-ago childhood.
*****
Dagorlad Plain, SA 3434
“What have we done?”
*****
Imladris, FA 774
Erestor was quick to notice the signs of distress and poor sleep marking Seere’s features as she sat down for breakfast. As he was about to comment, he noted the same signs on Elrond’s face. /What does this mean? Have they had another argument? Nay, that is not it as they seem to be drawing toward each other for comfort rather than away in anger. Then what?/
“Seere? Are you well this morning, pen vuil? You seem tired and somewhat dazed. Have you had another vision? I would ask the same of you Elrond, for your appear to have slept little and your eyes are full of dark images,” Erestor observed. (dear one)
The two turned toward each other, judging the truth of Erestor’s words. In a manner that disconcerted their family, they began to reply in unison. “Not so much a vision as a dream of a memory… an event that happened long ago.”
Realizing what they had both said, the couple stopped and stared at each other. “What event plagues your dreams, Seere?” Elrond asked.
Breaking eye contact with her suitor, Seere focused her gaze on the edge of the table, seeking words to explain a memory that had long haunted her sleep, a memory of a battle fought long ago. Realizing no words could explain why she knew it to be a memory to any but Elrond, she settled for a simple reply.
“Dagorlad… the Dead Marshes.”
*****