Fic: A Sky For The Seeing
Jan. 26th, 2014 06:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grav_ityMeta and Prologue
Chapter 1 - A Blade For The Rending
Chapter 2 - A Heart For The Beating
Chapter 3 - A Desert For The Weathering
The desert sky is clearer than she could have imagined. Not only are there no trees to block her view, there are rarely any clouds. At night, the sky is an overturned bowl above her head, and she can more of the stars than she ever thought possible. Sometimes they shone so brightly that she thought she might be able to reach out and touch them, or perhaps fall into their midst, and travel the skies herself.
That did, of course, not come to pass. The stars remained distant, but they were warmer to her sight than they had been, and in the cold of the desert nights, she knew that her heart was healing.
The Haradrim have made her as welcome as she expected. She wrapped her head as they did before she arrived at their first outpost. It was practical, keeping the sand out and somehow catching every breeze that could cool her, and it also concealed her ears. They thought her an odd woman, and left her to her eccentricities.
She was careful not to linger too long.
The years drew on, and she felt a shift in the spirit of the Southrons she encountered. When she had first come, they had looked at her pale skin and doubled the price of their food. Now, they refused to sell it to her at all. She did not mind, precisely, because she had learned what was fair to eat soon after arriving in the desert and could feed herself, but it still surprised her.
There were more men with swords, more Mumakil being fit for harness. They were preparing for war. And Tauriel knew where they would turn, if they sought battle.
This was the evil of which Thranduil was so afraid. He had faced it before, when it was strong, and it had galled him enough that he feared it in its weaker form. This was The Enemy of the first born, whispering doubt and malice and hate upon the wind that stirred her clothes.
She did not let her heart be moved by it. She had felt great pain, of course, but she had known joy and love too, and it was those to which she clung when the nightmares swirled around her. She thought of bright hair and brighter eyes, running through the forest. She thought of clever fingers and an easy smile, offered as though it cost nothing to give. And she knew peace, amidst the growing darkness.
She knew she should return to her kin, yet she could not bring herself to leave. The Enemy was not yet strong, and she might learn of its weaknesses, or at least of the Southron fighting force, if she stayed. And the stars were still so, so bright. So she wrapped her hair all the better, covered her face as well as her ears, and remained, watchful to the last.
It was strange to see. The markets still sold bright flowers and fresh fruits. Children laughed as they ducked between the stalls, and shrieked with glee as they bathed the baby mumakil in the wadis. But there were men, too, tall and straight, and with a darkness to their eyes that made her uncomfortable. Their numbers grew as the years progressed, and their darkness deepened.
At last, she could no longer deny the truth she saw before her. War was coming, and Evil grew. She ought to have returned to give warning, but perhaps her words would not have carried weight. Who could she tell? The new King in Dale did not know her, and she was not sure she would be welcome Under the Mountain. She had forfeited her right to request audience with Thranduil, and she had no doubt that he would simply bury any news she brought. Who was she, a lowly Silvan elf, to seek out the counsel of the Wise? Even Mithrandir would have better sources that she.
And that was how the Enemy snared her. It could not make her afraid of a fight or afraid of death, but it could play upon her insecurities and upon her sense of worth. The stars were darkened to her eyes, and she stayed in the desert even after pledging herself to leave. Despair grew in her heart, and she lamented ever coming to the desert even as she could not leave it. She did not forget the princes she held so dear, but she did forget that they saw in her something that they might have denied their fathers for.
Her spirit thinned. She was but an elf in the desert, and the Enemy found her easy prey. There were none to remind her that she was no one’s hunt, not since the orcs had killed her parents and she had sworn to end all evil, no matter the cost. She did not sleep, but she lay upon the sand in the stark sun, and faded in its brightness.
One night, the darkness did not close in as tightly as it had before. She saw pinpricks of light above her head, something that recalled to her A Elbereth Gilthoniel, and kindled a white glittering fire in her heart. She sat up, and the light increased, as though it looked towards her, alone, of every creature in Middle Earth.
She stood on her feet in the desert sand and remembered.
And in the morning, the raven came.
+++
Epilogue - Eyes For The Seeing
Chapter 1 - A Blade For The Rending
Chapter 2 - A Heart For The Beating
Chapter 3 - A Desert For The Weathering
The desert sky is clearer than she could have imagined. Not only are there no trees to block her view, there are rarely any clouds. At night, the sky is an overturned bowl above her head, and she can more of the stars than she ever thought possible. Sometimes they shone so brightly that she thought she might be able to reach out and touch them, or perhaps fall into their midst, and travel the skies herself.
That did, of course, not come to pass. The stars remained distant, but they were warmer to her sight than they had been, and in the cold of the desert nights, she knew that her heart was healing.
The Haradrim have made her as welcome as she expected. She wrapped her head as they did before she arrived at their first outpost. It was practical, keeping the sand out and somehow catching every breeze that could cool her, and it also concealed her ears. They thought her an odd woman, and left her to her eccentricities.
She was careful not to linger too long.
The years drew on, and she felt a shift in the spirit of the Southrons she encountered. When she had first come, they had looked at her pale skin and doubled the price of their food. Now, they refused to sell it to her at all. She did not mind, precisely, because she had learned what was fair to eat soon after arriving in the desert and could feed herself, but it still surprised her.
There were more men with swords, more Mumakil being fit for harness. They were preparing for war. And Tauriel knew where they would turn, if they sought battle.
This was the evil of which Thranduil was so afraid. He had faced it before, when it was strong, and it had galled him enough that he feared it in its weaker form. This was The Enemy of the first born, whispering doubt and malice and hate upon the wind that stirred her clothes.
She did not let her heart be moved by it. She had felt great pain, of course, but she had known joy and love too, and it was those to which she clung when the nightmares swirled around her. She thought of bright hair and brighter eyes, running through the forest. She thought of clever fingers and an easy smile, offered as though it cost nothing to give. And she knew peace, amidst the growing darkness.
She knew she should return to her kin, yet she could not bring herself to leave. The Enemy was not yet strong, and she might learn of its weaknesses, or at least of the Southron fighting force, if she stayed. And the stars were still so, so bright. So she wrapped her hair all the better, covered her face as well as her ears, and remained, watchful to the last.
It was strange to see. The markets still sold bright flowers and fresh fruits. Children laughed as they ducked between the stalls, and shrieked with glee as they bathed the baby mumakil in the wadis. But there were men, too, tall and straight, and with a darkness to their eyes that made her uncomfortable. Their numbers grew as the years progressed, and their darkness deepened.
At last, she could no longer deny the truth she saw before her. War was coming, and Evil grew. She ought to have returned to give warning, but perhaps her words would not have carried weight. Who could she tell? The new King in Dale did not know her, and she was not sure she would be welcome Under the Mountain. She had forfeited her right to request audience with Thranduil, and she had no doubt that he would simply bury any news she brought. Who was she, a lowly Silvan elf, to seek out the counsel of the Wise? Even Mithrandir would have better sources that she.
And that was how the Enemy snared her. It could not make her afraid of a fight or afraid of death, but it could play upon her insecurities and upon her sense of worth. The stars were darkened to her eyes, and she stayed in the desert even after pledging herself to leave. Despair grew in her heart, and she lamented ever coming to the desert even as she could not leave it. She did not forget the princes she held so dear, but she did forget that they saw in her something that they might have denied their fathers for.
Her spirit thinned. She was but an elf in the desert, and the Enemy found her easy prey. There were none to remind her that she was no one’s hunt, not since the orcs had killed her parents and she had sworn to end all evil, no matter the cost. She did not sleep, but she lay upon the sand in the stark sun, and faded in its brightness.
One night, the darkness did not close in as tightly as it had before. She saw pinpricks of light above her head, something that recalled to her A Elbereth Gilthoniel, and kindled a white glittering fire in her heart. She sat up, and the light increased, as though it looked towards her, alone, of every creature in Middle Earth.
She stood on her feet in the desert sand and remembered.
And in the morning, the raven came.
+++
Epilogue - Eyes For The Seeing
