A Course Unknown
DISCLAIMER <*~*> COPYRIGHT <*~*> OTHER INFO
This title is temporary and is subject to be changed.
This story is incomplete and is subject to be changed at any time by the editor. More chapters will be added as they are completed. If you have any comments or questions about the following work, please visit our forum, which can be accessed from the Two Elven Lasses main page.
The characters in this story created by Tolkien do not belong to Two Elven Lasses, the creators or editor. The other characters (however) do, so please do not copy or use them in any way without first obtaining permission. Again, to inquire about the characters, please visit our forum. Thank you for your cooperation in these matters.
For a translation of any elvish language that is used in the story, simply move your cursor over the words and the English will be displayed in your status bar, (at the bottom of your browser window).
Based on an RPG by: Chris, Liri, Star & Taúrë
Edited by: Taúrë
Special thanks to Chris, Liri and Star for all their hard work on the RPG,
To Liri for her wonderful help with editing and for coming up with the brilliant base for the story,
And to Lin, Liri and Woodmouse for all their helpful critiquing. =)
Chapter One – Lothlórien
The golden sunlight filtered softly through the thick green canopy of the Wooded Realm of Lothlórien, creating a mellow green glow. The air was not heavy and in it there was a pleasant aroma, not necessarily that of the blossoms that grew thickly on the bushes and in the undergrowth of the forest, nor of those that clung to the vines which crept up the trunks of the large, ancient trees. It did not issue from anything in particular and almost seemed to be the very breath of the forest itself. The merry trickling sound of the Celebrant, flowing smoothly past its banks, could be heard throughout the wood and the trees teamed with birdsong.
But all of this went unobserved by the solitary figure who sat forlornly in a small grove of birch trees on a large patch of soft moss. Her legs tucked beneath her, her lavender dress was spread about her on the ground. In her beautiful elven face, her violet eyes shone with tears, for her love was gone and would never return. She bowed her head in grief, her long, dark hair cascading about her face.
Another elven figure approached the grieving Lady’s back hesitantly, her ice blue eyes questioning. Taúrë Sindelo was her name; Third Captain of Mirkwood. Clad in dark shades of gray, she wore pants, a leather jerkin—under which was a light tunic—and a pair of soft boots. A cloak hung around her neck and it was pinned with a silver clasp shaped like a crescent moon with a great tree growing in its center. A star glittered brightly in the center of the tree. A short dagger hung from her belt and leather bracers encircled both wrists.
She had not spent much time with Tari’ since her arrival in Lothlórien because her commander, the Prince had kept her busy with various duties. She had known only that Tari’ was from the far North and that she was betrothed to Haldir of Lórien.
Taúrë stopped and looked with uncertainty at the half-elven lady. Hearing her approach, Tari’ turned.
“What do you need, Taúrë?” she asked.
“Tari’... I just wanted to offer my condolences,” Taúrë said softly.
Tari’ looked down at her hands once more, a look of pain and bereavement passing over her lovely features for but a moment.
“I wish to be left alone in my grief,” she whispered.
Taúrë nodded, understandingly.
“I’m very sorry,” she murmured and gave a slight bow before turning away.
Tari’ glanced back up at Taúrë.
“Thank you,” she said, nodding slightly.
Taúrë then slipped silently away from where Tari’ sat and headed through the trees towards the Celebrant. Tari’ watched her disappear. She wrapped her arms around her body and a tear trickled down her cheek. Then, suddenly, she became aware of another presence somewhere close by. Sitting straight up, she looked slowly about the forest. She glanced towards the grove of trees into which Taúrë had disappeared.
“Wait!” she called out. “There is someone here!”
»»»»««««
Sitting along the northern bank of the Celebrant was another fair figure. He was a young looking man and appeared to be no more than about twenty years of age in human terms. His long, golden hair fell about his broad shoulders and his deep emerald eyes shone as the stars and seemed to contain the wisdom of many an age. Clad in garments that were dyed in various shades of both green and brown and skin bronzed from time spent under the open sky, his appearance was a striking one. For though he was indeed an elf in dress and demeanor, one who had the ability to see beyond the outward features might perceive that he was not fully elf, nor was he fully human. It seemed, in fact, that he was neither elf nor man, but something entirely different. This created a mysterious aura about him. There was something in his face that spoke of a distant knowledge that few possessed.
He looked up from something that he had been playing with in his hands as two female voices drifted towards the river.
Taúrë stopped and turned back as she heard Tari’ call out. Then, she looked out towards the river, her eyes narrowing as she peered through the surrounding trees. Not seeing anything, but very clearly sensing a presence in that direction, she called back to Tari’, “It is an elf, whoever it is.”
The stranger smiled, perceiving that he was the unknown presence being referred to by the two ladies.
Standing, Tari’ stared off towards the river.
“If it is, then let them show themselves!” she cried.
“It’s most likely a scout, my Lady. Patrolling the river,” Taúrë continued, trying to reassure her. “You needn’t worry my Lady. Nothing with ill intentions could possibly have made it so far into Lórien without being caught.”
The stranger laughed quietly to himself. Very wise words, he thought. Then, in a cool voice that was easily heard over the river’s noise, yet not very loud, he said, “Perhaps ye should show yerself. Ah have been sittin’ upon this bank, fer most of this afternoon and ah bare no ill will. As yer friend stated, any enemy of this land wouldna’ have made it past the borders.”
Taúrë cocked her head, listening keenly to the strange voice. “It is no elf then,” she muttered.
The stranger, hearing this, said, “Ah em elven… and ah em not.”
With a chuckle he added, “More than some... less than others,” and averted his gaze back to the object in his hands.
Taúrë, her curiosity now aroused, headed once more for the riverbank. She glanced back at Tari’.
“Well, it was not quite an elf after all. His dialect is not one I am familiar with. Are you coming, my Lady?”
Tari’ said nothing, but followed Taúrë to the river. Spotting the golden-haired stranger, Taúrë stared with surprise at him, for though his speech was strange, his appearance was undoubtedly elven. As the two elven ladies approached, the stranger turned to watch them. Stopping a few feet away from where he sat, Tari’ glared at him.
“You are no elf,” she said with some animosity in her voice.
Taúrë looked the stranger over again and nodded.
“You are one of the Dúnedain from the North, or at least somewhat, unless I am badly mistaken.”
The stranger looked at the two with a calm face, his piercing emerald gaze surveying them with an inquiring scrutiny. His eyes were met by a pair of equally piercing icy blue ones.
“Ah em elf... and ah em not,” he said once more.
Tari’ looked over at Taúrë.
“Let us leave him,” she said, not hiding the slightly disdainful tone in her voice.
“Ye have an air about ye,” the stranger said to Tari’ with some apprehension.
Taúrë smiled and looked at Tari’.
“For what reason? He has done nothing wrong. Save perhaps eavesdropping,” she added with a slight grin.
The stranger continued to whittle away at a piece of wood in his hand with a small carving-knife.
“‘Tis hard not ta overhear words spoken. Ah dona’ miss much in the way of noise, be it voice or otherwise.”
He stopped and was silent for a moment. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “…and eavesdroppin’ is listenin’ with intention. Ah didna’ do so.”
Tari’ continued to glare at him, her violet eyes flashing.
“I don’t trust him,” she said.
“Trust me or nay is yer choice, mahlady. Ah canna’ sway ye otherwise though ah was the one just sittin’ here, enjoyin’ the tranquility of nature and carvin’ fer relaxation.”
Taúrë, still watching the stranger curiously said, “I must admit that he has a bit of the rogue’s look about him, but I have no doubt that he would not be speaking to us now had he any ill intentions.”
The stranger did not answer, but turned his work over in his hands a few times. Seeming pleased with the results, he placed the small carving of a beautiful horse on the grass and stood slowly, not wanting to alarm the apparently suspicious elven females. He was a full 6’4” and broadly built, yet fine boned like an elf.
Tari’ looked at Taúrë once more.
“He does not speak our language,” she said.
“Does he not?” Taúrë replied, still facing Tari’, but glancing sideways at the stranger at Tari’s words.
“Amin vetana lle, amin uma,” he said firmly. “Amin Ariameth. Ataramin tuula Lórien ar’ atamin nae ula i’foro. Aye, a Dúnedain. High men. Ah didna’ know mah father. He died shortly after mah birth and when ah was old enough, ah ventured inta the world of men ta learn of mah kin.”
Tari’ turned to Taúrë suddenly and said, “I have to go.”
“Ah didna’ get yer name,” Ariameth said.
“Tari’,” she replied.
Ariameth nodded and bowed, dropping to one knee.
“‘Tis an honor ta make yer acquaintance.”
“And I am Taúrë Sindelo, a Captain of Mirkwood. I’m afraid that I must return to camp as well and report to my commander.”
“An honor ta make yer acquaintance as well,” Ariameth said, turning to Taúrë.
Taúrë gave a short incline of her head. Then, suddenly, she bent over and retrieved the wooden horse. Straightening, she turned it over in her hands, running her sharp eyes over its delicate lines.
“This is very well done, Ariameth,” she said.
“If mahlady Taúrë likes mah poorly done horse carvin’, ye may have it,” Ariameth said with a smile.
Taúrë smiled back.
“Thank you, sir. And it is a very well done piece of work indeed if I may say so. But, now I must take my leave. It was pleasure to have met such a striking descendant of the Dúnedain line.”
At that, Taúrë gave another slight bow and walked away from the river, back towards the city. Ariameth bid her farewell and then watched as Tari’ turned silently and followed.
“G’day, mahlady Tari’,” Ariameth said quietly to her receding back.
He then sat back down on the riverbank and stared quietly at the water as it flowed swiftly by.