Passing of the Elves

Crystalline tears upon alabaster skin

Features fairer than any once had been

Stole the breath from mortal being

As was witnessed such graceful fleeing

Oh wails of sorrow would I give

To see the fairest who have lived

Like a mist through forests pass

Seeking the shore, the sea of glass

What eerie melody they slowly sang

Through the forest their voices rang

And in that moment the Graceful passed

Seeking to sail across a sea so vast

Now never more their voices heard

Now never more their noble word

For to every forest and every kingdom

The passing of the Elves had come…

The Last Stand

By Lisa D. aka Dhodrimme

The form of a slender woman was stood upon the hill, her figure wrapped in a cloak of golden hue.  Her armor, seeming to be light and of elven craft, was finely detailed and shone brightly, reflecting the light of the sun.  To either side of her head was formed the likeness of an eagle’s outspread wings upon her golden helm.  Wisps of flaxen hair, strewn generously with silvery strands written with the wisdom of years, blew from a gentle wind, creating waves of shifting color similar to that of a harvest-ready wheat field.

Her ear, delicately pointed, and the grace with which she wielded spear and shield, revealed her to indeed be of immortal blood, though no longer was she, and even then as she stood there she shivered at the sudden wind, subject to chill and illness as all mortals were.  The woman’s features were stern but fair, no fear written in the expression, but only a deep sorrow, sorrow for the sight she beheld.

Men, women, and even youth, the remaining free people of Middle Earth, marched forward through a narrow gap between cavernous mountains of rock, the land behind them spread broadly with once-green fields, now dead, most of them charred by flames.  Their homes had been burnt and now smoldered to ash, while the few belongings left to them were tucked within their satchels.  They were all weary, but determined were their glances, and in their hands they held knives, clubs, staves, bows and arrows.  Some held swords, while others held scythes, the only weapon at hand to a mere farmer and his young sons.

A man, attired in similar armor though of a whiter metal and the cloak an unstained white, stood beside the golden clad lady, his noble gaze set in the same direction as her grey eyes.  In his features were set lines of weary times, for he was a mortal man, battered by years of war and trials, yet he had grown strong because of them.  Beneath the bright helm he bore short hair of brown, graying upon the sides and dipping slightly upon a well lined forehead.  His chin boasted a short-kept beard which ran along his solid jaw, peaking to the middle of the lower lip and extending thinly around then across the upper lip.

The man’s features were indeed made of noble lines, and any who beheld him would declare him to be a warrior beyond compare!  The jaw was set firm, the nose set strong, and his eyes of brown were written deeply with the knowledge his years had gained him.  Nothing in his expression betrayed weakness, though the glance carried sadness much akin to that in the gaze of the lady.

Finally the woman spoke, her voice struggling to hold against a tremor, her emotions reeling with a mixture of anger, sorrow, and a forced hope as her slender though battle-strengthened hand gripped the white spear.  “What I have felt in the depths of my heart, the fears, the call to make ready the arm for battle, have all led me to this place, this point in time.  Why must I see this?  Why must I see this all come to such bitterness?”

She shook her head during a brief pause in her words before continuing. “There are so few against so many!  To fight against a dark lord and his foul creatures is one thing, yet for them to be forced to fight against their own kin?  Their brothers, their sisters, even their own children, brought to believe and hate against them!  Hate so strong as to convince them to slay and be slain!  How bitter an end this shall be when the day is o’er, their crimson blood staining the soil, the grass beneath them becoming as red as the burning sunset that shall complete their journey…”

The man turned his gaze to her silently for a moment, a certain pride in his stance, as though in declaration that he would not be taken down by the hate of which she spoke.  Nay indeed he would not even dare to allow his hope to fall!  Most certainly the people had been turned against by their own kin, poisoned by words of deceit and hate, given promises which would later become empty, given torches to burn down homes, and given swords to slay their own, but to him there was hope still.

“Dhodrimme,” he began quietly, his voice alone displaying the noble strength coursing through his veins.  “When the day ends we shall be still standing.  They shall be standing, and we shall stand with them.  Seek hope and hold to it with every strength in mind and body, for the sun shall set on the enemy’s death this night, not on ours!  Will you hope to this with me?”

Dhodrimme turned her grey eyes towards his steady gaze, locking for a moment as she struggled inwardly to give to him what he asked of her.  She had seen men fall, she had seen battles, she had seen the past evils defeated and even then in those times when hope had been lost by many, it had never been the end of all good things.  The enemy always fell in the final battle, and the sun had indeed many times set on their death.

For a moment a smile graced her features as her gaze roamed his strong features, seeking there and finding the strength to answer his request.  Her heart leapt to witness his passion for justice, his love for all good things, and his unquenchable hope.  Her mind decided, beside him she would stand, through the times of good and through the times of evil, until death even…

“Aye, Aemornion, the sun shall set on the death of the enemy, and together we shall stand in triumph to see the sunrise again.  To this I shall hope, with you, beside you!”

Aemornion gave a brief smile of his own, and for a moment the worry upon his features seemed to fade into an expression of peace.  “Then once again… my dearest Dhodrimme… my old friend…dear one… let us draw blades in this battle together and tomorrow shall rise a new day for us!”

“Aye, my dearest Aemornion… my old friend…dear one… as it did in the days long past...and as it shall in the days to come,” she murmured in response, seeking and finding finally the hope held deep within her spirit.

With those words spoken, he extended his hand, in which she placed her own, and as one their steps carried them along side the free folk of Middle Earth, to the battle of the Last Stand…

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"All Has Come to Pass"

Inspired by a song sung by Loreena Mckennett

O light the candle, dear
The birds have sung their last
The daylight has almost gone

And all has come to pass

Sit here, sit by my side
For the night is very long
There's something I must tell
Before I pass along

Many a year was I
Perched out beside the sea
The waves would wash my tears,
The wind, my memory

I'd hear the ocean breathe
Exhale upon the shore
I knew the tempest’s blood
Its wrath I would endure

I’d have gone across the sea

To heal what was breaking

Yet I would not leave you

No ship would I have taken

And so it came to pass
I'd come here to rest and be
And many a year it took
Till I arrived with thee

On dusty roads I walked
And over mountains high
Through rivers running deep
Beneath the endless sky

I love you and you alone

Yet the years have gone

My head will rest with thee

Though I fear for never long

Days have now grown harsh

Upon my weakened soul

These miles I have walked

Now take their heartless toll

Now take the hourglass
And turn it on its head
For when the sands are still
'Tis then you'll find me dead

O light the candle, dear

The birds have sung their last
The daylight has almost gone
And all has come to pass