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Narya
10/16/17 07:36 pm
Belated happy birthday, cheeky!
Naledi
10/16/17 02:30 pm
Belated happy birthday, Cheeky! I'm glad you had a good day :)
cheekybeak
10/16/17 09:54 am
Thanks Alquien. I had a great day!
Alquien
10/15/17 08:09 pm
Happy Birthday, cheeky! Best wishes! I hope you enjoy your special day! :)
Spiced Wine
10/15/17 01:28 pm
Has probably learned all about the Silmarillion and Appendices of LOTR from paying these games :D
Spiced Wine
10/15/17 01:27 pm
Fanfic is fanfic is fanfic,, Narya :) I'd really like to read it actually. Kev is absorbed; what with me filling in the background, he
Narya
10/15/17 12:46 pm
Actually, Spiced...with your administrator hat on, how would you feel about someone posting a fic here based on Shadow of Mordor?
Narya
10/15/17 12:44 pm
Like Spiced, I really enjoy watching the cut scenes - it's like someone wrote excellent fanfic and then animated it.
cheekybeak
10/15/17 01:57 am
My 21 year old stepson is here visiting and playing Shadow of War right now! He raves about it.
Narya
10/14/17 11:14 pm
Luckily it's Sam's birthday soon...I know what he's getting!
Shout Archive


Love's Dark Song by Glorfindel

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Story notes:
Thank you to Phyncke who brainstormed the title and plotline with me.

Disclaimer: All applicable rights belong to the Tolkien Estate. I seek no financial reward.
Chapter notes:
Gildor makes his way through an enchanted and unfriendly forest on the way to rescuing Lindir.
.


Gildor placed his hands behind his head and stretched his back. The hard rigours of the day were eased with every click of the ligaments along his vertebral column; he could stand straight now. He knew where he was heading; he could hear the song drawing his being towards its source. The trees stopped swaying as if to hush their leaves so that the elf might hear more clearly, but Gildor only heard with his heart.



“Stay here. I will be back as soon as I can,” Gildor said to his horse. He led him to a sheltered group of trees next to a field of oats. A small stream ran on the outer rim of the trees and so his beast would be able to feed and drink whilst he waited for his master’s return. The horse wandered off to the stream and Gildor gave one last look before carrying on his journey by foot.



The shelf of rocks was easily traversed; they marked the perimeter of the forest that no elf would enter for fear of becoming beguiled by its enchantment. Under the vegetation ran a little used path. There had been activity recently, and this gave Gildor heart that he was on the right track. Malevolent vines wrapped around his ankles as he tried to walk. Swiftly, Gildor struck at them with his sword. They recoiled, hissing and whipping wildly, reluctantly letting him pass.



Rocks rose from under the surface of the ground. Perhaps the elf would trip and abandon his journey. But it was in vain; Gildor merely looked with disdain and trod lightly over the jagged shards.



“You do not know much about elves,” he said in contempt. The ground did not reply except to push up even spikier rocks as if to taunt.



Anor shone down upon Gildor’s head. He remembered a time before her and wondered if she was his friend or merely aiding the enemy who would stop him. He could not be sure but he knew what he hoped.



The path climbed ever higher and the song in his heart rang louder with each step forward. After an hour of stepping over blade sharp shards of rock and negotiating plants that actively sought to harm him, Gildor came up against a sheer rock wall. The path stopped abruptly. Hanging vegetation reared up and swiftly coiled around Gildor’s neck and held his body tight, squeezing the breath and verily the life out of him. Panic, being useless, was quickly put aside. The cold, calm objectivity of self preservation when in danger against impossible odds sharpened Gildor’s senses. He held his chest full of air and breathed slowly from his abdomen. Calmly he angled the blade of his small dagger and cut upwards. The flowers on the vine snapped open and screamed before attacking the elf with sharp jagged teeth. Gildor was too fast, he sliced through the coiling bands of death with a swift upwards thrust with his sharp agate blade and hacked away until the vines were a mass of writhing threads on the ground.



How to break through the wall of rock that would impede his journey was the conundrum that Gildor now faced. After kicking the dying vines away, he sat on the ground and considered what to do. The rock face felt smooth under his gloved fingers, too smooth for ordinary rock. This was cleaved along the grain and did not match the surrounding lighter hued ones around it, so where did it come from, Gildor wondered. No carvings adorned the face, and it was tempting to think what might be on the other side, so precious that it needed an impenetrable stone slab in front of it. It has to be the way to my only one, Gildor thought, as the siren song haunted his very being and twined its magic around his heart. “I must find a way.”



Gildor considered the rock again and sighed. Why did he always have to fight for everything? Love came naturally and with effortless ease to all he knew, but had proved elusive for him until he met his lover. Nothing that was important in his life ever came his way unless he stood up to take it. “I am tired of doing this,” Gildor thought. “Why is everything so hard? Nothing comes easily to me. I cannot even keep my only one safe. Am I not meant to have any happiness? Is he not meant to either?”



The song grew louder until Gildor’s head rang. “Stop taunting me,” he shouted and the vegetation collectively quivered as if to express laughter. The song continued and Gildor knew there would be no peace until he found the source. He was unable to identify the one who sang, although the tone and pitch was familiar his mind was clouded and he was unsure. All he knew was that it tied in with the loss of the one he loved and so he must follow to wherever it led. The sword of the mighty warrior smashed against the smooth stone causing sparks to fly and hit the plants that taunted. They shrank back in horror and their chant of hopelessness dimmed.



A small victory against the odds. Gildor continued to slash at the rock because it amused him to see the vines so terrified of the sparks of fire. In the end he tired of his actions and tried stabbing at the rock with his stone dagger. Shards of mica thin agate struck the plants, severing the stems where they landed. Gildor did not notice and continued to strike with his dagger and sword until exhausted. No marks showed on the smooth face and he knew his task to be impossible. There was no option but to stop.



Shoulders slumped and head hanging down, Gildor murmured, “Please let me pass.” The pitch of the song in his head had intensified whilst he struck the rock until he felt deafened; he knew he could take no more. Now that he had stopped, Gildor felt a thin trickle of warmth ooze from his ear and heard the drip as it landed on his shoulder. He put his hand to his ear. Mouth open with horror at the fresh blood on his fingers, Gildor tried to run. The feet were willing but he could not move, his heart would not let him and he knew he was wrong to try. More blood dripped onto Gildor’s shoulders and in disgust and panic he tried to wipe it away.



It was too much. The voice rang clear in his head with an agonizing intensity and he could not flee. “What do I have to do?” he yelled and beat his fist against the rock face.



The blood mingled with the rock and Gildor’s hand remained fast against the stone. “What new enchantment is this? What sorcery would hold me here?”



Gildor watched in horrified fascination as his arm was drawn through the rock, and he held his head back as if to avoid his whole body going through, but the pull was too strong. Eyes shut tightly and muscles resisting, he was no match for the strength of the rock that consumed him. He had visions of the rock devouring him forever and his body disintegrating as he was slowly digested. There was always the hope that Námo would take him before the really unpleasant part of his death occurred. “How stupid I was to have ended up like this,” Gildor thought and felt despair in his heart knowing that all was lost.



The rock was a gate opened by blood. Gildor felt the ground beneath him and the wind on his skin. He opened his eyes and started with surprise; the icy waste before him a stark contrast with the lush forest on the other side of the rock. The blizzard blocked Anor’s light, or perhaps she did not shine in this land at all. Gildor could not tell, all he knew was that he had to go forward.
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