The world is dark. Shadows creep, blacker than the night. The light of dim stars is the only thing that illuminates the ice, and it gleams like cruel fangs. Jagged splinters pierce the landscape of snow and ice as far as one can see in the deep gloom. Wide chasms gape like hungry mouths, ready to catch an unwary traveler, and in the distance echo mournful howls and eerie cries of the monsters that roam this wasteland.
One figure stands amid it all, tall and lonely. Red hair whips around her face in the cruel wind and only a simple white gown is between her form and the cruel cold. She is frozen in place, trapped on the unending ice.
Yet another figure still draws breath in the darkness, carrying in his hand a torch that leaves a bloodied glow on the hand that grips it. Slowly, as if carried by the same cruel wind that dances around her, he approaches.
The voice that leaves him is eerily cold, twisted by the howling of the winds against the chasms. Ethereal, haunting.
"And thus thee find thine self trapped amid the ice again."
She turns to face him, arms wrapped around her middle as if to keep out the chill. Her eyes flicker with red in the flames, wide in fear.
Her lips move as if speaking his name -- TARANNON! -- yet any sound is torn away by the icy wind. She reaches out a hand towards him, but her feet seem rooted in place.
He steps towards her, a familiar sound of steps along the icy plane no different than it once was, unlit by sun or moon. Yet he does not allow himself to be in her reach, always a half-step away as he haunts her.
Now, undisturbed by the wind, his voice grows softer. "Why do you linger here yet?"
"How do I leave?" The plea is a whisper, as tears prick at her eyes and turn to ice on her lashes.
He looks around, the silver of his eyes hidden behind the flame of the torch. Bloodied. Red. An innocently confused expression behind the biting, menacing words, he asks, "Did you not leave it once already?"
A terribly innocent question, or perhaps, a cold accusation.
The tall figure flinches, posture curling inward as she falls to her knees on the ice like one wounded. "Why do you torment me?"
The words are a hoarse whisper, nearly silent yet still spoken to hang in the air like crystals of snow.
A step closer and he remains looming over her kneeling form, discarding the torch onto the ice to let darkness envelop them once more as his voice rises, chilling.
"Who is this that torments you? Was this not your own choice? Was this not what you swore, when you left me here the first time?"
Tears flow from her eyes and turn to ice as they meet the cold ground below her. The ice grows, shifts, twisting around her in tendrils of tears like a cage. But she does not speak, her grief silent, frozen in her throat.
Her bare feet are blistered as if from miles of walking yet the footprints in the snow around reach out only in wide circles.
"Will you leave me wordless again in this cold land, my sister?"
"You are dead... you are dead... I am alone..." The words repeat over and over in a low whisper heavy with sorrow. "There are no words here."
He straightens then, starting to walk a circle of his own around her prison, remaining silent as the sound of his boots echo. Marching. Marching of soldiers into their own doom. She knows that sound.
"You regret it, your words laid on my grave then."
"No!" The word chokes out of her in a strangled sob. Her shaking shoulders belie cries of anguish yet the sounds can not escape the icy prison and it grows ever taller.
Ice forms pillars, tall and white, above her head, gleaming like the city she once knew. Once called home.
He reaches out with a bare hand, crumbling a pillar of ice that hides him from view. His hands stood bloodied, ungloved, dripping with blood that might not have been his own, something age could not have washed away.
Frost covers his skin as his lips turn purple, threatening to crack with each word he utters.
"You must have forgotten who you buried. You took their hands, as you took mine once, and walked them here - will you bury them also?"
"No... no... no..." The trapped Nolde looks up at him, her eyes unable to leave the horror before her as she begs in tones that resonate with the ice. "No... no... no..."
"What will you whisper into their graves when they too leave you?"
She gives no answer, the icy crystals of tears pouring down her face, frozen with fear. Her eyes beg for relief, for release, but their light is cold and dim.
The scene shifts.
The ice gives way to stone around her. A ring of stones encircles her now on the ice, the beginnings of a cairn. She falls forward, on her hands and knees on the unforgiving cold.
He steps into the ring, skin of ghostly white where it did not break under the bite of ice. He lowers himself to the ground next to her, almost watching her with hints of cold amusement.
"Do not hope for death, you do not know what awaits you. Nor what welcomed me."
"No," she whispers.
With great effort as if moving through syrup, she pushes to her feet, stumbling backwards.
"No!"
She stumbles out of the cairn blindly and the stones begin to push up, layers forming higher and higher.
"NO!"
The word becomes a cry, a shout that echoes among the glaciers and threatens to split the world in twain around her.
She falls to her knees before a completed cairn.
"No..."
Yet even as she knees the scene shifts again.
Into the icy cold comes the soft crashing of waterfalls, trees that nestled into the valley in which she spent her days of grief. Before her is laid a feast, one smaller than what would have been laid in the land of their birth yet joyous still. He walked towards her with a deer across his shoulder, dressed for a hunt.
What joy was painted across his face as the silver eyes turned to watch the beauty of their refuge! In the ancient tongue, he cried out, all the youth of days long ago gathered in this cry, "How long I wished to see this world!"
Her breath catches in her chest and the air of it is warm.
This is all a dream... all a dream... Yet she does not wish to wake.
She runs to him, worn feet light on the grass, pushing with all her might through the thick air of the dream until she can embrace him.
Tarannon stumbles back with a laugh, moving away from her embrace with a light step, no weight of death or pain in his gesture, only further enforcing the idea that this perhaps... was normal. An almost childish grin, teasing, he asks in a light tone, "What is that for? I was gone for but a moment. I have no plans to disappear."
Setting the deer down, he continues on, a most usual tone, young and full of life, full of joy, as if no moments passed between them in silence, "Have you gone and made the tea yet? Do not tell me you spent the entire morning in the forges once more!"
Even as he asks she finds two cups of tea in her hands and, moving as if in a daze, sets them on the table and takes a seat. Her silvery eyes watch his every move as if studying each and committing it to memory.
If this is a dream indeed, she hopes it shall never end.
He breaks off a piece of sweet bread and passes it over to her, not even waiting for her reply before he leans in, a face of barely concealed excitement shining brightly, "When do we leave for Lothlórien? We need not wait any longer, spring is already upon us!"
She lets herself fall into the dream even as a part of her mind cries out that it is not real. She takes the bread, rejects the threatening tears, returns the smile.
"As soon as may be, I suppose!" The cheer of her tone is yet somewhat forced, still dazed, still fighting the reality that hammers at the edges to get in. But she ignores those all and focuses her mind and gaze on the tall young ellon across from her, studying every feature of his face.
Tarannon raises an eyebrow, leaning in to study her expression, "Are you not looking forward to it? I thought you wanted to see it with your own eyes!"
He raises the cup to his lips, savoring the warmth of it as the smell of lavender fills the air around them. Curling his fingers around the cup he lets out a satisfied, cheerful chuckle.
"I... I am..." Eagerness and longing blend in her tone as she leans forward. "Let us leave now, let us go together!"
Tarannon laughs brightly at that, softly shaking his head at her. "Now?! You want us to go now?!"
The water continues to rush in the distance, filling the air with life, sparks of light glimmering as the drops hit the sunshine. The day is warm and all is nearly perfect.
And he laughs with joy.
She joins his laughter with a soft laugh of her own, leaning back in silence for a moment and turning her face up to the warmth of the day. "Now, or whenever you shall wish. We have all the time we should desire."
"We do..."
He laughs, the bright sun reflecting on his face.
"We would have had..."
Cold wind breaks into the valley, carrying with it snows of ages forgotten. It knocks down their mugs, spilling the lavender tea onto the freezing ground. Bloodstains at their feet. Trembling limbs as his voice joins the howling of the wind…
"...had you protected me..."
This is not Imladris. They are not safe. He is not here.
"...like you promised."
Envandiel falls to her knees onto the ice, bowed over as if pierced to the core, sobbing uncontrollably as the wind steals her screaming voice.
Then her screams become audible and she is awake, curling into herself as she lies wrapped in a heavy blanket. The snow and ice remain around her but it is no longer a dream and all that is left is a deep, deep ache.
OOC note: this would not have been possible without Galtharian's player, and was a collaboration piece.
