moving smartly along...
Jun. 6th, 2005 11:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaydeefalls
The Jewels of the Sea, part 4/6
a Fourth Age hobbit fic
by kaydee falls
part 1 . 2 . 3
It was an island, albeit a small one – as Ayer guided the boat to shore, Tom could nearly see all the way around to the other side of it. It was bare of trees, but covered with grass and small shrubs. It looked odd, somehow – as though it were just the hump of a rolling hill, and the rest of the land had accidentally slipped beneath the Sea. The vegetation went down nearly to the water's edge, and there was no real shoreline to speak of, merely a line where the grass ended and Sea began. In short, it didn't look like much of anything, really.
"Well," Tom said pragmatically, "at least we can sleep on dry land tonight." He carefully leapt over the ship's rail to land in shallow water. Ayer was a breath behind, and together, they slowly dragged the boat up onto land. ("There's nowhere to tie it off to, so we've got to make sure it doesn't float away in the night," Ayer had said.)
It was not yet dusk, and the late afternoon sunlight was a warm golden-orange. The ground was soft on the soles of Tom's feet, and felt very queer – as if it were rolling gently beneath him. "Ayer?"
Ayer glanced over and saw the odd expression on Tom's face, and the overly careful manner in which he held himself. He laughed. "Your legs still think you're on the ship," he said. "They'll remember the feel of solid land soon enough."
"Oh," Tom said. He bravely took a step forward, then another. Ayer was right; before long, everything felt back to normal.
Well, as normal as it could be for a hobbit on a little island miles away from home. Tom squinted back across the water, but there was no sign of Middle-earth. For the first time, the full impact of where they were and what they were doing hit him. He shivered, drawing his cloak close about him.
Ayer was already setting off up the rolling slope of grass. "Come on," he called back excitedly. "Let's go exploring!"
"Are you mad?" Tom asked. "It will be dark soon, and no trees means no branches for a fire. We should set up camp."
"Well, I shall have a look around first," Ayer said dismissively. "You can do what you like." He disappeared over the hump of the hill.
Tom considered his options carefully for a few moments, then hurried after him. It was unlikely that any creatures lived on this island, small as it was, but he could hardly let Ayer take any chances. Ayer was his responsibility, after all.
Not that the prospect of being alone in a strange place frightened him at all, because it did not. At all.
Tom had thought the island was just one rolling hill, but as he reached the top, he saw that he had been mistaken. There were three humps, in fact; the one they had landed at was simply the largest. They formed a sort of ring around the island, with a little valley in the middle. A hobbit could easily have followed the shore all the way around and back to where he began in an hour or two. Ayer was down in the valley, pushing his way through tall grass. The air was silent but for the soft buzz of insects and the gentle lapping of waves on the shore.
"What are you looking for, Ayer?" Tom called out.
"Some sort of sign," Ayer shouted back, not turning round. Tom sighed and plunged down the hill after him.
"A sign of what?" Tom asked, when he had caught up.
Ayer pushed on forward. The grasses here came nearly up to their waists. "Look, there, between the two hills," he said. "The smaller mound."
He was pointing west. Tom shielded his eyes from the glare of the setting sun. There was indeed a small hump in the dip between the two hills, ringed with large stones. "What is it?"
"A sign," Ayer said, and broke into as fast a pace as he could manage through the tall grass.
*
The sun was still just above the horizon when Tom reached the mound. Ayer was already hovering around it excitedly. "Do you see?" he demanded. "Do you see the inscription on the stone?"
Tom stepped forward to take a closer look. The mound was ringed with stones, but Ayer was referring to the largest, which stood imbedded in the mound almost like – "It looks a bit like a hobbit hole!"
Ayer shot him a disdainful look. "We have round wooden doors. This one has huge stone slabs. And it's not the right shape, and it's too big. And you haven't even looked at the inscription!"
Taking another step closer, Tom peered at the largest stone. Sure enough, an inscription was carved into the stone, in a flowing script. "It's…it's elvish, isn't it?"
"Yes!" Ayer cried. He was practically bouncing. "Do you know what this means?"
"Er, that elves were here?"
"This must be Tol Eressea!" Ayer practically shouted. "The Lonely Isle! Elves dwelt here in the Second Age!"
Tom looked around judiciously. Aside from the mound, there were no other signs of habitation, past or present, and the island was too small to hide any other surprises – unless this mound was merely the entrance to caves beneath the earth, and elves didn't dwell underground, dwarves did. The only elves who would live in a mound like this would be – "A burial mound."
Ayer blinked at him. "What?"
The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. "I think this was a burial mound. Can you read elvish? Because I certainly cannot."
"I tried to learn it," Ayer said, shifting his weight uncomfortably, "but there were only snatches of it in the books in our libraries. There's more in the Thain's copy of the Red Book than anywhere else, and that is not much."
"Oh," Tom said, disappointed. He'd thought Ayer knew just about all there was to know about the elves; it hadn't occurred to him that there might be limits to his knowledge.
"I mean, I know a little," Ayer said quickly. "I taught myself what little I could. But the only place the language is still spoken is in Minas Tirith, among the line of Elessar and Arwen. Some scholars there still study it, but..."
"Can you try?" Tom suggested. "We might be able to figure out what this is, if it really is a burial mound or not. Maybe even where we are."
Ayer jutted out his chin stubbornly. "I told you, this is the Lonely Isle. We're right near the shores of Valinor!"
"Are we?" Tom said doubtfully. "Wouldn't we be able to see it, then? Valinor, I mean."
"Well, it's getting dark," Ayer said. His voice was hesitant; for the first time, he looked unsure of himself. "I'm sure we'll be able to see it in the morning."
"I think you'd better try to read the inscription before the light goes," Tom suggested. "We should really get back to the ship and set up camp."
"Fine," Ayer snapped. He strode up to the stone slab and squinted at it, tracing the script slowly with his finger.
Tom waited. The sun slowly sank below the horizon, sending its dying rays out to bathe the mound in a reddish light.
"I am pretty sure this first bit is Here lies," Ayer said eventually. His brow was furrowed in concentration. "Or something to that effect. You were right, it's probably a tomb."
He continued tracing the letters, frowning. "I think this is a name, but not one I recognize. I haven't seen this combination of letters before. See, here," and he took Tom's hand and brought it up to the stone, circling a short string of rounded symbols. "It's probably just makes up a sound I haven't encountered; I would not be surprised, given the somewhat random nature of my elvish education."
The stone felt warm under Tom's hand, although it would soon cool as night came. The rough edges of the inscription tingled along his fingertips with an alien power. There was a primeval feel to the stone, old and tired, but still humming with ancient memory and sorrow. He jerked his hand away, feeling like an intruder somehow.
Ayer did not notice. "This word I've seen before – it means prince or lord, or something like that. And I suppose this next bit is whatever this elf was prince or lord of. It looks familiar. I'm sure I've seen it before, but I can't quite—" He broke off and stared at the letters, biting his lip in concentration. Tom watched him uncertainly, feeling an odd mixture of unease and curiosity.
The sun slipped away, leaving them in dim, dusky twilight.
"Nargothrond," Ayer breathed. "Lord of Nargothrond."
"What does that mean?" Tom asked. "I've never heard that word before."
Ayer turned to him slowly, an unfamiliar expression of awe upon his face. "We haven't found the Lonely Isle after all, Tom," he said shakily.
"What is Nargothrond?" Tom asked again.
"It was a realm of Beleriand," Ayer said softly. "It sank beneath the Sea at the end of the First Age."
on to part 5
And if anyone's curious, this was the basis for the burial mound.
a Fourth Age hobbit fic
by kaydee falls
part 1 . 2 . 3
It was an island, albeit a small one – as Ayer guided the boat to shore, Tom could nearly see all the way around to the other side of it. It was bare of trees, but covered with grass and small shrubs. It looked odd, somehow – as though it were just the hump of a rolling hill, and the rest of the land had accidentally slipped beneath the Sea. The vegetation went down nearly to the water's edge, and there was no real shoreline to speak of, merely a line where the grass ended and Sea began. In short, it didn't look like much of anything, really.
"Well," Tom said pragmatically, "at least we can sleep on dry land tonight." He carefully leapt over the ship's rail to land in shallow water. Ayer was a breath behind, and together, they slowly dragged the boat up onto land. ("There's nowhere to tie it off to, so we've got to make sure it doesn't float away in the night," Ayer had said.)
It was not yet dusk, and the late afternoon sunlight was a warm golden-orange. The ground was soft on the soles of Tom's feet, and felt very queer – as if it were rolling gently beneath him. "Ayer?"
Ayer glanced over and saw the odd expression on Tom's face, and the overly careful manner in which he held himself. He laughed. "Your legs still think you're on the ship," he said. "They'll remember the feel of solid land soon enough."
"Oh," Tom said. He bravely took a step forward, then another. Ayer was right; before long, everything felt back to normal.
Well, as normal as it could be for a hobbit on a little island miles away from home. Tom squinted back across the water, but there was no sign of Middle-earth. For the first time, the full impact of where they were and what they were doing hit him. He shivered, drawing his cloak close about him.
Ayer was already setting off up the rolling slope of grass. "Come on," he called back excitedly. "Let's go exploring!"
"Are you mad?" Tom asked. "It will be dark soon, and no trees means no branches for a fire. We should set up camp."
"Well, I shall have a look around first," Ayer said dismissively. "You can do what you like." He disappeared over the hump of the hill.
Tom considered his options carefully for a few moments, then hurried after him. It was unlikely that any creatures lived on this island, small as it was, but he could hardly let Ayer take any chances. Ayer was his responsibility, after all.
Not that the prospect of being alone in a strange place frightened him at all, because it did not. At all.
Tom had thought the island was just one rolling hill, but as he reached the top, he saw that he had been mistaken. There were three humps, in fact; the one they had landed at was simply the largest. They formed a sort of ring around the island, with a little valley in the middle. A hobbit could easily have followed the shore all the way around and back to where he began in an hour or two. Ayer was down in the valley, pushing his way through tall grass. The air was silent but for the soft buzz of insects and the gentle lapping of waves on the shore.
"What are you looking for, Ayer?" Tom called out.
"Some sort of sign," Ayer shouted back, not turning round. Tom sighed and plunged down the hill after him.
"A sign of what?" Tom asked, when he had caught up.
Ayer pushed on forward. The grasses here came nearly up to their waists. "Look, there, between the two hills," he said. "The smaller mound."
He was pointing west. Tom shielded his eyes from the glare of the setting sun. There was indeed a small hump in the dip between the two hills, ringed with large stones. "What is it?"
"A sign," Ayer said, and broke into as fast a pace as he could manage through the tall grass.
The sun was still just above the horizon when Tom reached the mound. Ayer was already hovering around it excitedly. "Do you see?" he demanded. "Do you see the inscription on the stone?"
Tom stepped forward to take a closer look. The mound was ringed with stones, but Ayer was referring to the largest, which stood imbedded in the mound almost like – "It looks a bit like a hobbit hole!"
Ayer shot him a disdainful look. "We have round wooden doors. This one has huge stone slabs. And it's not the right shape, and it's too big. And you haven't even looked at the inscription!"
Taking another step closer, Tom peered at the largest stone. Sure enough, an inscription was carved into the stone, in a flowing script. "It's…it's elvish, isn't it?"
"Yes!" Ayer cried. He was practically bouncing. "Do you know what this means?"
"Er, that elves were here?"
"This must be Tol Eressea!" Ayer practically shouted. "The Lonely Isle! Elves dwelt here in the Second Age!"
Tom looked around judiciously. Aside from the mound, there were no other signs of habitation, past or present, and the island was too small to hide any other surprises – unless this mound was merely the entrance to caves beneath the earth, and elves didn't dwell underground, dwarves did. The only elves who would live in a mound like this would be – "A burial mound."
Ayer blinked at him. "What?"
The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. "I think this was a burial mound. Can you read elvish? Because I certainly cannot."
"I tried to learn it," Ayer said, shifting his weight uncomfortably, "but there were only snatches of it in the books in our libraries. There's more in the Thain's copy of the Red Book than anywhere else, and that is not much."
"Oh," Tom said, disappointed. He'd thought Ayer knew just about all there was to know about the elves; it hadn't occurred to him that there might be limits to his knowledge.
"I mean, I know a little," Ayer said quickly. "I taught myself what little I could. But the only place the language is still spoken is in Minas Tirith, among the line of Elessar and Arwen. Some scholars there still study it, but..."
"Can you try?" Tom suggested. "We might be able to figure out what this is, if it really is a burial mound or not. Maybe even where we are."
Ayer jutted out his chin stubbornly. "I told you, this is the Lonely Isle. We're right near the shores of Valinor!"
"Are we?" Tom said doubtfully. "Wouldn't we be able to see it, then? Valinor, I mean."
"Well, it's getting dark," Ayer said. His voice was hesitant; for the first time, he looked unsure of himself. "I'm sure we'll be able to see it in the morning."
"I think you'd better try to read the inscription before the light goes," Tom suggested. "We should really get back to the ship and set up camp."
"Fine," Ayer snapped. He strode up to the stone slab and squinted at it, tracing the script slowly with his finger.
Tom waited. The sun slowly sank below the horizon, sending its dying rays out to bathe the mound in a reddish light.
"I am pretty sure this first bit is Here lies," Ayer said eventually. His brow was furrowed in concentration. "Or something to that effect. You were right, it's probably a tomb."
He continued tracing the letters, frowning. "I think this is a name, but not one I recognize. I haven't seen this combination of letters before. See, here," and he took Tom's hand and brought it up to the stone, circling a short string of rounded symbols. "It's probably just makes up a sound I haven't encountered; I would not be surprised, given the somewhat random nature of my elvish education."
The stone felt warm under Tom's hand, although it would soon cool as night came. The rough edges of the inscription tingled along his fingertips with an alien power. There was a primeval feel to the stone, old and tired, but still humming with ancient memory and sorrow. He jerked his hand away, feeling like an intruder somehow.
Ayer did not notice. "This word I've seen before – it means prince or lord, or something like that. And I suppose this next bit is whatever this elf was prince or lord of. It looks familiar. I'm sure I've seen it before, but I can't quite—" He broke off and stared at the letters, biting his lip in concentration. Tom watched him uncertainly, feeling an odd mixture of unease and curiosity.
The sun slipped away, leaving them in dim, dusky twilight.
"Nargothrond," Ayer breathed. "Lord of Nargothrond."
"What does that mean?" Tom asked. "I've never heard that word before."
Ayer turned to him slowly, an unfamiliar expression of awe upon his face. "We haven't found the Lonely Isle after all, Tom," he said shakily.
"What is Nargothrond?" Tom asked again.
"It was a realm of Beleriand," Ayer said softly. "It sank beneath the Sea at the end of the First Age."
on to part 5
And if anyone's curious, this was the basis for the burial mound.
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Date: 2005-06-07 03:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-07 03:53 am (UTC)