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Old 08-05-2004, 10:59 AM   #278
Hilde Bracegirdle
Relic of Wandering Days
 
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Join Date: Dec 2002
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Menecin

Looking up Menecin's mind reeled, his pulse quickening, shocked by sudden appearance of this proud and willowy elf who had pervaded his thoughts for so many years, her fragile and perfect beauty unchanged by the passage of time. The large silvery eyes, which sparkled in the morning light as she smiled looking down on him, bore no trace recognition of the cares that had lain so heavy on him. She seemed untouched by the horror that had issued from her, unbent under the weight of her crimes against him. "Menecin," she purred. "At last I have found you…."

As he stood up he let his gaze fall, feeling a twinge of longing that chilled him as he traced the fullness of her cheek and gentle curve neck, resting on the rhythmic flicker of light and shadow that shown there, betraying her tenuous life. So close. She had chosen her phrase well, echoing the words he had spoken to her in Ithilien, and filling him immediately with the impulse to protect her…. " Naiore," he whispered, his deep voice barely audible. For now in the new day she seemed deceptively pure once more, only her armor hinting at the darkness it protected.

He reached out to caress her cheek gently, to feel the soft warmth of her skin, allowing himself the pleasure of her feigned affection for the last time, but he stopped short. Her attempt to kill him had been all too real, and the scars too deep to be forgotten. It was no nightmare that had driven him to this precipice, but the hopelessness of an insurmountable grief that gripped him. What malignancy coursed though under that exquisite exterior to feed her cursed ambition? How had they reached this moment? He wondered. And how was he possibly to find the strength to do what was necessary? Steeling himself he looked deeply into her eyes - those eyes that seemed to carry for him the glory of Elbereth's efforts - searching for an answer. Then he, remembering the weapon he carried and his intent, despaired anew. For if he, who loved her even now, could not find it in himself to set her aright, what hope was left them? And what future could there be for his daughter, other than to follow in her mother's ways? Retreating into himself once more, he struggled with his predilection, smothering the rebellion that consumed his heart. He had one thing only to ask of her before raising a hand against her.

"Where is Vanwe?" he demanded, his voice grown suddenly hard.

"Vanwe!" echoed Naiore, the false smile on her face fading into a look of maternal concern. "Surely the child is with you. Did she not come to you?" Naiore moved a step closer toward him.

Menecin’s mind swam. It was the first time he had ever heard her speak of Vanwe to him, the child of his devotion, and his eyes narrowed as he stepped back a pace. "Why did you not tell me before of our daughter?"

"How could I tell you?" she asked, her voice still soft and soothing. "By the time I learned that I carried your child, we had long parted ways. For all I knew, you were dead. Had I known that you lived, I still could not have gotten a message through. Not from where I was." She paused, the serene smile returning to her lips. "It simply could not be done. But, you see, I have sent our daughter to you now, that she might know her father before it is too late."

He smiled wryly. "And learn what I have become? Something that I am sure you know well, for you are the architect of this prison, also laying its very foundation."

"None but the architect of a prison would know better the way out."

"I am beyond your reach," he said as she advanced once more, closing his eyes against the assault of his senses, her familiar scent plunging him into the past once more. "I can no longer grasp you, for my love is naught but illusion."

"Love is always an illusion, dear Menecin," murmured Naiore, reaching out a slender hand to touch his face. She let her fingers trail gently down his cheek to his shoulder, his arm. "That is where we have always parted ways, but touch me now. You were once the lover of my body, siring a child. See me now. I am very real." She closed her hand around his right arm, just above the elbow, pulling him into her embrace. His eyes flicked open at her tightening grip in time to see the icy coldness that had risen in her eyes and turned all of her soft words to lies. Breaking away, he took a few steps back, stumbling across the rill. Quickly brandishing the orc's sword he realized that Naiore's hand held a naked dagger, but found himself unable to attack.

Naiore took a step in pursuit of him, but stopped short, her clear gray eyes looking past him into the forest beyond, the faint murmur of approaching voices suddenly audible in the dawn silence. "She comes!" hissed Naiore. "And she brings others." She let her gaze return to Menecin, her eyes meeting his at last with undisguised contempt. "Come, my lover," she purred, turning her dagger so that the finely honed blade shimmered in the soft morning light. "Let me release you from your prison..."

Menecin froze, unable to strike at her, yet not willing to let her dispatch him either, for Vanwe's sake. Suddenly, he heard the soft rustle of leaves someway off and again the muted echo of voices. Naiore hesitated, her eyes narrowing. Menecin turned partway to discover who it was that approached, but could discern neither his daughter nor anyone else. Fearing some trick, he wheeled round to face Naiore again, only to find her gone. She had melted away into the undergrowth once more.

Staring unseeing at the scarred hands that had failed him, Menecin let drop his sword, falling to his knees to cradle his head in his hands.

Last edited by Hilde Bracegirdle; 08-15-2004 at 01:54 PM.
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