Bitter Fields

[Treshure 5817]

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Warning: Flashing Lights!

 

 

 

 

Deafened hooves coursed along the causeways, routing from high Lemonhill unto the rolling hills beneath the Abbey. Its horse bore two riders, and if gleamed through by easing rays of sun, saw that it was an Elf clutching the bound armor of a Man, heading far and fast away into the dim forests that lay between the stretches of Burgundy and the other human realms. 

 

For Elwë was on high errand by King Tiberius, Lord of that land, and was loath to remiss another day before he made his destination. They followed the course of the pontifical armies — tracing the worn track of rank and file, as they too had once made their way across the bridge beneath Lemonhill and snaked across the hills and into a prevailing forest beyond. There the pair found their object, and rode into the still standing battlements that presided over the fields of battle. 

 

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“These are the lands where we lost great men,” said Sakis Moreno, who had taken Elwë’s bidding and delivered him to the battlefield. “Tread on them with respect, for foe and friend alike were warriors til the end. Even if they did surrender like cowards, they fought regardless.”

 

Elwë peered at the palisades and embattlements as the two settled into the place, camping beneath dark and somber eyelids. “Aye, for the deed is finished in Death, and all bonds therein are released. I know this well, and will not lower the memory of the dead.”

 

 And he wondered how his paths had delivered him here, and in his heart he thanked Meriwa for settling him across the river valley of Lemonhill, and Sakis the warrior for rendering him unto the fields.

 

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Elwë called to some of his brethren, who had come into this country en route to high Numenost, and some were imparted to aid him in those days. They set about their work into the growing twilight. And as the gloaming sunk deep into the land, they shifted and disappeared, moving as quiet Elves in a forsaken place. 

 

Pale figures in the shadows shifted between dripping forest gloom and dug the graves of battled men, taking no heed for their rank or side, laying cairns and markers. Highest of which were laid for the Captains, of the fallen enemy or otherwise, who led their folk into the trammel of battle, clad with song and ending in blackness. Their banners were collected and washed into the river, and they named the river Lendotyelma, and the banners were folded into the cairns and wreathed with budding flowers, and the land was hallowed.

 

But when the stones had been mounted and the cairns finished, the shadowed figures took amongst themselves and gathered in the rising dawn. Soft song arose among the minstrels of the host, whereas others stooped among the graves and wrote in their own native tongue, weaving runes and blessings into their habitation. 

 

What the text held, none knew, but for the fair music that lingered in the air, and the lilacs and flowers planted where there had once been spilt blood. The unseemliness of the place had mixed into the night, and in pale moments of silver moonlight did the field reflect the noble stature before its marring. And they knew that Elves had come to this forest and field and left their touch. 

 

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Writing: Treshure

Formatting: Cheese1sgrater

 

 

[framalam 837]

Spoiler

wondaful writing wb…