Day 12:

Challenge - Falls of Sirion: Elves are one with Nature. What about Men? Hobbits? Dwarves? Write a story or poem or create artwork where the way different races relate to Nature is shown.

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The Lady

Water rippled somewhere nearby. He opened his eyes, and squirmed against the bright light that filtered through the green canopy. The sun was right above, in her zenith, painting a mosaic of light and shadow on the forest floor. He could hear the whispering of the leaves, buzzing of insects, the clear sound of water… and voices? He turned in the directions where the voices came from. The undergrowth was thick there, and he could not see who is speaking.

"Sister, you know they are hurting you. Why do you allow it?" said a musical, male voice.

A quiet laughter sounded, gentle like little bells in the wind, and yet there were also deeper, more dangerous tones in it, like a gathering thunderstorm. "They shape me as well as they shape themselves. Their lives are short, they cannot understand me like you do."

"We do not, Lady. We don't ask for you love, just for your riches." Another voice said, sounding somehow grumpy.

The voice of the lady was also cold and reserved as she answered. "And you will get them, if you remember our deal. With too much greed you would destroy yourself before me."

Then her voice softened. "And what about you, my little ones? Do you ask for nothing?"

"Oh…. no. No, thank you." The voice that responded was shy and humble. "You have given us enough of your fruits. We just ask for peace and quiet…"

She sighed heavily. "You don't want to ask for anything, and yet you ask too much. I cannot give you what you desire. But there is one who could…"

Suddenly she turned to the place where Aragorn was listening to the conversation. "I awaited you, my husband…"

He stepped out of the bushes with bathed breath. He could see her now. There were also other figures on the clearing, but he could perceive only her, his attention drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She was beautiful, young and old in the same time, the wisdom in her face timeless. "I do not know you, lady…" he breathed out.

She laughed. "Don't you?" And suddenly he saw her face, and it was not her face. It was the deep quiet of the ancient woods, the sharp slopes of the mountains, the lush meadows of the Shire, and as if from nowhere, a song came to his mind, reverberating in the air he breathed and in the soil beneath his feet.

I am the land
I am the stone
I am its breath
I am its bone

I am the song
brought with the wind
Ever present
but never seen

I am the spark
in the lake's eyes
The arms of trees
And wings of night

As old as hills
As deep as sea
Forever young
Forever free...

"You are the land…" he whispered.

She nodded. "I am a sister to the Elves, for we walk the paths of fate together, bound to each other. To Dwarves I am a ruler. They do not love me, but fear and respect. Hobbits are my children, innocent and trusting. But I cannot protect them…"

Aragorn nodded quietly, knowing the task of the Rangers. "It is my role…"

"It is the role of my husband. Of a King…"

He felt the burden of responsibility on his shoulders, the responsibility for the entire land he should rule. But there was a sense of fulfilment in that responsibility.

"I'm waiting for you, Aragorn. Remember that, even if I am cruel and unmerciful. For I am a woman…" She smiled, and the radiance of her smile were the sharp rays of sun and in her arms he could see the vast barrens of the desert, the hot breath of wind and rough embrace of sand.

The heat surrounded his body like thick oil, making it hard to breathe. He forced his eyelids that seemed glued together, to open. The light was blinding, but he could pick up voices.

"Why can't we just kill him or leave him here? The desert will kill him anyways…"

"No," another voice said, with the firm tone of a leader. "We will not just kill him."

Aragorn didn't like the tone of the word just, but felt too weak to do anything about it. Thorongil, not Aragorn… he reminded himself absentmindedly. He was Thorongil here… Stars and eagles… The world seemed to spin again.

Water rippled somewhere nearby… No, it was in his mouth! He drank deeply, not asking where it comes from, although he had the feeling that the question will return once, and with urgency. But now, as his eyes closed, he could see the face of the Lady in the dunes of the desert.

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A/N: The poem is mine, but written earlier. This is the last chapter for a few days, I hope I'll be able to catch up when I return.