The Valinor Trail. Chapter Twenty One. Dust.
The Valinor Trail, Chapter Twenty One; Dust
Words; 1,790
Chapter Rated PG.
Disclaimer as Chapter One.
Previous chapters are here.
At the end of the previous chapter, Haldir had nocked an arrow, aimed at Spike’s chest, drew, and loosed....
Chapter Twenty One; Dust
Haldir had shot living beings many, many times. He had shot rabbits and deer for the pot, yrch and wargs, even Men who had been a threat to the Galadhrim. And his current target was not even, really, a living being. As he understood it the heart at which he aimed the arrow did not even beat. But never before had the being he looked at down the shaft of his arrow stood, chest bared, and waited for the arrow to hit.
………
Spike had experienced someone or something trying to hit him in the heart with a sharp, pointy, wooden object many times in the last couple of centuries. He had broken arms, dodged, even snatched arrows out of the air; never before had he stood still and waited. Inside him a voice was screaming ‘Move! Attack! Twist! Catch!’
His last thought, before Haldir loosed the arrow, was ‘No! You are not me. This is my decision.’
………
The arrow flew straight and true. Over such a short distance there was never any doubt that it would. It hit the unmoving chest just to the left of centre and… Spike disappeared. There was a cloud of dust, drifting in the air, glowing green from the light of the portal.
Haldir was shocked.
Even though Tindómë, Spike, and Lord Námo had all used the term ‘dust’ when they talked of the vampire dying, Haldir had thought it was simply the euphemism people in this other world used for death. Now he realised it had been a literal description.
‘Huitho!’ he thought, ‘I wish Rumil had seen that. He would have found it strangely beautiful…’
………
It was done quickly. Tindómë had seen vampires turn to dust before but, even so, it made her gasp; for this was Spike, and she had talked him into it.
………
‘What the…?’ He didn’t know what had happened. Actually he had no real idea of where he was or even who he was, let alone what might have happened to him in the past moment, or hour, or day.
He was standing in a swirling cloud of fine dust, shot through with green light, and he could hear a voice from somewhere. It kept saying ‘spike’ for some reason. Then, just as he was beginning to realise that ‘spike’ meant something to him, the voice added, “William!”
He was William. No. That wasn’t right. He used to be William but it seemed a very long time ago. How could he once have been William but now not be? He tried to work it out…
“Spike. Spike. Come to me. William, come to me.”
Fuck! Bloody buggering bollocks! He was not William because he was Spike. And, he was fairly certain, the cloud of dust was also Spike… So, he was dead, then. Or, as memory became clearer, he changed that thought to being more dead than previously. And there was something important about the voice calling him.
He tried to work out where the person was who was calling and how come, if he was dead, he could hear it. Or see the dust, or the light. The light. It was important. He looked to the light and realised the voice was from within the light. The voice sounded both gentle and firm. It reminded him of Nanny.
“Come to me, follow my voice, it is easy.”
He began to walk towards the light.
………
Lord Námo called Spike out loud. Tindómë was pretty sure the call to the recently slain fëa was usually silent; he must be doing it audibly so that both she and Haldir could be sure he was doing as he had promised.
“Come to me, follow my voice, it is easy.”
But she had no way of telling whether or not Spike’s fëa was responding as all she could see was the dust that was slowly settling.
Then she saw, fleetingly, the green light that shone from the edges of the portal being… bent? It was almost as if it was a thin film that someone had just walked into, so that the shape of the body could be seen. It reminded her of some movie she had watched with Spike in her distant past - Predator, maybe?
Before she could continue the thought she realised the figure so outlined was Spike and he was now a full, three dimensional, figure of green light just coming through to her side of the portal. He had answered the call!
Then, in the instant that the Spike-shaped form remained attached to the portal, as if by a back to front umbilical cord of green light, Lord Námo’s voice suddenly changed.
“You!” he said loudly. “You shall not pass!”
Tindómë felt him take her hand, the sharp pain of the knife, and the portal disappeared just when another shape was outlined as Spike had been. Something very non-human. It must have been, she realised, the vampire demon.
There was a brief tableau-like moment in which the Vala, the Galadhrim warrior, The Key, and the green-light Spike seemed to all look at each other. The light in Lord Námo’s study faded from green to a softer warmer tone and Tindómë expected that the figure of Spike would quickly fade into invisibility.
But, instead, it also lost the green colour and, although obviously not solid, it was recognisably a bare-chested, jeans-wearing, Spike.
Lord Námo spoke. “As the arrival in my halls of a former vampire from another dimension is an… unusual… occurrence, especially when there are also visitors who have intact hröar, I think you may be allowed a few moments together.”
Tindómë reached as if to hug Spike but he was not that solid. Her attempt made all three males, even the disembodied one, smile.
Spike looked at Haldir and spoke. Weirdly his voice was audible, but then the whole thing was kind of weird so, why not?
“Good shot, mate.”
Haldir gave one of those almost imperceptible nods but said nothing.
“I came, pet. I guess Peter Pan was right, and it is an awfully big adventure.”
There was a big lump in Tindómë’s throat. “I’m… I’m really, really glad you came,” she finally managed to say.
Then Lord Námo nodded to some other, unseen figure, Spike cocked his head to one side as if listening and said “Well, I guess I’ll see you later,” before fading away completely.
………
They were back in their suite of rooms once again. Before he had dismissed them, Lord Námo had taken Tindómë’s bleeding hand, curled her fingers and thumb into the palm, then opened it out. The skin was totally healed, the blood gone.
Reasonable, Haldir thought. If he had the power to build whole, healthy, fëar then a knife cut, or two, to a hand would be no challenge.
“Well that was… intense. And… and… and I really don’t know if I am happy, or sad, or what I feel now.”
Tindómë looked as if she might burst into tears. Haldir would have passed her a handkerchief but, the last time he did that, it had made her cry harder because it reminded her of Rumil.
But then, he thought, what she probably needed most, at this moment, was Rumil. And what she had was Haldir.
He took out a clean handkerchief, silently passed it to her, and then cautiously put his arms around her and held her. He found he was almost unreasonably pleased when Tindómë did not resist, but laid her head against his shoulder.
They stood quietly for a long time before she moved away a little and said “Thank you.”
………
Their personal maia, who was actually called Cambasion, told them that His Lordship would like them to remain as his guests for a little longer. Tindómë thought she would really like to head for home, to Rumil and the rest of her family. But it was the sort of invitation you could hardly refuse and, in the end, it would probably not make any difference to when they arrived in Alqualondë.
There were books to read, and the sun shone outdoors; she would enjoy the regular meals, the warm baths, and the beautiful forest and return to a proper, elven, way of looking at time. Haldir clearly felt much the same, although he was more inclined to explore the forest whilst she sat and read; she realised that they could now share companionable silence.
After one of these companionable silences, over a glass of very good wine, Tindómë commented to Haldir that, actually, he and Rumil were very much alike.
“You are both serious, you both think deep and think-y thoughts, and don’t often talk unless you have something to say. Orophin is less like the two of you than you are to each other. He smiles more; I think he worries less. Of course he can be just as serious, but I think, to someone who doesn’t know any of you, he’s maybe more approachable.”
Haldir did not make any comments, just cocked his head a little and looked encouragingly at her. Which sort of proved her point. She went on.
“Actually I think it is that Orophin is more like your adar, and you two are more like your naneth.”
When she had come to this conclusion it had been almost against her will as she really did not get on with her husband-mother. Although she would have happily agreed with anyone who had suggested, before this journey, that Haldir was like his mother, the idea that Rumil’s personality also might owe anything to her had been rather annoying.
Haldir looked thoughtful for a minute or two before answering.
“I think you are right. Orophin is a light-hearted Sylvan, and we are overly-serious Sindar….” But there was a hint of a smile as he said it.
Of course, Tindómë thought, this did mean that, if she could get on with Haldir, she probably could get on with his mother. But she didn’t even want to think about that possibility right now.
Instead she asked, “If you two are so alike, and you so are, then are you artistic too? Do you have a talent like Rumil’s? I know Orophin plays a couple of instruments, but he is not all that dedicated to it, or as good at it, as Rumil is to his drawing and painting. But how about you? What is your thing? Your gift?”
He did not answer straight away. He looked to be really thinking seriously about her question; so like Rumil. Then he nodded across the room to where his bow stood beside his quiver and his sword.
“Death,” he said. “Death was my gift.”
……
Cambasion - from comforting hand
Please point out anything my beloved beta or I missed.
Words; 1,790
Chapter Rated PG.
Disclaimer as Chapter One.
Previous chapters are here.
At the end of the previous chapter, Haldir had nocked an arrow, aimed at Spike’s chest, drew, and loosed....
Chapter Twenty One; Dust
Haldir had shot living beings many, many times. He had shot rabbits and deer for the pot, yrch and wargs, even Men who had been a threat to the Galadhrim. And his current target was not even, really, a living being. As he understood it the heart at which he aimed the arrow did not even beat. But never before had the being he looked at down the shaft of his arrow stood, chest bared, and waited for the arrow to hit.
………
Spike had experienced someone or something trying to hit him in the heart with a sharp, pointy, wooden object many times in the last couple of centuries. He had broken arms, dodged, even snatched arrows out of the air; never before had he stood still and waited. Inside him a voice was screaming ‘Move! Attack! Twist! Catch!’
His last thought, before Haldir loosed the arrow, was ‘No! You are not me. This is my decision.’
………
The arrow flew straight and true. Over such a short distance there was never any doubt that it would. It hit the unmoving chest just to the left of centre and… Spike disappeared. There was a cloud of dust, drifting in the air, glowing green from the light of the portal.
Haldir was shocked.
Even though Tindómë, Spike, and Lord Námo had all used the term ‘dust’ when they talked of the vampire dying, Haldir had thought it was simply the euphemism people in this other world used for death. Now he realised it had been a literal description.
‘Huitho!’ he thought, ‘I wish Rumil had seen that. He would have found it strangely beautiful…’
………
It was done quickly. Tindómë had seen vampires turn to dust before but, even so, it made her gasp; for this was Spike, and she had talked him into it.
………
‘What the…?’ He didn’t know what had happened. Actually he had no real idea of where he was or even who he was, let alone what might have happened to him in the past moment, or hour, or day.
He was standing in a swirling cloud of fine dust, shot through with green light, and he could hear a voice from somewhere. It kept saying ‘spike’ for some reason. Then, just as he was beginning to realise that ‘spike’ meant something to him, the voice added, “William!”
He was William. No. That wasn’t right. He used to be William but it seemed a very long time ago. How could he once have been William but now not be? He tried to work it out…
“Spike. Spike. Come to me. William, come to me.”
Fuck! Bloody buggering bollocks! He was not William because he was Spike. And, he was fairly certain, the cloud of dust was also Spike… So, he was dead, then. Or, as memory became clearer, he changed that thought to being more dead than previously. And there was something important about the voice calling him.
He tried to work out where the person was who was calling and how come, if he was dead, he could hear it. Or see the dust, or the light. The light. It was important. He looked to the light and realised the voice was from within the light. The voice sounded both gentle and firm. It reminded him of Nanny.
“Come to me, follow my voice, it is easy.”
He began to walk towards the light.
………
Lord Námo called Spike out loud. Tindómë was pretty sure the call to the recently slain fëa was usually silent; he must be doing it audibly so that both she and Haldir could be sure he was doing as he had promised.
“Come to me, follow my voice, it is easy.”
But she had no way of telling whether or not Spike’s fëa was responding as all she could see was the dust that was slowly settling.
Then she saw, fleetingly, the green light that shone from the edges of the portal being… bent? It was almost as if it was a thin film that someone had just walked into, so that the shape of the body could be seen. It reminded her of some movie she had watched with Spike in her distant past - Predator, maybe?
Before she could continue the thought she realised the figure so outlined was Spike and he was now a full, three dimensional, figure of green light just coming through to her side of the portal. He had answered the call!
Then, in the instant that the Spike-shaped form remained attached to the portal, as if by a back to front umbilical cord of green light, Lord Námo’s voice suddenly changed.
“You!” he said loudly. “You shall not pass!”
Tindómë felt him take her hand, the sharp pain of the knife, and the portal disappeared just when another shape was outlined as Spike had been. Something very non-human. It must have been, she realised, the vampire demon.
There was a brief tableau-like moment in which the Vala, the Galadhrim warrior, The Key, and the green-light Spike seemed to all look at each other. The light in Lord Námo’s study faded from green to a softer warmer tone and Tindómë expected that the figure of Spike would quickly fade into invisibility.
But, instead, it also lost the green colour and, although obviously not solid, it was recognisably a bare-chested, jeans-wearing, Spike.
Lord Námo spoke. “As the arrival in my halls of a former vampire from another dimension is an… unusual… occurrence, especially when there are also visitors who have intact hröar, I think you may be allowed a few moments together.”
Tindómë reached as if to hug Spike but he was not that solid. Her attempt made all three males, even the disembodied one, smile.
Spike looked at Haldir and spoke. Weirdly his voice was audible, but then the whole thing was kind of weird so, why not?
“Good shot, mate.”
Haldir gave one of those almost imperceptible nods but said nothing.
“I came, pet. I guess Peter Pan was right, and it is an awfully big adventure.”
There was a big lump in Tindómë’s throat. “I’m… I’m really, really glad you came,” she finally managed to say.
Then Lord Námo nodded to some other, unseen figure, Spike cocked his head to one side as if listening and said “Well, I guess I’ll see you later,” before fading away completely.
………
They were back in their suite of rooms once again. Before he had dismissed them, Lord Námo had taken Tindómë’s bleeding hand, curled her fingers and thumb into the palm, then opened it out. The skin was totally healed, the blood gone.
Reasonable, Haldir thought. If he had the power to build whole, healthy, fëar then a knife cut, or two, to a hand would be no challenge.
“Well that was… intense. And… and… and I really don’t know if I am happy, or sad, or what I feel now.”
Tindómë looked as if she might burst into tears. Haldir would have passed her a handkerchief but, the last time he did that, it had made her cry harder because it reminded her of Rumil.
But then, he thought, what she probably needed most, at this moment, was Rumil. And what she had was Haldir.
He took out a clean handkerchief, silently passed it to her, and then cautiously put his arms around her and held her. He found he was almost unreasonably pleased when Tindómë did not resist, but laid her head against his shoulder.
They stood quietly for a long time before she moved away a little and said “Thank you.”
………
Their personal maia, who was actually called Cambasion, told them that His Lordship would like them to remain as his guests for a little longer. Tindómë thought she would really like to head for home, to Rumil and the rest of her family. But it was the sort of invitation you could hardly refuse and, in the end, it would probably not make any difference to when they arrived in Alqualondë.
There were books to read, and the sun shone outdoors; she would enjoy the regular meals, the warm baths, and the beautiful forest and return to a proper, elven, way of looking at time. Haldir clearly felt much the same, although he was more inclined to explore the forest whilst she sat and read; she realised that they could now share companionable silence.
After one of these companionable silences, over a glass of very good wine, Tindómë commented to Haldir that, actually, he and Rumil were very much alike.
“You are both serious, you both think deep and think-y thoughts, and don’t often talk unless you have something to say. Orophin is less like the two of you than you are to each other. He smiles more; I think he worries less. Of course he can be just as serious, but I think, to someone who doesn’t know any of you, he’s maybe more approachable.”
Haldir did not make any comments, just cocked his head a little and looked encouragingly at her. Which sort of proved her point. She went on.
“Actually I think it is that Orophin is more like your adar, and you two are more like your naneth.”
When she had come to this conclusion it had been almost against her will as she really did not get on with her husband-mother. Although she would have happily agreed with anyone who had suggested, before this journey, that Haldir was like his mother, the idea that Rumil’s personality also might owe anything to her had been rather annoying.
Haldir looked thoughtful for a minute or two before answering.
“I think you are right. Orophin is a light-hearted Sylvan, and we are overly-serious Sindar….” But there was a hint of a smile as he said it.
Of course, Tindómë thought, this did mean that, if she could get on with Haldir, she probably could get on with his mother. But she didn’t even want to think about that possibility right now.
Instead she asked, “If you two are so alike, and you so are, then are you artistic too? Do you have a talent like Rumil’s? I know Orophin plays a couple of instruments, but he is not all that dedicated to it, or as good at it, as Rumil is to his drawing and painting. But how about you? What is your thing? Your gift?”
He did not answer straight away. He looked to be really thinking seriously about her question; so like Rumil. Then he nodded across the room to where his bow stood beside his quiver and his sword.
“Death,” he said. “Death was my gift.”
……
Cambasion - from comforting hand
Please point out anything my beloved beta or I missed.