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|the 1st chapter in a project of mine to make a saga... actually a birthdaypresent which took a life of it's own||
Part one: A red morning…
Here is the story of Lutien Di Quellë, a young little poet, living in the Glenns of Paréd’arvoré. A mystic landscape of wich the walls of the glenns are covered with ivy. At dawn, the morning sun in the glenn peeks trough the cracks in the glenns, displaying a light spectacle wich could melt the coldest of hearts… Her house stand at the shore of the Voolama Niphredil, a wee stream of crystal clear mountain water inhabited by the most colourful of fish… Her house was built around a lebethron – a fair, goldbrown-leafed tree- on an open spot between a glenn wall and the river. Her garden was full with beautiful little flowers, in wich she often sat and wrote poetry. For her life was good. Until one morning, the sky coloured red in the morning sun. Lutien’s eyes would not believe it, she ran down the glenn towards Ilven té Dannah – a warrior druid – for advice. When she arrived, she saw the house in wich Ilven lived, clouded by an autumn brown veil. Without thinking she steps through the veil toward him. “You did not see the sun’s true colours today… For that is why you have come, is it not?” says a voice. Lutien didn’t know where it comes from, “Ilven! Show yourself! Just because you know my questions doesn’t mean you can hide yourself from me!”
Out of the shadows of the ceiling leaps Ilven behind
Lutien, “You saw a morning of wich you were the only witness… It’s a sign,
my dear. What are your dreams of late about?”
With horror she looked at him as if his question took her on a horrible flashback, “I… I saw a landscape, with these glenns in the middle, hundreds of thousands of warriors in the north. And a small rabble of men, dwarves, elves and faeries south, at the foot of the Shadowmountains. I saw my kindred of faeries armed, not knowing what to do with the weapons they were carrying. I saw your kindred of dwarves looking onto the enemy, preparing for their last stand against that dark wave from the north. I saw men encouraging each other for a battle wich could turn ill. And I saw a slam army of elven warriors, looking disoriented, afraid because their gift of foresight was lost… And in front of them stand six: Bran – the human king –, Guinnevere – the elven lady of the deep forests –, an icy giant, you, me and… another faerie, of wich I carry his clan necklace…”
For a while, Ilven pondered over the fireplace, “I hope that I am wrong… For I think you bare the burden of dying foresight. It is an old type of magic, long forgotten. It hides in the families of faerieclanns. What you saw today was a sign… Far beyond my own knowledge, I think we need to go to your Clannfather. He knows more of the magic that draws your dreams… Go home, pack light and leave what you not need to survive, it will be a long trip…”
nightfall, Lutien returned. Ilven was waiting with two horses, “Meet
morgtbrie…” as he gives her a steed, with pure white hair and a divine gaze,
“She is yours from now on…”
Ilven himself climbs on his trusted Brabar – a strong, light brown horse with gold like moons, with a saddle, packed with armour, imbedded with mithril…
Into the setting sun they depart for Ithilirith, the faeriekingdom under the lands of old…
|What love meant||All faeries, great and small|
|Departing souls||A warrior's fate|
|Requiem of the western sky|