splix: (aragorn/boromir destiny by liars_dance)
[personal profile] splix
Title: The Shades of Rath Dínen
Author: Alex
Fandom: LOTR
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I sit upon a throne of lies.
Summary: Perhaps in the end, love alone survives.
Notes: My final 2010 Trick-or-Treat, for [livejournal.com profile] foxrafer.





*


She hadn’t many hours left in the day, she realized, squinting up at the unpolished steel bowl of the sky. Just enough time to collect a few more rubbings before the watery light disappeared altogether. She turned and smiled at her elderly guide. “I don’t mean to keep you much longer.”

The guide shrugged and took a pipe from his pocket. “Ah, it’s no trouble, lass. Not many come to see the place nowadays. ‘Tisn’t quite safe. Pity it fell to ruin so.”

“It is,” she said softly, caressing a smooth white pillar half-covered in dead climbing ivy. “A great pity indeed. What must it have looked like two thousand years ago? Lively, I’ll bet – singing and laughing and tradespeople crowding the streets. And the structures…they’re still beautiful.” She peered upward at a vast edifice made ethereal by delicate scrollwork and crowned with a white dome.

“Not enough coin to restore it all. Not nearly enough.” The old man lit his pipe and puffed.

She pulled her guidebook from the leather bag slung across her chest. “Just one more street before we head back, if I may? The map says the entrance is just ahead.”

The old man frowned. “Ah, now, lass, I don’t know that you want to visit that one. ‘Tis getting late, and….” He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable.

“I know. It’s the street of tombs. It’s not unsafe, surely?” She hid a smile at old men and their fancies. “It would help my researches immensely.”

“Nay, it’s not unsafe.” The old man paused. “Leastways, not in the way you think.”

“Not haunted?” she teased.

“Now, lass, I didn’t say that.” The old man grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. “But what if I told you it was?”

“It would be a precious thing indeed if I were to see a ghost,” she laughed. “Think what my teachers would say!”

The old man peered up the sloping cobbled street. “Well, now. I suppose there’s no harm in you going. Hurry, though. I don’t like being here after dark, haunts or no. You won’t mind if I stay here a spell and have a smoke?”

“Of course not. I won’t be long. It’s not locked?” She dashed up the street toward the entrance, not waiting for an answer, and pulled open the rusted iron gate, pausing a moment to admire its elaborate scrollwork. Had human hands actually created such delicacy, such beauty? The carvings here and elsewhere in the abandoned city seemed otherworldly. And how had they made an entire city – and such an exquisitely beautiful one – without the benefit of modern tools? It was beautiful, no matter what anyone else said – crumbling, ancient, empty, she could see it for what it had once been. She imagined herself walking the streets while the city gleamed in its prime, towers upon towers of white lacework punctuated with brilliant color – banners and awnings and the city’s prosperous inhabitants.

She examined the entrance. There had been another door once, bronze and gold, called Fen Hollen, and the street itself was Rath Dínen, the Silent Street. The protective door was long gone, plundered more than five hundred years before, and the street itself ravaged by treasure hunters, though legend had it that the hunters never came away with illicit riches, for the dead guarded their own. A smile curved her mouth. A good story to frighten children, but the truth was probably closer to the mundane – the dead were buried simply, with few ornaments or jewels.

Still, a shiver coursed down her spine as she picked her way through the torn and neglected cobble. Silent was a fine name; the very stones seemed to absorb her footsteps, and the tombs on either side of the street loomed in intimidating fashion, as though prepared to refuse the yielding of even the smallest of their dead inhabitants’ secrets. They were splendid, even if half of them were damaged beyond repair; here and there a stern effigy glared at her from the depths of their mausoleums with sightless eyes.

“So grey,” she whispered, and frightened herself with the sound of her own voice. She shook herself firmly. “Ridiculous!” It was funny, the way childhood fears manifested when one was alone, in an unfamiliar place. But she wasn’t alone: her guide was just on the other side of the gate, smoking his pipe.

Half-longingly, she looked over her shoulder at the gate. Still there, with a low mist drifting round its curving iron edges. The sky had darkened, and clouds above seemed to threaten rain. She pulled her vellum book from her bag and took out a stick of charcoal. Before it got too dark, she would get rubbings on as many tombs as she could.

With a bold stride, she moved toward the tomb closest to her and consulted her book, balancing it atop the vellum book. None of the outer tombs were marked any longer; the inscriptions were far too weathered, the language far too archaic, the monuments poorly cultivated. There was a single large building nearby that held several individual tombs, but whether or not the sepulchers held former kings was a mystery. History had not retained the names of Minas Tirith’s dead.

This tomb was simple – a stone effigy atop a sepulcher. The carving was greatly eroded, but even so, she could see that whoever was buried in the tomb had once been a fine figure of a man. A straight, handsome nose and a strong jaw, high cheekbones – very fine indeed. Kingly, even. Gently, she touched the worn planes of his face, the long sword he clutched to his breast, the circlet on his brow. This one was a king – she was sure of it.

“All right, then,” she whispered. “Who are you?” She bent to look for inscriptions and found one, scarcely visible in the darkening day. Quickly, she knelt and made a rubbing, tucking it in her book.

There were two small tombs flanking the king’s – his children, perhaps? Little ones who hadn’t survived disease, possibly. She examined them, but the mist had reached her knees and the tombs were obscured. She glanced up at the sky: nearly dark. How had it grown dark so quickly?

“Damnation.” She moved to another tomb, this one a plain box with only the faintest carving atop it. She took another sheet of vellum and laid it on the tomb, and suddenly felt a cold chill, as if an icy hand had brushed the back of her neck.

Gasping, she whirled, but there was nothing there. A dry swirl of leaves blew against the king’s tomb and settled, disappearing in the mist. Now she was afraid, though there was nothing to fear. The street was tranquility itself, the world was quiet. She looked up at the dark sky and back at the mist around the king’s tomb.

The mist was moving, taking shape.

“Impossible,” she tried to whisper, but her voice stuck in a throat drier than sand.

Not impossible. The mist rose up in a column, coalesced, and elongated. Gradually, as if watching a statue carved by invisible hands, she saw the movement of an arm revealed, then another. Tiny drifts like dust blew away from a tall figure of a man – not the king. This man was different; his jaw longer, his nose more powerful, but he was comely nonetheless. Transparent, pale grey and stern like the stones surrounding him, and beautiful.

She didn’t believe in ghosts. She’d been practical all her life, hard-headed. But still, a whimper quivered in her chest, refusing to loose itself as the last of the mist drifted away and he was fully revealed. A cloak, a tunic, a sword at his belt, a shield on his back, sturdy boots, all rendered in palest transparent grey. He moved noiselessly to the tomb and knelt beside it.

Aragorn.

Had he said that, or had she heard it in her head, as intimately as if he’d whispered it in her ear? She watched, and something passed beside her, swifter than sight, and glided to the kneeling ghost.

It was the king! And he too was grey and translucent, but as he touched the kneeling man’s back, a strange thing happened; their figures seemed to solidify, to gain the hues of life. The kneeling man turned and smiled, and rose to his feet. His hair was wheaten gold, his cloak a rich red, his tunic a paler red embroidered with gold. The king’s hair was dark, his tunic green, the circlet on his brow a metal of gleaming white, with a dazzling jewel at its center. The figures embraced; she heard the rustle of fabric, the creak of leather.

Boromir....

The two men kissed, lover-like. She heard the intake of breath, soft laughter from one of them.

Despite her fear, she took a step forward. “Please....”

The men turned and regarded her in silence. There was no menace in their posture, but she froze all the same. As she watched, the color began to bleed away, the texture of their clothing and skin becoming grey and transparent once more.

“Oh, no. Please don’t go.”

They watched her steadily, and their faces became kind, their eyes twinkling with gentle good humor.

Go in peace, child, and leave the dead to the dead.

She backed away, and as she stared, their countenances dissolved, becoming drifting mist once more. Hastily, she turned tail and pounded down the cobbles until she reached the gate. She pushed it open and all but tumbled onto the outer road once more.

The old man was sitting on a stone slab, knocking the dottle from his pipe. “See anything interesting, lass?”

She wiped the sweat from her brow and took a trembling breath, ready to spill the entire story. The guide smiled, waiting patiently, and shielded his eyes as the setting sun slid momentarily from behind a pile of dark clouds. She stopped and peered over her shoulder at the sloping street to the gate. “I managed to get a rubbing,” she said. “It was quite dark, though. Hard to see.”

“That happens,” the old man said, getting to his feet with a soft grunt. “Pity you can’t come back tomorrow, eh?”

“With what I collected the past few days, I think I have everything I need. Besides, I doubt I’d go back to that street. I shouldn’t like to…disturb anything.” She frowned. The encounter was already starting to seem like a dream.

“Let’s see that rubbing, then.”

Obediently, she took it out and showed him.

“Ah, that’s a fine one. I’ve seen that tomb. Shame no one can read the language any longer, isn’t it?”

She nodded and carefully folded the vellum, tucking it in her book. As she started down the sloping street once more, she murmured, “I know what it says, though. Aragorn.”

Behind her, the old man smiled.



End.

Photobucket

Date: 2011-11-03 04:31 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] govi20.livejournal.com
That was so amazing. Scary in a way, but then not really.

The kneeling man turned and smiled, and rose to his feet. His hair was wheaten gold, his cloak a rich red, his tunic a paler red embroidered with gold. The king’s hair was dark, his tunic green, the circlet on his brow a metal of gleaming white, with a dazzling jewel at its center. The figures embraced; she heard the rustle of fabric, the creak of leather. Oh...

They watched her steadily, and their faces became kind, their eyes twinkling with gentle good humor.

Go in peace, child, and leave the dead to the dead.
Yes, that nis what they would be like.

Such a lovely piece, Alex! I am sure [livejournal.com profile] foxrafer will love it.

Date: 2011-11-03 04:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
Thank you so much, dear! I'm still feeling the ghostie-Halloween thing, evidently. :) Plus that picture is so evocative. I hope [livejournal.com profile] foxrafer likes it - I'm so glad you did! Thank you very much. :D

Date: 2011-11-03 04:45 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sneezer222.livejournal.com
There were two small tombs flanking the king’s – his children, perhaps?

Oh alex! That broke my heart AND me smile so big. Good gracious I love your writing.

Date: 2011-11-03 04:47 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
Aw, thank you, hon! I'm so glad you liked it. :)

Date: 2011-11-03 04:46 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] kimberlite.livejournal.com
Oh, this is lovely! Ghostly and evocative, with a hint of scary. Very cool!

Date: 2011-11-03 04:48 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
Thank you! I am clearly still in spooky mode. :D

Date: 2011-11-03 06:26 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] pearlseed.livejournal.com
Simple is always best is it not? This was graceful and kinda creepy, lovely combo!

Date: 2011-11-03 03:55 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
Thank you so much!

Date: 2011-11-03 07:46 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] peersrogue.livejournal.com
A gentle, kind story, a hint of a love that survives eternally. Like the reference to the two smaller graves. Death did not divide this circle of friends. Not creepy for I have read somewhere - that the dead take care of the dead. Many thanks for this lovely story.

[wipes tears away]

Date: 2011-11-03 03:59 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
I'm a true romantic, so I love the idea of love lasting even beyond death. And we can't forget Merry and Pip! :) I'm glad it felt gentle to you. I appreciate that, thank you so much.

Date: 2011-11-03 07:58 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mooms.livejournal.com
Oh my! I should be packing and getting ready to ride north, but I couldn't resist stopping off to read this. So beautiful,ethereal, spooky and yet not really scary, because it's them and they wouldn't mean any harm.It is somehow comforting to know that their love endures and that even death cannot separate them. Just lovely!

Date: 2011-11-03 04:02 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
You're a peach for taking time out to read it! :D Spooky but not completely frightening was what I was going for, so thanks for that, I'm glad it felt that way to you. I agree they wouldn't mean any harm, and I adore the notion of their love enduring into whatever lies beyond corporeal form. Thank you very much indeed!

Date: 2011-11-03 09:43 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bluegerl.livejournal.com
Oh WHY did she move and speak - oh I would have stayed, become like Lot's wife.

That is perfect.

Date: 2011-11-03 04:02 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
I think I would have peed my pants in terror. ;)

Thank you so much! Glad you liked it.

Date: 2011-11-03 04:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bluegerl.livejournal.com
No, you wouldn't have. You would have known who it was, and oooooh you'd have come back and written a story about your adventure!!!!! And been HAPPY EVER AFTER!

And now we know why you uploaded that marvellous pic. Isn't it NOBLE... so fitting!
Edited Date: 2011-11-03 04:36 pm (UTC)

Date: 2011-11-03 04:45 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
I adore that still. I find it so beautiful, so atmospheric and melancholy. :)

Date: 2011-11-03 04:50 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bluegerl.livejournal.com
With that, and this last icon... such dreadful sadness in that icon... its all a bit much. I have a little tear....but why? They were together still in death and after, so beautiful....

Date: 2011-11-03 04:55 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
It's Boromir's vambraces that the effigy of Aragorn wears that makes me tear up. All his long life, wearing them. :)

Date: 2011-11-03 05:03 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bluegerl.livejournal.com
OoooOOOooohhhh doo-oon't I am really tearing up now... its SUCH a truly ROMANTIC story... Such a deep and abiding love, and oooh... for ever and ever...

what silly women we are... but ooooh I wouldn't be without my dreams and my tears. And my wish that someones somewhere would be loved like that, in this world!

Date: 2011-11-03 10:33 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] rubyelf.livejournal.com
Such a beautiful story... the images of an ancient and fallen city and the long-dead still watching out for each other within its silent walls...
Edited Date: 2011-11-03 10:33 am (UTC)

Date: 2011-11-03 04:04 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
That picture I posted beneath the story - I've been struck by the image since the first time I saw it and wanted to capture some of that atmosphere. I'm glad you liked it - thank you so much!

Date: 2011-11-03 11:16 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] j-flattermann.livejournal.com
This is amazing, Alex, and so in the spirit of Halloween. I’m quite sure that Fox will love it.
I loved every word of it.

Date: 2011-11-03 04:05 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
Thank you so much! I hope she likes it - I'm so glad you did!

Date: 2011-11-03 11:42 am (UTC)
ext_18153: (Default)
From: [identity profile] kirby-crow.livejournal.com
Lovely story. :) Not a take I'd read in LOTR either, so it was so sweet and refreshing. Thanks for writing this. <3

Date: 2011-11-03 04:16 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
Thank you so much! It's a challenge to do something a little different, but fun as well. I'm glad you liked it! :D

Date: 2011-11-03 01:06 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tsarina.livejournal.com
That is spooky as all get out. I love it.

Date: 2011-11-03 04:17 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
I'm so glad! Thanks for saying so! I was a little spooked writing it. :)

Date: 2011-11-03 01:41 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] caras-galadhon.livejournal.com
This is beautifully atmospheric and quite moving. I adore the idea of a modern-day interpretation of Gondor, and I love how you've portrayed it as very much part of the real world. I was fascinated by the private tour of the ruins, and have to admit I started to idly brainstorm ways to get some funding for the place so they could restore it and have more tourists in. ^_~ Loved the beautiful architectural details, and I actually teared up at Aragorn and Boromir's meeting. That was a really affecting moment, and I just ate it right up.

And to top it all off, I quite liked the guide. *G* He felt very familiar, as if his mannerisms came from someone I'd "met" before. This whole story was absolutely beautiful and affecting, every bit of it. Love it, Alex!

Date: 2011-11-03 04:22 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
Thank you very, very much! I was scoping out that picture of Aragorn's tomb and thinking that the surroundings were already looking a bit desolate, and I just took the next couple of steps, trying to make it modern but not too modern. There needs to be a Minas Tirith Foundation capital campaign. :) I'm glad you liked the meeting - I wanted it to be eerie but not terrifying. And you liked the guide! :D Thank you for that, and for such lovely comments.

Oh! I sent your magazine out this morning, to your NZ address. Sorry for slacking!

Date: 2011-11-03 07:59 pm (UTC)
ext_29523: JW Waterhouse's Miranda (Books and tea--what else is there?)
From: [identity profile] ribby.livejournal.com
*shivers* Oh, that was eerie and lovely. And I love the third-person view of them, the sense that even as ghosts she can see their bonds, how strong they are even in death.

And the guide made me search my brain, wondering (like [livejournal.com profile] caras_galadhon) if I knew him, he seemed so familiar!

What a gorgeous piece for the beginning of the darker months of the year--darkness but there's hope, even so. Thank you, Alex!

~Kris

Date: 2011-11-03 08:05 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
*beam* Thank you so very much! The still is so evocative and reminiscent of the upcoming winter, with its shorter days and bleak skies, that I wanted to capture it somehow, but with a romantic bent. I'm delighted you enjoyed it, Kris! Thanks for saying so. :)

Date: 2011-11-03 08:00 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] vjezkova.livejournal.com
How beautiful...over the millenia, Boromir´s and Aragorn´s love is victorious.Omnia vincit Amor...
Thank you so much!

Date: 2011-11-03 08:06 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
I'm a shameless romantic, but I love the idea of that very thing. I'm so pleased that you liked it. Thank you so much for reading and commenting. :)

Date: 2011-11-03 08:31 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] alex-quine.livejournal.com
I've been away and am catching up with stuff and this is such a touching piece...the lovers who can defy death itself if only for a while...and the scholar who won't betray them. lovely. *g*

Date: 2011-11-03 09:58 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
Oh, I'm so glad you liked it! Thanks a million for saying so. :D

Date: 2011-12-04 11:36 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] foxrafer.livejournal.com
This is hauntingly beautiful. I love how you've written the otherworldliness (I know, not a word, but it works for me *g*) of the place and the experience, and the perspective of a student from far in the future going back to study Minas Tirith is wonderful. It is kind of sad to imagine that so much of the names and history might be lost over time, but not so different than many historical places and events in our world. It's truly gorgeous, and such a wonderful Halloween fic. Thank you so much!

Date: 2011-12-05 06:27 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] splix.livejournal.com
Thank you so much! I think otherworldliness is a word; if not, it should be. :D I'm glad you liked the setting. It was fun to write something a little different and yet still keep Aragorn and Boromir in the mix. Thanks a lot - I'm so glad you liked it! And it's nice to see you again.

August 2019

S M T W T F S
    123
45678910
11 121314151617
18192021222324
2526 2728293031

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 5th, 2025 03:15 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios