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Fallen Stars

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In the east a power sleeps.

A mysterious and magical ring of stone.

The stars as seen, the veil shall fall.

And from the stone, the stars shall come.

Kin to some, yet known to none.

Memories old amid lives untold.

The fate of all, sisters attend.  

 


 

Lothlórien

Deep in the heart of Lothlórien stands the oldest tree in Arda.  It is said that it’s roots stretch to touch the deepest veins of Mithril, and its branches brush the stars. The ancient tree is the only one of it’s kind with bark that shines like stars and leaves the color or the sun. Deep within the tree there sleeps the last of the Valar. Looking to the future she saw heartbreak for her children and fell into a magical sleep. It has been said that she will awaken to heed the final cry of her children. Millennia have passed, and yet even in her slumber she can feel the chill of darkness.  The cold dark that creeps closer, stronger, seeking to cover the world in its evil. Knowing she cannot sleep forever, yet also know she will not survive the evil that is waking, she bides her time and waits. Waits for the heir, the sisters and the bearer. . .

 


 

The Shire

The last dregs of moonlight mingled seamlessly with the first rays of dawn when the silence was broken by a strangled scream.  Rushing from his bed to the room across the hall, a tired looking young hobbit reached for the hand of his twin to wake her. Sensing his presence the young hobbit girl began to wake as the safety her twin represented began to chase the nightmare away.  Slowly her eyes opened and scared silver eyes met his worried filled blue. Tears began to flow as her brother wrapped her in a warm embrace. Then, he gently began to pull her from her bed towards the kitchen. Once she was seated in a chair near the fire, a heavy silence fell over the room. Waiting for his sister to speak, and giving himself something to do,  he set about making tea. Only once a warm mug was placed in her hands did the shaking from her dream finally stop and the silence break. . .

 

“Gandalf will arrive for uncle’s party by weeks end.  I am sure he will have an answer. . .”

“I find I cannot trust to hope Frodo.  For if he cannot help me, I know I will have to seek answers elsewhere.”

Noticing the worried and enquiring look on her twin’s face she gave a slight nod.  Reaching out for her brother’s hand she began to tell of her dream. With shuddering breath, she spoke of a vast field covered in bodies and the cold green mist that seemed to move against the wind there.  Of a silver and gold tree in the middle of a wood where an elf maiden she did not know lay . . . possibly dead. Of three cloaked figures and the creature they hunted. Of two strangely garbed big folk she felt in her heart she knew but could not place. Her voice began to fade to a whisper as she spoke of the fire surrounding her brother and their friend Sam.  Of a pale and sickly Pippin and the withered grass surrounding a dying Merry. When a strangled sob came from her, Frodo stood to embrace her as silent tears fell down her cheeks.

 

Un-seen by either of the hobbits, a figure from the hall slowly and silently retreated to a room a short way from them.  Quietly closing the door of the study, he continued the last of his preparations. Knowing now more than ever that his trip was needed and that he would not be going alone

 


 

 

Rivendell 

The first rays of dawn were beginning to touch the tops of the the mountains surrounding Imladris when two cloaked figures shared embraces with the three elves gathered to see them off. Knowing the journey they were undertaking was perilous and long, a stray tear fell from the slighter of the two.  She had not wanted to be taken notice of, but a strong hand reached out to grasp hers nonetheless. A look of understanding passed between the two as they turned and walked from their home. For one this was not new, as he has left Imladris many times. For the other however, the journey was a first. Not in leaving but in hunting. A time to use the skills that had become a part of her very soul.  As they reached the top of the hidden stairs to the mountain, she slowed to look back changing her mind. Knowing that if she looked back now, she would never be able to follow through with her quest. Forging ahead, the two figures were soon out of sight, even from the elves that watched them leave. Had she stopped however, she would have seen the stars over the tops of the mountain and the three that fell ~ one streaking through the sky straight towards her.  

 


 

 

Aillte an Mhothair (Cliffs of Moher). Ireland. Earth.

“What a solemn picture we must make girls.” The comment came from dark haired girl. Pausing in her march, she looked back at her younger sisters and asked:  “Do you think the locals will be too put out by our mission?”

“Mission?? Geez Sor, you make it sound like we are going to scale the cliffs. All we are doing is spreading ashes.” The out of breath reply came from the red haired middle sister.  

“All we are doing? What about you Mae???  Did the wind blow all your emotions away? It’s mom and dad’s ashes!!” She youngest was near tears when she made her comment.

Silence fell over the sisters, and they stopped as she looked out to the sea. Exchanging a look, the eldest two walked towards her. Before the tears she had been holding back began to fall her sisters were surrounding her with a warm hug. 

Mae, the middle sister looked stricken.

“Oh Dy. You know I didn’t mean it that way.”  Her whispered words were scarcely heard over the howling wind.  

Nodding her head in agreement, Dyana gave her sister a slight smile.  Looking around and seeing they had arrived at their destination, Sorcha stepped away from her sisters and placed her bag on the ground. Pulling one of the two metal urns from her bag, she looked to her sisters. With a soft sigh, she began to speak as she poured ashes from the urn into the air. The wind quickly snatching them and her words away;

 

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there...I do not sleep.

I am the thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you waken in the morning’s hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush.

Of gentle birds in circling flight,

I am the soft star that shines at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry -

I am not there. I did not die. [1]

 

With a sob she finished and handed the urn to Maeve, who also began to speak. Her soft voice told the tale of a young man who set out to see the world, and of the wild Irish beauty who stole his heart. Of the love their parents shared and the wonderful life they lived. With shaky hands she too poured some of the ashes out, then she handed the urn to Dyana. Nodding to her sister Dy poured the last of the ashes and tears fell as she began to sing a song her parents loved.  Her voice joined by those of her sisters as they sang:

 

When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary.
When troubles come and my heart burdened be.
Then, I am still and wait here in the silence,
Until you come and sit awhile with me.


You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains.
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas.
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders.
You raise me up to more than I can be.


You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains.
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas.
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders.
You raise me up to more than I can be. [2]

 

As the last echoes of their song rang out along the cliffs, the sisters picked up their bags and made their way down towards the town and the next leg of their journey.