I did this originally as a comment,
Jun. 5th, 2004 12:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
camwynbut I figured eh, what the heck, put it out where passers-by could see it.
The Elf-friends, man, woman, and child alike, held their breaths and leaned as far over the rails of their ships as they dared. The long, low boat that bore their Lord- no, their King, for surely he must be so now- had grated its bottom against the sand. It was time for Elendil to debark. They awaited his words before making any preparation themselves, for surely such a moment must be touched with foresight or portent.
With the grace and majesty of generations unnumbered upon him, Elendil rose in the boat. As he set his feet upon the shores of Middle-earth, he spoke, and these were his words: "Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta."
They looked at one another, smiling at last to hear good fortune spoken after so long and dreadful a journey.
And then came the other words. They came from a tall, cloaked figure who had just crested a rise in the sand of the shore. Its features were unseen, its cloak worn with time; yet somehow the figure, and its voice, had an oddly commanding feel as it spoke in Adûnaic...
"Hope you've got the men to back that up, Elendil. The locals in these parts have long memories- not kindly teaching sea-king long, either. Ar-Gimilzôr the Conqueror, kind of long."
The figure lifted a hand from beneath its cloak; its weapon flashed, catching the light of Anar. Not a sword, though- an axe?
"Lindórië Vimes and her House welcome the Lord of Andúnië and his people to the territory we've carved out in Middle-earth by the strength of our hands and our wits. May you have an easier time of it than we."
The Elf-friends, man, woman, and child alike, held their breaths and leaned as far over the rails of their ships as they dared. The long, low boat that bore their Lord- no, their King, for surely he must be so now- had grated its bottom against the sand. It was time for Elendil to debark. They awaited his words before making any preparation themselves, for surely such a moment must be touched with foresight or portent.
With the grace and majesty of generations unnumbered upon him, Elendil rose in the boat. As he set his feet upon the shores of Middle-earth, he spoke, and these were his words: "Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta."
They looked at one another, smiling at last to hear good fortune spoken after so long and dreadful a journey.
And then came the other words. They came from a tall, cloaked figure who had just crested a rise in the sand of the shore. Its features were unseen, its cloak worn with time; yet somehow the figure, and its voice, had an oddly commanding feel as it spoke in Adûnaic...
"Hope you've got the men to back that up, Elendil. The locals in these parts have long memories- not kindly teaching sea-king long, either. Ar-Gimilzôr the Conqueror, kind of long."
The figure lifted a hand from beneath its cloak; its weapon flashed, catching the light of Anar. Not a sword, though- an axe?
"Lindórië Vimes and her House welcome the Lord of Andúnië and his people to the territory we've carved out in Middle-earth by the strength of our hands and our wits. May you have an easier time of it than we."
