Disclaimer: The original story was written by Elrond and can be found in this forum. I translated it into English for entertainment and love for Elrond's writing. No copyright impingement is intended. There are many errors and the translation is not fully faithful due to the limit of time and my capability. I owned nothing except pure pleasure inspired by Tolkien's fanscinating world and Elrond's flawless writing.

Dance in the wind that goes nowhere and everywhere(part 1)

This must be a place shrouded in fog all the year.
The air was heavier with overflowing moisture, so were our garments. They were like being put on without being dried enough, puckery and constantly dripping down.
The road was damp. Coolness crawled up layer by layer through the sole, not chilly though, rather like the feeling of walking in a mild creek. It was as though many strange organisms lived in the earth underfoot. They extended out thin hands to grab your robe when you passed by. You seemed to be struggling against much care to take a step forward.
"Very easy to locate a water puddle." the King said, "In the place Men live, the accumulated rain water smells slightly rotten."
I followed the King, having no idea where he was going. We had just stayed a night in this small town. Seems he wanted to linger here for quite a while. "Nice place." he exclaimed in thrillment, "All this mist! Cloudy day is adorable!"
I couldn't get why he was fond of cloudy day. In this misty place, everything had no much chance to be comforted by the sun's soft and warm golden tentacles. Rain often poured without a stop for over ten days. It was not repulsive, yet was enough to wear you down. The raindrops were fine and dense, only moistened the surface of your cloak, nevertheless wherever you went, you
couldn't escape this net made of rain. It kept falling, imprisoned you in this endless dampness.

Except mist and moisture, perhaps there was nothing special about this town. There was familiar smell: house made of birch, Cirsmire pipeweed, overcooked bacon and condiment, oats beer, long-haired cats and dogs, teleprion that grew between seams of rock planks and walls......yet the King was cheerful.
"Forgive me, your Highness," I spoke out in the end,"I couldn't see the reason that you enjoy this kind of weather. Is it because you were bored by the ever-bright sun in Lothlorien?"
"Gray day makes one feel low and even strangled. Drizzling rain chills a warm body, muddles dry land......That's it." the King asked, "As you are walking by in this kind of weather, what do you desire most?"
What I wanted most.....I wanted to be back to Lorien......back to warm sunshine, to draw a deep breath of dry and fragrant air. Even Lorien was faraway, even we could only get back to the inn, stirring flames in the fireplace, boiling a cup of tea, sitting down and chatting--even taking a nap in a chair was lovely.
"You said it." the King replied, "Candlelight, fireplace, soft shoes, hot food and bed, the world outside the window is dim and chilly, yet people are cuddled in brightness and warmth. Only at this moment they feel unusually contented, because there is a roof above in this world--this roof is their solid shelter, protects them against coldness and insecurity. Home, is like home most at this moment."
I really didn't understand why the King had so much philosophy.

The noise of the crowd was fading. It was not that hot and humid presently. We came to a remote place. There fluttered over strong smell of pine paint, en......it was blue and white paint.
"Don't move. Let me give you a hand." the King burst out. Perhaps he was speaking to that girl. I knew there was a girl nearby. She used mint perfume. That faint and cool scent lightened the ordinary of the perfume itself, as if a strand of clear wind passed by in a hot day.
I didn't hear the girl making any reply. The King said:"I'll be back in a minute." His cloak rustled against the roof. He must have climbed onto the roof. His voice came from the top of my head, "ass me the brush." He said.
Still no response. But swiftly I heard the brush stirring paint in a can, followed by the sound of painting, exactly like when the King was drawing a picture, each stroke, each break being so restful and elegant, as if the movement of the brush on the canvas was a lovely song.
"So you kept the blue sky on your roof. Your neighbour will be jealous." remarked the King.
If not because of that faint smell of the perfume and the girl's quick breath, I'd have thought he was talking to the air.
"Are you always staring at people like this? Or is it because I am handsome? If the latter is the reason, feel free to take more look. I dont mind it."
I couldn't help laughing out. He had such capacity of switching through various roles freely: a wise king, a frank traveller, or a curious kid. These changes were so genuine and natural. You were bound to forget about his other identities when he was in one of them.  

Finally I heard the girl. "What's your name?" She asked.
"En?"
"Your name, what is it?"
"Celeborn."
I was startled. How come he blurt out his real name? Wasn't it ungracious to let a girl adress him directly?
"Celeborn? Strange name......how to spell it?"
"Hmm.......it was from an ancient language, too old for me to recall the spelling."
"Is it your real name?"
"Right."
"Have you ever used other names?"
"Seems not."
"Yes or no?"
"No."
The girl heaved a sigh: "Of course, you can't be that guy called Silvertree.......even if he was still alive, he would have been like my
great-grandma, not able to get off the bed."
You can imagine how surprised I was at that moment. But the King inquired as if nothing had happened, "'That guy called Silvertree', looked the same as I?"
"If not because you are so young, I'd think you two were the same person."
I smiled. Nothing was more interesting than hearing a human girl saying that “you were so young”.
“That sounds curious……” mumbled the King, “You haven’t met Silvertree. How come you know what he looked like?”
“We have his portrait at home……you really never heard this name of Silvertree? Anyone, likewise, your father or uncle was named with it?”
“Um…….no one I know of. But many things that happened to them were beyond my knowledge.”
“Would you like to take a look at the portrait? Perhaps……you’ll recall something.”
“My pleasure.” Replied the King, “But we have lots of work to do before that.”
I sensed a fragile and sweet shivering of the air, as if someone was curving his smiling lips. The girl’s voice was as soft as flowing leaves of a willow.
“I used to dream in my childhood, if we had a patch of blue sky and white clouds on the roof, like the shadow cast by a sunny day, when the gloomy day saw it, maybe it would go home to take off the grey cloak and put on the blue gown patterned with white clouds, hence we would have a bright day.”
“Good idea.” Echoed the King solemnly, “You’d better start early.”
“But I have grown up and no longer believed in a fairytale.”
“So, what are you working on right now?”
I didn’t heed the girl’s reply. Or she didn’t respond at all. I went into a hut near by. Dry reeds were scattering a lovely scent, like the warm odor of wheat from some freshly heated bakery, or the low and deep sound of harp streaming into your window at a sleepless night. I almost longed to embrace it, or lean on it. I hoped to touch something tangible, tender and soft, as comfortable as a piece of garment close to my torso and limbs; I hoped to be nestled in this scent completely, like the center of a blossom that possessed all the aroma before it bloomed.

I lay down in the dry reeds. The fluffy reeds were pushed outward under my weight, then slowly rised after that instant of pressure, until they cuddled my body completely, perfectly in touch with me. A soothing feeling exuded from the center of my foot to that of my brow like wine. I snuggled against it like a cat, dreaming I was new born, and was indulged in the affection from the whole world.

There were water puddles everywhere due to the continual rain. Water dripped from trees and eaves and fell into all the puddles evenly. Boughs of trees and eaves were higher or lower, wider or narrower, hence the waterdrops were larger or smaller, quicker or slower. Some glided down the top of a tree, passed numerous leaves, gathered more rainwater along the path, paced in a light and swift way, like someone’s footfalls when he was running up steps, heavier and heavier, quicker and quicker; finally he made a jump, a short silence, followed by a loud thud. Waterdrops from the eaves were brisk and even, like a piece of melody that had been sung repeatedly in the long past; its theme was about life, therefore it was so touching and plain, intrigued people to escape into the sleep, and hope to see violent storms or beautiful landscapes safely there……
I strained to feel the sound closely. If you could understand it, it became the most beautiful music in the world, surpassed all those you had been attracted to.

容偶膜拜一下先~~~

感谢大人的授权

另，贪婪的伸手：
可不可以理解为大人之后所翻译的Elrond的文我可以继续转载呢？

再另，贪得无厌的伸爪&摇尾：
请大人继续翻译下去，最好成为一个系列

再再另：
因为我本人是英文文盲><，所以请在UK的朋友帮忙看了看大人的译文，转述一下她的话：
没有什么大的错误，只是在一些细节上有些小的语法问题（她举了一些例子，大抵是诸如某处不应该加the之类的，我是不怎么听得懂也不可能都记得下来的啦……汗……），再有就是有些语句稍显生硬了一点。以汉译英而论，算是很了不得的了（尤其是翻译这种文章）。
唯一值得商榷的地方，是那句“Surely you are joking. No one can beat you elves.”（“瞧你说的，谁能和你们精灵比。”）她认为应该翻译成“Surely you aren`t joking. ”嗯，这个是因为对原句涵义的理解问题而不是语法的问题了。

yah you can transfer it for sure. your friend was sharp. "the" puzzled me a lot. also, "surely you ain't joking!" is better. there's a book called "surely you are joking, mr. feyman!" and i got temporarily mesmerized by it. they'll be fixed.
i really didn't expect ppl to read the english version since it took much more trouble and translation certainly appeared awkward beside the original. merely for me, combing elrond's fictions word by word was a pleasureable learning experience. so, thanks a lot for your encouragement especially corrections to those errors.
my biggest ambition was to translate xiang4xi1. that'll take tremendous time and input. hence thought better of it, starting with two short ones was good practice.

disclaimer: not mine. wish could be. i wanted ithil urgh!

Dance in the wind that goes nowhere and everywhere (part 2)

I sprang to my feet from the dry reeds at the appearance of the king and the girl. A long and pleasant dream seemed to have swept away my blues presently.
“This is Ithil.” said the king.
The girl panted, perhaps because she had just climbed onto the roof.
“Nice to meet you, young lady.” I greeted her.
“Nice to meet you.”
Her voice came half an arm beneath my eyes. I leaned forward to listen closely. Her silvery voice was tinged with huskiness typical for youth. She must be about 15 or 16 years old.
“Your names are so strange……” said the girl, “What happened to his eyes?”
I was a little surprised. Usually people didn't notice this problem when meeting me for the first time.
“He just can't see.” Replied the king.
Such a brief and precise response.
The girl led us into the house. The floor was made of maple, trembling delicately underfoot. Occasionally a footfall caused a weak echo. A fishy odor was dispersed from the wood wall blent with mud, lingering in the house for many years, as gloomy as grey clouds thick with moist before thunderstorm. It was probably because there were few windows in Men’s house, yet it was not the only reason.
There came sound of waterdrops from the left corner. When I listened more carefully, it came from the right corner, or the roof; every corner seemed to produce this sound, frail, slow; we seemed to break into an interval when the house was whispering in secret; the heavy humidity was a long and hefty sigh heaved by someone many years ago, tarrying here day and night without any way out, withering until time faded and dust fell, nonetheless it refused to vanish until diffusing into every corner and seam, retaining its past sadness through the old house……
The girl led us upstairs. The wood floor let out short and hoarse screeches. We seemed to tread the sore spots of the house, and it was waken up from an old and chaotic dream, groaning and moaning. The smell of paint became stronger and stronger, from old and oily paintings immersed in time for very long. I pondered that many paintings must have been put up on the walls along the stairs. Their color drooped, like a beauty’s saggy face after joyous festivity all night long.
The girl didn’t halt. The painting was not here then. She walked carefully ahead me, reminding me that we would reach flat ground after a few steps. The second floor was very small, smell of the wall flocking into the narrow passageway.
“This is Marthin’s room.” Said the girl, “Marthin doesn't like people to remind her of her age, and we always call her name directly."
A cool scent rushed out as the door was opened slowly. It tasted of fresh rain, revealing the specialty of this room—there were large windows around. The flowing air drove away the gloom, and the house seemed to regain youth at the moment we entered it. But a horrible sound came from the oak bed. I shivered before I could make it out.
Breathing was our instinct. Being young and healthy, we wouldn’t notice how our body kept repeating the two marvelous activities, inhaling and exhaling. We extended our limbs freely, attempted all the adventures possible or impossible, because we were granted fresh and sweet air, breathing made our blood boiling and strength full.
Elves were eternal, but I had seen friends injured and stifled. The sound of collision and friction when air was fighting a way out in the throat, was terrible, as if an orc’s blade sliced through a stretched piece of silk. I never realized the harmonious rhythm of breathing could become a ruthless hunting, wrangling away life little by little.
The old woman, Marthin, was squeezing all her strength to do one thing—breathing. Her respiration was slow and weak, like a shattered strand of rope, one end in her hand, the other in God’s grip. Neither wanted to give up, pulling hard to grab those in the other’s hand. The rope was in and out of the weakling body. Constant friction was intolerable to hear—that’s the most horrific sound in the world.
I retreated from the room, and walked near to the stairway. Nevertheless the hallway was too narrow and the sound easily spread into every corner. I called out for the king in a low voice, yet I couldn’t wait for his response. I went downstairs immediately. He didn’t hinder me. I paused after running down all steps; the gasping was still clear in hearing—that’s my exhalation, youthful, healthy, as vivacious as flames, and as perpetual as tides.
Why persisted so hard? Why not cut the rope, end the aguish? Were Men’s lives so short and precious that they struggled for limited time at the cost of endless pain?

@o@
让偶葱白一把……
对大人的速度和质量五体投地中~~~

看到大人说：“starting with two short ones was good practice”
那么，Elrond的另外一个短篇“如果冬夜，一个旅人”不知大人看过没有？那篇文算是一件“礼物”，所以没有发在龙堡。在我私心以为，这一篇的精致美丽甚至超过《向西》。本来以为自己对Elrond的美文已经是很习惯了的，但是第一次看到那一篇的时候头脑完全一片空白，那种震撼和冲击是无法用语言表达的。
继续贪心的伸爪：不知道大人有没有兴趣翻译这一篇的
（这篇文如果大人没有看过的话，我转过去的那个地方有收录）

QUOTE (sjj @ 2003-09-16，23:46 PM)

Elrond的另外一个短篇“如果冬夜，一个旅人”不知大人看过没有？那篇文算是一件“礼物”，所以没有发在龙堡。在我私心以为，这一篇的精致美丽甚至超过《向西》。本来以为自己对Elrond的美文已经是很习惯了的，但是第一次看到那一篇的时候头脑完全一片空白，那种震撼和冲击是无法用语言表达的。

不知在什么地方可以看到E大的这篇美文，还请大人指点～～～

sjj~ i&#39;ve read this "traveller and a winter night".  it was surely beautiful.  it happened to leak out of my head bcoz it was more like prose than fiction and i thought prose, second to poetry, was harder to translate.  i&#39;ll keep it in my plan since you mentioned it.

QUOTE (fethra @ 2003-09-17，04:43 AM)

sjj~ i've read this "traveller and a winter night". it was surely beautiful. it happened to leak out of my head bcoz it was more like prose than fiction and i thought prose, second to poetry, was harder to translate. i'll keep it in my plan since you mentioned it.

真好啊！！
大人的译文也是格外的清新。
请再继续吧^^

汗。。真的有人看英译版啊。。多谢weiwei的鼓励。。
一直觉得英文小说有种exotic beauty，所以努力ing..
还有呃请问版主：
怎么edit起始帖子的标题呢？想把(translation)后的(1)去掉。。

我的朋友伊尼夏收到一封远方的来信。

  我从未见过精灵文字被书写在粗糙的莎草纸上，并且是用卡洛林体。卡洛林体是惟有人类才会使用的字体，为什么一个精灵会尝试用这样有欠优雅的字体给朋友写信呢？

  信很短，只是小小的一页纸，但伊尼夏读信的时候一直微笑，然后他移开视线，望着不远处闪烁着阳光的湖面，像是陷入了某种回忆。就在我快要无法抑制自己的好奇心，向伊尼夏开口询问的时候，他微笑着将信纸递到我面前。
 
朋友伊尼夏：

  苹果 太阳 晴天 溪水
  树木 山雀 星星 小鹿
  歌声 爱尔蓓蕾斯 木犀草 沙果树
  苹果酒 月光 草地 伊尼夏

                 朋友：达尼埃

  “这是什么？”我不明白，“达尼埃……一个人类？”

  伊尼夏点点头。

  “记得三年前在安洛斯丛林的战斗吗？”

  我笑了。“我永不会忘记两年前，被认为阵亡的你重返林谷，出现在我面前的一刻。”

  “从那时候起，我开始学习肯塔语。”

  “那是一种生僻的人类语言，仅在安都因河上游的一小片区域通用。”

  “这是因为一个人类救了我。”

  “人类？你从未说过。”

  伊尼夏的脸上浮起淡淡的笑意。

  “或许我以为那段经历不值一提，或许，直到今天我仍然没有找到一种适宜于讲诉的方式……”

  我准备好听伊尼夏的故事。我们从小一起长大，原本就是无话不谈的好朋友。但伊尼夏只是摇了摇头。

  “又或许，其实并没有什么需要讲述的事。受伤，疗伤，躲避零星的半兽人，辨别路途，寻找食物和水……这样的经历在每一场战斗后不断的重复，我的与同伴的，也没有任何分别。”

  “可他是个人类……而且，是讲肯塔语的人类。”

  “是这样，也许这便是惟一有趣的地方……”他停下来想了想，“有趣……这个词语似乎并不合适。”

  伊尼夏拾起身边的小石子，轻轻抛向湖面。一声轻响之后，涟漪缓缓扩散开来。

  “石头，湖水。”伊尼夏喃喃的说。是肯塔语。两年时间里，耳濡目染，我也学会了一点点这种古怪的土语。

  伊尼夏抬起头：“白云，天空。”

  抚抚草地：“绿草，土地，三色堇。”

  以为他要继续神经下去，谁知道他哈哈笑了起来。

  “我学到的第一个词就是苹果。虽然对一个精灵来说，食物在森林里随处可见，但我却因伤势严重无法起身寻找。替我包扎伤口的人类已离开了四天，我想他不会再回来，所以当他带着野苹果出现在我面前的时候，我以为那只是因为失血过多引起的幻觉……他说的话我一个字也不明白，但他说anabe的时候指着苹果……我们就这样渐渐学会了用简单的词汇交流。苹果，太阳，晴天，爱尔蓓蕾斯……我教给那孩子精灵的语言里美丽，最快乐的词汇。同伴的伤亡令他如此沮丧，惟有这些词汇所代表的事物才能让他给他欢乐，并召唤出那本应属于他的年纪的灿烂笑容。我甚至已经对语法有了简单的了解，但我们伤势恢复的速度似乎更快一些……”

  “这就是他的信？达尼埃……可是，他到底在说些什么？”

  伊尼夏微笑。

  “我想，他只是在说，我现在非常非常的快乐……”




PS：地名为虚构，照例的不会精灵文，用英文代替。
下班后临时赶出来的文字，没有时间多加斟酌，也许很失礼。更郁闷的是，怀疑别人根本就看不出来自己到底要说什么……那么，我也是英文白痴，是不是比较容易理解呢

我是一个不擅表达自己的人，但是，如果你能明白


给fethra，或者伊尼夏

说感激


                                                        也许正处于受宠若惊状态而不敢出声的 Elrond

哇~偶像啊！！先给Elrond来个熊抱~
这片文是给我的吗？或者伊尼夏？(是我的是我的连伊尼夏一并拐走。。)
Elrond很喜欢伊打头的名字亚--失踪的伊敏，失明的伊西尔，失忆的伊斯特尔，
养半兽人的精灵娃娃伊赛米奥，上篇的伊尼夏...
迫不及待好多问题要问：
向西与一天之中一年之后之间还有好大的空档阿~Elrond会写下去吧？！！
一天之中一年之后里精灵与矮人聊天，说精灵王国宁静的面纱下隐藏了许多故事，
然后矮人举例说利文德尔的小家伙与人类也有不错的交情--这，也是精灵系列故事
之一吗？Elrond好象没写过呃...
还有，有个小小小小小的无伤大雅的漏洞：银树与盖拉不是洛林的国王王后吧，是
守护者吧。在托老的unfinished tales里提过。不过早版有许多种，有一版里银树盖
拉是洛林统治者Amroth的爹妈，所以两人是国王王后也是有可能的 。。(Elrond的
扇子们不要扁我，我是太喜欢了没话找话....嘻嘻)

QUOTE (fethra @ 2003-09-21，02:35 AM)

汗。。真的有人看英译版啊。。

怎么会没有人看呢？

实际上，在龙堡也好，在转载的地方也好，不管是Elrond的原文还是大人的翻译，都是：点击和回贴数严重不符。然后私下里说起来，大家都是异口同声曰，这些要回贴太痛苦了，要正正式式构思、打草稿、修改再修改……比自己写文画图费力得多：bbb
（所以都厚着脸皮看霸王文了）

那锅C爷爷和G奶奶，就我记得的话，洛林那块子的设定托老有改过几次的，比如说那锅Amroth的身份以及和他们的关系……总之，在魔戒那会子的话，洛林管事儿的（正式一点：统治者）是C爷爷和G奶奶，原作里用的称号好像是Lady和Lord罢（E文文盲又很偷懒不想去翻的某人），翻译成中文的话……各个版本有翻成王、皇帝、王后、女王、女皇等等的=_=|||
实际上，这两锅并没有在洛林称王（更不要说“皇”了）的说，不过中文版里是有这么叫的

再：
继续得寸进尺地伸手（这个人有完没完啊@@）
昨天在另一处看到大人注册发贴，也提到Elrond的这些文，Elrond的文只有两三个地方有，而且并非每个地方都收全了的，比如昨天那个地方大人现在翻译这两篇就没有收，但是是那篇“如果冬夜，一个旅人”的首发地，那么能不能来个“配套”，哪里有Elrond的某篇文就相应的把大人的翻译也转过去呢？

关于fethra的问题……汗，也是因为有中文版里称盖拉德丽尔为女皇，称C爷爷为国王，然后考虑了一下C爷爷的属下与他交谈时都怎么称呼他，也许直接称呼“王”会比较妥当一些，总得有个称呼吧……汗汗汗。

嗯，一天之中一年之后仅仅是一个番外，想纪念一下发文一周年 ，并不是向西的结局。向西的结局是一早便想好了的，只是不知道哪年哪月才能派上用场，笑。吉穆利和莱戈拉斯交谈中提到的三个故事的确是三个番外，其实并不是刻意设定，但后来发现三个故事林谷萝林黑森林正好一处一个，未完成的这个是属于林谷的，写了一部分，但感觉似乎又飞掉了 ，已经停下有段时间了。

汗，果然是写得太隐晦让人看不明白吗 ……昨天下班后临时赶的，不好，以后有机会再补。因为一时没走人，结果快八点了还被领导拉住帮忙……而且，没有你的允许，所以不敢使用fethra这个名字，或者你愿意，就把名字换掉吧，伊尼夏留着以后再用，哈哈哈。

大H的问题……汗，有人喜欢就好，我还能有多幸运？

鹦鹉学舌：有喜欢看的文就好，俺还能有多幸运啊~~
那个可爱的精灵旅游文啊，怨念啊，啥时候能等到呢。
还有盖拉德丽尔的话，是有称为LADY的，那就应该是盖拉德丽尔夫人咯。不过中文版里是讲女王的>_<

TO FETHRA，
俺同意SJJ的说法拉，看人家回帖是最开心的事情哦，反正也用不着负责任的样子，西西~~
关于exotic beauty的话，确实是啊。
比如看电影的时候，假如完全不知道在讲什么的话，就可以针对画面自己想象拉。反而自得其乐哦

我有点明白了，fethra或者伊尼夏，就象画插图的阿豆与风中起舞篇里的阿豆一样...汗
...我不是会错意自作多情巴....
文是很好很好的，如果E大加补，也是绝对绝对期待的。
数数指头：向西的后续，利文德尔的番外，还有weiwei说的精灵旅游篇，哇~令人神
往的前景啊！！
PS....E大真是客气...我也没有得到你的允许，却越权翻译。
你能不能给我信箱发个授权信(向西，冬夜旅人，一天之中，风中起舞我都想要)，
这样我就可以把英译版转到其它网站了。sjj~你的建议有着落了。

我是英文白痴，但还是熬红了眼睛努力看，只是为了再感动自己一把～～
写文也好翻译也好画图也好，大家都不用谦虚了（被踢——就你最不谦虚……），熬更守夜绞尽脑汁，我们其实都是为了自己喜欢的东西在高高兴兴地自虐（汗），或者说是为了自己喜欢的一种情绪释放吧。
我愿意一直这样画下去

这篇小短文<<伊尼夏的信>>是对E大的敬礼之作,   就怕水平不高, 耽误了E大的美文.
昨晚心情所致, 翻完之后才意识到不但没有事先得到E大的许可,而且抢了fethra妹妹的生意, 不好意思的说.
不过fethra妹妹不但不在意, 还斧正了几处疏漏, 多谢多谢.

My friend Elisa received a letter from afar.

I've never seen Elvish written on the rough Para paper, and actually in Corilin, which is the language of men. Why did an Elf write to friends in such an ungraceful form?

The letter was short, only one piece of paper. But Elisa kept smiling while reading. And then he raised his eyes, looking out upon the sunlit lake, as if lost in some deep memory. At length he gave me the letter for the moment I couldn’t hold back my curiosity and was about to ask him.

My friend Elisa:
Apple, Sun, Sunny, Creek
Tree, sparrow, star, deer
Singing, Elberes, mignonette, berry tree
Cider, moonlight, grassland, Elisa

Dannieal


“What’s it?” I didn’t understand, “Dannieal? a man?”

Elisa nodded “Do you remember the battle inAnluis forest three years ago?”

I smiled “I would never forget the moment when you, who had been thought dead, appeared in front of me.”

“Since then, I began to learn Corilin.” said Elisa.

“It’s a barely spoken language among men, and only exists in a limited upper area of the Anduin River.”

“Because it was a man who saved me.”

“A man? You’ve never spoken of it.”

A faint smile was on his face. “Perhaps because I don’t think it’s a big deal, or I can not yet find a good way to tell it.”

I was ready for his story. We are good friends, growing up together and always sharing any secret. But he just shook his head and said “or say, there is nothing worth mentioning. Being wounded, cured, hiding from Orcs, seeking for food and water……, they happen again and again after every battle. There is no difference between me and my companions.”

“But he is a man, furthermore, he speaks Kanta.”

“Yes, and it’s perhaps the only interesting part in the story…” he paused “Well, interesting perhaps is not a precise word.”

Elisa picked up a little stone and threw it into lake gently. Dimples spread smoothly on the flat surface after a soft sound.

“Stone, lake” Elisa whispered to himself in Kanta. I learned this strange language somewhat under his influence within these 2 years.

Raising his head, Elisa whispered “cloud, sky”, and then touched the grass, “grass, earth”

I thought he would stay in wander for a while, but to my surprise he laughed in a sudden “the very first word I learned is Apple. Food is everywhere in forest to the Elf’s eyes, but I was wounded too badly to rise and seek. The man who helped me tend the wound had left since 4 days ago. I had thought he would have never come back. Therefore I thought it’s my illusion as he stood in front of me with wild apples. I understood little what he said, until he said “Anabe”, pointing to the apples…..And afterwards we learned to communicate with some simple words gradually. Apple, Sun, Sunny……I taught the boy the fairest words of Elvish. He was despaired by the death of his companions. Only the imaginations represented by these fair words could bring him happiness and arouse his shining smile belonging to his age. I even knew some basic grammar, while I recovered faster somehow.

“So it's his letter. But what did he mean indeed?”

Elisa smiled “I think he is only saying “I live happily now.” ”

接fethra的班, 欢迎大家拍砖头


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

我慢慢走出了屋子。雨水仍然连绵不绝的落在所有的树叶，所有的屋顶，所有的道路上。
我在门廊的台阶上坐下，仰起头，让脸颊迎上飘落的雨丝。

I walked out of the house slowly. Rain kept falling on all the leaves, roofs and roads like a veil. I sat down on the stairs in the front of the porch, lifting my head and bathing my face in the fluttering rain.


Elves we are. Ever-young bodies we were given by God, but not yet strong hearts. Slightly illness can consume our bodies, but deadly a nameless idea can torture our hearts. A sorrowful melody hummed in westron comes to us occasionally, but it can smash our smiles utterly. Where is the red-beaked bird that migrated from the north every year? I didn’t hear its clear voice across the sky of Lorien this year. Where is the creek flowing down? It was rippling under my touch and echoing my whisper before. Whose smile it would mirror; whose body it would cleanse; whose fate it would behold. Stirring are our souls, with no reason. In peace, lies the lake in woods flat as a mirror and still as a rock though, comes but a sudden breeze or a fallen leaf, its silence will fail into the waves. I can’t foresee a trifle would cause either merriness or sadness, by chance or by purpose. Compared to the perfect bodies, our souls are under the dominion of everything, for they even will moan for the pain of an old woman encountered.


The King sat beside me before I was aware. He was seldom in such an unusual silence, meaning the moment when he should have said something but not. I was not sure if the King had beholden the painting, or if he was the one in the portrait. The silence was heavy. I began to believe the old woman had passed away while I was lost in wonder briefly.


But the girl’s quiet and discreet footsteps told me it was not true. The footsteps halted behind me. I wanted to rise, but the King made no movement.

“Why?” asked her.
The King sighed softly.
“Would you please tell me why?”
“Do you remember what you did first after coming down form the roof?” asked the King.
“What? Is there anything about it?”
“Maybe yes, maybe no.”
“Please tell me plainly.”
“You will know the answer soon.” Said the King smiling, “But I’m not supposed to tell you.”



The puzzling conversation made me much concerned as an argument was about to burst out between an Elf-Lord and a young lady. But suddenly pattering noise came to be heard and spots of water sprang up onto my face. The sticky and stuffy air was blown away. People here cheerily had the rain coming streaming down.



The rain couldn’t bar on our way. But to my astonishment, the King accepted the invitation and lodged here for the night. His decision surprised me, as much as the girl had asked us two men to lodge. In journeys, we met good people often, but beheld the events that good failed into greenhouses bearing evil often. We helped people, as best as we could. But the king said character to fate was as helm to sailing. All we could decide was how to switch direction of wind with the time that was given. But if the compass or helm was broken, the boat would bump the reef sooner or later. The King was right, but I still couldn’t dispel the unspeakable woe. I hoped good or evil could have what they deserved. Even men only had short lives, they didn’t deserve despair.



The time of the supper was unusual, kind of embarrassing. We were having the simple meal quietly, with only the sound of the silverwares in the small living room. Though I didn’t understand why, I didn’t feel uneasy to the King’s silence. Since the King kept quiet, he must have something in his mind. Only the calmness and concentrated thoughts could be rewarded the best.



I noticed the food laid on the plate was cut into pieces in order. Though I could use tableware better than most of men, I still appreciated her chariness. I thanked her formally.

“Never mind.” said her.

It was the only talking on table.


The King lingered long on the stairs watching the paintings. They should be fair works. For the King was a painter, and what more, was a very critical one. I sat in the chair and its back was low somehow to an Elf. But the cotton pillow was soft enough for me to take a comfortable pose. The girl put a footstool before the chair. “I think a folk after a long journey of weariness should need it” said she.


A long journey wouldn’t make elves weary. But sitting back in the chair with feet on the high footstool was comfortable at any rate. I thanked her. She responded nothing. I thought it would be the only talking tonight, but she asked me suddenly to tell her my travel tales. She was at the age when her curiosity grew fast. But my experience was limited and I didn’t have skill on tongue. After all, what was a blind person's experience in darkness to her, who desired a colorful life?



I was wondering what to say. The girl was waiting politely. The scent of mint was waving in the darkness, as if small hands led me somewhere. I was lost in thought suddenly and tried to seize the scent. I drew a figure in void, as to draw an anthemion against obsidian. I recalled Robita, a beautiful elf maiden who liked to cheer up others and curl her straight hair into the shape of seaweeds rippling down.



Robita’s figure was still clear in my mind. I guessed the girl might have a young and fair face as well. But her hair couldn’t be silver. The westron in valleys of Andiun River are dark-haired, so hers might be brown or black, or perhaps red gleaming as brass. In Lorien, girls’ skin was of a whiteness surpassing the snow, but hers might be spiritoso, perhaps wheat or rose of dawn. Her eye might not be icy-blue as the twilight of the moon, but black, round and shining.



So here came the girl fashioned like Robita. I couldn’t fancy her expression, thus I issued her a lively one. I didn’t know if she looked like it. But I was amused by the play and even bursted into laugh.

"Huh?"

"Ahh…"I felt embarrassed. Robita’s face was lit with surprise from liveliness. I know not how to deal, but was reluctant to draw back my smile either.


“I miss my homeland….” answered me “and friends there”

"It’s beautiful, isn’t it?"
"Yes"
"Is it far?"
"Yes"
"Good"
"Huh?"


A silence fell around us; I was wondering what else to say, till came her voice again. “I always think of home as a place where you are far away.”

She had the similar opinion with the King. I couldn’t help smiling again.

“Do you feel it is folly as well?”
“Not at all.”
“But you laughed at it.”
“That’s because …..” I faltered, without knowing how to explain a deep and queer thought of the King to a girl.

I kept quiet, so did she. I heard she stand up and pick up a book from the bookshelf scattering the scent of pink. The book rustled in her hands. I sighed inside, I was not communicative at all.


When I got to bed, the King was still awake without lighting. I could hear his calm breath. I couldn’t help guessing what was bothering him. I was sure it’s about the portrait.

I didn’t intend to have the answer, or pry of others either. However….it’s quite entertaining to have wide guesses about His Majesty at all rate…..I fell into sleep bearing those fancies.


I woke from a dream, sensing a shadow looming at the bedside. The body scent wasn’t familiar so it couldn’t be the King. However, his bed was empty. There was no sign of him in the room. Who was it?

My body was strained by the sudden alarm. I realized suddenly things in this small town were wholly queer, a queer girl, a queer portrait, a queer old woman, queer actions of the King……and what was more, you woke and found someone standing beside.

Was it a conspiracy aimed at the King? Was I threatened? Sure, I felt a sort of shiver spinning down my body. I should have been terrorized by the unusual action of the King….. For the King is the image of the bravery and wisdom.

Faint fragrance of mint overspread. The faint fragrance of mint…Was it her? In the darkness, clearly was heard her light breath, like a despaired cry from a small animal trapped.

I lay motionless. I thought she might have entered the wrong room; might have forgotten the guests lodging here and been too shocked to speak; might have been driven by the curiosity for me…But after a long while, she was right there still standing.