Imladris - Elendor MUSH Culture

Ceruill begins the tale with a soft, clear voice. A smile lights his eyes, but his face looks serious as he regards the listeners.

"A long age ago, there lived a fool named Weaselstump," Ceruill begins. "This was in the olden days, when the halflings were still the thricelings, and the first sun and moon still hung heavy in the night sky. Weaselstump was a wanderer. His left eye was gone, lost somewhere, and the vision in his right eye was cloudy. His legs were weak, and his arms were shrivelled and weary. But this bothered him not, for he was a merry fellow with a song for every occasion, and a happy flute with which he would fill every hill and dell of the land.

"It came to pass that Weaselstump wandered about looking for his wife. A fair maiden, she was. Her eyes were soft, and her laugh was like water tripping from the falls--or so Weaselstump imagined. For he had never met his wife, but only heard of her. He had once met the lord of a strange valley, called Imladris, who had said after hours of thoughtful counsel with the fool, 'Your wife must be a blessed woman to be able to bear the likes of you, Master Weaselstump!' Well, 'twas the first Weaselstump had heard of her, but he decided that if she be so blessed, he would find her. After all, she was his wife!

"And so, the fool wandered through great forests, and over terrible crags and mountains, a'looking far and near for his beloved wife. And all the while, he played upon his beautiful flute."

Ceruill now picks up his flute and begins to play a sweet, high tune. It is merry, and trivial, but its sound is a delight to the ears. The music drifts and weaves, carrying the listener along on a happy little ride down a gentle stream. Up and down the flute plays, with silly little trills and rich, precious tones held for a long while--only to be interrupted by another quick trill.

Ceruill lowers his flute and says, "One day, Weaselstump sat atop a mighty hill called Weathertop. He thought this meant that all weather came from it, and he played his flute to serenade the coming snow, which now fell lightly about him. As he played, a figure came over the rise. Terrible it was to behold. Squat and dark, with heavy black armor, it held aloft a terrible scimitar dripping with poison. It was an orc, and surely Weaselstump had seen his final day. But Weaselstump, seeing only a blur, lowered his flute and smiled. 'Are you my beautiful wife?' he asked.

"The orc laughed at the fool with a laugh like rocks hitting against one another. With its terrible voice, it said,"

And now Ceruill speaks in a gravelly, awful voice. He twists his face to a terrible visage, sticking out his lower jaw.

"I've drunk da blood a' countless men!
I've killed me elves now n' agin!
My own folk tink me awful cruel,
But I won't kill ya, silly fool.
'Cause if I die some awful day,
All de folks, at least dey'll say,
He was mean, dat surely is true,
But make him laff, he's nice to you."

Ceruill relaxes his face now and continues the tale. "When Weaselstump heard that, he laughed and laughed. He smiled at the orc and said, 'You are not my wife, but if you like you can be my friend and wander with me for a while. I play music on my flute. You might like it.' The orc laughed so hard at this that he fell to the ground. When it was done, it rose and walked away, for an orc is nothing but an orc, and can never be a friend. But still, it had spared Weaselstump's life in return for laughter. Weaselstump shrugged and started to play his flute again."

Ceruill begins another musical interlude. The flute now plays in short bursts and sounds like a rain storm. The volume escalates until the listener can almost see the rain. His playing fills the room with the powerful sound, occasionally interrupted by the sound of Ceruill breathing in. He finishes abruptly and launches back into the tale. "Now Weaselstump, he was very cold. The rain came down hard on his head, and the wind pitched him hither and yon. But he kept looking, for somewhere he was surely to find his loving and blessed wife. So it was that he came at last to cave to shelter him from the terrible, angry waters of the sky. As he walked in he saw a great shape looming in the back of the cavern. Its skin was like stone, its hands like mauls. So fierce was the look in its eyes that a wise man would have fled in a moment, but Weaselstump stood still and asked, 'Are you my wife?'

"There in the cave sat a terrible, old troll, lost and lonely after years of sitting in its cave. It heard the fool's question, and did not--could not--understand. 'Why am you ask?' the troll replied, in a voice like thunder and fire. And Weaselstump replied:" Ceruill now sings in a sweet, clear voice. His singing is filled with loneliness, but no sadness. The tune is simple, and he sings unaccompanied.

"I've wandered far in this long life,
To find my loving lady wife.
For else I fear I'll die alone,
My love unused, my heart cold stone.
And still, I've never seen her face,
I weary now of this long chase,
I want to find my precious dove,
So I may give her all my love.

The story-teller speaks again, "The troll, upon hearing this was reminded of its many years lost and alone in the mountains of despair. So empty did it feel that it had no will to eat poor Weaselstump. So acutely aware was that old troll of its long and wretched life of loneliness, that it began to cry. And when it cried it wailed and moaned, 'Me am no your wife! Me am no your wife! Go, before me am eat you! Run! Run!' And so he did. As the cave became small and dark in the distant night, Weaselstump could hear the troll cry still. In the end, the toll was not his wife. For a troll is nothing but a troll, and can never be a wife. But still, it had spared Weaselstump's life in return for tears."

Ceruill picks up his flute and plays a third interlude. This time, the music is terrible and frightening. The flute spits out notes angrily, and they seem to catch the room in a terrible fire of wrath and hatred. And as Ceruill holds a long note that is particularly shrill and awful, he lets the sound fade and recede into silence. He begins the tale once more. "At last our fool hero came to a wood, where the trees were gnarled and old. The winter winds ripped at him, and the trees loomed threateningly, whispering hatred at him in the wind. And there, in that blasted, evil land, Weaselstump came to a clearing where lay a terrible beast. Its face was wrought with wrath, and its mantle was lightning. Its horns grew long and thick, and its scales were twisted and cleft, each dripping with ichor and slime. Its teeth were caked with ancient blood and bone, and its eyes and tongue were those of a snake. It lay curled around a great white tree, long ago killed by its evil stench.

"Weaselstump saw this great figure, but to him it was only a blur. And he said to the dragon, 'Are you my wife?' And the dragon replied with a long hiss that sounded of the ripping of flesh, 'I am not. And why do you ask?' Weaselstump told the dragon his long tale of searching for his wife so he may be happy. The dragon replied:

'The pendulum swings from woe to worse,
The eternal cycle is broken!
For spring and summer have long since failed,
And all that remains is dying and death.
You seek to be happy,
A fools errand, indeed!
For joy is merely a dream long abandoned.
I am not your wife,
I am your doom.
Gaze upon me, and despair.'"

Ceruill recites this in a voice like a hiss, terrible and frightening.

"But when Weaselstump heard this he did not despair. Instead, he felt terribly sorry for the old dragon and said, 'Oh now, shhhh.....Do not mourn so. It may seem at times that all there is of the world is the winter, and the loneliness of a lost wife never before found. But I know that it is not so, for every winter gives way to spring some day. Every sad tale has a happy ending. I will play you a song, and rise your spirits a little, though you are not my wife.' And with that, Weaselstump lifted his flute and serenaded the dragon."

Ceruill plays on his flute a lilting, sighing melody, that bears in it the soft sighs of spring and summer. Blossoms bloom, and the stars twinkle in the music. Somewhere, children can be heard dancing in the song, and all is peaceful and warm. Comfort blankets the room as the flute touches every listener's ear with a soft kiss of benevolence and affection. However, in mid- note, Ceruill cuts off and lowers his flute, looking out at each listener, his eyes grown sad.

"I wish I could tell you, dear listener, that upon hearing Weaselstump's song, the dragon was transformed into a fair maiden, and they were married. I wish I could tell you the dead white tree of the grove grew once more and all was well. I wish I could tell you many happy things, until the night grows old. But the dragon was not Weaselstump's love, for a dragon is only a dragon, and cannot love. It listened to the fool's song for a while and then ate him up, chewing on his bones for a year and a day. And Weaselstump died there in that evil glade, alone and without ever having glimpsed his wife. Because that is how the story must end, though it should have ended earlier. For an orc has never spared a life for laughter, a troll never has for tears. Evil hates all that is wrought, and the winter is cold and fearful. The shadow grows long across the land, and sometimes we are as blind as Weaselstump was, but all we see is the misery and the pain."

Ceruill pauses for a long while before speaking again. When he does, his voice trembles a little. "I will tell you, though, that Weaselstump was right. Eventually, winter did give way to spring. Somewhere where Weaselstump had walked in life, a blossom grow strong and proud! And somewhere where once all was shadow, light came down from the sun, irresistible and unafraid! For there is no winter that will last forever, and there is no shadow that light will not banish. Though we may walk a thousand miles with a mountain on our back, someday we shall set down our burdens. And someday, we will dance and sing, free once more from memories of death and despair. The stars will twinkle in their merry dance. Remember, friends, these words of the fool Weaselstump, for we fools know best. Keep them close to you for the dark days you may have ahead. Remember that no wound is so deep that it cannot be healed, and no evil is so great that it cannot be broken. Until then, I remember you. I remember you who have fallen in the darkness, and will walk no more....I sing your names in my heart and I carry the hopes of a fool wrapped close, that I may see you again in a time of love." Ceruill finishes speaking and lets silence reign. After awhile, he says, "That is all."