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Khima's Tale: Song of the Hopeful Heart	By : NiaraAfforegate Category: +G through L > Lord of the Rings Online, The Views: 1579 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is set in the universe created by Turbine, with permission from Tolkien Enterprises. I have no affiliation with either, and no such permissions. No money is made, and no ownership of LotRO, its universe, or related media is claimed.

Chapter List
- 1-Khima's Tale: Song of the Hopeful Heart
- 2-Requiem for Greenwood
- 1
- 2
This first chapter in Khima's story is more of a scene-setter; we pick up with her quite a fair way into the events of the game, and the story of her origins will be visited in retrospect before moving forwards. also, we're dealing with the difficult conflict of the way power and magic work in Tolkien's middle-earth, clashing with the game's representations. Any reviews of how this went would be appreciated.
-Niara
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A Requiem for Greenwood
Baleful yellow eyes looked towards them, glazed and unseeing, then turned away again. A nebulous mass of ether formed the vague resemblance of a body shape around the eyes, casting a faint luminous blue about the form. It turned, drifting away again. Khima continued to sing, a soft, soothing tune with carefully picked words. She let her power flow down through the music, subtle but pervasive around them.
“You may need to keep them from us a while longer. This is proving more complex than I suspected.” The voice at her back was calm but serious. She could feel the elf standing behind her, back to back, focused on her own task. Letheniel was facing the long-burned ruins of one of the larger buildings, staff outstretched in one hand. There was a faint light suffusing the length matching the soft glow that radiated in her eyes.
Khima lifted the harp from her hip and began to pluck the tune, letting her voice fade to a hum as the music swelled and took over the enchantment. She glanced back over her shoulder.

“It is not taxing. These poor creatures are barely half aware of themselves as it is. It is easy enough to convince them that they are elsewhere, living in brighter days; they seem to wish for it themselves, if such things can be said to desire.” She spoke only quietly, concentrating on letting her music weave its deception around the pitiful forms drifting about them. Letheniel made a dissatisfied sound, almost contemptuous. She pushed a few strands of escaped black hair from her face with her free hand.

“That is part of the problem. They’re bound by ties they refuse to see, and so I struggle to sever them.” Perched on a crumbling rafter of the building, a small russet eagle ruffled his feathers and keened, mirroring her frustration. Letheniel’s companions often seemed to mimic her moods.
Khima walked a low circle as she played, coming to stand beside the other woman. The building in front of them was near the centre of the town, or what was left of it. Like the rest it was now little more than a burned out husk, but there was sense of presence about it, the feeling that here lay the heart of the problem. There was a tingling in the air as Letheniel worked, her wards charging the air as a side-effect of her will flowing through them. A set of blackened stone steps climbed the foundations of the ruin to the remains of what was once its main door, where a spirit lingered, restless. As Khima watched, a yellow glow of its eyes passed between them, more focused than before and Letheniel glanced across at her.

“Khima, that one is aware of us. Send it away with the others.” She continued to mouth soft words, directing her power. Khima hesitated, though her fingers continued to play the music. She couldn’t tell what the other woman was doing yet, but something about this one was different.
“Why…” It was hard to call the sound a voice, really; more an impression of words. The spirit was definitely looking at them now as it spoke. “Why are you here?”

“Khima!” Letheniel’s voice was more insistent now.

“Wait.” She looked across to find the other woman’s eyes for a moment. They still glowed softly with her power. “This may be what we need. This is the place, yes, but they don’t see the truth. Perhaps we must make them, before they can be safely dispersed.” She arched one eyebrow to the other woman in suggestion. Letheniel raised her hand to toy with the same escaped lock of hair she had brushed away before.

“We can bring the truth to what remains of their ears and eyes, but they have closed themselves to it deliberately already. What then?”

“It will have to be something more tangible, as a focus. Something tied to them already.”

“Leave us in peace… We are a peaceful folk!” The spirit implored them, thoroughly ignored as neither woman glanced in its direction. Khima’s harp continued and Letheniel still held her staff towards it, poised, as they spoke.
“There are the town records. We know they burned the originals, to hide the truth, and this set was hidden away in secret by the archivist, before they killed him as well. You speak strangely about such things, but I believe I know what you intend. It will suffice.” She turned slightly to pull the tattered records from the pouch she had stored them in. Khima nodded.

“Yes. That will work. Here, I’ll bring them back to now, and the truth. Be ready to unbind them when I do; they will not be happy to be reminded of their treachery.” They exchanged a brief nod as Khima took the sheaf of papers, letting her harp fall silent as she took up the song again. She let her voice swell strong as he approached the steps, then trailed off. The fading notes seemed to hang in the air as she focused her gaze properly on the spirit before her. It reached out its arms, pleading.

“Let us be… We have done no harm to anyone…” The voice was that same dry presence, without true sound. Khima’s eyes narrowed and she let her will flow through her voice as she responded.

“You are a shadow of pain. A memory of treachery, and nothing more. Hear me and know this. The ones you think you are died long ago, and you are bound by the betrayal and murder that was their end.” She did not speak loudly, but her voice was piercing nonetheless. The spirit drifted back, reeling as though assaulted, and waved its arms at her, trying to fend the accusation away.

“No! You speak of lies and nothing. That is not how it was!” It grew agitated and the slender form of along knife took shape in its hand. “Begone from here! We only wish to live in peace!” The chill of its presence seemed to extend further, but Khima stepped forward, undaunted.

“The truth is in the words, shade, and the words remain!” She held out the records in one hand. “This is the truth that binds you, and you will remember it now.” Her voice grew heavy with her power as she continued. “See yourself, shade! Know the truth you have wrought upon this place!” This time the spirit recoiled violently, the glow of its eyes betraying panic.
“No! We destroyed those words! We destroyed that truth and wrote a better one. That is not our truth anymore!”

“The truth is, shade!” Her eyes blazed. “You cannot change it, and you cannot hide from it any longer!”

“Then we must destroy it again, and you with it!” In a rage, the shade rushed at her, its knife clear and more real than ever, but Khima darted to the side and around the form, dodging out of its way. She threw out a hand towards it.

“Hold!” It stilled for a moment and she called out to Letheniel. “Now, do it!” Letheniel was already working, her staff raised and alive with energy, the wards shimmering on the verge of being visible. Her lips moved in whispered words, focusing her work, until she stepped forward a moment later to sweep her staff downward across the shade in a final gesture.
“Return now to mist and nothing, spirit! Your lingering here is ended, and your presence is no more!” Her shout was in Sindarin, but whether the Shade understood the words or not, the effect was the same. It let out a pained groan as its body fell back, dissipating into the air. The moan faded into a dying sigh that drifted on the air for a few moments until the spirit’s eyes faded away at last. Letheniel lowered her staff with a small nod of satisfaction. The sense of her power receded again and her eagle swooped down, returning to the leather guard on her presented arm. She glanced to Khima and spoke in Westron again.

“It is done. The effect will spread, and the remaining shades will soon fade away.”

“And Audaghaim will fall silent again, until the forest reclaims its remains.” Khima looked out over the burned ruins again. “We should return and let the others know what happened here.” She handed the town records back to Letheniel as she came down the steps and they started back towards the inn.
The inn itself, dubbed the Forgotten Inn by the Golden Host forces that first discovered it, had been converted into a temporary outpost and was rather more crowded than the name might suggest. Khima sipped at her mug slowly, listening to the conversation that drifted about the room. Few ever noticed a single elf sitting quietly in a corner, and as much as there was rarely anything of value said at common-room tables, it was still worth listening to, for all it revealed about people’s moods and opinions.

“Alone still? Perhaps you would share a pipe and sit by the fire with me for a while?” Khima glanced up. So much for not being noticed. The speaker was Letheniel, though now she seemed more relaxed than before. She was already holding a long-stemmed bone pipe in one hand and a leaf pouch in the other. The bowl had been intricately carved to look like a flower and it was clearly well cared for. She had bid her eagle farewell when they had reached the inn, but now a tan forest lynx with brown spots shadowed her feet instead. Khima recalled seeing the lynx at the inn earlier, stealing drinks from unguarded tankards. She took another sip from her mug, savouring the sweet flavour briefly, then stood.
“Well, I will decline the smoking, but let it not be said that I would turn down a conversation with someone who has something pressing on their mind.” Letheniel only nodded once, then led the way back to a pair of unoccupied seats near the fireplace. The area was mysteriously uncrowded, though Khima suspected her new friend likely had something to do with that. The lynx immediately took possession of the nearest three seats, stretching out with a pose that just happened to reveal all of its claws. Once they were comfortable, Khima raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly as she waited for the other woman to begin. Letheniel took her time, lighting her pipe and puffing on it a few times as she watched the fire, the light of it reflecting in contrast with the blue of her eyes. At last she spoke.
“I said nothing before because you were assisting me, and the work was important, but there are some very strange things about you, Khima of Imladris. Tell me… Where do you tell the people of Imladris that you are from?” Letheniel’s gaze was piercing now as it turned to her. Khima gave a small smile.

“Why, if it comes to it, I tell them I was born of Lindon, originally, of course.”

“Oh yes? What then do you tell the elves of Lindon?”

“You doubt me, then? Why should I lie about such things?” She closed her eyes, drinking again from her mug, and feigned unconcern. Letheniel was not fooled, making a small, dismissive sound.

“Doubt would require that I was not certain already that such answers were false. I have no such uncertainty. As for the why, that is what you will now tell me.” She paused, considering, then continued. “There is much that is unusual about you, Khima. Need I list them before you will speak?” She watched with sharp eyes that dared her to refuse. Khima looked to the fire, still with the hint of a smile touching one corner of her lips.
“Tell me what you have seen then.”

“You speak like no elf I have ever met. Mostly is it not noteworthy, but when you do not guard yourself, much of your manner changes and your words are often very strange. More, there is grace in each of us and, with will and the right words to shape it, we may affect the things and people around us, after a fashion. You are an elf, and yet you exercise your will with words from the Westron tongue. That is something I have never seen, and cannot truly even fathom, and I have seen much.” She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms as she smoked her pipe. “It seems clear to me that the Khima others see every day is little more than a mummer’s play. There is more. Age does not sit on you as in the manner of other Elves. The difference is subtle, but it becomes clear when one looks for it, and I can see in your eyes that you are indeed very old.” She glanced about, double-checking that others were not close by, and paying an extra glance to be sure the other Elves of the Host were not listening. When she spoke again, her voice was low a swifter. “Greatest of all is this, however. The light of your spirit is peculiar. It is different from that of any other I have seen, young or old, and I find the difference unsettling. Other Elves, younger Elves, have perhaps never noticed it, but I have seen far more than most of those who remain here in Middle- Earth, and I have never seen an Elf such as you before.” Her borderline accusation complete, she leaned back again, returning her pipe to her mouth for a few more puffs as her casual unconcern resurfaced. She looked down to the fire, then back to Khima, taking a long breath.

“So, Khima of uncertain origins, who are you really?”
Khima listened as the other woman built her case, measuring. She emptied her mug and set it aside once Letheniel finished.

“You have seen much. More than most.” She nodded to herself. “I suppose, for all of that, I do owe you an explanation. The question is: how much of the truth do you want? How much should I tell you?” The other woman’s gaze didn’t waver, unimpressed.

“All of it, of course.” The response was terse, but Khima let her smile warm as she gave a slight shake of her head.

“The whole story is a very long one, and you would not believe it, or me, if I told it.” Letheniel made an irate sound, her features twitching in frustration.

“For this answer, I have all night. As far as belief, I will be the judge of it, once I have heard.” The lynx sat up at her tone, looking between the two, her tail twitching. Khima stretched and recrossed her legs, thinking for a moment.

“Suppose I tell you as much of my story as I feel you will believe, and promise to speak no untruth within that. Then, you may ask me for the rest if you still wish to hear it once I am done. Will that sate you?” The other woman only demurred, puffing on her pipe, and let the moment hang. Eventually she sighed, and annoyed sound.

“It will do for now. Speak.” Khima smiled, inclining her head to the other woman.

“Then my story begins in darkness, long before the sun and moon were in the sky.” She paused, wondering how best to mould the truth of things honestly. Letheniel’s eyes had widened for a moment and she had almost shrunk back, but it had only lasted a moment before she mastered herself. Now she leaned forward on her chair, turning to face Khima directly.

“Go on…”
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Khima's Tale: Song of the Hopeful Heart