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Mirhap-gheal
Unlike the previous extract, I do know where this comes from (although I have no idea why I found it on the back of a typed transcript of Pushkin's Песнь о вещем Олеге, which I had apparently loved so much that I'd already copied it out by hand in its entirety; both transcripts were in my Russian A-level folder).
This is from what I believe was originally intended as a chose-your-own adventure Fighting Fantasy-type story that I was writing in an unused green ringbound desk diary (doubtless to be found in the bottom of some other box), which explains the unusual second-person present-tense structure. So far as I remember I never actually got beyond writing the elaborate introduction and possibly drawing out some location maps, and I won't swear to the latter! There were no alternate choices ever written, so what survives of the project, so far as I recall without having it to hand, is the set-up scenario of a human protagonist arriving at an elven stronghold (generic fantasy elves, with the twist that I seem to remember they had some kind of fetish like the Merovingian kings about never cutting their hair, which was to feature as a minor plot point at some stage).
I rather think this represents a chronological jump ahead of what material was actually in the book, to the anticipated scene where we meet and rescue the protagonist's elven friend -- this may account for why it was jotted down on the back of something else rather than being written into the manuscript with the rest...
This took place during my spontaneous making-up-languages phase -- nothing to do with Tolkien -- and I having a feeling that the title "Mirhap-gheal" was actually supposed to be the elven name of the stronghold, which was then to be translated into an appropriate Fighting-Fantasy-style book title as "Castle of the Elves" or something similar. (I really must track down the original during my archive-delving; all the old manuscript books are in a different box.)
What I do remember, for some reason, is that the 'gh' represented an aspirated hard G, a completely un-English sound, and the 'rh' combination likewise an aspirated R. At least I didn't stud my fantasy languages with random apostrophes :-p
And alas, I believe that was probably the farthest point the story ever reached; my various unfinished juvenile projects are one reason I'm so paranoid about the prospect of failing to finish fan-fiction stories...
This is from what I believe was originally intended as a chose-your-own adventure Fighting Fantasy-type story that I was writing in an unused green ringbound desk diary (doubtless to be found in the bottom of some other box), which explains the unusual second-person present-tense structure. So far as I remember I never actually got beyond writing the elaborate introduction and possibly drawing out some location maps, and I won't swear to the latter! There were no alternate choices ever written, so what survives of the project, so far as I recall without having it to hand, is the set-up scenario of a human protagonist arriving at an elven stronghold (generic fantasy elves, with the twist that I seem to remember they had some kind of fetish like the Merovingian kings about never cutting their hair, which was to feature as a minor plot point at some stage).
I rather think this represents a chronological jump ahead of what material was actually in the book, to the anticipated scene where we meet and rescue the protagonist's elven friend -- this may account for why it was jotted down on the back of something else rather than being written into the manuscript with the rest...
This took place during my spontaneous making-up-languages phase -- nothing to do with Tolkien -- and I having a feeling that the title "Mirhap-gheal" was actually supposed to be the elven name of the stronghold, which was then to be translated into an appropriate Fighting-Fantasy-style book title as "Castle of the Elves" or something similar. (I really must track down the original during my archive-delving; all the old manuscript books are in a different box.)
What I do remember, for some reason, is that the 'gh' represented an aspirated hard G, a completely un-English sound, and the 'rh' combination likewise an aspirated R. At least I didn't stud my fantasy languages with random apostrophes :-p
Mirhap-gheal
After a few seconds he drops his head back between his hands with a groan, saying something in the elven tongue. You catch a word meaning 'dream'.
Hurrying forward, you grasp the bars that encage him. "It's me, Thrush, Hirrhin! I'm here, I'm real."
You feel a fool, but the young elf raises his ravaged face from his hands. His features are brusied and swollen, and there is blood in the silvery hair. As he rises unsteadily to his feet, you see that he is shackled to the wall behind him by a short chain, which scrapes over stone as he advances towards you as far as it will permit.
"Thrush! It is you!" he breathes. "Though what power can have led you here when you should be a mile on your homeward road... Do you know what has happened here?" He goes on, without waiting for an answer. "They were so kind; they told me everything..." There is more than a hint of hysteria in his laugh.
"Mirhap-gheal was taken by a motley force of bandits — mostly human — some weeks ago. The garrison was butchered." He shivers convulsively. "But it was not by chance that the great fortress fell to the very forces it was built to subdue. No, and it was not by their cunning either — there was treachery. They boasted of it...."
The sapphire elven eyes are intense in the disfigured face. "The survivors — my mother, I hope, her sister — are in hiding. Thrush, we must do something!"
You have a sinking feeling. "Hirrhin, I'm just concentrating on getting you out of here. Once we're out, you can go for help, you can do what you like. But I'm not setting off on some hare-brained foray deep into a castle in enemy hands!"
You look around. You have been in some tight places together before, but none so bad as this. "Isn't there some magic you can use?"
This time the elf's laugh is sardonic. "This is a holding cell in an elven fortress, Thrush. The possibility has been foreseen and prevented." He gestures around him with one hand. Why do you think the walls are lined with a different rock? Why is the room unheated, without light?
"Saiin, Thrush. The walls are made of saiin, and no magic can work in its presence."
You sigh. "Well, we'll have to see what cunning and brute force can do. Most cells are designed to be secure from the inside. Maybe I can break into this one from the outside."
After a quick glance, you abandon the door, which is made of solid metal and secured by at least six bolts with heavy locks, and concentrate your efforts on the bars. Time is running short.
And alas, I believe that was probably the farthest point the story ever reached; my various unfinished juvenile projects are one reason I'm so paranoid about the prospect of failing to finish fan-fiction stories...