Post by nabokov on Jan 9, 2009 13:53:17 GMT -5
Nabokov is a man of few words. Possessing a sharp mind, a tender heart and a will of steel, his good favor, once lost is lost forever, but his loyalty has never been questioned.
He sat down to have a couple Hobbit ales with the Pillagers, happy to have found a group of fighters so brave and true. He listened well, laughed at their stories, but said very little that first night. He thanked them for their friendship and told them how honored he felt to be a part of their clan. He excused himself early and went up to bed. I turned to my fellow man and asked if he had ever heard of Nabokov. The man smiled and a hush fell over the group, ever anxious for the old stories of Middle earth. He took a gulp of ale and wiped his beard and began in a hushed voice...
His story began long ago...
It was foretold that a cousin to the kings of Gondor would father a man-child who would rise up and usurp the throne. Knowing the possible threat to his son, and yet uncertain of the truth to the legend, Dalagorn, father to Nabokov, stole away with his child in the night and left him in the capable hands of an Elven family in Rivendell. Fearing for the life of their son, Dalagorn and his wife were never able to see their son again and perished only a few years later: Dalagorn in the battle of Mordanglome, and his wife from a broken heart.
And so Nabokov, renamed Yusil of Rivendell by his Elvish family, grew up in relative safety, unaware of his clandestine alter-ego. His Elven family had one other child, a daughter, Kimberwen. As the two children grew up together, a love grew between them that eclipsed everything else in their lives. When they were grown, they vowed their eternal love and devotion to each other, and made their intentions known to their parents. Kimberwen knew she would have to give up her immortality and Elvish gifts in order to be with the man she loved, but she loved so deeply, there was nothing for her in the world but Yusil. When their parents heard of their love, they were compelled to tell Yusil the truth of his birth and his name. Nabokov flew into a rage and cursed the heavens for dealing him such a bitter hand. To have love and perfection in his grasp and then have it ripped away, was too much for him. He ran away in the night with not a care for his life or future.
It was at this time, at his lowest point, when Nabokov met a Guardian trainer. It was a dark night, in a small pub, where Nabokov was drowning his sorrows in cheap Hobbit ale. Seeing the potential in this drunken excuse for a man, the trainer fed him, cleaned him up and began to show him another future. For one year, Nabokov trained relentlessly. He was a shell of a man, but honed his skill and all the torment of his broken heart to become a ruthless killer.
It was around this time that rumblings of a battle to end all battles, a battle for middle earth, were brewing. Nabokov knew the significance of the re-emergence of Aragorn and the quest for the one ring. He also knew his own dark role in the story and knew that he possessed the power to destroy his world by fulfilling his own personal prophecy to take the throne from Aragorn. He knew deep in his heart that he could have the ring and the power to rule all of middle earth. But he fought against it. Something, a glimmer of something true and powerful, kept his heart alive and hopeful and made him fight against his dark side.
And then the letter arrived. Kimberwen’s father had sent out a messenger to find Nabokov and tell him that Kimberwen was dying. She had forsaken her Elvish heritage even though Nabokov had left, always holding out hope that he would come back and find her. She had given up immortality and all her Elvish powers and was in the clutches of death. Nabokov rushed to her side, knowing he might be too late, to tell her his true heart. Upon seeing her face, even pale with shadows of death, his whole heart was restored. There was not even a trace of bitterness. He was wholly healed. And seeing Nabokov, and feeling his presence, Kimberwen arose from her bed with roses in her cheeks and embraced him. They were formally bound to each other that day and spent the following weeks in Rivendell making up for all the lost time.
But the situation in middle earth was worsening. Before long, Nabokov knew what he needed to do. Without even having to speak a word, Nabokov and Kimberwen knew they had to part so Nabokov could fight for the world they loved. The Elves were leaving and Kimberwen would not go with them. It was the age of man and man needed to reclaim middle earth from the clutches of evil. Having seen his future in Kimberwen’s eyes, he left to fight for all the good that was left in the world and the future of that world.
Making the treacherous journey over the Misty Mountains, past the mines of Moria, down The Great River, Anduin, and through Rohan and over the White Mountains, he finally found Gondor and Aragorn. Unarmed and knowing his life was forfeit, he entered the gates of Gondor and demanded to see the would-be King of Gondor. He was beaten down and chained and brought before Aragorn.
Standing, bloodied and beaten, in front of King, he declared himself and his intentions among the gasps and jeers of the people of the court.
“Great King of Gondor, I am Nabokov, of the House of Dalagorn, foretold to rise up and take your throne. I am a trained killer, a powerful weapon. My heart was dark with a dark purpose until it found light. I stand before you today to swear my allegiance to you and your throne and to Gondor. I vow to fight for you, to fight for freedom to the bitter end. I will fight alongside you and we will triumph over the evil that has overshadowed our beautiful land. I will defend your life with my last breath and will always be a subject to the throne, loyal and true. Will you accept my allegiance?”
The crowd waited in silence as Aragorn studied Nabokov. After an eternity, Aragorn reached out his hand to call Nabokov, “Brother.” A great cheer went up as the alliance was made.
And now Nabokov fights for Aragorn, for Gondor, for Middle Earth, for his home, for his love and for his future. He will not stop until it is done. Until everything he holds dear is safe from evil.
He sat down to have a couple Hobbit ales with the Pillagers, happy to have found a group of fighters so brave and true. He listened well, laughed at their stories, but said very little that first night. He thanked them for their friendship and told them how honored he felt to be a part of their clan. He excused himself early and went up to bed. I turned to my fellow man and asked if he had ever heard of Nabokov. The man smiled and a hush fell over the group, ever anxious for the old stories of Middle earth. He took a gulp of ale and wiped his beard and began in a hushed voice...
His story began long ago...
It was foretold that a cousin to the kings of Gondor would father a man-child who would rise up and usurp the throne. Knowing the possible threat to his son, and yet uncertain of the truth to the legend, Dalagorn, father to Nabokov, stole away with his child in the night and left him in the capable hands of an Elven family in Rivendell. Fearing for the life of their son, Dalagorn and his wife were never able to see their son again and perished only a few years later: Dalagorn in the battle of Mordanglome, and his wife from a broken heart.
And so Nabokov, renamed Yusil of Rivendell by his Elvish family, grew up in relative safety, unaware of his clandestine alter-ego. His Elven family had one other child, a daughter, Kimberwen. As the two children grew up together, a love grew between them that eclipsed everything else in their lives. When they were grown, they vowed their eternal love and devotion to each other, and made their intentions known to their parents. Kimberwen knew she would have to give up her immortality and Elvish gifts in order to be with the man she loved, but she loved so deeply, there was nothing for her in the world but Yusil. When their parents heard of their love, they were compelled to tell Yusil the truth of his birth and his name. Nabokov flew into a rage and cursed the heavens for dealing him such a bitter hand. To have love and perfection in his grasp and then have it ripped away, was too much for him. He ran away in the night with not a care for his life or future.
It was at this time, at his lowest point, when Nabokov met a Guardian trainer. It was a dark night, in a small pub, where Nabokov was drowning his sorrows in cheap Hobbit ale. Seeing the potential in this drunken excuse for a man, the trainer fed him, cleaned him up and began to show him another future. For one year, Nabokov trained relentlessly. He was a shell of a man, but honed his skill and all the torment of his broken heart to become a ruthless killer.
It was around this time that rumblings of a battle to end all battles, a battle for middle earth, were brewing. Nabokov knew the significance of the re-emergence of Aragorn and the quest for the one ring. He also knew his own dark role in the story and knew that he possessed the power to destroy his world by fulfilling his own personal prophecy to take the throne from Aragorn. He knew deep in his heart that he could have the ring and the power to rule all of middle earth. But he fought against it. Something, a glimmer of something true and powerful, kept his heart alive and hopeful and made him fight against his dark side.
And then the letter arrived. Kimberwen’s father had sent out a messenger to find Nabokov and tell him that Kimberwen was dying. She had forsaken her Elvish heritage even though Nabokov had left, always holding out hope that he would come back and find her. She had given up immortality and all her Elvish powers and was in the clutches of death. Nabokov rushed to her side, knowing he might be too late, to tell her his true heart. Upon seeing her face, even pale with shadows of death, his whole heart was restored. There was not even a trace of bitterness. He was wholly healed. And seeing Nabokov, and feeling his presence, Kimberwen arose from her bed with roses in her cheeks and embraced him. They were formally bound to each other that day and spent the following weeks in Rivendell making up for all the lost time.
But the situation in middle earth was worsening. Before long, Nabokov knew what he needed to do. Without even having to speak a word, Nabokov and Kimberwen knew they had to part so Nabokov could fight for the world they loved. The Elves were leaving and Kimberwen would not go with them. It was the age of man and man needed to reclaim middle earth from the clutches of evil. Having seen his future in Kimberwen’s eyes, he left to fight for all the good that was left in the world and the future of that world.
Making the treacherous journey over the Misty Mountains, past the mines of Moria, down The Great River, Anduin, and through Rohan and over the White Mountains, he finally found Gondor and Aragorn. Unarmed and knowing his life was forfeit, he entered the gates of Gondor and demanded to see the would-be King of Gondor. He was beaten down and chained and brought before Aragorn.
Standing, bloodied and beaten, in front of King, he declared himself and his intentions among the gasps and jeers of the people of the court.
“Great King of Gondor, I am Nabokov, of the House of Dalagorn, foretold to rise up and take your throne. I am a trained killer, a powerful weapon. My heart was dark with a dark purpose until it found light. I stand before you today to swear my allegiance to you and your throne and to Gondor. I vow to fight for you, to fight for freedom to the bitter end. I will fight alongside you and we will triumph over the evil that has overshadowed our beautiful land. I will defend your life with my last breath and will always be a subject to the throne, loyal and true. Will you accept my allegiance?”
The crowd waited in silence as Aragorn studied Nabokov. After an eternity, Aragorn reached out his hand to call Nabokov, “Brother.” A great cheer went up as the alliance was made.
And now Nabokov fights for Aragorn, for Gondor, for Middle Earth, for his home, for his love and for his future. He will not stop until it is done. Until everything he holds dear is safe from evil.
