Active and Passive Voice
*Use of the active and passive voice is according to the tone of the language and use of subject or object. Mostly active form is used in direct form when subject is active while passive voice is used to express something in indirect or passive tone, means subject is passive.
Present Tense
1. Present Indefinite / Simple Present
// S + V1(s/es) +O **Active Voice
// O + is /am/are + V3+ by + S **Passive voice
Active :She loves the cats.
Passive : The cats are loved by her.
Negative sentence : // S+ do/does+not + V1 + O ( active)
//O+ is / am /are+ ( not) +V3 +by + S. ( passive)
E.g
She does not like him. (A)
He is not liked by her. (P)
2. Present Continuous Tense
To change Continuous Tense into Passive form is/am/ are + being +V3 is used.
E.g: They are reading a newspaper. ( Active)
A newspaper is being read by them. (Passive)
Negative sentence : She is not holding a meeting this week. (Active)
A meeting is not being held by her this week. (P)
3. Present Perfect tense
The has/have +been +V3 form for Present Perfect tense is changed into O +has/ have + been +V3+by + S
E.g:
//The teacher has completed the lesson.
// The lesson has been completed by the teacher.
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He Who Sings Against Gods - part two
[part one]
Chapter Two
The Visions
Finrod spent the next few days on the verge of reality and dreams.
He'd wake up but pass out again. Sometimes he'd shout. Sometimes he'd cry.
At times, he had the sensation that someone was standing next to him, and he could hear fragments of conversation.
'... too weak...'
'... him alone!'
The voice seemed familiar to him, painfully familiar - it contained the anger of Angarato, the heat of Aikanaro, the steel of Artanis, kidness of Artaresto - all melted into a golden alloy, and he remembered, remembered, remembered, but then he was falling again...
'... he is my SON!'
Son, son, son, his thoughts picked up, twisting him in a whirlwind of images. Findarato dug his fingers into the fabric of his shirt, trying to hold on, and inhaled hoarsely.
"You-"
There was silence - now Finrod was sure it was silence. For a second, he heard only his own breath. Then, quick steps, the rustle of clothes.
"Get out."
The sound of closed doors. Silence.
Someone sat down next to him.
"Arato," the voice was soft, almost whispered. "Arato, can you hear me?"
His thoughts were repeated like parrots. Arato, Arato, Arato.
"O...rodret..."
It had to be Orodret... he found him... escorted him out... Orodret... 'You shouldn't have risked yourself this much', he needs to tell this to him later - later... later...
A cool hand falls on his face, and Findarato inhales hoarsely.
He doesn't remember the wolf, he doesn't remember the crunch of bones, he doesn't remember the blood on his teeth, he doesn't remember Beren. All there is is a quiet room and Orodret's soft, gentle hands.
It was madness. Arafinve didn't explain it otherwise. Madness.
He thought he was crazy when he saw the body on the edge of a sunflower field.
His son's body.
His dead son's body.
Arafinve remembered exactly when Findarato - when his Ingoldo, his little Arato died. He remembered how his ears filled with rumble, how tears welled up in his eyes, how instead of breathing, only deaf sobs were heard, how visions seized him, showing a dark, stinking basement, and fur in his mouth, and lungs that tried to breathe in with a rattle, and the smell of blood, and screams, screams, screams.
That's why Arafinve decided he was crazy. That grief eventually took over his mind. That he lost.
However, Findarato was here, painfully alive, and his crying was horribly real, and his screams -
He didn't remember how he flew up to his son, how he touched his face with trembling hands. He tore off his cloak, wrapped Arato in it, and pressed him to his chest, still not believing, still not...
Findarato had a fever. He raved, often screaming; he trembled, crying.
Arafinve shouted as soon as he run into the castle, calling for the best healer - who appeared, dissatisfied with the late rise, but became serious when he saw the king, noticed tears and despair in his eyes - when he saw whom his king pressed to his chest, too frightened to let go of them.
And oh, Eru, at this point, the last thing he needed was sleep.
He works side by side with his king, and they curse together, weave spells together, tremble together every time thunder cracks outside the window and Findarato - and the prince - screams, plunging again into the swamp of fever.
On his body, from his neck, on his stomach, to his legs, stretches a terrible torn scar, and his back is covered with bumps of - Eru. What could it possibly be???
They do not notice how the morning is approaching. The rain does not stop. They are grateful to Ulmo for this, although they know that it will not last long. The news of the resurrection - the first since Feanor's mother's time - will reach Valar faster than Tilion will ascend to heaven. And then the visits will begin.
The "guests" indeed arrive very soon. The first Mayar come with a desire to help. They look sincere. Arafinve pauses for a second before shaking his head. They come again and again until Arafinwe throws leaky buckets in their hands and sends them to get some water. They understand the hint.
Then, the next day, others come. Mayar of Feanturi. There are two of them, and they say calmly that the prince has not been completely healed, that he needs Lorien's gardens, but Arafinve would rather die than allow his son to be taken away. They come the next day, but this time they are talking about the punishment that will await Findarato in the event of Arafinwe's disobedience; they play on his fears, on his weaknesses. The king says... no, orders them to wait until Artafinde recovers.
They agree.
However, they do not stop pushing him, and when Arafinve approaches his son's room, a whisper is heard above his ear... a whisper of an adviser, no, of a spy; he begs him not to anger Valar, begs him not to be stubborn, begs...
But then Findarato wakes up.
Arafinve sits down at his son's bed, calls him - quietly, gently... who would have thought that a moment ago he was ready to remind Valar that he is still the brother of Feanaro, and tell them Mayar to go f... mind their own business?
"O... rodret," Findarato whispers, squeezing his hand. Arafinwe does not recognize the name.
But how can he recognize the name of his youngest son if he has never heard Sindarin in his life?
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