Disclaimer: [Please insert disclaimer HERE] Sue me. (w-wait...I wasn't serious!!)



To the Pain



Note: "To the Pain" is a line from The Princess Bride. Throw that into the disclaimer.



Note: This could easily be an original story, but the reasons why I chose for it not to be is because 1) It is easier for me to work with already made characters and places, and 2) People tend to read LOTR fan fictions more than they do original stories, because they are already familiar with the story.



Note: (Yes, yet another note) I chose Arwen to star in this story because she fit the place just right. Personally, I do not like Arwen (*cough*hate*cough*), but, hey, maybe I'll get to like her. Arwen in this story is really young, and y human standards (what would the elf equivalent be?) Arwen is around 13. And this is quite off in LOTR history, but, heck.



Chapter ONE: Taste of Life, Sip of Pain



The barely audible sigh that escaped from Arwen's lips flew into the wind, which toyed with her dark, almost black hair, that spread around her face like a halo of darkness. Her cheeks were reed and flushed with the constant pound of the wind against her face, and her eyes were filled with sadness. She looked over the edge of the mountain trail, her feet teetering over the edge, and laughed, but not a happy laugh.



As if by sudden instinct, she closed her eyes, and -jumped! It was a moment of freedom -she was flying, ignoring the consequences of what would happen when her flight came to an end. Freedom! And then she hit the ground.



Her body felt numb, and she saw the ground getting stained with a liquid of crimson. Her blood. But she didn't mind the sharp, jagged rocks, which cut into her back, or the shattered bones that she had caused. She sat in numb relaxation while her life ebbed away...



~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*



Elrohir whistled an Sindarin tune to himself, and nudged his horse a little farther on the trail. The horse whinnied, and Elrohir looked forward. There was something -someone, lying there. He dismounted, leaving his horse to wander and nibble on the grass, perhaps return to the stables, and went to see who it was, lying on the ground so peacefully.



"Arwen!" he nearly shrieked, as he drew nearer. Was she dead? He wondered, mind racing. He bent down to her still form. She was lying there, eyes closed, with a peaceful smile on her face, her dark hair spread out around her. But her legs and arms stuck out at odd angles, and her skin was deathly pale, the ground being littered with her blood. He felt her pulse. There was none.



"Arwen!" he said, yet again, shaking her violently, "Wake up!" Tears streamed down his face, and he was shaken with sobs. He felt her pulse once more, in a last ditch attempt. With a gasp of hope, he felt a soft, hardly noticeable pulse, but it was dying slowly. He wouldn't let his sister die here.



Picking her up gently, he whistled to his horse, who had not wandered far, and mounted him to ride the short distance back down the trail to the Last Homely House.



But he couldn't stop wondering about the peaceful smile on her face, and how in the world she had come to be lying there, half dead. Her smile was one of...relief...



Sorru for the short chapter, but I don't yet know if anyone will like this story, and I wanted to leave a semi-cliffie so you will come back for more. Even if anyone does like it (which seems doubtful) Imay not be able to update until Friday, at the soonest. And if you think I am a disturbed person, maybe you are right. Darn, no "D" for disturbed in "IHP"...