Chapter 1: Bedtime Story
"The outside world got nothing to do with us..." the stocky figure with muddy brown beard growled irately, "tis not our fight."
Amidst the group of tall fair beings standing opposite to Brown Beard, a golden-haired man stepped out, his stance proud and strong: "it will soon be your fight," his reserved but powerful voice cut through the soft morning mist, "the darkness of Mordor will ne'er stop until all lands are shrouded in its deep shadows."
The group of bushy beards murmured restlessly. However, a short figure with dark red beard stepped out and the murmurs ceased.
"Darkness? Thanks to yee pointy-eared ones, we have our own darkness. And this one, even Morgoth himself would fear," the figure snorted.
A wave of confusion passed through their counterparts.
Frown marked the golden-haired man's fair facade as he spoke up: "I do not understand what it is that you speak of."
"The Ghost of Forlindon," Red Beard stamped out.
"The Ghost of Forlindon? Tis merely a story you dwarves tell to your children so they would not wander into the forest edge of Lindon." A younger man standing behind the golden-haired one spoke up haughtily.
The golden-haired man's bright eyes flashed slightly and the younger one bowed in acquisition, stepping back into the group again. However, his tone had already caused much displeasure within their oppositions.
"A mere story you lot say?" The Brown Beard snapped, "well, I've seen him with me own eyes, eyes redder than blood and skin pale to translucence. That thing ain't a live being or any beast ta be named roaming around. 'n you could ask ta' round. Me ain't the only one ta seen that thing. Plenty o' us grown lads 'ere 've seen it."
A chorus of agreement echoed behind him.
Beards shook as heads darted around warily, as if fearing any moment the very ghost they spoke of would float out of the forest.
"Enough, Lord Glorfindel, there is no use speaking to these selfish superstitious savages. We have little time as it is, and we should not waste it here with them. Any days now the Corsairs of Umbar will round the Gulf of Lune and attack from Northwards starting with Grey Haven." Another man behind the golden-haired one spoke up. For hundreds, thousands, of years his brethren have fought the darkness. Never once had the dwarves climb out of their mines to offer help except when their own interest was threatened. To him, these beings had no heart, no compassion, no sense of greater good.
The golden-haired being raised a hand and the former quieted.
"Selfish ya say?" the Red Beard laughed dryly, his wrinkled face that bespoke of great age and wisdom suddenly darkened slightly, "I send off me son, me only son, to that idiotic quest of yours. I might na ever see him agin. And you call me selfish?"
"Gloin son of Groin I apologize for my kinsmen's words, but we mean no insult. The forces of Morgoth will swept down Northwards even as they work their way from the South. We must stop them before they encompass these lands, because when they do, there will be no stopping them. The sun will never again show its face in this world." The golden-haired one said steadily, his bright eyes never once lost their flames as they held the bitter stares of his counterparts.
Gloin held the burning gaze for a long time before he looked away with a tired sigh: "Get ye pointy-ear ones out of here, out of me land. Ye hear? This is not our battle and that is me final words." He said before turning around, leaving.
Brown Beard glanced at the tall beings and sneered: "Ye ask for our help, but ye might think of asking ta own kin first."
Seeing the blank look on the fair beings face, brown beard's sneer widened: "Tha Ghost, it couldn't hav always been a ghost now could it. It's the spirit of a litta elfling you lots left at Morgoth's mercy when you fled these parts in the First Age. Tha poor soul suffered untold 'mounts ta torture before dying. And with ee's dying breath it cursed these lands, say'in ee would haunt it 'til the end o' time."
The young being who had spoke out the very firsts time retorted angrily: "That is a mere story you made up. We would never leave any elflings behind to such end."
Brown beard scoffed: "Ye sure o' tha now. But spen' one night in tha forest, listen to tha tortured screamin' o' tha monsta and you wouldna say so agin." With one last sneer at the fair beings Brown beard left towards the Blue Mountains and his other kins followed. Within minutes, the fair beings were left alone standing in the small space of grassland between the Forest of Forlindon and the base of Blue Mountains.
The golden-haired being turned to the young being who had spoke out, a language foreign in words yet soothing to the ear in its soft gentle tone floated in the air.
(Amdir, one should not antagonize allies-to-be. Tis not the way.)
The young one, Amdir, bowed his head slightly in shame: (I understand, my Lord Glorfindel, but,) he raised his head, his eyes flashed angrily, (they were selfish and stubborn. They see little beyond the jewels and tarnished gold of the earth.)
(Amdir, tis the way they are created, tis their nature. We cannot blame them for such things.) the golden haired man Amdir named as Glorfindel responded gently.
Amdir clasped a hand to his chest and bowed his head again: (I give my apology, my Lord.) He spoke but his heart did not agree. They had counted on the dwarves as their last hope. With men preoccupied in the South, fighting Sauron himself, there were no other allies to aide the elves in the North. Furthermore, many of the elves had long time these shores of twilight and sailed West.
Without an ally, the First-Borns left in these lands were doomed to fend for themselves.
Thus said, Amdir could not understand how Lord Glorfindel remained so calm.
(It matters not now,) Glorfindel sighed as he turned back to face the forest, (we return to Grey Haven and prepare ourselves for the Corsairs.) As the tall elf turned, dark shadows passed through his bright golden eyes.
He wasn't calm, no, he was far from it.
The odds of a hand full of elves against hordes of goblins, and men twisted by Sauron's darkness were less than optimistic, to say the least, even if the elves were better trained. Quality over quantity, but quantity has a certain quality of its own as well.
The golden-haired elf-lord clenched his hands tightly; there was no other choice. They must fight, and they must win. He would have no less than victory. He glanced up to the darkening sky, to the Evenstar that was still shrouded by the bright rays of sunlight.
If darkness is not cleared from these land soon, it will overcome the Evenstar, and that was not an option. He will not leave her to grow cold from the darkness of Sauron. He will fight for her, and win. His jaw set stubbornly, and the light of determination entered his eyes.
He will fight...until his last breath.
When night fell they had just passed through the Forest of Forlindon and stood on its shadowy edge when a hideous shriek ripped through the previously calm night air. Crackling laughter and vile coarse speech shattered the remaining pieces of the night.
The golden fire within Glorfindel's eyes flared up brightly.
(The Corsairs, but they should not be here...) Amdir gasped in surprise; however even as he did so, his hands strung his bow and notched an arrow in well-practiced fluidity.
(They arrived earlier than expected,) another elf commented quietly.
(Ready yourself,) Glorfindel said, calmly raising his sword. The slightly curved blade, resembling the graceful tilt of a young yew tree branch, glinted dangerously under the pallid moonlight.
The smell of Corsair reached the elves even before the sharp elven sight could discern the shadows within the darkness of the night. The stench of sweat, blood, and grime mixed with decayed sea salt turned the face of several younger elves raised in times of peace a few shades paler.
(Amdir, flank left. Duinwin take the right. Imin and Enel follow I.) Glorfindel murmured, his eyes never wavered from the darkness in front of him.
The elves nodded; they moved in unison: their knees bent slightly, their sword held out in front, readied for battle.
Not a moment too soon, sharp metal glints of swords, axes, and various weapons materialized out of the velvet night.
(We fight, for a brighter day tomorrow,) Glorfindel said quietly, his eyes glanced up briefly to the Evenstar glowing in the expanse of darkness. A flash of sadness flittered by in his eyes, briefly darkened the golden flames. Yet it was only flash, and in an blink of an eye the dark emotion had disappeared only to be replaced by fiery determination as the onslaught of Morgoth's soldiers flooded towards them.
The battle was vicious, hard, and long.
The elves fought valiantly; however, their number was against them. Even with their superior skills one elf could only hold off against so many.
Slowly the elves were pushed back towards the forest, victorious leers could be seen on the Corsairs' face. Yet even as they were being pushed back, the golden-haired elf did not waver, the flame in his eyes did not lessen.
A strangled gasp sounded beside him. Amdir, the fiery young elf fell under a bloody sword, the flame of youth forever quenched to cold ember.
Pain tore at Glorfindel's heart as he saw the light of the Eldar put out all to soon. His sword weaved through the throng of enemies faster and faster.
Today is not his time yet, the Forest of Forlindon would not be his grave, the golden elf thought, his heart clenched so tightly his chest ache. He will return to see the beautiful smile of the Evenstar. He will return to her...
Just then a nightmarish scream sliced through the battle din, for a brief moment everyone, Corsair and elf, froze stock-still to the ground as the soul-shattering shriek of despair shook them to their core.
The words of the dwarf suddenly came back into his mind, "listen to tha tortured screamin' o' tha monsta..."
The scream sounded again, this time even the battle hardened Corsairs took a collective step back away from the forest.
"Ghost..."
"Ghost of Forlindon..."
"Monster..."
Hoarse rasps echoed across the Corsair ranks.
Suddenly one particular ragged pirate let out a hysterical yell. The faces of the Corsairs paled as they stared at something horrific behind the elves.
The elves themselves did not dare to turn their eyes away from their enemies, but their keen ears could pick up the crunching of leaves and twigs as heavy footsteps passed between them.
Gasps escaped the first elf as the ghostly sight drifted past him, and his gasp was followed by another, and another until finally the pale spectre drifted into Glorfindel's vision.
He did not gasp or made any sound of surprise, but his fingers mechanically clenched the sword tighter.
For once the dwarves were right.
This was no live being. It could not be.
White, pure snow white, hair cascaded down colorless pallid skin without any shade of pink hue that would indicate life. As the head tilted slightly, Glorfindel caught sight of one glowing red eye beneath the long wintry lockes.
T'was if Iluvatar had taken snow and put in rubies for eyes and created a being from that.
The ghost shifted slightly and suddenly screams, the same agonizing scream from before, surrounded them again, except the ghost did not open its mouth.
The Corsairs shuddered and inched back again.
"This is my land...my realm..." soft low voice came out of the spectre, breathy, whispery, "how dare you trespass..." The ghost took in a rattling breath, "how dare you..." it shifted its head, revealing both of its blood red eyes.
"Monster..." one Corsair roared and came at the ghost with a sword.
The ghost raised a hand to cover its face and suddenly a jet of flames came shooting out, enveloping the Corsair. He shrieked and writhed in pain, his fellow soldiers scattered about as flames devoured him. Stench of burnt flesh permeated the field, and finally the man fell to the ground. He twitched for one last time before stilled.
Well every eye was riveted to the charcoal body, a pair of golden eyes fell on the pale limbs and they caught the barest movement that everyone neglected and his ears caught the soft hitch in the breath. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
The ghost cocked its head stiffly as it studied the rest of the Corsairs.
"You will stay...with me...so I will not be a...a...lone..."
The ghost took another step towards the pirates, and that was the last straw. The Corsair turned tails and ran.
Silence suddenly fell on the fields where clashes of metal had just been heard a few minutes ago. The flame surrounding the fallen body of the Corsair spluttered and died. The Ghost stared after the disappearing Corsairs for some time before it finally turned around. A cloud passed and covered the already dim moonlight. Footsteps sounded but grew fainter and fainter.
When the cloud passed and the moonlight shone through again, the pale spectre had disappeared.
(The Ghost of Forlindon...) Duinwin breathed out rather unsteadily.
Glorfindel frowned and glanced down at the soft grass beneath his feet before he looked up again: (Nay...t'were no more a ghost than you and I,) he murmured before swiftly he ran into the forest.
(My Lord!) his men shouted behind him, startled by the sudden and abrupt movement.
Within seconds Enel caught up with the golden-haired elf-lord: (My lord, what...)
(That was no ghost, that was a frightened child.) The golden elf said, his eyes glowing brightly.
(A child?) Duinwin asked as he too had caught up.
(Aye, a child,) Glorfindel replied, his eyes intently trained on the grounds, looking for the faintest sight of disturbance that marked the Ghost of Forlindon's trail.
(That cannot be, there had not been an elfling since the fair Lady Arwen Udomiel and the Prince of Mirkwood.) Enel said puzzled.
(And surely no elfling could have such...such look...) Duinwin added, his voice shuddered with horror as he thought back to the blood red eyes.
(I do not know why he has such look, and I care not. I do not know if he is an elfling or a human child. And I care not.) Glorfindel said, his golden eyes flashed with the barest hint of anger at Duinwin, (I merely know he is a child, and no child should be left in these woods, alone and uncared for. Children are the miracles of life, or have you forgotten that?)
Duinwin pursed his lips: (I know that Lord Glorfindel, but you are sure that being is a child?)
(I am not sure; I know.) Were the only words from the golden elf's lips as he flew through the dense woods.
She didn't know why she bothered helping them. They were elves, were they not? They would have been fine, with strength, skills, and intelligence beyond normal humans. But when she saw that young elf so carelessly slashed down...when she saw the silvery light disappear from his soul...she couldn't help herself.
Dwarves had been easier to fool. Their minds preoccupied with jewels, silver, gold, and other treasures from the earth, they did not think twice about her being a ghost. Yet, elves were smarter. It had been a foolhardy risk.
With her looks they might mistake her for a monster instead of a spectre, and kill her or burn her at the stake.
Yet, given the blank expression on the elves' face and the lack of movements or denouncement from their side, it seemed she had fooled them.
Escaping to her sanctuary on the shores of the River Lhun, she finally stopped her hurried steps. She knelt down on the grassy banks and looked into the clear blue waters. Her frightfully colored features stared back at her. Yet, it did not bother her. She had twenty-four long years to get use to them, and now at her twenty-fourth year she no longer found her features troubling. She wasn't deformed nor was she missing any limbs or fingers. There were so many people out there in the world who fared worse than her...so many people in her world.
Yes...of course...in this world where elves, so beautiful they would put Botticelli's Venus and Raphael's Marys' to shame, lived there were no one more uglier than her.
That faithful day when she woke up on the cold forest floor and walked a few feet only to see a young dwarf running screaming away from her turned her previously dull normal life upside down.
It had puzzled her greatly. In fact, she had thought she was dreaming. However, when the dwarves returned with a witch-hunting party, she knew she was not hallucinating. The glint of the axes under the faint sunlight shining in the forest, scattered by the thick branches of the trees, was real enough.
Through their scattered words, and later through the snatches of faint conversations of the wandering parties of what could only have been the Northern Dunedain, she learned where she was. For some brief time after that she wondered she had lost her mind. But she was firm believer of no-nonsense.
Her favorite detective once said: when all other possibilities have been eliminated, than the only one left must be the explanation.
Even if that explanation is so silly. Even if that explanation is impossible. Even if she couldn't for the life of her figure out how she could have possibly disappeared from the "real" world and reappeared in a "fictional" world of a book she had read so long ago.
It was not as if she was a character in "Inkheart," randomly bringing fictional characters to life.
Hell, when she couldn't find a damn toilet within the nearby five mile radius she became bloody sure this was no dream. Any decent girl from the twenty-first century would never ever dream of somewhere without the modern comforts somewhere nearby. Of course, the distinctive lack of instant noodles also did not help. At one point, she'd even be willing to give a limb for fish and chips, and she hated those stuff.
It took her a whole day to catch one fish, and that was with getting herself soaking wet in the process. Figuring out which vegetation she could eat and which were poisonous took even more time than that, because she had to observe and see which ones the animals ate without getting sick.
Of course there was also the problem of clothes. Within the first week, her modern t-shirt and jeans went to pieces. Her shoes certainly did not fare any better. Thank whatever god was in this world, some of the dwarves she'd scared off had slippery fingers and dropped a few things. With those meager supplies she managed to just scrape by.
Really, how ever did the elves managed to live in such elegance in the wild without any Target or Trader Joe's?
She looked like she was dressed in rags that even a mouse would have found too far gone for their bedding. And it takes days if not weeks to stock up her food supply. The lack of a decent toiletry, and hot showers made camping in Yosemite looked like a walk in the park.
That wasn't to mention all the effort she put into making the Ghost of Forlindon real. Her pale lips twisted slightly. Who knew an accidentally cracked wind chime could make a sound so similar to the screeching of a hungry baby.
She slowly stood up, wincing a bit as her knees creaked. Good lord, she was only in her mid-twenties, not some eighty-year-old granny. She ran an irate hand through the tangled strands before giving a self-deprecating laugh.
She lightly patted her cheeks with her hands: "Get your act together idiot, don't be such a ninny."
"If I die young," the words of the last song she listened to on the radio before she was so rudely dropped in this world came crashing back into her mind, "bury me in satin," she twirled around on the tip of her toes, "lay me down on a bed of rose, sink me in a river at dawn." she tossed back her head and let her voice echoed through the air. Singing always made her more relaxed. Probably because belting out something released some pent-up stress within, "Send me away with the words of a love song. Ah oh, ah oh. Lord make me a rainbow I'll shine down on my mother. She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my color. Oh, and life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no. Ain't even gray but she buries her bab..."
She glanced down away from the blue sky above her, and choked on the last syllable of the word at the scene in front of her. A golden hair elf stood in front of her with dozens more emerging from the forest. They stared at her; they stared at her as if she was a freak of nature.
Her heart thudded painfully inside her chest; they've come to kill her.
That wasn't fair, she helped them...A tear escaped the corner of her eyes. It's not fair.
She did not wait any longer for them to cut her down. She pushed off and ran.
"Wait!" Someone shouted behind her, but she ignored him.
Who in their right mind would wait to be slaughtered?
"Stop her! Stop the girl!"
Her chest contracted. This was worse. They knew...
She ran faster, but they drew closer.
Damn elven speed and stamina.
She was so preoccupied about getting away from the elves, she didn't even look to see where she was going, and she certainly did not hear the warning shouts from behind.
When she turned around to looked in front of her, she ran smack into a hard armor that stunk of sweat and sea salt. She nearly fell back down, but someone grabbed her hair and pulled her up roughly.
"This is the ghost you sea scum spoke of?" Rancid breath growled out beside her ear, "It's just a ugly brat."
She twisted her head, trying to see the man behind her, failing that, she only caught glimpse of the same group of pirates she had ran off previously.
"You brat..."
"Release the child!" a strong commanding voice cut off Rancid Breathe.
She looked back and saw the golden-haired elf staring at them, his golden eyes flashing angrily.
Rancid Breathe yanked her hair hard causing her to let out a pained yelp: "Or what? Pointy ears?" He sneered.
The rough edges of the armor plate Rancid Breathe wore dug into her skin, gauging out angry red lines.
A meaty hand palmed her chest.
"Ha, you tried to play ghost with me, girl? Me and my boys will show you somethin' to regret that!" Rancid breath breathed into her ear.
Her eyes widened as fear surged into her mind. No...no...no...no...
Her right hand went to her make-shift cloth boots, her fingers touched the cool handle of her dagger. In a flash, her right hand went to the edge of her skull and she sliced upwards. At the same time, she bent down and turned. Her hands dropped along with the wintry locks of her hair. The white strands drifted to the ground in swirls of feathery snow.
She slammed the dagger to its hilt into Rancid Breath's leg.
No...no...she will not be demeaned...humiliated
He let out a wild howl and sent her flying backwards in a hard kick. Adrenaline temporarily masked the pain and she scrambled up from the leafy ground, gasping for breath. Her hands with to the slits at the side of her ragged tunic, and from beneath the rough cloth she unhitched two small axes. Tears of fear and anger streamed down her face.
Five years ago she had no idea how these things work, but she was a quick learner. Fear of monsters in the night made her learned even faster.
Rancid Breath reached down to yank the dagger out. She didn't even wait for him to look back up. With a furious yell, she threw one of the axes at the bulky pirate.
The metal blade stopped with a dull thud in the man's cranium. She shuddered as blood ran from the wound. More tears poured out of her eyes.
Must kill him...you have to...you have to...
She'd just killed someone...but it was either that...or a worse sort of hell for her. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind and shot off the ground towards the falling body of Rancid Breath who had a look of utter surprise in his eyes.
She dislodged the axe and flew towards another unsuspecting sea rat; she flipped the same axe in her hand to turn it and sliced it across his unprotected windpipe. The other axe went to stop the advancing swipe of another pirate as they realized what she was doing.
Warm coppery blood sprayed her face as the first sea rat floundered back, red mixed with the tears streaming down her face. The Corsair's hands went to his throat in a vain attempt to stop the flow. She pushed back the second Corsair with a strangled cry. He moved back to circle around her warily.
"Don't ever touch me," she wanted to shout that, but her voice merely trembled and quavered; her arms too shook with fatigue, despair, and distress.
The Corsair roared something incomprehensible and jumped at her.
She didn't need anyone to tell her there was no way she could match her strength against this full grown pig. She dropped her axes and went back to what she knew. Her right leg instinctively slid to the right followed by her left foot, pulling her to the side. She grabbed the extended arm with the sword. Her right leg pivoted, her left leg hooked around his ankles and in one swift movement she threw the man over her using his own momentum.
The lump laid on the ground, groaning, momentarily knocked out.
Yet, another one came up to replace him. She stared at him, the pain from the kick before, now came back full blown. Her ribs ached and her muscles protested her movements with shots of burning pain.
She was no elf.
The runs through the forest and the whole effort she'd exerted were taking their tolls on her body that've just been getting by on fish and wild vegetations.
The Corsair came at her; she dropped to the ground and swept her legs beneath him. She bit back a wince as her cloth boots came in contact with hard metal plates.
The man went down but he immediately struggled up again.
Help me...someone help me...save me...stop this nightmare...stop it...
"Stop it..." she whispered, but it was lost in the din of the battle, "stop it..."
She swallow an urge to scream out in utter horror as she watched the man advanced on her. She shifted her weight slightly. Something shifted inside of her as well and she grabbed the front of her shirt with a cry as a tearing pain slashed through her.
Coppery taste welled up in her mouth and she coughed. Splatters of red liquid flew through the air.
Her actions only caused the Corsair to sneer and delight.
She couldn't move; if she moved she might crumple down in an undignified heap from the pain. So she stood there, helplessly watching the blood encrusted blade come closer.
The Corsair raised his blade, and she closed her eyes, hoping for a quick painless death.
A second later, instead of feeling any pain, she heard a loud clang and a strong arm encircled her, pulling her into a warm hold.
"Fear not, little one, no harm shall come to you whilst I live." A gentle yet strong voice murmured above her head.
She opened her eyes to the softness of a dark green tunic. Her eyelashes scraped against the cotton fabric; she turned her head slightly, startled by another clash of metal nearby. The hand moved from her shoulders to her head; long fingers settled over her eyes.
"Don't look," the same gentle voice murmured and her head was pushed back against the tunic. She would have protested if a particularly ghastly shriek didn't sounded right behind her just then. She let out a small cry of alarm, and her trembling hands reached up to grasp the soft fabric tightly.
She was no soldier. And this was no movie. College certainly did not prepare her for slaughtering. She knew without a doubt that from this day forward she would have nightmares each night of the men she killed and of the ghastly groans of dying men echoing about her. The way that skull split open, the blood red arteries and the sliver of white bones beneath...she would relive them all in her dreams.
She stared determinedly into the green cloth, memorizing each and every thread. Trying to push back any and every sound of the battle.
How long it took, she did not know, but to her it felt like an eternity before everything quieted. Even then, she refused to look anywhere else, fearing she would see another soulless eye staring up at her from the ground.
Words buzzed in her ear, but she couldn't make them out.
She just stood frozen there, unable to move.
The green fabric shifted slightly; she let the smooth cloth slip from her fingers, and her hand fell limply to her sides.
Golden eyes appeared in front of her, looking at her, looking into her.
She saw his mouth move again, but she couldn't hear anything other than the bloody roaring in her ear, pounding in her heart.
A cool hand went to her chin and lifted her face so her eyes met up with the two orbs of molten sunlight.
Habitual reflex overrode the fear in her mind; she flinched and tried to look away. However, he stopped her, his fingers gentle but firm.
"Look at me, little one," this time his words came through, like the tender lull of sea waves lapping against the sand.
Red eyes widened slightly as clarity broke through the hazy cloud of fear.
"I'm...not little..." She said, her voice wavered slightly, she clenched her hands and continued, "I'm...my...name is Miriel."
"MÃriel?" the golden elf chuckled slightly. His golden eyes glowed brightly, "that is a beautiful name."
Miriel tried to give an incredulous snort that came out more as a choked gasp as she struggled to even out her voice: "It's not. Father wanted to name me Ariel, but mother wanted Miriam, so they compromised. And out came this silly name..." she breathed in deeply, "you can call me Miri. It's less of a mouthful."
Her twentieth-first century mind roared back into life, barraging through the dark haze of trauma and fear. A woman in her mid-20s with a college degree, a master's degree, and a set of divorced parents did not cling on to random guys in the forest.
That was just not done even if she had just witnessed World War III in the Yosemite.
She forced herself to step back from the elf, all the while taking in big gulps of air to settle her hammering pulse and heartbeat.
Her heel backed into something; instincts made her look down as she tried to balance herself. A half-decapitated pirate stared up at her with lifeless grey eyes. The head hung loosely, barely attached by the spinal core and the left half of its skin and muscle tissues. Already the blood was turning dark, as air interacted with the iron within the red liquid.
The tangy smell of blood mixed with iron and putrefying flesh permeated the air. The stench settled on her clothes, her arms, her skin...Her hands went up to the side of her head; her fingers pushed against her temple. It was as if her body was instinctively trying to physically push the horrifying images out of her head.
Dear god...
All these were very real...
That means all of them...Frodo, Aragorn, Gimli...all of them were very real as well. There was a real war going on outside of Forlindon.
Here there was an evil...an evil that existed...in its original heinous form.
Of course after the first few months, she kind of got the idea that this was a real world. However, this battle shoved the harsh reality straight into her soul.
Perhaps, some small part deep within her still believed this was all a dream, and that one day she will just wake up and go to work as usual.
But now...now even that small buried part have been obviated, smote beyond regeneration.
"Miriel..."
The golden elf called to her again, worry evident in his voice. Perhaps he thought she was going into shock, or insane...which perhaps she was.
With the mental strength she did not know she could ever possess, she shoved everything to the back of her mind. She closed her eyes, forcibly pushing down all fear within her. If...this was no time to be a ninny. Sauron's forces are attacking from the North. With their ships and their inhuman speed, they could reach Rivendell and Shire within days.
That must not happen.
She would be of no help, of course; however, she could not delay these people.
When she open her eyes again, her body still trembled from the surge of adrenaline and fear, but her voice had evened out.
"My name is Miriel. I thank you for your help," she said with a false calm that was not reflected within her heart.