Disclaimer: I own none of this. The characters and places in this story
are owned by the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. Even the ones I made up, I'll
let them have. Heck, what am I going to do with them when I'm done using
them to entertain you wonderful folks?
Author's note at the end of this chapter.
"But I fear, I have nothing to give. I have so much to lose here in this lonely place, tangled up in our embrace. There's nothing I'd like better than to fall."—Sarah McLachlan's "Fear" from her Fumbling towards Ecstasy album.
"Visions of Blood and Fire"—Chapter One: Running
It began with a breath, a sudden gasp that pierced the silence and heralded the realization of her destiny. Every event in her life occurred in preparation for this moment. All that was terrible warned her of its coming. All that was good tried to guide her through it.
Slowly, her world came into focus around her in all its horrible glory. Blood and fire. The blood flowed like rivers around her. It wanted her but its reason could not be seen. It beckoned to her soothingly, making promises she knew it would not keep. She wanted to answer so desperately, she ached with longing, but she knew it was wrong. The fire raged like a wall, baring any form of escape but presenting itself as a terrible alternative. An unfeeling foe, it did not care which direction she would go but it stood lying in wait to consume her. The choice must be made and everything depended on her.
But the fate of the world rested on the shoulders of a broken soul. Her heart held only despair, laid open and raw for all to see. Her mind remained clouded, fractured memories of kindness and cruelty.
Niavere watched the scene unfold before her as she had a hundred times before. She had tried to touch that tortured mind again and again but only experienced pain. It wasn't a pain that left a mark visible to the eye. No, it was the kind of pain that robbed its bearer of sleep, hushed cheerful voices and brought unforeseen tears. Even as she reached out for it this time she felt a great pressure push her away like an unwanted visitor. The fire swelled and the blood called out to her.
And then it all came to an abrupt end.
Niavere held herself in the thin fuzziness before waking. She did not want to face reality or move backwards towards the dream. She wanted to remain in the soft comfort of nothingness and hope for the return of blissful sleep. She reached for the warm and reassuring presence of her husband but only felt emptiness beside her.
The realization pulled her awake. She had forgotten where she was. She opened her eyes to see her world bathed in a pale wash of pre-dawn light. She was surrounded by trees in the Old Forest, half a day's ride from Rivendell. Only exhaustion could have stopped her so close to her destination. She had a faint memory of sliding from her horse in the darkness of night. After that, only the oblivion of sleep would have followed. The ground felt cold and hard beneath her and the air held a dampness that chilled her lungs at her first deep intake of breath.
A vast contrast to the world her mind occupied only moments before.
Her dreams brought that vision so often she began to dread the sleep her body needed so desperately. It was always the same, blood, fire and a desperate choice that must be made. She would feel the emotions so keenly that she felt impaled by them, so much loss, so much sadness and an overwhelming sense that she would never return home again. Sometimes she lost herself in them, so deep and penetrating that they could hold her in the dream and never let her out. So despairing she would not want to wake up. She did not get to decide. The dream would propel her away from itself always at that same moment just before the choice was made, never revealing to her the outcome, only the tortuous moments before resolution.
She knew only one thing for certain. The woman in that fiery realm was not herself. She tried not to push too roughly for her identity. She had her suspicions, strong suspicions she had not voiced to another soul but they put enough fear in her to drive her away from her home.
Tiny arms and legs pressed against her as her unborn child stretched its limbs. It seemed to move more as its mother sat motionless, as if it sensed the urgency in their journey and protested their stopping. Niavere placed a steadying hand on her swollen abdomen to reassure the restless life inside her. She had carried it for many months now and could almost not remember her days without her unseen traveling companion.
Soon the child would be born. Niavere was not ready. She loved her child fiercely and dreaded the thought of their parting. Inside her, the baby was safe, protected and loved. Outside, the child faced a fate its mother could not foresee. The blindness of the future stirred a dark imagination. Their days together were numbered.
Slowly she crawled to her feet. Her horse stood faithfully only a few paces away. She had not meant to be away from her journey as long as she had. She did not have the luxury of taking the rest she needed. Her careful planning had bought her time but only barely enough. Her pursuers possessed greater strength and would move much more quickly than she. It was no small wonder they had not caught her already.
Her mind dwelled on thoughts of her husband. Odellos would not rest until he found her. Niavere did not have to close her eyes to imagine the determination that would line his face. He would drive whatever beast he rode into the ground and follow her trail on foot if needed. She never doubted his love for her but his great love would not grant him the understanding necessary to bear her parting. No notes, no words could make him accept its necessity. She knew she had caused him pain, but if what she dreaded would come to pass, that pain would not matter to the fate that awaited him if she remained. He and all they shared would have to be but a memory to her now. Her only hope to save him laid in Rivendell.
The steady rhythm of the horse's canter lulled her baby into a peaceful sleep and eased Niavere's anxiety. Each hoof step brought her closer to her destination. The water she drank did little to calm her hunger but she would not think of eating until her journey had ended. Although her hopes moved her forward her mind trailed in her past. Memories of laughter and gentle touches occupied her as she traveled. Happy times fortified her with strength.
As she came within sight of the Last Homely House, a sentry on horseback met her on the well-worn trail. He looked upon her with concern. She did not hide her fatigue well and her condition was quite evident.
"Please identify yourself and state your business here," he requested officially but his voice softened as his eyes were drawn to her unborn child.
Niavere attempted to straighten but still needed to prop herself up on the horse's back. "I am Niavere, daughter of Enaiorel and wife of Odellos of Mirkwood. I humbly seek an audience with the Master of this House."
The sentry nodded grimly and turned his horse to lead her along the trail. "Follow me, Milady. Accommodations shall be made for you and your request shall be forwarded to Lord Elrond."
For the first time since she had slipped away from her home in Mirkwood, Niavere felt the comfort of a simple cushioned chair. Across the lush, elaborately decorated room a large soft bed beckoned to her, promising her the many hours of sleep her weary body begged for. She would deny it for now.
She could not truly allow herself to rest until she had spoken with Elrond.
To her great surprise, she did not receive the summons she had waited for. Unlike the great elflord she imagined him to be, Elrond came to visit her in her chambers. Perhaps the sentry passed on more than her request.
She bowed graciously to him as he entered. He smiled to her softly but the smile did not reach his eyes. "Niavere of Mirkwood," he greeted her, "Why have you come to Rivendell?"
He made a gesture for her to retake her seat. She sat herself back down holding his steely gaze. She had rehearsed this scene in her mind many times. "I am seeking asylum," she declared.
He stood above her with narrowed eyes. "From what?" he asked with surprise. "These are not the dark times they once were."
"I do not seek protection for myself, my Lord," she replied. "Others need protection from me."
Elrond stood silent for a moment considering her statement and speculating its possible cause. His brow furrowed more deeply. No plausible explanation came to mind. What danger could this pregnant elf pose to anyone? He stared down at her unwavering countenance. She truly believed her own threat. "Explain yourself," he demanded like a stern father to his errant child.
"I am a seer," Niavere responded darkly. "My visions are…dangerous."
The elflord tilted his head at her words regarding her with great sympathy. Many elves were privy to glimpses of the future but very few claimed to be seers. Her vision had frightened her unreasonably like a bad dream. He laid a hand on her shoulder to reassure her. "Foreseeing the future is imprecise at best," he said.
Niavere looked up at him. She met his concern with coldness. "That is why I came to you."
Her hand came over the top of his and her touch surged through him like a current. His sight dimmed and his world dissolved around him. The vision flooded his senses with such force, he could not hold it back. He felt a great fire surround him and could smell blood. A young woman held a glittering sword in her trembling hands. A choice thundered about him and she wavered unsteadily, her tortured mind unable to decide.
Turn one way and she would meet her death. Turn the other way and she would bring doom upon them all.
Without warning, Niavere released his hand and he stumbled blindly away from her. The vision had begun to recede and his eyes began to register the sunnyness of the room. His mind still felt the scars of the emotion. Such hopelessness he had never known. The pure weight of it filled him with a desperate desire to flee, to run and hide and weep.
The emotions of a heartbroken child.
If the events of this vision came to pass, no one would be able to foresee its resolution. Her mind, so tormented with bitterness and loss that she seemed to care little of the magnitude of her choice. She would destroy the world of her people as easily as she would destroy herself.
Elrond attempted to compose himself but he could not meet her eyes. The sadness still haunted him and he feared its traces still lingered on his face. "That was not you," he whispered haltingly.
Niavere shook her head and cast her eyes to the floor. "No," she said softly. "It is the child I carry. I am almost certain of it. The visions began not long after conception."
He would no longer doubt her declarations. He understood the danger. Those who learned of the vision might want to prevent its occurrence. Fear would overcome reason.
Not only was the child's life in danger but hers as well. He faced her with a new respect. Her stoicism belied the fear that must have gripped her. "All these months you have carried this burden…" he said, his words trailing to silence.
"And I have shared it with no one until now," she replied confirming his suspicions. She had lifted a veil from her soul with her confessions to him and revealed a sadness of her own. Not too unlike the vision of her unborn child, she believed she would never return home again. "The vision is dark and the situation dire but it will plague me over and over and over again until I die."
The elflord's eyes widened at her words. She caught his startlement. She spoke in hushed tones but that did nothing to soften the chill of her statement. "I have foreseen that as well."
Elrond took her hand, an official pledge of the Master of Rivendell. "You have whatever protection I can provide," he promised.
Niavere gripped his hand tightly not allowing his release. "And my husband?" she demanded. "He will follow me here. I know he will." Her question held a desperate tone not present in her warnings and portents before. Even her face became an echo of her plea. At once he truly understood why she had come, leaving the comfort of her home and the love of her husband to travel alone to a foreign land to bear her child among strangers.
Her child's fate was out of her hands and she knew her own death was near. She fled to save her husband.
Elrond returned the tightness of her hold to strengthen his promise and give her assurance. "He will not be permitted in Rivendell."
TBC
Author's note: If you haven't read any of my stories before, thank you for reading this one. This is a prequel to my other story "On the Beach" but don't let that frighten you off. This story is truly meant to stand alone.
For all you "On the Beach" regulars, I apologize for taking so long to return to the story. I began to write "William" when I realized that you might enjoy what follows "On the Beach" more if you knew what happened before it. I hope you do.
If anyone wishes for me to notify them of updates, let me know.
Chapter Two: Stopping—Odellos arrives at Rivendell accompanied by the most eligible Mirkwood elf bachelor, Legolas. What's going to happen when they get there after Elrond's promise to Niavere? Also, Gandalf has a turn at analyzing the vision.
Author's note at the end of this chapter.
"But I fear, I have nothing to give. I have so much to lose here in this lonely place, tangled up in our embrace. There's nothing I'd like better than to fall."—Sarah McLachlan's "Fear" from her Fumbling towards Ecstasy album.
"Visions of Blood and Fire"—Chapter One: Running
It began with a breath, a sudden gasp that pierced the silence and heralded the realization of her destiny. Every event in her life occurred in preparation for this moment. All that was terrible warned her of its coming. All that was good tried to guide her through it.
Slowly, her world came into focus around her in all its horrible glory. Blood and fire. The blood flowed like rivers around her. It wanted her but its reason could not be seen. It beckoned to her soothingly, making promises she knew it would not keep. She wanted to answer so desperately, she ached with longing, but she knew it was wrong. The fire raged like a wall, baring any form of escape but presenting itself as a terrible alternative. An unfeeling foe, it did not care which direction she would go but it stood lying in wait to consume her. The choice must be made and everything depended on her.
But the fate of the world rested on the shoulders of a broken soul. Her heart held only despair, laid open and raw for all to see. Her mind remained clouded, fractured memories of kindness and cruelty.
Niavere watched the scene unfold before her as she had a hundred times before. She had tried to touch that tortured mind again and again but only experienced pain. It wasn't a pain that left a mark visible to the eye. No, it was the kind of pain that robbed its bearer of sleep, hushed cheerful voices and brought unforeseen tears. Even as she reached out for it this time she felt a great pressure push her away like an unwanted visitor. The fire swelled and the blood called out to her.
And then it all came to an abrupt end.
Niavere held herself in the thin fuzziness before waking. She did not want to face reality or move backwards towards the dream. She wanted to remain in the soft comfort of nothingness and hope for the return of blissful sleep. She reached for the warm and reassuring presence of her husband but only felt emptiness beside her.
The realization pulled her awake. She had forgotten where she was. She opened her eyes to see her world bathed in a pale wash of pre-dawn light. She was surrounded by trees in the Old Forest, half a day's ride from Rivendell. Only exhaustion could have stopped her so close to her destination. She had a faint memory of sliding from her horse in the darkness of night. After that, only the oblivion of sleep would have followed. The ground felt cold and hard beneath her and the air held a dampness that chilled her lungs at her first deep intake of breath.
A vast contrast to the world her mind occupied only moments before.
Her dreams brought that vision so often she began to dread the sleep her body needed so desperately. It was always the same, blood, fire and a desperate choice that must be made. She would feel the emotions so keenly that she felt impaled by them, so much loss, so much sadness and an overwhelming sense that she would never return home again. Sometimes she lost herself in them, so deep and penetrating that they could hold her in the dream and never let her out. So despairing she would not want to wake up. She did not get to decide. The dream would propel her away from itself always at that same moment just before the choice was made, never revealing to her the outcome, only the tortuous moments before resolution.
She knew only one thing for certain. The woman in that fiery realm was not herself. She tried not to push too roughly for her identity. She had her suspicions, strong suspicions she had not voiced to another soul but they put enough fear in her to drive her away from her home.
Tiny arms and legs pressed against her as her unborn child stretched its limbs. It seemed to move more as its mother sat motionless, as if it sensed the urgency in their journey and protested their stopping. Niavere placed a steadying hand on her swollen abdomen to reassure the restless life inside her. She had carried it for many months now and could almost not remember her days without her unseen traveling companion.
Soon the child would be born. Niavere was not ready. She loved her child fiercely and dreaded the thought of their parting. Inside her, the baby was safe, protected and loved. Outside, the child faced a fate its mother could not foresee. The blindness of the future stirred a dark imagination. Their days together were numbered.
Slowly she crawled to her feet. Her horse stood faithfully only a few paces away. She had not meant to be away from her journey as long as she had. She did not have the luxury of taking the rest she needed. Her careful planning had bought her time but only barely enough. Her pursuers possessed greater strength and would move much more quickly than she. It was no small wonder they had not caught her already.
Her mind dwelled on thoughts of her husband. Odellos would not rest until he found her. Niavere did not have to close her eyes to imagine the determination that would line his face. He would drive whatever beast he rode into the ground and follow her trail on foot if needed. She never doubted his love for her but his great love would not grant him the understanding necessary to bear her parting. No notes, no words could make him accept its necessity. She knew she had caused him pain, but if what she dreaded would come to pass, that pain would not matter to the fate that awaited him if she remained. He and all they shared would have to be but a memory to her now. Her only hope to save him laid in Rivendell.
The steady rhythm of the horse's canter lulled her baby into a peaceful sleep and eased Niavere's anxiety. Each hoof step brought her closer to her destination. The water she drank did little to calm her hunger but she would not think of eating until her journey had ended. Although her hopes moved her forward her mind trailed in her past. Memories of laughter and gentle touches occupied her as she traveled. Happy times fortified her with strength.
As she came within sight of the Last Homely House, a sentry on horseback met her on the well-worn trail. He looked upon her with concern. She did not hide her fatigue well and her condition was quite evident.
"Please identify yourself and state your business here," he requested officially but his voice softened as his eyes were drawn to her unborn child.
Niavere attempted to straighten but still needed to prop herself up on the horse's back. "I am Niavere, daughter of Enaiorel and wife of Odellos of Mirkwood. I humbly seek an audience with the Master of this House."
The sentry nodded grimly and turned his horse to lead her along the trail. "Follow me, Milady. Accommodations shall be made for you and your request shall be forwarded to Lord Elrond."
For the first time since she had slipped away from her home in Mirkwood, Niavere felt the comfort of a simple cushioned chair. Across the lush, elaborately decorated room a large soft bed beckoned to her, promising her the many hours of sleep her weary body begged for. She would deny it for now.
She could not truly allow herself to rest until she had spoken with Elrond.
To her great surprise, she did not receive the summons she had waited for. Unlike the great elflord she imagined him to be, Elrond came to visit her in her chambers. Perhaps the sentry passed on more than her request.
She bowed graciously to him as he entered. He smiled to her softly but the smile did not reach his eyes. "Niavere of Mirkwood," he greeted her, "Why have you come to Rivendell?"
He made a gesture for her to retake her seat. She sat herself back down holding his steely gaze. She had rehearsed this scene in her mind many times. "I am seeking asylum," she declared.
He stood above her with narrowed eyes. "From what?" he asked with surprise. "These are not the dark times they once were."
"I do not seek protection for myself, my Lord," she replied. "Others need protection from me."
Elrond stood silent for a moment considering her statement and speculating its possible cause. His brow furrowed more deeply. No plausible explanation came to mind. What danger could this pregnant elf pose to anyone? He stared down at her unwavering countenance. She truly believed her own threat. "Explain yourself," he demanded like a stern father to his errant child.
"I am a seer," Niavere responded darkly. "My visions are…dangerous."
The elflord tilted his head at her words regarding her with great sympathy. Many elves were privy to glimpses of the future but very few claimed to be seers. Her vision had frightened her unreasonably like a bad dream. He laid a hand on her shoulder to reassure her. "Foreseeing the future is imprecise at best," he said.
Niavere looked up at him. She met his concern with coldness. "That is why I came to you."
Her hand came over the top of his and her touch surged through him like a current. His sight dimmed and his world dissolved around him. The vision flooded his senses with such force, he could not hold it back. He felt a great fire surround him and could smell blood. A young woman held a glittering sword in her trembling hands. A choice thundered about him and she wavered unsteadily, her tortured mind unable to decide.
Turn one way and she would meet her death. Turn the other way and she would bring doom upon them all.
Without warning, Niavere released his hand and he stumbled blindly away from her. The vision had begun to recede and his eyes began to register the sunnyness of the room. His mind still felt the scars of the emotion. Such hopelessness he had never known. The pure weight of it filled him with a desperate desire to flee, to run and hide and weep.
The emotions of a heartbroken child.
If the events of this vision came to pass, no one would be able to foresee its resolution. Her mind, so tormented with bitterness and loss that she seemed to care little of the magnitude of her choice. She would destroy the world of her people as easily as she would destroy herself.
Elrond attempted to compose himself but he could not meet her eyes. The sadness still haunted him and he feared its traces still lingered on his face. "That was not you," he whispered haltingly.
Niavere shook her head and cast her eyes to the floor. "No," she said softly. "It is the child I carry. I am almost certain of it. The visions began not long after conception."
He would no longer doubt her declarations. He understood the danger. Those who learned of the vision might want to prevent its occurrence. Fear would overcome reason.
Not only was the child's life in danger but hers as well. He faced her with a new respect. Her stoicism belied the fear that must have gripped her. "All these months you have carried this burden…" he said, his words trailing to silence.
"And I have shared it with no one until now," she replied confirming his suspicions. She had lifted a veil from her soul with her confessions to him and revealed a sadness of her own. Not too unlike the vision of her unborn child, she believed she would never return home again. "The vision is dark and the situation dire but it will plague me over and over and over again until I die."
The elflord's eyes widened at her words. She caught his startlement. She spoke in hushed tones but that did nothing to soften the chill of her statement. "I have foreseen that as well."
Elrond took her hand, an official pledge of the Master of Rivendell. "You have whatever protection I can provide," he promised.
Niavere gripped his hand tightly not allowing his release. "And my husband?" she demanded. "He will follow me here. I know he will." Her question held a desperate tone not present in her warnings and portents before. Even her face became an echo of her plea. At once he truly understood why she had come, leaving the comfort of her home and the love of her husband to travel alone to a foreign land to bear her child among strangers.
Her child's fate was out of her hands and she knew her own death was near. She fled to save her husband.
Elrond returned the tightness of her hold to strengthen his promise and give her assurance. "He will not be permitted in Rivendell."
TBC
Author's note: If you haven't read any of my stories before, thank you for reading this one. This is a prequel to my other story "On the Beach" but don't let that frighten you off. This story is truly meant to stand alone.
For all you "On the Beach" regulars, I apologize for taking so long to return to the story. I began to write "William" when I realized that you might enjoy what follows "On the Beach" more if you knew what happened before it. I hope you do.
If anyone wishes for me to notify them of updates, let me know.
Chapter Two: Stopping—Odellos arrives at Rivendell accompanied by the most eligible Mirkwood elf bachelor, Legolas. What's going to happen when they get there after Elrond's promise to Niavere? Also, Gandalf has a turn at analyzing the vision.