A/N: Once upon a time, this began as a silly movie-verse challenge story I wrote solely for the sake of revolutionizing clichéd Legolas/OC. It has turned into a primarily book-verse tale with a much greater goal. I hope it shows.

This is not a tenth walker story. And just as a heads-up, I live on polysyndeton.

I do not own the cover image. Please PM me if you want it taken down.

To Ragnelle. This revision wouldn't be here without you. 'Try again, fail again; fail better', says the Samuel Beckett quotation on your profile. I cross my fingers and hope I have failed better this time.

To Cansei der Ser Sexy. Long live long PMs, babbling on writing, and crazy ideas. This chapter would never have turned out this way if it weren't for you. I enjoyed writing the latter half so much that it scared me :).

To Gwedhiel0117, my lovely beta. I take you for granted, don't I? I will always owe you the greatest gratitude.

To Certh and DORK DOG, and anyone who silently read the previous version. You were with me when this story first started, and you're still with me now. How do you do it, putting up with my lack of updates and my whims :)? I hope to see you here, and I hope you enjoy what you see!

Reviews are loved. Constructive criticisms are worshipped. Please let me know your thoughts!

Tales of Ephemeral Luminescence

Part I

Chasing the Light

~*~*~Chapter 1~*~*~

She could not find them.

She trembled in Mora's arms and looked as hard as she could through her blurred vision, trying to refrain her gaze from being stalled by the hideous Orc carcasses upon the charred field, or by the frightening ball of fire in the distance that was consuming what she once knew as "home". In the back of her mind she longed to close her eyes and limp into well-needed slumber; Mora had tried to coax her into it, with a wavering soft voice and warm arms that quivered as they rocked her. But her pounding heartbeats attacked and gnawed at her and made her sickly and feverish, and even with force she could not squeeze her eyelids shut.

She watched as the Elves pierced arrows after arrows into the bodies of odious Orcs. She watched as the Elves shielded and led more villagers to join her and Mora, villagers she had known and loved all year, like the spirited boy next door who played with her every afternoon, or the friendly tailor's wife who was seldom seen without her newborn babe in her arms. She watched as the Elves consoled the happy people of her acquaintance, people she had never before known to hold grief or tears within them. The boy next door wailed and thrust his fists against the grass browned by the flames of battle. The tailor's wife smiled no longer, and knelt upon the field like a statue, her lovely babe nowhere to be seen. These were all sights much too strange for her comprehension.

Still she watched everyone. Her eyes wandered always to those who still could move on foot. Beams of ecstasy would emit from her eyes as a head turned, any head; but then they met with the features of the face and all light was extinguished. Panic never troubled her for long, however; it was only one face after all. There were still many more faces she had to examine. She would turn and watch someone else, and soon she would find them. It was impossible that she would not, she who could recognize them in an instant, any time, anywhere.

Now an Elf stood before her and Mora. He was speaking, but she heard not a word, so vexed she was by his presence which blocked her view. She wriggled within Mora's arms and stretched her neck to look past him, but he was too tall, or maybe she was too small. And Mora's arms tightened and steadied her against her will. In spite of her vexation, she was surprised; Mora was not of a strong constitution, and she was often a hard girl to restrain.

Suddenly, the Elf crouched to observe her. She was content: now it would be easier to look past his shoulder and watch the moving people again. But when her eyes met his, her struggles ceased, and her lips parted in sudden horror and she gaped.

She remembered him. He had snatched her life back from an Orc, and held her in the burning heat as he ran, fleet as the wind. He had said to her, "I will find your parents and bring them to you."

But at this moment he was alone.

His lips were moving and he seemed sad. She could not hear him, ravaged still she was by her terrifyingly rapid heartbeats, and his lips quavered so minutely that she doubted he was speaking at all. She wanted to ask him where her parents were, but the sickly feeling in her stomach now spread and groped at her throat, and she dropped her jaw repeatedly and made not a sound.

She knew not for how long she had gaped, but when he heaved a sigh and began to move away, a chill ran through her spine and she jerked. She felt as if she were suddenly doused upon by the icy waters of the Great River.

She searched for faces no longer, and glanced wildly instead at everything around her. The people whose countenances she had earlier examined gathered beside her and Mora. The Elves began marching toward the north. Fire no longer enveloped the village, save a flame in the distance that defied the darkness of the night and licked avariciously at the piled vile carcasses that had once been terrifying Orcs. It was all over.

It can't be all over!

The frenzied heartbeats attacked her again, but this time they gave her strength instead of depleting her senses. She ripped out of Mora's warm arms into the cold of the night, gasping for what little clean air there was left within the foul stench from the burning corpses. She ran as fast as her trembling legs could carry her. She felt the icy draught of winter cut at her face, her hands, and her legs through the ragged remains of her gown. She felt the despicable odours in the air invade her lungs and choke her. She heard for the first time the people weeping behind her, her sister screaming after her, the winds howling maliciously at her ears. Tears filled her eyes and she coughed, but she did not turn back. She kept chasing the Elves who seemed to glow, chasing the lights of what she thought was hope, the lights that seemed to fade away as the Elves disappeared one by one into the horizon.

Her legs felt weaker by the moment, and the charred soil began to leave abrasions on her bared soles; still she ran with all her power, for a while seeming in vain. The Elves walked and she sprinted, yet she could only see the glows from the Elves dim, dim, and despair gnawed at her sensations and drained her will with every second passed.

But wait, there was a beam still, dimming slower than the rest of them! Her entire body was in pain then, and she would have stopped and cried on her knees but for that single lingering light, and it was getting closer, closer. Sweat from a curious mingling of excitement and horror filled her palms, and she quickened her pace as if it was still possible.

The odious, charred soil chose that moment to obstruct her toes, and she tumbled forward with a dreadful yelp. Even then she did not forget to reach for the glow that was in such proximity, and she was lucky: her tiny hand, red from consumption by the cold, clutched onto the tip of his grey cloak before he, too, vanished like the rest.

"By Elbereth!" The Elf breathed as he turned swiftly and bent, laying his bow on the grass and taking her hand in his. He pulled her to her knees, and crouched to face her. In the dark of the night he seemed as bright as gems, and through her trickling tears she could see no more than a pair of blue, warm eyes - the same eyes that had held her gaze moments after she was snatched away from the blow of a blood-stained axe.

"Are you well?" he whispered, kindly concern in his voice.

She scrambled to her feet and gasped for air.

He clasped his warm hands around her shoulders to steady her trembling figure; then he tried gently to dust her filthy, torn gown, and spoke not a word.

She croaked, "You promised."

He lowered his gaze. "I am sorry."

His voice was soothing, but at that moment it did not comfort her.

"I cannot reach them. No Elf can reach them now."

She looked at him, dumbfounded. Drip. Drip. Tears dripped from her chin, and with every drop the tremors in her body became more violent, and soon she sobbed and choked on grief and all the air she had regained earlier from desperate gasps was gone. Her head began to spin and she was nauseated, and she wished darkness would take her so she could wake up and tell herself it was all a nightmare. But it did not.

The Elf was silent as he caressed her cheek, wiping her tears away as they fell. It seemed an eternity when her tears eventually quieted, but her head only hurt and spun more.

"Worry not. Your grief will not be permanent. You will see your mother and father again."

She inhaled sharply and gazed at him, a new glimmer of hope sparking in her young heart. 'The Elves know everything,' Mama had told her. The Elves - an Elf capable as he who had saved her from death - couldn't possibly be wrong.

He stared back at her and was silent again.

Slowly a smile began to return to her lips, though it was an ugly one that twitched whilst her face was still covered by remnants of tears.

"Really?" she blurted, her voice wavering in nervous joy.

His eyes arched and she knew he smiled, too.

"Yes. Promise me; promise me to stay strong. Only then will you make them proud, when it is your time to meet them again."

She was too young to understand the meaning and the sadness that lay behind his gentle speech, too young to know of the cruelty in the hope he offered. All she knew was that an all-powerful Elf had given her the right answer and demanded from her a promise. It was more than enough to make her happy.

She mopped her face with her palms and beamed.

"All right. I promise."

He smiled once more, and then his eyes faded into the air, and all the light that seemed to surround her slowly dimmed away until, at last, the cold wind harassed her frail body once more, and she was left shivering in the darkness, standing before her sister and friends, overlooking the ruins of her home.

Suddenly all the fear and doubts returned. When and where would she see her parents again? How was she to keep such a promise? How was she to stay strong, when she had been scolded as a weakling all her life?

The frenzied heartbeats were about to attack her again. She felt tears gather in her eyes, but a glint on the ground suddenly caught her attention before they fell. For a moment curiosity overshadowed fear, and she crouched in wonder and reached for the light.

It was a silver Elven dagger slightly oranged by the incandescence of the Orc-burning flame in the distance, and she held it over her head and silently gaped, mesmerized by the sheath's exquisite carvings and the blade's elegant beauty.

The dagger's hilt warmed in her hands with each second passed, and she smiled and forgot to cry.

The lurking leader rubbed his palms in the shadows and grinned, his jagged, decaying teeth trembling in thrill and malice.

He did not have to strain his clouded eyes to discern that distant smudge of red past the bushes; ooh, no need to squint at all, for it was very dark, and darkness was paradise for a goblin's sight.

And unlike his limited vision, a goblin's sense of smell was always at its best.

The leader parted his hideous, marred lips in morbid euphoria, and silently enjoyed the sweet odour of human flesh that quickly permeated the atmosphere as The Redhead sprinted closer. The cold autumn air smelled of metallic blood and salty sweat. It smelled of panic. The leader licked his lower lip and ran a deformed finger over the polished cheek of his axe. The smell of panic excited him and boiled his dark blood like nothing else.

He could hear the feet now against the pitter-patter of raindrops; tap-tap, tap-tap, and snap! Twigs shattered. And she thought she was concealed at last, hah! Every one of the dozens of blood-thirsty warriors under his command could notice her steps, and each longed to sink his teeth into her tensed flesh and drink the sweet draught that was her blood. The leader was certain of this.

Now he could see the woman clearly. Her flaming mane was wet with rain and perspiration. Her freckled pale face was scratched by the malice of the forest and distorted by desperation. He could almost snort. The Men and Elves and Dwarves and any who dwelt above ground, with their smooth skin and ample hair and builds that were not malformed, were despicable, just despicable! He had no mercy for them, oh no. There was always a curious fire that burned within him when he looked upon any one of them, and he wished for nothing but to rip apart their smooth skin with his cracked nails and batter their elegantly-formed bones into ashy powder.

"By Elbereth!"

Not even The Redhead's voice could escape him now, ooh, the faint, huffing whimper of an unfortunate little lamb, oh no. But Elbereth? The leader winced at the awful, awful name. Did she think an Elven fantasy could save her? The White One knew her every move all along. Her life was destined for his axe before midnight, and there was nothing any Elven nonsense could do about it.

Twang! An arrow suddenly pierced the bush, dragged in momentum by the intricacy of the branches and halting inches from the tip of the leader's nose. He was startled; then, he was filled with rage.

Thought herself shrewd, did the fool, because she had noticed him in the darkness? Thought she could kill him in the darkness that was his realm? He barked furiously and leaped from hiding, and at a raspy call and a wave of his axe, the cacophonous snarls of his minions cut harshly across the silence of the night. Hideous heads were raised and eerie green irises twinkled in the dark. The Redhead hastily tumbled back, but it was too late, ooh, yes, it was way too late.

The leader cackled in twisted pleasure as he watched his subordinates scurry around The Redhead and seal her escape route, their axes grinding against each other in raw, barbaric anticipation of a brutal command. His own fingers too twitched and trembled, and he longed at this instant to deal the blow and feed his hungry blade with sweet human flesh - but no. Not yet. 'The necklace first,' The White One's messenger had said, 'Lay your hands on the jewel in that necklace, and only then you may do what you please.'

The leader examined the woman who huffed and trembled and cursed and turned about wildly, her bow in one hand, her necklace in the other. His cloudy eyes filled with sadistic joy as they made out the empty quiver on her back. This was going to be very easy.

Clack. He took a step forward. Clack. He took another step. Clack, clack. The sound of his heavy footfalls as he approached The Redhead mingled with the cracking groans of the dead leaves that coated the wet ground, and with every clack The Redhead tossed more desperate glances at the axes that barricaded all routes for escape. The corners of the leader's deformed lips rose with every shiver he saw. Yes, yes, panic, woman; your doom would soon be upon you.

Suddenly a sharp light flashed, and as he heard the sound of unsheathing he felt the coldness of a blade before him. Alarmed, he seethed and jumped back; only then did he see out of a corner of his eye a silver sheath at the woman's waist, which had been hidden within her cloak. The Redhead had dropped her bow, and held now a scintillating Elf blade in her left hand that would surely have peeled his fingers, had he not retreated in time.

Curse her! Curse the sly wench and her unexpected manoeuvres!

The leader snarled in indignant mortification, but when he examined the knife his anger ceased. He surveyed his surrounding minions, and together they laughed and jeered.

The dagger hardly exceeded a single foot in length.

The Redhead bit her lip nervously and tightened her grip on her pathetic little Elf knife. This only amused him further, and he cackled louder and all his subordinates cackled louder, and there were faint sounds of flapping wings in the distance as birds fled from this sinister chorus laughter.

"Impressive," amidst his enjoyment, the leader found the breath to sneer, "The little lamb expects an Elfling's play sword to save her!"

"An Elfling's play sword! An Elfling's play sword," echoed his minions.

The Redhead cringed and helplessly glanced around, her scattered gaze at last returning to focus on the necklace jewel in her hand. The jewel flashed weak bouts of crimson in the darkness.

Suddenly, she stood tall again and she trembled no longer. She held the dagger across her chest with one hand and clutched onto her jewel with the other and, much to the leader's chagrin, smiled.

"Elfling sword or not, it's an Elven blade. It may yet defend me. Now, I know exactly what you want, and why you want it. But do you know what it can do? Do you know that the moment you lay a finger upon it will be the moment of your undoing?"

The leader guffawed. How dare she smile! "I have no time for nonsense. Give us the jewel, and we may spare you."

"Hah!" The Redhead tossed her head back and abruptly laughed. "I'd have to be out of my mind to trust a goblin."

"Then you shall die!" The leader roared furiously and shook his axe; it was the signal his minions had been waiting for, and all goblins seethed and shuffled their feet and closed in like a hideous, impermeable membrane of reeking flesh. Cries of bloodlust and morbid excitement filled the air, and not one goblin heard the soft but pressed uttering of an Elven tongue by their prey.

Suddenly a force crushed at the leader, a force so great that stirred and squeezed and pounded at his innards, a force so overwhelming that it impaired his breathing and made him panic, he who had never before known fear! He fell on his rear and dropped his axe and screeched and writhed in pain, but even then he did not forget his prey; he forced his eyelids obstinately open, and saw The Redhead being levitated and thrust over his fallen minions by streaks of dark, crimson luminescence that gripped at her body like hard, tight chains. The cursed lights emitted an aura even more sinister than The White One's messenger.

But the leader must not let this deter him from his duty! She should have been sitting prey, and dead before midnight! The leader tried to stand, but the force would not allow him; not until the wench was a fair distance away, seeming no more than the smudge of red he had earlier perceived when he had first discovered her presence.

No! No! The leader scrambled to his feet and called for archers, but then he remembered he had not brought archers; he had thought them unnecessary against a single foe.

Cold sweat dripped over his forehead and mingled with the falling rain, and chaotic thoughts raced through his mind. How did he let her slip out of his hands like this? The White One's messenger had warned him only against The Other Redhead. The White One's messenger had never dropped a word hinting that This Redhead could use the jewel, too! This was all The White One's fault, and The White One would never admit it! Ooh, no, how could he even think of blaming The White One, when the Wizard gave him one duty that should have been simplest to fulfill in exchange for a high position in his Tower?

Was he to face The White One's wrath now? His body quivered as he felt fear yet again. The White One was known to be merciless to any disappointing subordinate, and The White One's messenger had made it very clear that he must not fail.

Groans of other goblins awoke the leader from his brief daze, and he snarled at his minions and ordered them to chase after the prey. But none moved; all lay flat on the ground, reeled still by the strange crimson force that had deprived them of their delicious meal. Worthless fools! The leader cursed under his breath and paid no more heed to them, as he sprang to his feet and set off in the direction of The Redhead's flight.

He could still smell the metallic blood and the salty sweat in the air, and that must mean she was close. He had to catch her. He must not fail.

At first he ran on his legs, axe in hands, but soon he dropped his weapon and scrambled forward on all four limbs. He needed not a weapon now; he would rip her apart with his bare teeth!

Her scent was becoming stronger, yes, yes. No! Why was it suddenly weaker again? He cursed and closed his eyes to concentrate on his olfactory senses, and moved his limbs faster, feeling not at all the pain of hostile forest branches slicing against his coarse skin. His teeth ground against each other, and his lips quavered as the scent began to augment again.

Ah, yes, the sweet smell of flesh. He remembered now exactly how excited it had made him when he first saw the full figure of The Redhead. He was almost just as exited now, as the scent brimmed his foul lungs with time passed; just a little bit more of it, and he would be upon her. Just a little bit - there! This was it!

He opened his eyes triumphantly and stood on his legs and was ready to cackle! But no redhead awaited his threat and his destruction. Instead he saw a nearly indiscernible flash of green, and the next second a cold, thin, and very queer sensation penetrated his throat with a force more frightening even than the eerie crimson from the hostile jewel.

The leader's eyes had never held open so widely in his entire life. Suddenly it was so difficult to move them now, his cloudy irises. An eternity seemed to pass before he could finally shift them to look down, and he saw, with the sight of a goblin that was exceptional in the darkness, green fletchings protrude from his very own neck.

Now he could no longer feel his limbs. He could still smell blood and sweat, though they were his own; and he could feel pain and panic. These sensations were not at all pleasant to experience first-hand. For the first time in his life he wished to scream in no emotion but fear, but it was too late. It was way too late.

His body slid into the wet soil by the forest's edge, and the last thing his widened, bulging eyes ever saw was the full, white Moon shining high in the centre of a starless sky.

The rain had ceased, and it was midnight.