Full Summary: After finding a close to death elf upon the pass to Caradhras, the story of Lord of the Rings as we know it, is completely turned around. New threats begin to arise with the appearance of a foreign and deadly weapon. Danger grows with every step the Fellowship takes, as they find that they are now part of a different battle. So with the tale changed, the true question now lies; will Frodo destroy the ring? Read on to find out!
Author's Note: Hiya! I'm Lightnin Spark, commonly reffered to as Spark. Just a FYI, I released a poem about Frodo's dark journey recently (as of 11/17/11) and if you want to check it out, go to my bio! Thanks!
Warning: Please approach this story with an open mind! Thank you all, and enjoy!
Disclaimer: Also I don't own any of these places, characters, items, ect. In general everything belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien. I own nothing.
The Misty Mountains
"Oh dear…" Muttered Gandalf the grey, halting the rest of the fellowship who were only to glad to take a break.
Merry, along with the others towards the back tried to get a glimpse of the source of their stopping. It was already horrid enough that he had to walk among the freezing snow, but the more time his bare, hairy feet touched the stuff the more blue his lips became. All except for him, stood in silence gazing upon the thing which had stopped them. Though, being a hobbit, he couldn't manage peer over Legolas. Having no other option, he bounced on the tips of his toes, straining his neck to get a better look.
"What is it?" He called to the front of the line, his voice lost in the volume of the snow, and the rush of wind.
Though he quite clearly heard Merry, the wizard had no intention of answering. For he was deep in thought and concern as he stared at the object in front of him. Before Gandalf, peeking out of the snow, was a very pale, and slender hand. The rest of the person was absent, for they seemed to be buried in the thick blanket of snow. The hand moved not at all. The sight of it made chills run down the spine.
"Well?" questioned Boromir, his voice cutting through the thick anxiety filled silence. He looked to the rest of the company for a response, though found none. They remained quiet, gazing at the hand, deep in each of their own thoughts. Though most of the thoughts consisted of, What is that?
"Um…pardon me," Sam offered quietly, his face clearly flushing. All turned to face him, hardly helping at all. "S-shouldn't we help the poor fellow? I mean..it's only decent…right...?" He trailed off into whispers then to nothing, and looked down. Frodo patted him gently on the back, then looked up to the rest of the company.
"I believe we should-"
"Well get on with it, then!" Gimli demanded, "We can't stand in this cursed snow all day, can we?"
Merry and Pippin nodded in agreement.
Seeing that no one else was going to do anything, Aragorn moved his way to the front of the line the fellowship developed for walking, plowing through the snow. Once he arrived, he carefully brushed the snow from around the hand, revealing a wrist, then slowly an arm. Legolas came to help too, though when he walked upon the snow, he didn't sink; He walked on top as if it was a solid surface. Then, in no more than ten gripping minutes, they had revealed the body of the person buried in the snow.
To the fellowship's surprise the 'fellow' as Sam had called the hand, was a woman. An elf woman, to their great surprise. She was very young compared to Legolas. Yet much older than most men. She looked as if she would be sixteen or seventeen if she was a human, but Legolas guessed she was probably fifty to seventy years old. Her skin was very pale, most likely because of being buried in the snow. Her chapped lips were cherry red, shining with the water of the snow. She wore a sand colored leather bodice, made up of smaller pieces of the material. She had matching braces engraved with gold elven symbols, going down the sides in swirls and circles. Boots of a darker brown covered her feet, and reached halfway up her shin. Her bare arms were covered by a dark green cloak tied around her neck. A loose belt went around her waist, which housed and empty dagger sheath and various pockets. A torn and dirty white skirt went to her knees, though now it looked quite close to black. Her eyes were closed gently, as if she was asleep, though her expression looked pained. Dark onyx hair fell to her shoulders then down to her back. She had many cuts along her cheek, the most noticeable was a long scar running a couple centimeters away from her eye, to close to the corner of her lips. Along her side was three deep gashes, cutting through her leather bodice, filled with dark dried blood. They seemed only a couple of days old. Dried blood stained her bare arms along with caked mud.
Gandalf stared at the elf girl deep in thought. Frodo watched him, waiting for his wise instructions. He could tell by his expression that the wizard was puzzled. "Is she alive?" he asked Legolas quite distracted. The elf then felt her wrist. "She breathes, though almost barely." Legolas confirmed gruffly.
"Secure her on the pony if you don't mind." Gandalf murmured.
"His name is Bill." Corrected Sam a bit too loudly, feeling somewhat smug that he had just corrected a wizard. And not only just a wizard, Gandalf.
Aragorn easily lifted up the elven girl and put her over his shoulder. Aided by Legolas, he placed her on Bill the pony, atop the supplies that he was already carrying. "Keep your eye on her if you don't mind, Sam." Aragon said, putting his hand on the hobbit's shoulder.
Sam nodded, patting the girl's shoulder.
The fellowship shifted back into place, returning to their frigid climb once again, as much as their bodies refused to. As they neared the top of the mountain of Caradhras, a sweeping wind brought a terrible blizzard way too fast to be natural.
By this time the fellowship was to their shoulders in snow. All except for Legolas, who still walked lightly on top without sinking. Aragorn and Borimir each carried two hobbits in order for their heads to stay above the snow. Gandalf knew instantly that it was Saruman who had sent the ferocious blizzard. He decided to retreat, sending the fellowship back down the mountain, dodging the falling snow and rocks. They were now back where they had started, blocked by the Misty Mountains.
Behind the safety of the tree line of a forest, they set up camp, collapsing into slumber. It had been a long and tiring day. But of course their troubles only had just begun.
A gasp of pain was let out. There was nothing she could do, absolutely nothing. It was now a battle of will. Her body had surrendered to the pain; she knew she couldn't let her mind surrender as well. She tried to escape the shackles that bound her to the wall, though it was completely in vain. The whip cracked again. A gut wrenching scream escaped her lungs. Her body shook violently. In a blur the shackles were suddenly unlocked. She collapsed on the floor, like a lifeless doll, her own blood forming a pool upon the cold ground.
Her captors laughed wickedly, chucking her feather light body back inside the cell. She curled up into the corner, crying out in pain each time she moved. Now was the most mentally exhausting part; awaiting her next torture. Though she was terribly scared, she did not cry. All she could do was accept her fate and pray for it to end. And oh did she pray, though everyday she lost more faith. It was him that kept her going, kept her from allowing them to murder her.
The darkness came again.
She was out cold. They watched, they hated. She wouldn't cave in. They did everything right. "What will he do to us?" They hissed in fear. She was useless. Her will was too strong. She wasn't supposed to resist.
The debate was over. She was no longer needed. So, she was killed.
I know, short chapter. I'm sorry! Don't worry, the next one's are ALL much longer than this. You know how it is- I just needed to get start.
Please R&R! Thank you in advance!