The Call

There was nothing he could compare it to. The white hot pain of searing flesh form his body and screaming until he was hoarse. Throwing up meat they had shoved down his throat that he knew to be Adan flesh, again all he felt was sharp fangs and fire. It tore at his soul, he had nothing left, the questions came and he would cry out anything to make it stop.

There was no way to cope, no way to hold his tongue, "coward, wretch," he would bitterly tell himself, he was disgusted with himself. He was entirely weak and useless. It might have been weeks or years before the torture stopped and he was finally thrown into a dark cell.

He huddled in a corner, there was no end, and he would die here like the pitiful shade of an ellon he had become. Mandos was calling to him, what was he hanging on to? Everything was skeletally thin about his body and he knew if meat were tossed in to him, he would scarcely hesitate to gobble it down as an animal would. He rocked back against a cold, stone wall, and retreated far into his mind. He needed to flee from this place of torment.

Mireth giggled as she told Lady Arwen and him about Lindir stumbling in drunk to where the elleths had been washing their undershifts. He had laughed gaily and all was right about the world. They played songs of joy in the Hall of Fire and entertained what guests they had. They played songs of peace and calm, rainfall that clung to the earth in a grey veil, sun that came after in the meadows, and songs of stars that glowed brightly on a clear night. The moon hung in the sky, full and white. Lady Arwen asked him to play just for her, a song about the moon.

Laeron obliged her and sang of the passing of seasons and the moons lonely watch over the distant lands. He sang of long ago and of the wilds where creatures moved in shadow and heroes fought aided by the light. She closed her eyes and imagined it all before her. Laeron studied the elleth who had become like a sister to him, she was kind as summer and as lovely as Luthien herself.

He told himself he no longer entertained such thoughts as any more than a love between siblings or close friends. Yet, he could hardly forget when he first met her and how she had smiled as she talked with him about his home. He had enough sense to remind himself who she was: the daughter of Elrond, granddaughter to the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien. He was nothing more than a common Tawarwaith. He was a rustic elf, seen as strange and dark by the Noldor and Sindarin elves.

So, after she thanked him for the song, "It was nothing, hiril nin." he replied. Though, he had poured his longing for adventure and his spirit into the tune. He told her of the dress that was done for her in the sewing room and led her down, where she happily thanked him as she examined it in the candle light. "This will be lovely to wear in Lothlorien." she said.

Lady Arwen was leaving soon and everyone was deeply worried after what had happened to Celebrian. Her brothers had been gone for months, attempting to clear out every last orc that dared to venture near. He had promised Elrohir and Elladan long ago that he would protect Lady Arwen, and be like a brother to her while they were not around. But, what could he truly protect her from? The choice she would might have to make? No, he could scarcely protect her. He could not be the brother she needed. He had failed wholly and the void yearned for him. Lady Arwen had turned to him, her eyes reflecting the stars and the sea…someone in the West was calling for him…

He awoke in a sweat and wished himself away once more. It made no difference if his eyes were closed or open in the heavy dark. He bit and scratched himself to remember he was alive, but he could not hold out much longer. Blood ran down his arm and from his mouth. He could feel the welts on his back and the flames that had licked his entire body.

Someone called his name, far off, and he knew he had finally gone mad. He laughed and a door opened, Laeron squinted and blinked widly in the sudden light. His eyes stung, but he made out an orc, who began to drag him out of the cell for another round of torture.

Laeron began to laugh harder, until they had turned into all out wheezing guffaws and rolling chuckles. The orc nearly dropped him in surprise as it stared, shock in its black eyes. He had managed to frighten an orc! He strove to keep down the hollow laughter that wanted to escape his lips, but failed. He would die here, that was for certain, and he might as well go out as the mad creature they had turned him into. Pain enveloped his mind again and he was lost again in the black sea.

He awoke in the forest. The trees waited breathlessly for him to arrive, and they were singing to him. They beckoned and he followed. Laeron lost sense of time and place, he was distorted as he wandered deeper into the forest's clutches. A man in the West called his name and he turned towards him, ready to follow the call. The forest stopped singing and shouted at him to ignore the man.

He frowned, confused, he longed to turn to the West, why should he not? Then, he saw them, his adar and naneth. They stood proud and were dressed in the deep greens and browns of their people. Laeron approached them, they were frightened of him, and they backed away.

He tried to call out for them, to touch them, but his hands were fading, his pulse was failing. His entire body was ice cold and transparent, he was little more than a shade. He was now a houseless sprit and he was afraid, then.

"Dhen iallon, please adar, naneth!" he cried.

They had turned away and continued into the depths of the forest. He watched them go and slumped against a tree as he succumbed to despair.