**I don't own anything from Lord of the Rings, J. R.R. Tolkien, or any of
the poetry or poets referenced (such as John Keats, Shakespeare, Poe,
Donne) or the song "A Sorta Fairytale" by Tori Amos-all I own is Dascha,
Ivy, Geniveve and Christopher**
A Sorta Fairytale
By Leah Pensotti
"And I'm so sad
Like a good book
I can't put this
Day Back
A sorta fairytale with you."
-Tori Amos, "A Sorta Fairytale"
Chapter Twelve: Death Be Not Proud
Two months had passed since that dreadful night when Ivy and Christopher returned home, back to life and family. The nights in Lothlorien were long for Geniveve. She never slept; she was tortured with thoughts and voices from the past. She stayed in her quarters and pushed away the food that was brought to her.
Dascha tried to comfort her, she tried to talk her into eating; but Geniveve saw no point.
She was dead.
She would recite poetry; the most mundane of sorts in her head and aloud when Dascha left their flet. She would pace the floor barefoot, wearing a cream-colored dress that the elves brought for her. Her hair in her face, it had grown longer-so long that it bunched up in waves. Dascha would brush her hair and tame its wildness, because Geniveve refused to.
The months had changed to mid-January and Geniveve was particularly unwell.
What was she?
A ghost?
A zombie?
A vampire?
An immortal?
Lady Galadriel had explained that she and Dascha had died a mortal death, and here they would not die-unless decapitated, disemboweled, or they had their hearts cut out.
Did she feel anymore?
Did she even bleed?
An idea sprang into her mind. Dascha was out; doing whatever Dascha did in Lothlorien. She had to work fast. She found her riding garb with the shining Elven silver blade attached at the belt. She unsheathed it. It was beautiful yet lethal. Her hands traveled from its hilt to the edges of the blade itself. She pressed her palms to the searing edge; she pushed them until a stream of blood was released. She dropped the blade; it landed softly on the floor.
She inspected her palms, blood oozing through the lines and crevices. She still bled. Her blood still flowed. Geniveve became transfixed with the sight; she studied it the way a poet would. She made it beautiful with words. She lied on her bed, palms in the air, captivated with her wounds. Blood dripped on her dress, the brownish-red speckling the cream. She thought of John Donne, and his metaphysics. Is this how he felt? Geniveve opened her mouth and recited:
"Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death; Nor yet canst thou kill me."
She finally understood Ophelia, drowning herself amongst flowers. As well as Virginia Woolf, cramming stones in her pockets and allowing herself to be drug with the currents. Madness was all consuming, and like them, she was drunk on it.
Geniveve heard footsteps as they came up the stairs. It was Dascha. She wore her riding outfit; the one they gave her in Rivendell and carried a bow with a quiver of arrows. Her brown hair shined, she looked more feminine everyday. Dascha looked to the floor to find the bloodied blade and then to the bed where Geniveve lay. Her eyes widened and she screamed. She ran to her friend.
"Gen! What have you done?"
Dascha made her sit up and she inspected the lacerations. Geniveve smiled vaguely, "I'm not sure. I still bleed, Dascha."
Dascha, her face awashed with worry, "You tried to kill yourself, no?"
Geniveve laughed wryly, "I cut my palms. Not my wrists. Besides, that wouldn't work and you know it."
Dascha fought back tears. Geniveve frightened her and she didn't know what to do-or even what she could do.
"Come with me. You must have these looked at. Then you eat at the table."
Geniveve shook her head, "No."
Dascha had it. She had enough. Geniveve was going to get better-she was going to make her no matter how fragile she seems. She pulled her friend to her feet and glared at her, "Gen, you have to. I make you. You can no do this anymore. I won't let you. You are eating tonight. Tomorrow I take you out. I will no let you stay here all day and go crazy. Tomorrow we see the horses. Taralom misses you."
Geniveve looked shocked, "Taralom? Oh yes, he is here! How awful I've been not to go and see him."
~~
After having her hands treated and bandaged, Dascha made Geniveve bathe and put on a fresh dress. In her silver-violet dress, Geniveve looked a little like her old self, but the telltale bandages at her hands served as a reminder of how unstable she has become. Dascha tied the front part of Geniveve's hair away from her face and ushered her downstairs for the meal.
The evening was all together uncomfortable, she had not left the flet in two months, save the two times she had gone to see Galadriel and Celeborn when they had called for her. The elves looked at her oddly as if to say, "Ah there she is, the strange girl. The one who died a mortal death in her world. She's an enigma."
Geniveve sat by Dascha and ate; she did not speak a word. She thought about her brother and Ivy. At home with her parents mourning and sad. Geniveve knew though, that they were in the beginnings of love. She could see it in their eyes when she told them to take care of each other. She knew they would. They would marry and have a family. Such a tragedy would bring people together in strong, unbreakable bonds. Geniveve had only hoped that they wouldn't forget her.
After the meal, Dascha and Geniveve retreated to their lodgings. They changed into their nightclothes and fell into their respective beds. Dascha called to Geniveve from her bed, "Gen, please try. Do it for me."
Geniveve nodded solemnly, "I will Dascha. I will try to live here and not shut down. It might take awhile. I have gone a bit mad, after all."
~~
Geniveve awoke the next morning with a feeling that resembled peace. The memories and voices only murmured through the night, allowing her to sleep a bit easily. She bathed and took the bandages off her hands. The wounds had closed, thanks to elvish medicine. However, there was sure to be an omnipresent glaring pink scar on each palm. They ran from middle finger to the top of her wrists. They would be there for the rest of her life. Forever.
She brushed and braided her long hair, which had grown so long that it fell to the top of her waist. She decided to wear the pink tinged white dress. The dress she wore the night her brother and best friend disappeared. It was simple but pretty. It did not drag the ground when she walked. It felt nice to have her hair back and her neck exposed.
As she finished she watched as Dascha brushed her hair, that fell past her shoulders. She decided upon a gray dress, suitable for activity. She had transformed. She was still big, muscular and spoke with an accent-but she had become lovely. If the Hobbits saw her, they wouldn't recognize her very easily.
Dascha turned around and smiled, "Ready to go?"
Geniveve did her best to match her smile, "I am."
They walked down the stairs and to the ground, where elves walked serenely past. Dascha led her to the place where the horses were kept. The whinnies and sounds filled Geniveve's ears and an uncontrollable smile spread across her face. Then she saw him. Taralom, the beautiful Taralom.
Geniveve hurried to the end, tears drizzling down her face, "Taralom, my friend."
The horse whinnied with the realization that his rider had returned. She embraced him at the neck and cried. She stroked his bleached mane and laid a kiss upon his muzzle, "I've missed you. I am so sorry it took me so long to come. Will you forgive me?"
Taralom stomped a hoof on the ground and nuzzled her happily. It was the first time Dascha had seen Geniveve truly in two months. For the rest day and into the evening Geniveve and Dascha tended to Taralom and Ireth, feeding them and grooming them.
As Geniveve brushed Taralom, a flurry of activity developed outside. Dascha put down her brush and poked her head outside. Geniveve raised an eyebrow and appeared behind her friend, "What's going on?"
Dascha squinted and turned to Geniveve, "It's Haldir. He's back."
Geniveve shrugged, she didn't even know that he was gone, "So?"
Dascha looked closer, "He has a group with him-it looks like-"
Geniveve squinted as well, "What, Dascha? What does it look like?"
Dascha didn't answer, she ran out to be closer. Geniveve put down her brush and did the same. She stopped beside Dascha whose mouth was opened wide, "What is it?"
Dascha pointed ahead, "Look."
She followed her friend's finger and saw Haldir followed by eight others. Four of the forms were small; almost Hobbit shaped-
No. It was a trick. Her mind had deceived her once again. It couldn't be them.
Then Aragorn' s face emerged clearly. It was them! They had come!
Geniveve and Dascha darted to Haldir's side. She looked frantic.
"Aragorn!"
Aragorn turned around at the sound of his name. He looked slightly weather- beaten, but noble and brave as always. His eyes adjusted on her in disbelief, "Are the lights of Lothlorien playing tricks? Lady Geniveve? Is it you?"
Geniveve could not control her emotions. She threw her arms around Aragorn, who wasn't expecting it, but then resigned and embraced her back. He then held her at arms length, "A happy moment in such sad times."
He saw something then, "You have changed. Your spirit has broken. What has happened?"
She fought back tears; "Did the scouts not tell you?"
He shook his head negatively. Did the scouts even know? More than likely they left the days before she had first met Galadriel.
Before she could reply, two forms attached themselves to her waist. She looked down to see Merry and Pippin clinging to her. She bent down to greet them, tears were in their eyes, "What's wrong?"
Pippin, who was crying profusely, looked her in the eyes, "Gandalf. He fell. He's gone."
Suddenly, it hit her. Of course--the Mines. How awful!
Geniveve began to weep and pulled them to her. She hugged them both, "Oh, I'm so sorry."
As she embraced Merry and Pippin, Frodo and Sam appeared out of the corner of her eye. She let go of Merry and Pippin and then headed to Frodo. He looked so pale and devastated. She kneeled down and kissed him on the cheek, "It's good to see you Frodo. Are you well?"
Frodo's large eyes welled with tears, but they did not spill, "I am weary and sad; but I am glad to see you."
She nodded in return and then went to Sam, who could not believe his eyes, "I thought that you'd have gotten home somehow. That you were safe and happy."
Geniveve shook her head; "I'm afraid not."
She took him into her arms and squeezed him tightly; "I've missed you Sam. I thought about you a lot over the past three months and here you are."
Sam smiled, "Same with me. Aragorn's right, you do seem different."
She kissed his forehead, "I have a lot to tell you."
Geniveve rose to greet Gimli. She couldn't help but smile at him, "Hello Master Gimli, it is wonderful to see you again."
Gimli nodded beneath his helmet and massive, braided beard, "Aye, Lassie. Lightens the heart to see you smile. Will you be joining us at mealtimes?"
Geniveve shrugged, "If I am invited and if you save me a seat."
Geniveve approached Boromir next; she could see the change in him, for she has suffered it as well. She smiled lightly at him and he managed one to her, "Lady Geniveve, you look well."
She shook her head, "I'm afraid that I am only now getting better. I have not been well these past two months. Much has happened and much has changed. However, I feel greatly improved to see you all."
She looked around, wanting to see the face she has been haunted by. There he was, clad green with his bow and arrows on his back. His face was a mixture of emotions--joyous, confused, worried, and sad all at the same time-with none of them ever pulling completely through. She walked closer to him, her emotions bordering on fear.
"Hello, Legolas."
He stepped close to her, a knowing look in his eyes; "Did I not say that we would meet again?"
Geniveve smiled, "Yes, yes you did."
He reached out his hand and touched her face as if inspecting the newly acquired shadows there, "What has happened, Geniveve? Why are you so pale and wrought with grief?"
She could not answer him; she shut her eyes and leaned in to his touch.
He lowered his voice, "Where are the others?"
She opened her eyes and gave him a painful look; "Dascha is right there."
She pointed in the direction of her friend, whom no one seemed to recognize. The Hobbits ran towards her, their mouths open with shock and astonishment. Merry smiled up at her, "Dascha! You look lovely! Just like a girl!"
Dascha didn't know whether to be flattered or terrified. She smiled half- heartedly as the Hobbits crowded around her. She then looked to the others, her eyes resting on Boromir. He looked at her in disbelief.
Haldir then stepped forward, his stern eyes searching the group; "The pleasantries will have to wait. Come, the Lady and Lord wait for you."
As they followed Haldir again, Legolas let his hand drop to his side. He looked intently at Geniveve; "We will speak afterwards."
She nodded and watched them walk off with the rest of the Fellowship.
~~
*A/N-Interesting. Where will it go from here? You must stay tuned to find out. The end of this part of the story is nearing. Please R&R!
A Sorta Fairytale
By Leah Pensotti
"And I'm so sad
Like a good book
I can't put this
Day Back
A sorta fairytale with you."
-Tori Amos, "A Sorta Fairytale"
Chapter Twelve: Death Be Not Proud
Two months had passed since that dreadful night when Ivy and Christopher returned home, back to life and family. The nights in Lothlorien were long for Geniveve. She never slept; she was tortured with thoughts and voices from the past. She stayed in her quarters and pushed away the food that was brought to her.
Dascha tried to comfort her, she tried to talk her into eating; but Geniveve saw no point.
She was dead.
She would recite poetry; the most mundane of sorts in her head and aloud when Dascha left their flet. She would pace the floor barefoot, wearing a cream-colored dress that the elves brought for her. Her hair in her face, it had grown longer-so long that it bunched up in waves. Dascha would brush her hair and tame its wildness, because Geniveve refused to.
The months had changed to mid-January and Geniveve was particularly unwell.
What was she?
A ghost?
A zombie?
A vampire?
An immortal?
Lady Galadriel had explained that she and Dascha had died a mortal death, and here they would not die-unless decapitated, disemboweled, or they had their hearts cut out.
Did she feel anymore?
Did she even bleed?
An idea sprang into her mind. Dascha was out; doing whatever Dascha did in Lothlorien. She had to work fast. She found her riding garb with the shining Elven silver blade attached at the belt. She unsheathed it. It was beautiful yet lethal. Her hands traveled from its hilt to the edges of the blade itself. She pressed her palms to the searing edge; she pushed them until a stream of blood was released. She dropped the blade; it landed softly on the floor.
She inspected her palms, blood oozing through the lines and crevices. She still bled. Her blood still flowed. Geniveve became transfixed with the sight; she studied it the way a poet would. She made it beautiful with words. She lied on her bed, palms in the air, captivated with her wounds. Blood dripped on her dress, the brownish-red speckling the cream. She thought of John Donne, and his metaphysics. Is this how he felt? Geniveve opened her mouth and recited:
"Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death; Nor yet canst thou kill me."
She finally understood Ophelia, drowning herself amongst flowers. As well as Virginia Woolf, cramming stones in her pockets and allowing herself to be drug with the currents. Madness was all consuming, and like them, she was drunk on it.
Geniveve heard footsteps as they came up the stairs. It was Dascha. She wore her riding outfit; the one they gave her in Rivendell and carried a bow with a quiver of arrows. Her brown hair shined, she looked more feminine everyday. Dascha looked to the floor to find the bloodied blade and then to the bed where Geniveve lay. Her eyes widened and she screamed. She ran to her friend.
"Gen! What have you done?"
Dascha made her sit up and she inspected the lacerations. Geniveve smiled vaguely, "I'm not sure. I still bleed, Dascha."
Dascha, her face awashed with worry, "You tried to kill yourself, no?"
Geniveve laughed wryly, "I cut my palms. Not my wrists. Besides, that wouldn't work and you know it."
Dascha fought back tears. Geniveve frightened her and she didn't know what to do-or even what she could do.
"Come with me. You must have these looked at. Then you eat at the table."
Geniveve shook her head, "No."
Dascha had it. She had enough. Geniveve was going to get better-she was going to make her no matter how fragile she seems. She pulled her friend to her feet and glared at her, "Gen, you have to. I make you. You can no do this anymore. I won't let you. You are eating tonight. Tomorrow I take you out. I will no let you stay here all day and go crazy. Tomorrow we see the horses. Taralom misses you."
Geniveve looked shocked, "Taralom? Oh yes, he is here! How awful I've been not to go and see him."
~~
After having her hands treated and bandaged, Dascha made Geniveve bathe and put on a fresh dress. In her silver-violet dress, Geniveve looked a little like her old self, but the telltale bandages at her hands served as a reminder of how unstable she has become. Dascha tied the front part of Geniveve's hair away from her face and ushered her downstairs for the meal.
The evening was all together uncomfortable, she had not left the flet in two months, save the two times she had gone to see Galadriel and Celeborn when they had called for her. The elves looked at her oddly as if to say, "Ah there she is, the strange girl. The one who died a mortal death in her world. She's an enigma."
Geniveve sat by Dascha and ate; she did not speak a word. She thought about her brother and Ivy. At home with her parents mourning and sad. Geniveve knew though, that they were in the beginnings of love. She could see it in their eyes when she told them to take care of each other. She knew they would. They would marry and have a family. Such a tragedy would bring people together in strong, unbreakable bonds. Geniveve had only hoped that they wouldn't forget her.
After the meal, Dascha and Geniveve retreated to their lodgings. They changed into their nightclothes and fell into their respective beds. Dascha called to Geniveve from her bed, "Gen, please try. Do it for me."
Geniveve nodded solemnly, "I will Dascha. I will try to live here and not shut down. It might take awhile. I have gone a bit mad, after all."
~~
Geniveve awoke the next morning with a feeling that resembled peace. The memories and voices only murmured through the night, allowing her to sleep a bit easily. She bathed and took the bandages off her hands. The wounds had closed, thanks to elvish medicine. However, there was sure to be an omnipresent glaring pink scar on each palm. They ran from middle finger to the top of her wrists. They would be there for the rest of her life. Forever.
She brushed and braided her long hair, which had grown so long that it fell to the top of her waist. She decided to wear the pink tinged white dress. The dress she wore the night her brother and best friend disappeared. It was simple but pretty. It did not drag the ground when she walked. It felt nice to have her hair back and her neck exposed.
As she finished she watched as Dascha brushed her hair, that fell past her shoulders. She decided upon a gray dress, suitable for activity. She had transformed. She was still big, muscular and spoke with an accent-but she had become lovely. If the Hobbits saw her, they wouldn't recognize her very easily.
Dascha turned around and smiled, "Ready to go?"
Geniveve did her best to match her smile, "I am."
They walked down the stairs and to the ground, where elves walked serenely past. Dascha led her to the place where the horses were kept. The whinnies and sounds filled Geniveve's ears and an uncontrollable smile spread across her face. Then she saw him. Taralom, the beautiful Taralom.
Geniveve hurried to the end, tears drizzling down her face, "Taralom, my friend."
The horse whinnied with the realization that his rider had returned. She embraced him at the neck and cried. She stroked his bleached mane and laid a kiss upon his muzzle, "I've missed you. I am so sorry it took me so long to come. Will you forgive me?"
Taralom stomped a hoof on the ground and nuzzled her happily. It was the first time Dascha had seen Geniveve truly in two months. For the rest day and into the evening Geniveve and Dascha tended to Taralom and Ireth, feeding them and grooming them.
As Geniveve brushed Taralom, a flurry of activity developed outside. Dascha put down her brush and poked her head outside. Geniveve raised an eyebrow and appeared behind her friend, "What's going on?"
Dascha squinted and turned to Geniveve, "It's Haldir. He's back."
Geniveve shrugged, she didn't even know that he was gone, "So?"
Dascha looked closer, "He has a group with him-it looks like-"
Geniveve squinted as well, "What, Dascha? What does it look like?"
Dascha didn't answer, she ran out to be closer. Geniveve put down her brush and did the same. She stopped beside Dascha whose mouth was opened wide, "What is it?"
Dascha pointed ahead, "Look."
She followed her friend's finger and saw Haldir followed by eight others. Four of the forms were small; almost Hobbit shaped-
No. It was a trick. Her mind had deceived her once again. It couldn't be them.
Then Aragorn' s face emerged clearly. It was them! They had come!
Geniveve and Dascha darted to Haldir's side. She looked frantic.
"Aragorn!"
Aragorn turned around at the sound of his name. He looked slightly weather- beaten, but noble and brave as always. His eyes adjusted on her in disbelief, "Are the lights of Lothlorien playing tricks? Lady Geniveve? Is it you?"
Geniveve could not control her emotions. She threw her arms around Aragorn, who wasn't expecting it, but then resigned and embraced her back. He then held her at arms length, "A happy moment in such sad times."
He saw something then, "You have changed. Your spirit has broken. What has happened?"
She fought back tears; "Did the scouts not tell you?"
He shook his head negatively. Did the scouts even know? More than likely they left the days before she had first met Galadriel.
Before she could reply, two forms attached themselves to her waist. She looked down to see Merry and Pippin clinging to her. She bent down to greet them, tears were in their eyes, "What's wrong?"
Pippin, who was crying profusely, looked her in the eyes, "Gandalf. He fell. He's gone."
Suddenly, it hit her. Of course--the Mines. How awful!
Geniveve began to weep and pulled them to her. She hugged them both, "Oh, I'm so sorry."
As she embraced Merry and Pippin, Frodo and Sam appeared out of the corner of her eye. She let go of Merry and Pippin and then headed to Frodo. He looked so pale and devastated. She kneeled down and kissed him on the cheek, "It's good to see you Frodo. Are you well?"
Frodo's large eyes welled with tears, but they did not spill, "I am weary and sad; but I am glad to see you."
She nodded in return and then went to Sam, who could not believe his eyes, "I thought that you'd have gotten home somehow. That you were safe and happy."
Geniveve shook her head; "I'm afraid not."
She took him into her arms and squeezed him tightly; "I've missed you Sam. I thought about you a lot over the past three months and here you are."
Sam smiled, "Same with me. Aragorn's right, you do seem different."
She kissed his forehead, "I have a lot to tell you."
Geniveve rose to greet Gimli. She couldn't help but smile at him, "Hello Master Gimli, it is wonderful to see you again."
Gimli nodded beneath his helmet and massive, braided beard, "Aye, Lassie. Lightens the heart to see you smile. Will you be joining us at mealtimes?"
Geniveve shrugged, "If I am invited and if you save me a seat."
Geniveve approached Boromir next; she could see the change in him, for she has suffered it as well. She smiled lightly at him and he managed one to her, "Lady Geniveve, you look well."
She shook her head, "I'm afraid that I am only now getting better. I have not been well these past two months. Much has happened and much has changed. However, I feel greatly improved to see you all."
She looked around, wanting to see the face she has been haunted by. There he was, clad green with his bow and arrows on his back. His face was a mixture of emotions--joyous, confused, worried, and sad all at the same time-with none of them ever pulling completely through. She walked closer to him, her emotions bordering on fear.
"Hello, Legolas."
He stepped close to her, a knowing look in his eyes; "Did I not say that we would meet again?"
Geniveve smiled, "Yes, yes you did."
He reached out his hand and touched her face as if inspecting the newly acquired shadows there, "What has happened, Geniveve? Why are you so pale and wrought with grief?"
She could not answer him; she shut her eyes and leaned in to his touch.
He lowered his voice, "Where are the others?"
She opened her eyes and gave him a painful look; "Dascha is right there."
She pointed in the direction of her friend, whom no one seemed to recognize. The Hobbits ran towards her, their mouths open with shock and astonishment. Merry smiled up at her, "Dascha! You look lovely! Just like a girl!"
Dascha didn't know whether to be flattered or terrified. She smiled half- heartedly as the Hobbits crowded around her. She then looked to the others, her eyes resting on Boromir. He looked at her in disbelief.
Haldir then stepped forward, his stern eyes searching the group; "The pleasantries will have to wait. Come, the Lady and Lord wait for you."
As they followed Haldir again, Legolas let his hand drop to his side. He looked intently at Geniveve; "We will speak afterwards."
She nodded and watched them walk off with the rest of the Fellowship.
~~
*A/N-Interesting. Where will it go from here? You must stay tuned to find out. The end of this part of the story is nearing. Please R&R!
