A shout-out to shatteredstar21 for following my story! It really made my day!
Welcome back to the third installment of the "Dark Days" arc. Got a few bombshells to drop, let's hope they're good ones!
By the way, check out "Runaway" by Aurora. It's so Unseen-ish I got goosebumps. Plus, it's just beautiful: watch?v=d_HlPboLRL8
But for the Opening theme, we have "Days" by Lucia: watch?v=Z87arO2T-Yo
Enjoy!
Hold my breath, hear me out in this forest
Creatures watch as I step on their treasures
Gleaming eyes in the dark, chasing stories
Beg the earth, pay the price for redemption
Never listened when you warned me
Never listened to your thoughts
You were the only one to hold me
And now I'm lost enough to die
For days that I'm calling you
The light of the day is true
Yes, I'm hopeless
But at least I fought it.
-"Days"
Lucia
The Lost
Mellianor quaked with cold. Where she was she could not say; there was no sun or stars to guide her way. Only a dark day that would give over into an even darker night. Hunger gnawed her stomach raw. When the next pang struck, Mellianor felt her legs buckle-what little she could feel of her legs. Snow was melting in the sturdy boots she did not remember dressing in, and her dark hood was wet from snow and tears and snot.
Uncle! She only remembered him scooping her up, her big strong uncle Meldor who looked so much like Ada, and then darkness.
While in that darkness, nasty things with evil smiles that she felt rather than saw circulated all through her head, and Mellianor could only flee deeper into sleep. But they followed her everywhere, until all she could do was float in the nothingness that they drew her into.
But then there was someone there. Then she was awake, and something urged her to run. The Forest swallowed her whole, but it was better to be awake and out of her own head. There was a man there. He was fighting, fighting so that she could get away. But Mellianor was sad that it might have been in vain, for both their sakes. It felt like ruining a kind gift.
She pushed her little legs again, desperate to never again fall into that sleep. The hunters were still looking; she could feel them nearby, but perhaps they were the poorer sort of hunters. Thankfully her boots did not sink into the snow, and yet more fell from the sky to cover what little tracks she left.
I am alone. The dark of night dissipated as a brief bit of light broke through the clouds, but her tears would not stop welling. She could not see the Day-Star: it was swallowed by the snow. I am alone.
Adawas gone. Nana was gone, and Uncle Meldor was probably gone, too. She couldn't find him. He was gone, too. She hoped that there would be something left of it before she died of hunger and cold.
She coughed into her hood, and such spasms wracked her that she fell to her knees, wheezing. Thirst clawed at her throat, but the mush of snow was dirty and full of madness.
So Mellianor let herself fall to the snow, coughing hard enough that her entire body convulsed, then lay still as exhaustion claimed her.
But, far up above, Mellianor could just hear the call of an eagle...
The Trapped
Alyx lay on her left side to favor her scarring waist, and to face away from Morien's avid fucking.
The deer looked to her to save it. In the next instant an arrow pierce its eye, and it was felled. The snows were pinkened with blood, and someone passed by her to claim the prize.
The fur beneath her was growing thin, and the winter soil, though thoroughly cleared of snow before the tent's foundation was set, radiated cold. Her meagre blanket was scratchy and flea-ridden; in the morning Alyx would again be covered in little pink bites.
Morien always made her sleep naked. Her entire body ached from the punishing march Morien set for the south. If Elves could survive sleeping in snow, Morien would not have even bothered with tents. In truth, he was running for safety deeper into the poisoned woods. Alyx could not withstand the fumes for long, and only found respite from the madness under Morien's barrier.
The sound of the sea beckoned her near. There it was again. The dream. One of two visions that kept replaying unbidden. She could make no sense to this vision. It was not happening anytime soon.
Just behind her Morien was finishing himself off while the female Elf, Faela, whimpered in orgasm. Alyx knew it was fake, and Morien knew it too. Still, what was one more delusion?
The Elf whose mind Alyx destroyed was left abandoned in the corner. A vegetable to play with. Her eyes were empty as before, but no hellish light yet remained to animate the corpse. Morien had laughed to see her. He stroked his fingers through Alyx's shortened hair and smiled. "Were I not so hardy I might have been reduced to the same state. Alas," he had said, petting her cheek, "I am yet your superior in magic." Yet, Alyx noted as his touch lingered. He had wanted to kiss her, but she would have bitten his lip off, and he knew it.
The deer was old, but the meat was warm. It had wandered too close the surf where they sat facing a driftwood fire. She wept as the knife carved in. "You must eat, child. All things die."
"Everyone except Elves."
"We can die in more ways than one, youngling." Alyx did not recognize any voices except her own. She could not see the face of the person carving the deer but she could feel that he was sad. So old, so sad...
The sound of Morien settling to the dreamless Elven sleep did not come. Alyx was unable to. The cold set a brittle awareness that left her restless. Now that Chyann and Chardonnay were free, there was no one to keep her strength up for, except herself.
The other vision replayed in her head. It bled through any distraction she thought of and pushed past any barriers she tried to put up. Without Megan it was hard to shut the visions off. Otherwise, none of the visions were nothing useful. The dark stones were so cold they burned her hands. High broken towers stabbed the sky with blunted fingers. Fumes like shadows made solid circumvented the air. And then it played again, and again, and again.
Alyx was wasting away. And it was only by a thread that she realized she should care.
Morien was disquiet behind her. His mind was a mess of cold calculations and rising agitation. Although she did not want to be bothered, Alyx didn't pretend half so much to feign sleep anymore. If she tried, she would sleep, and she would dream. Those dreams were not comforting or forgetful, and hardly informative. She returned each time to that cold forgotten plain and haggard woodlands, or else the land of fire and rivers of chilled blood. In both places, ashes rained from the sky. And there was no Thranduil. How little he must be sleeping. He can usually pull me away.
Morien stood beside her pallet. "Alyxandra. Awaken." Excitement, fear. Fear. Urgency. Ambition. Hunger. "What do you want?" She recalled how he had punched her, and wished more than ever that Morien had stood near a fire while she'd had enough power to light him up.
"You will follow me." He dropped a pair of boots and socks by her head, and a very thick white cloak. She knew he wasn't going to try and fuck her while she was wearing thigh-highs because he dropped a pair of pants as well, but no shirt. When she sat up, Morien was standing there, waiting. He was dressed for the cold in a thick padded shirt and a black cloak that was darker than his hair. "Dress now."
Her body was cold and sluggish. She clutched the thin blanket to her chest and dragged the pants near. Morien scoffed in disgust whilst she pulled the cold material to her hips and thrust her frigid feet into the boots. When she reached for the cloak, Morien snatched her blanket away and clasped her cloak himself without gloating over her nakedness or the widening bruise on her stomach. He took ahold of her elbows and hauled her to her feet, lifting the back, not front entrance, of the tent. "Not a word," he hissed. "Not a single word." Alyx braced herself and absorbed everything she could. Information was precious.
Up in the trees a spider, not an ungol, just a little thing, dwelt who watched the foulness beneath him unravel. She envied that spider, that tiny creature settled in its web, attuned to everything but unaffected by it.
The stones were slick with ice and blood. The skies were filled with screams and moans and smoke.
Morien pushed her forward before she could utter a cry; the will to fight against him was dim. The exhaustion was getting to her. Passing out of the barrier was far easier than entering, at least. Still, it felt like ants were crawling over the skin and biting you. The flea bites felt like a pleasant tickle in comparison, but at least the ants faded in time.
Into the dark forest they plunged with Morien just short of carrying her. He wove their path over roots and ice, steadying her when she slipped or stubbed her toes in the too-big boots. Gradually Alyx felt more awake.
This forest was miles south of anywhere she had known. The trees were sicker, skeletal, and grasping for anything living. Vines covered in thorns snagged at their cloaks, and specks of icy spores floated down to meet them. They were moving quickly, and at times Alyx could feel flat stone under her feet. They were following the old Elven Road.
"Afraid to get lost?" she asked as he pulled them sharply along a clear stretch of the Road. "I thought you liked roughing it." She made as if to wave away a dead lizard hanging from the tree, but it vanished before her hand reached it. This forest is driving me nuts.
"At times it is useful to seek an older track."
"Megan says the same thing."
Morien halted and yanked her close. In the dark, his eyes glowed as surely as her own. "Lore-Seer is not wrong," he allowed, "but she is a savage and stupid child. She can sit in cage, love, by your side, and you can feed her scraps."
Alyx spat in his eye. "She'll shit on your grave, Morien. If you're left intact enough to have one." Morien only laughed as he wiped his face. He hardly struck her when she defied him. His surety was frightening. "That was not spoken in foresight, love," he observed. "That is your wish."
"A promise," she said as he laughed in her face. "And take it from me: Megan will gladly see you dead, even beyond the grave."
"She'll die from this, eh?" Morien was smiling, then. "And dear Fire-Born and Nienniel, or your King? What are their fates, dear one? I would love to hear of it."
"We'll survive," she said, and again, it was almost an empty promise. That the Unseen would live until the next day was now a matter of will, not fate. Her powers had deserted her. The future showed her next to nothing coherent; it no longer answered her beck and call, and Morien had locked her cards away in a trunk. But she was thankful he hadn't thrown them in the fire.
"I should hope those dearest to you die rather than face what is coming." There was glee in Morien's voice as he pulled her along again. "And why's that?" Annoyance laced her tone, and he heard it. "A new Age is coming," he whispered, guiding her under a collapsed tree. Alyx's cut hair exposed her neck beneath the cloak. She felt naked.
It was then she recalled the Devil card. An old enemy, an old cycle. "Sauron," she said. "You're his agent, right? You want him back in power."
Morien smiled over his shoulder at her. "Very good. Galdor was right; you are a good student. A shame you never knew me as your teacher."
"I know you need someone to cling to."
His anger snapped to life. "I need no one."
"Your mother, Galdor, Thranduil, me, an evil Dark Lord," Alyx listed. She giggled. "You're a needy little thing."
This time he did slap her.
Alyx's hood did nothing to protect her; he wore rings, too. If he did not intend to hurt her, he failed. Pain blinded her, and the raw scent of adrenaline flooded her nose. Blood rushed to her cheek. She stumbled against a tree on the path, wondering if finally he would beat her as he had Chyann and Chardonnay. It would be refreshing after all his sexual abuse.
"You remember this, love," he hissed as he took ahold of her bangs, pressing her hard against the tree. Her cheek throbbed with blood on either side of her skin. "I am youronly chance of survival. Do you understand me?" He shook her for every word he emphasized. She tried not to whimper, but she did when she answered. "I do."
"Get up, Karsons. And do not convince me that you are not worth saving."
He waited until she struggled up before pushing her before him. "Go forward on the Road another half hour. Any later than that, and I will hunt for you. And you will not like that, Alyxandra. My blood is hot tonight." With that he left her, melting into the darkness of the clouded night.
She touched the skin of her face. In one place she felt the scar on her lip from the Solstice battle, and on her cheek she felt the blood. Tentatively, she touched her stab-wound under the cloak. It felt hot under her hands, like it carried all the outrage that she couldn't express, let alone feel. She waited a good five minutes beneath that tree, then dared wait no longer. 'I am your only chance of surviving', my ass. Alyx bottled her pain and fear. She took one step after another, following the instructions given to her with all the dignity she could muster. She wondered where Chyann might have been by then, and wished for half of her backbone. I should have let her kill him. We could have made it...
That was a lie. In her vision, Alyx had Seen Chyann take the seven extra seconds to break his neck, then as she ran between the snow-slick trees, the arrows were released after her, and reached her. One after another, they found her body, and even as Chyann went on, pushing desperately for the freedom to fight another day. She slowed, more and more, until the last arrow found her eye through the back of her skull.
As it was, Chyann made it out of bowshot, and she was in the wind. Alyx hoped she would find Chardonnay. The sisters needed each other.
That Morien vanished so quickly was disturbing. He was getting more powerful as they marched further south. South. Alyx knew where they were going, then. She could have hit herself. Dol Guldur. The stones, the screams, the direction!
What? Had she thought they were just running from the woodlands? Where else was there to go? The Iron Hills to the north east were occupied by Dwarves, and she had never Seen them involved. The Mountain had seemed more likely, if Morien could have possibly subdued the Dragon, or made it through Laketown. Thranduil has to know.
What could she do? Without realizing, she stopped in her tracks, then hurried on. She had to figure something out.
As she went on along the road, she was forced to cover her nose and mouth against the forest fumes. The cold was just as harsh in the deep tangled woods, but the branches overhead were so thick that there was no space for the softening snows to blot the poisons. What fell to the ground in piles was polluted slush and blackened ice. What did that tell her? The pollution grows the farther south we go. The farther south we go, the closer to Sauron we get. The closer to Sauron... Was how much more fucked she was. Whether Morien intended to rape her, kill her, or sacrifice her at the feet of the Dark Lord, Hell if she knew. What she told Megan months ago still held. The future was violent and blurry except a few moments before it happened. There was hardly any time to prepare.
So rather than dither, Alyx gathered her cloak closer and plunged into the approaching future. The path ahead was unclear and uneven in the darkness, even with her eyes adjusted to the night. Still, as the minutes ticked by, and her pace began to slow and waver, there came between the dark trees was the glow of fire.
Hope exploded in her until she sensed Morien. After the raid, she was hoping more and more, and each time it was dashed. Stop setting expectations. You'll have to save yourself. But why? She wondered as she approached Morien, stripped of his shirt and facing the fire. Heat emanated from the unnaturally tall blaze. Why did Megan save Chardonnay? Why hadn't she turn Beorn on Morien? Why was Chyann allowed to escape while Alyx was left alone to face a nightmare? I'm not fast enough. And I am not strong enough. It's not her fault.
The bitterness would have swallowed her whole if Morien had not distracted her. He turned around to face her, the fire at his back resisting Alyx's magic calling it to consume Morien. He had learned. Crap.
Only his eyes glowed through the shadow he cast. He reminded her of Chyann, then, of how she had seemed to soak up the light of the fire to smack the living shit out of him. She had been a silhouette, too, with glowing eyes. But Morien was devouring the lust of the fire and hungering for its destructive power. His hair was blowing in the hot breeze that mixed with the icy blast of winter, and he raised a hand to beckon her. Alyx tried to squash her fear. Morien was standing atop a pale-colored rug set on the ground, and before him was a circle drawn with something dark and thick. She thought it might have been blood mixed with ink. Whose blood, Alyx didn't care to guess.
"What's all this?" Suddenly a virgin sacrifice seemed very likely. Morien's power swelled within his circle. Alyx could sense it even outside the lines. "A rite," he said. "Come to me."
"What do you need me for?" It was so hard to keep the bravado in her voice. "You're quite set for anything." It was true. The magic was growing exponentially within the circle.
"I need you." It was the calm implacability that had her heart thrumming in panic. An agitated Morien could be played and redirected. This one was calm and inexorable as the tide. "Give me details, or you're going to be dragging a very resistant force into that circle." She could probably ruin whatever goal he wanted in that pit of magic he was building, and he knew it, too.
"You will assist me in a spell that will set in motion one of the greatest forces this world has ever known. Your power and mine, combined. Do not think of running," he warned as she stepped back. "You will not make it far. I am not above punishing you." She knew that already. But the way he said it made it seem like a solid punch to the stomach was nothing compared to what he considered punishment. A shiver passed through her with the cold. He means to torture me. Goddess... Suddenly she was babbling. "You can't force me to do this! And what power?" Her connection to the earth? Her inherent psychic ability? And what great force did he mean? What little of Middle Earth's history she had learned raced through her head. Elves, Maiar and Valar were some of the strongest forces in the world.
But who was the greatest embodiment of evil? Sauron was vanquished, so the stories ran, but he was not destroyed. The shadows and Morien proved that. Oh, Gods preserve me... "I will not help you summon Sauron. I will not give him power!" Her voice was harsh with denial, but Morien only laughed. "No, young one. It is nothing like that. However... If you will not aid me, then I can have Gilomil to slit your littlest sister's throat."
Her own throat closed, and she roughly cleared it. Mellianor's wide little face looked at her in her memories, her eyes reflecting the stars and... Alyx caught her breath again. I have it. That's what this was...! The Moon card, betrayal and hidden danger, and the Star card, meaning hope and faith, emerged in her memory, which were followed by the Chariot, the charging forth of strength. Look to the sky.
Now her own words to Thranduil made sense. Alyx raised her eyes to Morien. "All right," she said slowly. "I'll help you on one condition."
Morien gazed balefully at her, as he already had a trump card up his sleeve, but he didn't want to pass up her first willing agreement. He could only kill Mellianor once, after all. "Name it, Alyxandra. Not my body, I am sure."
She pretended not to hear that. "The moon. I want to see the full moon."
His eyes raised to the overcast sky. "You ask a high price."
"Not for long," she cajoled him, "just a little while is enough. I know it's tonight."
Morien smiled. Firelight glimmered along the trim lines of his body and the sharpness of his teeth and nails. It was like watching the Wolf in Little Red Riding Hood come to life. She was trapped.
Morien beckoned her near. Heart pounding in her throat, she went around the circle that throbbed with magic until she was just out of arm's reach. Please let this work... Morien did reach those arms to her, and pulled her close.
He ripped open the fastenings at her neck, and the heavy material fell to the snows. She jolted in the cold, and Morien turned her, his hands sliding along her shoulders and arms until her back was flush against his chest. Evil vibrated off his skin and made hers crawl. All the memories of his movements against his sex slaves' bodies came rushing back to her, and her chest felt likely to cave with fear. She could feel his crotch become hotter and more firm. She wondered what he would make her do first, if he didn't slit her throat. Bend her over? Or pin her to the ground as when he'd first captured her?
His arms raised up to either side of her body. "Behold," he whispered in the shell of her ear, "the evidence of my love."
The winds rose at Morien's command, shrill and strong. They swept low as if to greet him. She half-shrieked at the frigid touch, but Morien's long hands wrapped about her shoulders, and she could not move. She heard the winds climb higher and higher, and in the distance, they sounded almost like screams. What have I done? A mistake.
The clouds did not move, and Alyx thought he might have cheated her.
But the moon broke through. Blazing silver-white light poured down from the heavens, sourced from Alyx's most beloved icon, wreathed in its rainbow ring of light. Distantly she could sense Orcs and Dark Elves alike cringing at the light. She sighed, feeling the first real light in days wash over her.
She was not whole, but she was not as empty and fragile as she had been. The moon was long held as a reminder of the power of women. Alyx had just been waning. Now was the time to grow strong again and reach her full potential. She was of the earth and sky, and beneath the full moon she could breath again. She reached one hand up, her left, the hand of water and earth, to cup the light in the palm of her hand. She could feel Morien watching her, but she ignored him, and let her fear go. I will not break.
Then she heard his voice. She felt him. Alyx. I am coming. Hear me! Thranduil called.I see you, my brilliant girl. I see the moon. The taste of sweet red wine was on her tongue, her nose was full of the safe Palace scent, and at her fingertips she could just feel his hands. Reaching. Thranduil!The moon gave her power. She had been reaching for him, she knew now. She realized she could have spoken to anyone, and she chose Thranduil...
Get to Dol Guldur! Dol Guldur-! She felt Thranduil see through her eyes. He saw everything. The discarded cloak, the bloody line on the pale rug, hers and Morien's bare torsos. He saw the moon with her. Through his eyes she could see the torches gleaming off the armor and of his cavalry, and his fist closed over her braid. He will pay.
Morien pushed her into the circle. No!
The power of Morien's blood magic washed over her, and the sweet moonlight was dimmed. Thranduil's presence in her mind was stretched taut like a rubber band through the circle, and she realized he had been reaching for her, too. Do not let go! He called to her, straining, but his voice was weakening in her head. I know. They held on together desperately. Sweat broke out on her brow as the blood circle choked off their power. The connection snapped.
The winds were slow to push the clouds back over the moon, but as they did, Morien embraced her skin-to skin again, and raised a strange thing: A knife handle and hilt but without the blade. She looked away from the thing, desperate for one last look at the light, when a pain beyond anything exploded within her.
She could not even scream for the agony. She looked down and saw the hilt of the thing touching her chest, but she did not feel metal piercing her skin or muscle. She felt poison, she felt heat that was melting and fraying her to ash. She crumpled down.
"Shh," Morien cooed. His voice was clear in her mind and ears. "Hush, Far-Seer. Let it take you. I will hold you, and you will not fall. Now hear me." Vision was blurring. She felt her back lay across his knees. Her mouth gaped open, seeking air, but it was useless. She couldn't hear anything but Morien.
She was dying. Morien's voice persisted, low and fast: "Hear my words. You will die beyond death. You will go to where all souls go: Mandos. You will find a door... Chained, leading to the Void. You will open it..."
Alyx's faulty eyesight conflicted with her visions of Chyann and Chardonnay weeping, then laughing in sunlight. Megan flickered, dressed in black, a tome under her arm.
"And you will release Morgoth, the first Dark Lord of this world."
Just before she died, Alyx thought of her mother and how much she wanted a hug from her again.
The Free
Chyann let herself lean against cold birch tree to catch her breath. Her sides cramped abominably, and her lungs felt like to burst still. Still, the pain was welcome. It meant she was alive. While in the chains, she couldn't even take a full breath. Her lungs were shuddering from overuse and burning from the cold. Finally Chyann had to raise her arms. She'd seen a school cop do that once to a boy having an asthma attack before they got the kid's inhaler. If it seemed rough then, she knew why they did it now. Up her chapped hands reached. The nasty sleeves of her rough-woven shirt fell back. Her wrists were darkened with chafed skin and rust. The freckles on the white of her forearms were too stark, and her hands shook. But her wrists were not chained, and they spread above her, almost like those psycho Jesus freaks. But she was real, and if she was praising anything, it was freedom.
Finally her breath slowed. It was funny how she used to think of herself as the athletic one, even before all this mess. Now was different, obviously, but all the girlfriends had the same experience in softball, and all did their spots well. Chyann closed her eyes, and she could see the hot spring nights in diamond with the lights on daylight-bright. She could feel the strain of squatting in her heavy padding, praying to Jesus Christ to not get hit with a ball or a bat. When she looked to shortstop and outfield, Meg and Cici were there in their red uniforms. Alyx was on the pitcher's mound. Chyann waited on her calls, and she realized that she always would.
The new team was stronger, if scattered, by this point. She couldn't sense where they were now. She was too far away from anything. But Chyann could hardly believe that less than twelve hours ago, she was in chains and her sisters were trapped.
Chyann banged her head against the tree, then cringed. That hurt more than it should have. A nasty headache was blooming in her forehead.
She sighed and tried to ignore it. They had all been so close! Finally reunited, and all Chyann had seen of Megan was a flash of blue on a giant bear's back. That part kind of came out of left field. But then they were gone: Cici, Meg, Beorn and all. She wished she had followed them now, but she had wanted to draw off as many Dark Elves as she could. Morien would have wanted to hunt her down and likely scalp her. But she wondered about that.
Morien had been very hesitant to physically hurt her. She knew it was not due to any shreds of humanity on his part. He could kill as easily as blink. There was only so much he could do, she reasoned. It would take a lot of effort on his soldier's part to do me damage. But that didn't feel right. She sighed against her headache and tried to do what people accused her often ofnot doing: thinking.
If Morien wanted to avoid another riot, then he knew to not hurt Cici or Alyx while she was there, chains or no. On the other hand, if Morien killed her and her sisters lost their shit, then he would have to fight with Cici and Alyx both. But subduing them would not have been as much an issue than if Chyann went batshit. Even Cici could get held down and Morien could have used her as leverage to keep Alyx in line.
Killing Chyann would have been smarter than playing the delicate balancing game of who to hurt among the Unseen. She was the strongest player. Taking her out of the equation would have been best. So why keep her alive? Morien wanted her dead everytime he saw her. To flaunt her at Thranduil as a hostage? Nah, she thought, that dick doesn't care. All he cares about is Alyx's powers. Avrith did care about her, and Galion came to mind, too, for some weird reason, but Avrith was just Alyx's guard. He was only close to the king if Alyx was there. But with another Unseen gone AWOL on his watch, she doubted he would be employed for very long.
Maybe Morien wanted to hurt her mind. Psychological torture was his gift, too. And he had done that. But it just seemed like a perk for him. Like it was the only thing he could do. Her head throbbed in time with her heart, so she picked up a handful of brackish snow and pressed it to her hot face. Water poured through her fingers, and she could have sworn she saw steam rising up.
She threw the slush away and reached for another handful, but before she could bite into it, her energy sputtered out, and her body trembled like a junkie coming off a high. She felt so empty! She slid regretfully to the ground. When she couldn't make herself stand, Chyann wondered if she would die there. Thinking really fucks me over... Her last meal had been pitiful, with just enough to keep her on her feet to march, let alone run like the Devil was on her ass for hours. It was all the power she had saved to kill Morien with it. Her stomach grumbled.
Where could she possibly get food? She'd never skinned anything before. The forest was quiet; no deer or rabbits. But no Dark Elves. I should rest. Drowsiness was pouring over her sore muscles like warm syrup, the sick and the sweet, so Chyann closed her eyes... Feeling the snow numb her made her worried, but she promised herself just five minutes...just five...
Something neighed. Chyann jolted while feeling rushed back into her cold skin with uncomfortable stitches. The riders startled back. Not Dark Elves. Chyann could have cried with relief. Not evil! But these Elves were unfamiliar, dressed in silver-grey cloaks clasped with leaves, on horses that Mirkwood didn't breed, and with hair that only Thranduil, Legolas, a few Sindarin lords had.
They peered at her in silence while Chyann sat in the snow. "Hi," she ventured. There were three in all, all males, but very pretty. If she'd had the strength for libido, she might have blushed. "Are you lost?" asked the rider in the center. He seemed surprised by something. He dismounted his horse and came close, holding out a silver cloak. "You are turning blue. Can you stand? Where is your family?"
She was? Chyann touched her chapped lips and could barely feel anything. "Lemme try." Chyann pounded her thighs for a moment and willed them to hold her. But she couldn't really feel her legs anymore, and her fists felt weak. The other two Elves stayed astride their horses while she had to roll to her knees and push up on the balls of her feet. But her knees buckled. She swallowed her sob that climbed up her throat. She was stuck there.
She could see the strange Elf kneel. "Let go. You will hurt yourself." His accent was weird to her ears.
"No," she whispered mostly against the tears welling in her eyes. She had to get up. She had to get back on her feet. "Halleth," the Elf used the term for a lady, "Release your knees." He touched her face with the back of his hand. She couldn't see him through her curtain of tears and hair. Her knees were locked. Her energy was still gone. "You are freezing. Rumil."
The Elves together managed to bundle her into a grey cloak and lift her into the saddle of the middle Elf. Together they helped her arrange her stiff legs, but Chyann barely noticed the indignity; all she could feel the animal moving beneath her, sense its heartbeat and breath. Chyann closed her eyes and felt the horse overflow with vitality. With a sigh she sagged against the animal's neck. Its musky scent wrapped around her, and the snowmelt on its fur was absorbed into her skin. Before she knew it, Chyann sank into an uneasy sleep.
Red. Fire. Chyann could see a great fire licking at the sky, and the shapes of twisted trees that did not reflect the hellish light fencing in the two figures. They were standing at the edge of a pool of blood. Chyann whirled above the scene, present but nowhere. She was unable to do anything but watch as Morien took a knife covered in Shadows and plunged it into Alyx's naked chest. She collapsed, and Morien held her. Somewhere in the wind with her Chyann could hear voices: Cici's, and Megan's...and Thranduil's. The screams clawed at the air while pain forked like lightning through Chyann's body.
She was pulled higher, not closer, while Morien, with a kiss, sent Alyx toppling into the pit of blood, where she sank without so much as a ripple. It was over too quickly. But the pain remained.
Her eyes flew open. Screams rang out while the pain of someone digging her heart out filled her and was everything. "No-NOOO!" Hands were holding her down, but Chyann fought. Her eyesight was flashing with silver and black. What she could see was blurred with wetness. Chyann kicked and flailed, hitting flesh and rock and ice. Dark Elves. They've got me! She would not be taken as easily as last time. They won't have her! She'll kill them! Kill them all! "I'll kill you!" she shrieked. "Morien, I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you! He killed her-!" Gradually the pain passed. It left her empty. But Chyann's tears did not end. "Fuck," she sobbed. "Fuck."
She was helpless. Useless, all over again. She was miles away from her friends and sister, and likely back in the hands of the Dark Elves. There was a fire nearby. They would roast her alive while her sister was whipped to death. "Please," she called while her mind sank back into unconsciousness. Pain, not the physical kind, filled her heart. There was an absence in the air, or like the earth was no longer solid. "Please. Don't hurt them anymore. Don't...!"
Soft hands touched her face as the dizziness swayed her back to sleep. Mercifully, it was dreamless.
When she awoke again she exhausted but lucid. She was dead weight when the strange Elves lifted her head to feed her something wet and warm. It almost tasted like soggy bread, and she gagged a bit at the texture, but the taste was delicious beyond anything she'd ever had before. It was like the first batch in a bakery, except much healthier. She wanted a mountain of the stuff, but after three small spoon fulls Chyann felt like she was going to vomit. Her stomach tightened and roiled. When the spoon prodded her lips, she shut them and turned away. When a firm hand took ahold of her chin to turn her face, Chyann cracked one eye open and shook her head. "Sick," she whispered. Her mouth was watering fast. Obediently the hands rolled her onto her side while Chyann let herself puke. Another set of hands held her hair back, but one errant curl was dragged into the flood. She struggled the pull her arm from her swaddling, but it came loose eventually, and with shaking fingers she squeezed out the strand.
There wasn't much to let go of, and she barely felt better after, but she was able to roll herself over again. "...What time is it?" The Elf that sat by her appraised her with alert eyes. "Near dawn. Are you alright?"
Chyann shivered, and a ghost of the pain echoed in her chest. "Not really," she rasped. Fever wracked her brain. "Who are you guys? There's fighting. If you see anyone with amber-ish or orange eyes, you gotta kill them. They aren't people anymore."
The Elf felt her head, but Chyann pushed on through her sore throat. "I'm not crazy. Something...bad is happening. If you can, please, please, help us. But don't trust any amber eyes."
"Why not?" asked the Elf. He leaned close. "They're evil," she whispered. She was terrified that these beautiful people would run once she told them the ugly truth, but Chyann spoke on. They had to know. "They kill people and hang their bodies on the walls. They kidnap children. Morien can make the corpses walk and shadows hurt you. He'll kill you all."
The Elf's face hardened, and Chyann could see a red bruise glaring in the firelight under his left eye. "Did I hurt you?" she asked, and the Elf blinked. "You were thrashing as the moon emerged from the clouds." His eyes became haunted. "There was foul magic in the air not a moment after Tilion emerged. Tell me," he said, and Chyann tried not to blink as he came close. But all she could think of was the moon. "What do you know of the darkness in this woodland? You must tell us truly, child."
"Who are you guys?" She cleared her throat.
"I am Haldir of Lothlorien," said the strange Elf. "These are my two brothers Rumil and Orophin." The Elves peered at her blankly before ignoring her again. "We were sent here by the Lady Galadriel." He was holding something back, but she let it pass. "I'm Chyann. Chyann MacKenna." There was no point in hiding her name. She was the only ginger for miles. If Morien asked around, she would be known anyways. "They call me Fireborn. Or Nornun, in the forges." The other two Elves shifted at her Sindarin, but she ignored them. She knew who was in charge. She fixed Haldir with as hard a stare as she could. "You really wanna know?"
"Obviously, Lady Chyann. Is it a long tale?"
She scoffed. "You're Elves. Don't give me any deadline crap. Ya'll got nothing but time." But she didn't.
Haldir gave an sharp smirk at her attitude. "I meant only that you nearly died from cold, and might like to rest, but if you insist, Lady Nornun, you may tell us the whole story."
That pulled her up short. Chyann hardly knew where to begin. Indecision wracked her, and no small amount of fear. What if they ran? What if they wanted her, such a dangerous and violent person, to die? But that wasn't all there was to her. Chyann knew that.
And there was so much to say. Did she start with San Antonio, or in Ireland, like with Avrith? Or in softball, as she had told the King? But when she searched her head, she found it. Not a perfect place, but a strong one. Like her.
"So I have this family...and we're pretty freaking weird."
If Haldir thought the opening was weird, Chyann knew she had an uphill battle, but she went on to explain all that she could, as straightforward as she could, and for his sake, refrained from using too many cuss words.
The Found
Dead. She's dead.The heartbeat she knew to be Alyx's was stopped. The sense of its absence was yet another reminder of how she sensed so many others' hearts, most especially her sister's and Megan's. That empty spot ached inside of her.
She held Megan so tightly that it must hurt. Her back was certainly hurting where she'd been whipped, but Chardonnay didn't mind. It kept the raw fear away, and eased the despair between the two of them. "Is it gone?" Chardonnay asked through a rough throat. "Is is done?"
"The moon is gone, now, child." Beorn was as terrifying as a man as he was a bear. He was rational. He was big, and he had hands to grab her and Megan before they could run out the cave.
"I fucked up," Megan whispered against her shoulder. She shook again, and Chardonnay rocked her again. It was the only thing that calmed her. "I thought she would be okay. I should have grabbed her."
"We had no time," Beorn growled. "The Dark Elves were regrouping."
We must follow now, Miriel insisted. We must catch the Dark Elves, and break their lines.
Shut up. Chardonnay snapped. But even that took too much effort. ...Please, just shut up.
Your friend is not dead.
Chardonnay stiffened, and Megan felt it. Chardonnay sensed Megan tense in turn, and looked up. "What? What is it Chardonnay?" Megan sounded so small out that Chardonnay wanted to hike her up into her arms and never let go. What do you mean, she thought at Miriel as she recalled the memory of Alyx dying of poison. Her heart stopped! I know what that feels like. Megan Saw Morienstabher!
I know death, Miriel reminded her.As do you, whether you realize or not. Far-Seer's spirit is still anchored here. But she not wholly present, either. It was a form of necromancy. Blood magic, unless I miss my guess. "Blood magic," Chardonnay stated. Megan was staring at her strangely, and Tauriel was, too. "She's still here?"
In part.
In part. Where's the other...part?
In Mandos. Just the name sent cold running through Chardonnay's blood. "Mandos?" The Elves around them sucked in their breath. It was quite a few who drew near, including Megan's small Scout team. But Aerion and Caraborid and a number of the Kitchen Elves were set apart. They were still mourning.
Chardonnay jumped when Megan shot out a hand touch her temple. "You? I thought you had too much Jesus in your life to get possessed."
"I do too have Jesus in my life," Chardonnay protested, her cheeks flushing. "I just...it was kind of an accident."
Not for my end. Miriel sounded so smug Chardonnay wished she could smack her. She sighed instead. "Alyx was holding her, but when we got caught, she had to get away from Morien. She says there's a plan." Tauriel frowned. "For all that Alyx was struggling to hold her, you, Chardonnay, are bearing Lady Miriel exceptionally well. I am impressed."
Chardonnay didn't have the heart to be resentful at Tauriel's surprise. She hadn't exactly been a very magical player so far. And it was too damn late at night. "Thanks. Yeah. Miriel is hiding insida me."
Megan's blue eyes glowed, but it wasn't in the magical way with the weird light. It was the simple reflection of Megan's beauty. It was the sweetest thing Chardonnay had seen in a long time, and Chardonnay felt her heart crack a bit. They hugged wordlessly.
Chardonnay was sick of dead bodies and cold and pain. Especially the cold. If she shivered, she couldn't tell. She was too busy ignoring the tears coming out of her eyes and sniffling. But Megan wiggled her way onto Chardonnay's lap and nuzzled close. Chardonnay leaned her head to the top of Megan's, just feeling that bright ball of energy that was little "Lore-Seer". She was so much stronger and alive, even though Galdor was gone.
A sob hitched in her throat at the memory of Galdor sitting with her and Chyann over breakfast, and knowing his place at the table would always be empty. They weren't as close as Chardonnay had liked, but they had been getting there. Even Chyann warmed up to him. As she cried Chardonnay could feel Tauriel press in from behind and pull them to her.
Chardonnay felt like they were both too big to be held like a couple of hatchlings, but it felt nice. Almost like her mom hugging her. Tauriel even wrapped her injured arm around them. If that wasn't enough to get more tears flowing, Glorindall pressed a warm palm to her head. He was so good to her and Megan. He had made fighters out of them both.
"We will help you," Tauriel promised. "Morien will pay, and you will be safe. I swear on my life."
Chardonnay basked in the physical contact.
"...Aldonir already did. He swore. You think your life is worth enough to save theirs?" Aerion sounded drunk. Chardonnay looked at him from between Beorn and Gildor, Chyann's old jailer who had let her slip the night of the solstice.
Aerion looked her dead in the eye. "He paid for your safety with his life, Nienniel. And now you say the effort was not enough. And seven others. How many more? How many have to die before Morien is finally gone?"
Megan felt hot in her arms all of a sudden. "I don't know. How many should it take to kill a monster?" she snapped. Chardonnay rushed in, "And we don't want people to die, Aerion. But Morien has personally killed at least twenty people. And he will keep killing! He's not just going to stop and mourn your dead. Goddammit, have you even seen the fucking zombies?!" She sniffled, then started at her own noise. "I wish this was a story where none of the good guys die. But it's not," her voice cracked. Galdor. Alyx. "It's not, okay? It sucks for all of us right now."
Glorindall removed his hand. "Aerion. I know you are grieving. But Nienniel has the right of it. Your nephew was in danger just being in the same palace as the Ill-Begotten. You were in danger. Galdor was in danger. All and everyone, Aerion. The price of defeating evil is high. We know this. Do not forget: the Eldar are no strangers to grief."
Aerion let his head fall against his mother's shoulder. She was just as tall as her son, but seemingly twice as strong at the moment. Her eyes and cheeks were shining, but the tears had dried in her eyes.
Glorindall continued. "We will continue the Hunt as long as our quarry does. He will pay for the blood of our kin he has spilled, and our dead will be avenged."
"And the living kept safe," Chardonnay prayed. "What's next?"
She didn't want to really do anything. She didn't want to strap her sword back on and go trudging through the snow. She didn't want to fight, or kill, or die herself. But Chardonnay knew that if not her, then who? Mirkwood had their own beef with Morien, yes. Their reason for hating Morien was the same as the Unseen's. But deep down, even deeper than that place that timed heartbeats and sensed the breath of every person for miles, that this was her fight. Hers, Megan's, Alyx's, and Chyann's.
It was irrational, overdramatic. But when Chardonnay tried to dismiss it, that melodramatic notion more fit for a paranormal teen novel, it was like a brick wall. Immovable, omnipresent, solid, and tagged with their names in big bold letters.
Back when she was fucking around in the kitchens, both relieved and disappointed that her powers weren't as apparent as her sisters', she could ignore that wall. Yet while Chardonnay was trapped in the snow and the dark and not even her dearest friends were guaranteed to remain, there was only that wall.
They could die.
They could be separated.
Only that wall remained, that bloody fucking wall.
Megan, with a harsh gasp, began to convulse in her arms. Chardonnay's power reacted instantly to try and contain the tremors, but not stop them. That would hurt her as much as the seizure. "Megan!" Tauriel withdrew immediately and Chardonnay lay Megan on the ground. A high-pitched sound was coming from her throat, a keen, a whimper, and while Chardonnay tried to keep Megan from swallowing her tongue, the cave of Elves jumped into action.
"Back up!" she snapped at Gildor and Aerion's last nephew. "Give me an arrow! Now!" They jumped, but Char didn't care about their feelings. Megan's voice was catching in shivers and shakes as Cici loosened Megan's cloak and ripped her shirt-neck wider, then snapped the arrow in half and jammed it between Meg's teeth to keep her from swallowing or biting her tongue off. "Ma-Mo-Mor!" She choked around the shaft.
All Chardonnay could do then was try and calm the violent reaction Megan was having to her own visions. She poured her steadying energy into Megan, falling into her, really, and calmed the muscles and looking for the source. There.
All the shocks of the night were too hard on her, Chardonnay found. If she were an emotional empath she wondered what Megan might be feeling, but the physical side-effects gave her a pretty good idea. Megan had been facing the raw winter elements for weeks without a properly balanced meal, struggling with stress, her powers, the physically demanding treks, not to mention grief, and now whatever vision that was clawing into her so deeply.
36, 37, 38, 39, 40... Chardonnay counted while Megan convulsed, and Beorn kept the majority of the concerned Elves at bay with Tauriel. Finally, by 78 second, the attack faded. It was a good time, Chardonnay thought as she gently opened Megan's jaw from around now wet and teeth-pitted stick.
"Can you hear me?" Chardonnay brushed her fingertips across Megan's temple, urging pure oxygen to flow around her body, and sooth the sore muscles. After a seizure, it was important that they knew where they were, and that they were still functioning. "What's your name?"
Megan's eyes were burningwith Light, her breath coming out in short stuttering bursts. "Son of a bitch..."
"She's fine." Chardonnay sighed. "Fingers?" She held up her middle fingers.
"Two." Her eyes were flickering distractedly. She swallowed. "Jesus. Jesus; we have a problem." She grunted as she sat up and asked for Caraborid. Chardonnay had to hold her up, but her arms were straining, and Beorn had to hold her steady. They made an odd pair
Caraborid came and knelt beside Megan, a dread look in her old, old eyes. But Megan's were even older. "You were alive in the First Age, right?" Caraborid nodded.
Megan swallowed. Sweat was shining on her forehead and upper lip, and Chardonnay dabbed at her face with her sleeve. It relaxed Megan, whose pulse was still struggling to find its natural pace again. "Tell us everything you know about Morgoth."
Inside of her, Chardonnay could hear Miriel screaming.
The Enthralled
Alyx fell into darkness and flew. She was a shade of a shade. She was the emaciated ghost of her own spirit. Where Miriel was opalescent and opaque, Alyx was smoke. A wisp.
She soared between storming seas and smoking skies, between the dawn and stars wheeling about her. She was suspended among winds and light, though she was just a ghost of her own soul.
Shades of people and creatures flew beside her, but they did not see her. She wanted to call out for help, to be seen, but she was invisible.
She was nothing anymore.
She flew ahead of all so fast that her half-whispered scream did not even make it out through the smoke that was her throat
A minute passed. Another three. An hour. A day...
Two days. Three days...
Five. She wanted to scream and fly on faster, just to reach wherever it was she was being pulled and pushed to.
There was something powerful ahead of her, and Morien's magic circle paled in comparison. The Power was not evil.
It was not kind.
It was not human.
Not demon.
Just at the fringes of conscious thought, Alyx might have known it from somewhere. And just at the fringes, and bleeding inwards, was the instinctive knowledge that this being was divine.
Not a God. An angel. A Guardian. A Gatekeeper.
She wanted to stop and cry and scream, and plead for Morien to bring her back. She did not want to die.
Another part of her wanted to curl herself at the feet of the Power and beg for true release from living, for everlasting protection from the Dark Elf who awaited her in the realm of the Living, who wanted to dirty her, rape her, and kill the sun.
Finally the dark halls rose about her.
Mandos,Morien's voice whispered within her. She jolted at the sound, so desperate was she for the reminder of life.
Alyx's wraith glided through Mandos, untouched by the gentle dimness that would be a balm for the truly dead. There was no peace, no comfort. Only the lash of purpose to drive her forward, sideways, and around the never-ending expanse of the great Keep of the Dead. The dead did not see her. Their eyes were fixed inwards, set upon their lives in contemplation and sorrow, or sleepy contentedness. Some drifted in humanoid shapes, some were merely half-formed specters of light and memory. Human and Elf spirits mingled but briefly
Tapestries of legends long past slid by her: The Two Trees, the Drowning of Numenor, the first meeting of Elves and Men. The Burning Ships at Losgar. The Forging of the One Ring.
The Bondage of Morgoth by Tulkas. Alyx's shade froze before the great tapestry. Not for Morgoth's image, but Tulkas's; for those eyes. Those glowing eyes that radiated strength and love and will to protect. "Chyann..."
She had seen Chyann strike that very pose, once, as she slammed an Orc to the ground and rip his arm from the socket.
She reached a smoke-pale hand out to the picture of Tulkas before the might of Morien's magic pulled her onwards away from the Valar that had given Chyann her powers.
Who had given her her powers? And to Megan? Which Valar was responsible for endowing Chardonnay with her gifts? With a fury she was thrust onwards, and thoughts slipped out our her tenuous grasp of consciousness. She knew that alone of the Unseen she could survive this soul-rape. Chyann's strength was her body and steel will. Hers was her spirit.
What was left of it.
Too soon the great doors that marked the portal Beyond Night loomed before her. The forbidding spells, those of eternal bondage, stalwartness, and of permanence repulsed her instantly. She couldn't possibly open them.
Morien was inside her head again, telling her to ignore the spells, that they meant nothing to her, but there were also two Maiar that stood by the doors, cowled and armed with weapons as ethereal as they were deadly, especially to the fea.
She gave a faint scream of protest while Morien rendered her into an even more frail apparition. She was invisible to the guards, she knew. But they had heard her scream. These were the spirits chosen to guard against the escape of the Dark Lord. They were powerful and their senses far keener than those of the newly dead Elves and Men, keener than even other Maiar.
They looked in her direction but saw nothing. Heard nothing more.
Forward,Morien roared within her. Go!
Wait. Alyx shuddered as another voice spoke inside of her. It was in Morien's mind only. It was cold. It was heat. It was hatred and greed beyond anything. A scraping rusted sickle, a deep echo at the bottom of a ravine, where the pit was tar.
Sauron.
Where...is...Fire-Born?
Gone, Morien replied, escaped.
Seek her, then. Forget Lord Melkor for now. Bring...me...FIRE-BORN!
Alyx's heart restarted.
As Morien held her against his skin, she screamed, screamed, screamed.
Sweat flowed down her face in rivulets, shudders made her double over against Morien as proper oxygen flowed through her cold skin again. The pain was a minimal discomfort compared to her soul repairing itself in the absence of the necromancy.
It was nothing like Miriel leaving her body: instead of being cramped and freed, her soul was frayed elastic that had been stretched almost beyond repair. Almost.
Up above them, beyond the dissipating circle, which now bent its energies to re-gathering her spirit, and the now-dying bonfire, the clouds had thinned again, and the moon was shining again on the Woodland Realm, because no amount of Dark magic could wholly conquer the skies, not while Manwë ruled the winds, or Namo in Mandos.
And certainly not while the Unseen, Children of the Valar, still had some fight in them.
So Alyx let the screams sound out, she let Morien physically anchor and warm her body while her soul mended itself with preternatural ease.
It still fucking hurt, but her mind was elsewhere.
With medical detachment, Morien cast both of their cloaks around her and lifted her. How long he would last carrying her was a mystery, but she could barely sense the earth, let alone feel her own bloody legs. "You did well," he whispered. "You did very well."
"Why do you need Chyann?"
"Be quiet. Rest."
"Don't hurt her."
"I won't," Morien looked down at her. "You will."
Hey, everyone! Again, this was a shorter chapter, but I felt like this was a good place to stop. Also, the information I found on seizures can be found here: symptom/seizuresStay safe!
I've got a busy life coming up, so bear with me. And I'm Beta-ing for somebodytoldme and her Reylo story called "Haunted", on AO3. It's a refreshing read, and quite atmospheric. (I am such Reylo trash, and I am not afraid to say it. :3 It's pretty great!
Anyone else needs a Beta reader, hit me up.
Review!