In which you guys are totally going to hate me for this chapter.
Lorna had decided that marching in a host was both awful and amazing.
Awful, because books and movies never mentioned the sheer amount of shit generated by thousands of horses, or that the number of people meant you had no privacy for bathroom breaks, no matter how many trees were around. She spend so much time looking down to avoid stepping in horse crap that she missed out on most of the scenery, though admittedly she'd seen it before, and it wasn't long before her energy flagged and she had to join Thranduil on the elk. Elves simply marched too damn fast. His little, smug, I told you so smile earned him an elbow to the gut.
"Not a word," she said, sinking her hands into the elk's fur. "I'll get better."
"I do not doubt that you will," he said, wrapping his right arm around her. "You do, however, have a history of pushing yourself far too hard, far too soon."
She wished she could argue that, but she knew she couldn't. Instead she watched the sun rise, driving a little of the chill from the morning air. The Elves never seemed to falter or tire, but it wasn't long before she took a nap. Thranduil, damn him, had kept her up half the night, and while she sure as hell hadn't minded then, she was regretting it now.
It was nearly noon before she woke, and then she desperately needed to pee. Menelwen led her off to the little area the female warriors had set up as a toilet, though quite honestly Lorna would have whizzed in front of God and everybody without batting an eye.
"Is it going to smell this bad all the way to Gondor?" she asked, rinsing her hands.
"I am afraid so," Menelwen said. "You get used to it. It will help when we reach open ground, where the wind will be stronger."
"Sure God do I hope so. People don't really used horses to travel very far from where I'm from, so while I knew they produced a lot'v shit, I didn't realize how much."
Menelwen laughed at the face she made. "Just wait until we make camp for the night."
Lorna twitched.
Still, there was the amazing, too, which largely came from the sight and sound of so very many people marching toward a common goal. According to Thranduil, there were nine thousand people in this venture, which she had thought was most of Mirkwood's population, until he pointed out that there were many who didn't live in the halls. That he could muster such an army in two days staggered her, until she remembered duh, Elves. They were so perfect at some things that it was really irritating, no matter how useful. At least Von Ratched probably wouldn't see it coming.
Riding on the elk was really rather boring as well as terrifying, which was not a combination she would have thought possible. To distract herself, she'd gathered up a load of twigs, and used them to practice her telekinesis.
If she adjusted her vision just right, she could see threads of energy surrounding them – it was a bit like those paintings that were so popular in the 90's, with the hideous patterns that contained an image you could only see if you unfocused your eyes. It took her three hours and a burgeoning headache to master it, but once she had, she discovered at her mind could pull the threads, directing them like a puppet master. Of course she still lost most of the twigs anyway, but at least they went where she wanted them to, until she lost her grip on the threads.
They might only be twigs, but she felt ridiculously pleased with herself nonetheless. She knew how to make her telekinesis work, even if she was total pants at it just now. She had two months to practice before it might actually be needed.
Given how little sleep Elves needed, she was surprised that they actually made camp that night, until she realized that oh yeah, horses. They needed as much rest as she did, which was a good thing, because she didn't want to sleep on the elk any more than she actually had to.
The tent Thranduil had brought was stupidly big, even more so than the one he'd had on the way to Dale, the fabric a rich brocade that was only going to get ruined by the time they reached Gondor. The camp bed was also much bigger than even the two of them would need, whenever he finally had to sleep. Not that she was going to complain – and she certainly didn't mind the huge basin of water she had to wash with. Elves were like cats, in that they never seemed to get dirty, but Lorna could all too easily become a stinky human. Not that anyone was likely to notice, thanks to the overpowering smell of the horses and their bi-products, but still.
She crawled into the camp bed, still in all the undergarments she'd worn. Thranduil would probably be out all night, checking on the troops, so there wasn't much point in waiting up for him. Stupid Elves and their stupidly inhuman endurance. It was with that thought that she fell asleep.
She dreamt of a garden – the Garden, the one with the willow and the Lady, who she was still none too pleased with.
It was morning here, a beautifully golden sunrise that gilded the willow, sparkling off the creek and turning the dewdrops to diamond. It lit up the Lady's lichen-wispy hair, too, darkness with a gold corona.
Annoyed with her Lorna might be, but she couldn't bring herself to voice it – not when faced with a being of such immense power. Oh, the Lady seemed benevolent, sitting there on her boulder, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.
"I will not harm you, Lorna," she said. "Come here."
Lorna stayed put. "You told Thranduil not to tell me I had to get raped to have kids," she said flatly. "Did you just let that happen in the other timeline, too?"
"Yes," the Lady said simply. "It is very, very rare that I can safely meddle in human affairs. I can advise and guide, but I cannot control. A person's actions are their own – I could not have forced Von Ratched's behavior into what I or anyone else would wish. All I could do was take your memory of it, and give it to him instead."
That…was an impressively dick move. Lorna approved. "Have I still got to worry about that, now that I already have the kids?"
"I do not think so," the Lady said, rising from the boulder. Being around Elves for so long, Lorna would have thought herself immune to tall people, but nope, not remotely. "In that timeline, he was fixated on you. In this, he is not. While he is dangerous, I think you need not fear him in that way."
"You think? You're not sure?" It took all Lorna's effort of will not to back away.
"I do not read hearts, Lorna," the Lady said. "I can promise nothing, but I will ask that you not kill him, should he prove a fool. You will need him later."
"Can I at least break his legs?" she asked hopefully.
The Lady sighed. "In one way, it seems you are the same, not matter the universe or timeline. Yes, if you feel you must. You have in that timeline.
"Wait, really?" Lorna asked, startled. "I mean, I sort of halfway had a dream about that, but I wasn't sure how real it was."
"I can give you the memory, if you like. His and yours. It may help you with several things."
"Hell yes," Lorna said, not even pausing to consider. "Gimme."
Though Von Ratched couldn't read Lorna's mind, he could feel it, the one spark of humanity in this vast wilderness. There was no way she couldn't hear him coming, but she couldn't run, either.
There was barely enough room for him to land the helicopter - indeed, he took out a few branches on the way down. The landing was sloppier than he liked, but he was uncharacteristically impatient. He just wanted this over.
The snow squeaked beneath his boots when he left the cabin, the air so cold it made his lungs burn. How had someone as small as Lorna survived in it this long? The woman didn't have an ounce of spare flesh, and her muscles would have been severely weakened by her long convalescence.
She's likely survived on her stubbornness, he thought, stuffing his flashlight in his pocket. The full moon was so bright that he didn't need it, not yet. The smoke from Lorna's fire had risen through the trees not far from his landing site, though she may have abandoned it when she heard him approach.
To Von Ratched's surprise, he was almost…nervous. The tightness in his chest was not only from the cold, his elevated pulse not merely anticipation. To kill her he'd have to face her, and only now did he realize how difficult that would be.
The forest was eerily silent when he left the road, following her uneven tracks into the snow-laden trees. Not a breath of air disturbed them, and there were no night-creatures prowling about. He might as well have been the only person left on Earth.
The light from Lorna's fire was easy to spot - it still burned bright, so if she'd left, she hadn't done it long ago. When he drew near enough, though, he saw that she hadn't: she sat cross-legged before it, sheltered in the great roots of the tree. A wolf sat not far from her, its eyes glowing in the firelight.
Lorna turned her face to him, and Von Ratched paused. He'd expected her to be broken, terrified, desperate to flee him - God knew she had every right to, every reason to. Instead she sat very still, her eyes watching him like cold green stars. He'd come to think her pretty, in her own way, but out here, in this snowy cathedral of trees, she was beautiful. Something about her belonged out here - she fit, in a way she'd never done at the Institute.
Absurdly, for once in his life, he had no idea what to say. His intention to gently stop her heart seemed ridiculous, impossible. She wasn't just lovely - even still and seated, there was an invisible but quite tangible aura of power around her, unlike anything Von Ratched had ever encountered. Whatever else he'd done to her, he certainly hadn't broken her. If anything, she steel she'd always carried within her had been tempered, had wrought her into a force the like of which he'd never seen.
He was suddenly very, very worried. This would not, he thought, be as easy as he'd been expecting.
"I should probably be impressed you found me, but you're such a stubborn bastard I'd not expect anything less," she said. Her voice was hoarse, her accent thicker - she'd had no need to mute it in the last few weeks, he thought, no one who might misunderstand her. "Tell me, Doctor, what is it you expect to accomplish?"
His original answer just wasn't going to work. He'd come to put her out of her misery, but she was definitely not miserable. Angry, yes, in a subtle way he'd never seen at the Institute, but there was none of the anguish he'd expected. Killing her now was going to be a lot harder to justify.
And now, facing her, his resolve was wavering anyway. It would be best for him if Lorna died, but her eyes held him still. There were depths in them that made Von Ratched wonder what she'd seen, in the time since she'd escaped - there was something about her that seemed almost inhuman.
"I came to kill you," he said, for once unwilling to lie. His own voice was raspy from disuse, lacking its normal smoothness. Before he could stop himself, he added, "Though now I am unsure if I can."
He expected her to scream, to rage, or even to laugh in his face. Honestly, he was surprised she hadn't tried to attack him yet, hadn't lost her mind along with her temper.
But Lorna did none of those things. Instead she sighed, and stood, tossing aside the blanket she'd had wrapped around her shoulders. The wolf stood as well, but sat back down when she gestured. "I'd very much like to see you try," she said, and the lack of menace in her tone somehow made it worse. There was a dreadful sort of anticipation in it instead, an undercurrent of dark glee, and Von Ratched wondered just what his little broken Lorna had turned into. The firelight gilded the silver in her long braid, made her skin look eerily smooth. Yes, there was something inhuman about her, some alien tranquility beneath her anger. She'd issued him a blatant challenge, and there wasn't a hint of bravado in it.
Once again, he found he didn't know what to say. Never before in his life had he been so truly unnerved - it gave even his natural arrogance pause.
"How did you escape?" he asked, after a long silence.
Lorna's smile was downright unsettling. "The Lady," she said. "You're not the most powerful force in the world, Doctor, however much you don't want to admit it."
He felt her gathering power - surprisingly large amount of power, drawing it from some inner well that hadn't existed before. No, he thought, it was always there. She just didn't know it. "Stop," he said. "You cannot hurt me, Lorna, not truly. And I will not let you live with what I have done to you." The words were hollow, foolish, but there were all he had.
She didn't stop. Instead she laughed, musical and strangely chilling. "Can't I?" she said. "I've grown, Von Ratched. And sure God, I'll not be the one who dies here tonight."
Her last words were a snarl, punctuated by the tearing crack of the tree beside him. Snow puffed off the splintering branches, temporarily blinding him, and only his near-superhuman reflexes saved him from impalement when the entire thing exploded.
It did so with a deafening roar, splinters stinging against his face as he took cover behind a fallen log. The sound split the silence like a thunderclap, the whirling dance of powdery snow frosting his hair and coat. Good God, just what was he facing?
Von Ratched's telekinesis fended off the rest of the debris, and without thinking he hurled it all at Lorna. His telekinetic shield kept him from inhaling wood pulp, but it actually took him a moment to regain his bearings.
Fortunately, he managed it just in time to avoid being crushed by another tree, hurling it in Lorna's general direction. This was the kind of confrontation he despised, brute strength without finesse, but she was in her element - he was fighting her on her terms, not his.
The thought enraged him, filling him with a level of wrath he'd only known the night he'd raped and nearly killed her. How dare she attack him so? He was warm enough now, in spite of the snow that had crept beneath the collar of his coat, heated by the sheer force of his fury. He knew now what Lorna must feel, when she was in the full grip of her rage: his blood sang in his veins, adrenaline lacing his anger with a weird sort of euphoria. All he wanted to do was kill, and kill he would.
Another tree exploded, and another, torn apart from the inside out. One of them was Lorna's work, but the other was his, a distraction that let Von Ratched circle behind her. He knew how blind her wrath could make her, how single-mindedly she would focus, and he fully intended to use that against her.
Which was why he was completely surprised when she hit him full in the chest with a burning branch. The force of it almost drove the air from his lungs, his nose filling with the stench of burnt cloth, and he could barely focus enough to lash out at her with his telekinesis.
It flung her away, but she rebounded with surprising agility for one so injured. I the hellish light of her scattered fire, she looked like a small avenging Fate, a green-eyed angel of death hell-bent on retribution. It would have chilled him if he hadn't been so enraged. The mingled smoke and steam of melted snow made him cough, but he ignored it. He had to get close enough to grab her - whatever force of magic she'd gained, his physical strength was still far superior to hers. He'd get his hands on her and break her neck, and this nightmare would be over.
That was easier said than done, though. She danced away from him as though her leg wasn't injured at all, her teeth bared in a smile coated with blood from a split lip. She was a demon in human form, her eyes burning bright as the fire - a feral creature, and all the more dangerous for it.
Von Ratched lashed out, catching her in a telekinetic hold. Enough is enough, he thought, willing to snap her neck from a distance if he had to.
He never got the chance. Lorna fought his hold - fought it, and broke it. He felt its rending like a physical force, and it sent a bolt of ice down his spine. Only once in his very long life had anything ever torn itself free of his telekinesis, and Lorna certainly shouldn't be able to.
But that shock was nothing to what came next. She lashed out in turn, seizing him, and he actually had to fight to throw it off. Oh, she'd found her potential, his Lorna - she'd tapped a well of strength even he hadn't known she'd possessed.
His shock must have betrayed itself, for she laughed. It was the most chilling sound he'd ever heard, for there was madness in it, a note of something close to insanity. He had to kill her, because the thought of letting her loose on the world was not to be borne.
Without warning he lunged at her, his fingers closing around her too-bony shoulders as he knocked her onto her back. No matter how fierce or strong Lorna ways, he still outweighed her by at least ninety pounds, all of which was muscle. She'd grown outright gaunt in the last weeks, her cheeks hollow, her neck so slender he only needed one hand to start choking the life out of her. He knew he likely had mere moments before her instinctive telekinesis loosed itself on him - he had to crush her trachea now, while he had the chance.
The thought barely had time to flit through his mind before a horrible, throbbing pain exploded through the whole right side of his body. It was so intense and so sudden that his hold on Lorna loosened, and she threw him off her with unnatural strength.
Warm wetness spread along his ribcage, and when Von Ratched's eyes opened, he saw Lorna stagger to her feet, a bloody knife clenched in her right hand. She was coughing horrible, gasping for breath he was surprised she could draw at all.
She went very still, staring at him. The madness in he eyes cleared, and she caught him in a telekinetic hold he was too stunned to fight. He was bleeding badly - he could feel it, smell it, the stench of hot copper mingling with the scent of smoke.
"It's a shame we have to die, my dear," she croaked, sounding like she quoted something, "but no one's getting out've here this time."
She swayed a little on her feet, her grip weakening, and Von Ratched snapped it and lashed it back at her quick as a blink. Lorna staggered again, hissing in pain, her blood loss had left him too dizzy to follow up with a fatal attack. Perhaps she was right - perhaps they would both die here, would end the conflict they'd been locked in since they met.
He struggled to his feet through sheer force of will, his head spinning, but he didn't reach out for her. He couldn't, and not just because of his wounds. All he could do was stare at Lorna, for her bloody, soot-streaked face was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, so lovely it arrested him where he stood. His rage and bloodlust drained as he watched her watching him, leaving only exhaustion and pain. Her hair had come loose from its braid, a wild mass of black and a silver stained red-gold, that in his blurred vision glowed like a corona. She was beautiful and terrible and so very, very alive, and all his will to kill her wasn't enough to make him try.
How had he ever thought he'd loved her, before? What he'd thought to be love paled at what he felt now, now that he saw in her an avenging angel, a creature so far above him as to be untouchable. He knew the blood loss was affecting him, but that was not the cause of his strange new perception of her.
Lorna too stood frozen, looking startlingly conflicted. Logically Von Ratched should use that hesitation, should turn it against her, but he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to even move.
That refusal cost him. White-hot agony exploded through his leg, and he heard the crack as her telekinesis snapped his left shin. He fell before he could help it, clenching his teeth against a cry.
His vision went momentarily grey, and when his eyes focused again, he saw Lorna beside him, looking down at him with an expression he couldn't read.
"I'm not meant to kill you," she said, her abused voice barely above a whisper. "Your death doesn't lie in my hands, so I'm told. Whatever fate lies ahead've you, it's not mine to decide."
She turned away before Von Ratched could speak, and her retreating form was the last thing he saw before his vision tunneled into darkness.
Lorna's pain had been forced into a tiny container at the back of her mind. Her throat hurt like a bastard, but even that pain was muted. It could cripple her later, when she wasn't trying not to die.
She didn't know why Von Ratched paused, but damn if she wasn't going to use it. He was such a stubborn bastard that his knife wound alone shouldn't have slowed him down, yet he paused, and stared at her like he'd never seen her before. She really didn't want to speculate what might be going on in that fractured head of his.
Kill him, she ordered herself. He's practically offering his head on a silver platter. Do it.
It was only common sense, but Lorna couldn't move. Doubt nagged at her, cold as the snow beneath her feet. It warned her away, and at first she didn't know why. Not until the Lady's words echoed in her head.
What you do will determine what you are to become. What the hell did that mean? If she killed Von Ratched now, with this power of hers, would she become a monster like him?
Yes.
The thought felt alien. It sounded like the Lady, not her, and it was not what she wanted to hear. How could she let him live? How could she risk loosing him on the world again? He'd done so much damage already, and now she was supposed to leave him with the chance to do more? She might risk becoming a monster, but Von Ratched unquestionable was one.
He'd stayed still, while doubt and fury warred in her mind. The firelight made his eyes glow in a way that was downright demonic, his face was a filthy mask of soot and sweat and blood - he looked so far from anything like his normal self that he seemed a different person. For the first time since Lorna had met him, there was no trace of anything predatory in his expression. He looked almost…stricken, and she realized that the cruelest thing she could do was let him live. She'd broken him as he hadn't managed to break her, whether he knew it yet or not.
No, she couldn't kill him, but that didn't mean she couldn't slow him down - nor could she deny nature the chance to finish him off for her. If he was truly meant to live, if he truly wanted to, he'd fight his way free no matter what. She wouldn't leave him the ability to follow her, but she'd leave him a slight chance of survival.
She lashed out with her telekinesis and snapped his shin, and couldn't suppress a vicious little smile when he went down. Lorna had to give him grudging credit for not screaming; even she couldn't have stayed silent through that, but Von Ratched hardly made a sound.
She spoke to him, but she was hardly aware of what she said. Honestly, she wasn't sure he'd even heard her, given how fast he blacked out.
For a long while she stood and watched him, while the pounding of her heart slowed and her sweat began to chill. Her throat burned, and without the rush of adrenaline the ache in her leg and shoulder crept back. Her left arm hurt like a motherfucker, too, and when she went to move it, fiery pain shot from her wrist to her shoulder. Christ, had the bastard broken it?
That's all I need, she thought dimly. Her thoughts had grown very fuzzy, distant, as though her mind was wandering away from her abused body. Lorna couldn't blame it - she wondered, just as dimly, if she was going into shock.
When she stepped forward, agony wracked her from her neck to her toes, and she couldn't help but cry out. Yes, the fucker had broken her arm, and the fire in her right side told her he'd probably cracked a few of her ribs, too.
With a cry that was as much anger as pain, she snapped Von Ratched's other leg. She had no choice but to move forward like this - let him have to drag himself back to his goddamn helicopter.
If she'd known what she was doing, Lorna would have taken the thing herself, but she had next to no clue how to pilot anything, helicopter or otherwise. She did think about raiding it for supplies, but the thought of using anything of his left her vaguely nauseated.
She swayed on her feet, her vision fuzzing. Whatever she did, she couldn't stay here, but the loss of her adrenaline high left her exhausted as well as hurting. The thought of walking was more than she could bear.
A faint whine snapped her out of her trance. Her wolf had crept back to her, picking its way through the debris, and Lorna blinked. Until now, she hadn't properly registered the extent of the devastation she and Von Ratched had caused - between them, they'd felled trees for maybe a quarter of a mile around them, an uneven circle of death. Some of the dryer bits had been set alight by her scattered fire, though the snow kept it from spreading. It looked like the impact of a missile strike.
"Jesus," she muttered, and winced at the pain in her throat.
Her wolf nuzzled her hand again, and Lorna leaned against it. No, walking was out of the question, but she'd ridden wolves before. If she was lucky, she'd pass out before her shock wore off, and forced her to actually think about what had just happened.
She collapsed onto the wolf's back, hissing as pain telegraphed through what felt like every nerve in her body. True consciousness didn't last long, but she wasn't fortunate enough to pass out entirely, either. Her world faded to murky grey, her mind shutting down to the point where even her physical agony dulled. It was something akin to a trance, and she sank into it full willing.
That…well.
Well.
She'd had a vague bit of that memory, but it hadn't had anything like that clarity of detail. To know – to feel that she could do that…what would she have become, in that universe? What would it have been like, to master her abilities in a world that didn't have hundreds of people who could squash her flat? She must have felt like God. Maybe that was Von Ratched's problem – he'd been unopposed his entire life, probably. If there was any justice in the world, he'd be hating it now.
"Will I – d'you think I'll ever get to that level in Middle-Earth?" she asked.
"In time, yes," the Lady said. "You are not the same Lorna you would have been, but your gifts are identical. What I am less certain of is your mental fortitude. You would have suffered much, and come out of it stronger. Here you have known pain and fear, but you have not truly been tested. I do not know what will happen to you in Middle-Earth, but you may need the rage you have subsumed so completely. If you wish to keep your happiness, you must be willing to kill for it."
She woke before she could say anything, or ask any questions. Camp was quiet, but the tent was not dark – Thranduil sat on the cot beside her, reading by candlelight.
"Well, that was fucked up," she said groggily, rolling to face him. "Apparently I have the capacity to be very scary, but only when I'm pissed off. I might have a harder time with my telekinesis because I'm too happy, and most'v that's your fault, you dick."
He arched an eyebrow at her. "Are you honestly going to berate me for making you happy?"
"That surprised you?" she asked, struggling to sit up.
"Well, it's novel even for you. I would not worry about it too much – you will likely be angry enough when we reach Gondor. I somehow doubt you and Von Ratched would get along well."
Lorna snorted, but for a moment said nothing. "Thranduil, I know you want to go with me , when we go after Thorvald – I know you want to protect me, but you can't. I don't think I'll ever properly learn if you do. Where I was, what I saw, I had no one to rely on but me. How am I to learn what I'm really capable of, if I've always got you to lean on?"
"I cannot allow you to march into danger alone," he said, with a firmness he surely thought would brook no argument.
"Thranduil, it's not up to you to allow me to do anything," she said. "We might be married, but we're still each our own person. You've no more say over my actions than I do over yours."
"I think you forget that I am also your king," he said.
It was entirely the wrong thing to say, and by his expression, he immediately knew it. Lorna, however, didn't care.
"Yeah, nope," she snarled, scrambling off the cot and hunting up her day clothes. She had no idea what time it was, but it didn't matter – if she didn't get out of this tent right now, she'd fetch him a slap that would jar his brain loose.
He tried to speak, but she was so angry that she didn't even register his actual words, rage prickling hot over her skin. She'd got her trousers on in less than fifteen seconds, and was still struggling into her tunic when she stormed out of the tent.
The sky in the east was pale – dawn was not far off. A few of the horses were stirring, and several cook-fires were being lit. She stuff her feet in her boots as she walked, hoping the chill morning air would cool her temper, but no such luck.
The reek of the horses was so strong that she stomped down to the river to get away from it. Even its calming babble had no effect – but then, she knew only time would soothe her anger.
I am your king. First off, no, he wasn't, but even if he had been, she was his wife – that didn't give him any right at all to order her around. She was a grown-ass woman; nobody had the right to tell her what she was and wasn't allowed to do. She'd had enough of that in prison, thank you very much.
Having someone else's protection would be a crutch – of that she was entirely certain. She didn't think it was just being happy that was holding her back, either; though she'd been afraid for most of her pregnancy, she'd nevertheless felt safe where she was, and who she was with. Even initial fear of Thranduil, all those months ago, hadn't been enough, because she'd had people with her. Because of it, she'd gone soft, let her guard down to a degree that would be a liability to her later.
Lorna knew what she needed to do. Even angry as she was, she didn't like it, but she knew. And she'd best be off while she had the chance.
It would take Thranduil a while to notice she was gone, because he would expect her to want to walk with someone else as long as she was still angry with him. She'd double back and take the forest road, and let her rage and the spiders hone her telekinesis. She'd meet up with them sooner or later on the other side, and hope like hell he'd forgive her. And that she would have forgiven him.
Told you you were going to hate me. Lorna really is right, though; the only way she's going to reach her full potential is if it's all she has to fall back on, and there's just no damn way Thranduil would let her face danger on her own.
As always, reviews feed me, whether you like or hate this new development. Title means "leaving" in Irish.
