There is a brief description of violence and sex in this chapter. I felt I should warn you, although this book is under the "M" rating, and there is now way you don't know that in chapter six. I will give small warnings like these to those who appreciate a warning.
Favorite, Follow & Review! I always have more motivation to write when you do. (I'm not putting an A/N at the end of the chapter for effect so I'm trying to get it all out of the way now). Thanks to mweas99 & PrettyRecklessLaura for your reviews! As you may have been able to tell I have no real schedule for posting chapters, I update when I am able to with no real method to the madness. This chapter was posted within a week of the previous, the next chapter might take months. The point of this is thank you to all you who are reading this as we go and deal with the wacky updates and long silent periods.
Constructive criticism is (as always) welcome.
Other than that I really have nothing to say so… enjoy!
*update* sorry to all those who read the original version of this chapter. I forgot to add line breaks and I am sure it was very confusing. So sorry please forgive me. :(
"Termáre- as me Dornessiti."
After the beastly dragon had fallen to the ground, crushing the greedy townmaster in the process, Jackie had said goodbye to Balin (who was taking a more direct underground route that would get him to the other dwarves faster) and left for the lonely mountain. Legolas tagging along in the process, for some reason reluctant to leave her presence. The two had galloped away on their own respective mountain horses that had nobly stayed put at the town during its attack from the dragon.
Now riding up to the entrance of the mountain as the sun continued to rise in the sky Jackie was saddened at the site of it's once mighty gates in ruins. My home in ruins. All her childhood memories sat within these walls. Growing up, learning to talk, learning to run. Her first prank, her first dance, her first time stowing away in the armory enclaves to avoid the annoying teachers or father urging her to practise a ballroom dance one more time. Entering it again after one hundred and seventeen years of being away, and the last time seeing it was when it was first being overrun by Smaug, It was jarring.
Her overly large light brown shirt was flapping in the wind as they passed through the decimated front gates. The sound of her and Legolas's horses echoed through the empty entrance hall. She stared at the floor that was now pure gold all the way around the hall. What in the Valars name happened here?
Dwalin and Gloin appeared out of nowhere hefting their large battle axes back and forth between their respective hands in plain view of the two newcomer elves. All the while conversing loudly, or their quiet, quiet for a dwarf, conversation was being magnified by the arching wall around them. Even without their enhanced hearing Jackie and Legolas would have heard them loud and clear.
It was Dwalin who they heard first; "-Two Inbul-hibir fundhamâd-ublags (Dwarvish: Pointy-eared lembas-munchers.) huh. I call dibs on the long blondy." Jackie snorted in a very un elf like manner earning a raised eyebrow from the Prince.
"Wondir what their doin here."
"Thorin was yellin bout' how they were here fer the treasure."
"But what da ye think?" Gloin proded.
"I reckon... that Throin was a wee bit….. paranoid." Dwalin said haltingly.
"Bet yer right." Gloin said before quickly adding in a pleading tone; "Are ye sure I can't 'ave the blond one?"
"Aye. Blondy's mine. Ye can have the lassie." Dwalin retorted a bit harshly.
"Fine, fine. But- but I bet the lassies a piece of work so she'll be a lot harder than yer pathetic blondy." Gloin said indignantly, as if trying to find some grace in his target.
Jackie just rolled her eyes at the bantering about who would kill who. Legolas, who had already reached for his bow, was getting ready to draw it back and let loose when she cut in and lowered the weapon. Then she turned to the approaching dwarves who were now about twenty yards in front of them and smiled. Knowing that there were probably other dwarves all over the room, and probably Thorin himself with weapons poised, she made sure to magnify her voice.
"What, no royal welcome? No 'Oh hey Jackie it's only been one hundred and seventeen years since we last saw each other not counting the time you had us locked up?' Not even a 'how have you been?' Wow, dwarven courtesy has gone down a lot if you go straight to killing, usually that happens around the next day." All she got was bemused stares from both the elf and the dwarves in the room for about five seconds before the two warriors broke into smiles and charged.
Legolas, who was expecting an attack, tried to shoot but was knocked aside by Jackie as she ran up to meet the two. They embraced in a warm and bone crushing hug, all weapons dropped forgotten on the ground and all death threats forgotten. Eleven other dwarves game into the golden hall from different points, some dropping from above, others moving out from the shadows of great pillars. All with the same huge smiles as Gloin and Dwalin.
It was Thorin who approached first, seemingly not to notice Legolas. "We- I feared the worst when we left you behind at the river and it has torn us- me appart ever since. We truly wanted to go back for you."
"It is fine I understand~" She began before being cut off admittedly by Legolas.
"But you did not." He spat.
Thorin stared at Legolas as if seeing him for the first time. "WHAT IS THIS- THIS ELF DOING IN MY PALACE!" He roared.
"Nin híril, he na- negr- listo, he cav athae."
"Please Thorin, calm down. I know what this looks like, but please can he~" She began.
"NO. He can not stay here! He is an ELF." He repeated, scowling at Legolas who stared back with the usual elven blankness in return, with maybe a hint of amusement curling through his lips.
This time Jackie dropped all semblance of friendliness, her voice coated with ice as something dawned on her. "I'm an elf." She stated, narrowing eyes at her 'brother.' "You have no problem with me."
Thorin looked uncomfortable. "Well no, but- yes but- well- your… different."
"Hmmmm?" She hummed, raising an eyebrow.
"I just- well- I don't- I don't think of ye as an elf?" He announced feebly.
A small being, even smaller than the dwarves in the room stepped unnoticed behind Thorin's back. His footsteps were so light that not even The elves could hear his approach. He had ear length curly light light brown hair and tremendously hairy feet that seemed to be over large. He was about the size of a human child, around three and a half feet, maybe four. "I don't think you are endearing yourself to this particular audience master Thorin."
"Sush Bilbo. This does not concern you." Thorin snapped, his uneasiness gone in seconds.
The creature, Bilbo. Looked scared for a second before putting on a face of iron resolution. A strong and brave little creature. Jackie thought, smiling inward. "No Thorin, I think this does. I see no reason why the elf can not enter the mountain."
Legolas turned to the little creature with an expression of what Jackie could clearly interpret as mocking. How dare he. This small little thing is most likely more noble than that Prince will ever be in his life. And Bilbo is defending his honour. He should be grateful, no putting himself above the ….. Man?
"He's an elf!" Thorin repeated, his brain seeming to have no other response.
"We've established that." Bilbo responded smoothly. All traces of the timid little thing were gone.
"An Elf." Thorin said as if trying to make it clear, putting extra emphasis on the elf.
"Yes, and I am a Hobbit. Why is it such a problem?"
"Listen to the- Hobbit, Thorin." Jackie cut in, backing up the little half-man.
"But~" Thorin started meekly.
"I am an elf and if one of my race cannot enter then neither shall I." She stated flatly, getting another sharp look from Legolas and gasps from the dwarves.
"What!" Thorin Yelled
"You heard me." She said, crossing her arms over her chest definitely.
Dwalin guffawed from beside Throin, obvious mirth written all over his face. "Methinks the lassie has gottin ye beat Thorin."
Thorin sighed glumly and glared at the Prince of Mirkwood as if to say it was all his fault. "Fine."
Jackie broke out into a laugh and wrapped the seething dwarf in a hug. "I knew you'd see it my way."
"I still don't like him. And I'll glare at him every second he's here." Thorin growled, as if needing to redeem his case and insure his reputation as elf hater.
"You can if it makes you feel better." She responded, eyes closed and nearly suffocating the dwarf in the bone crushing embrace.
She was suffocating.
The rock of the mountain was crushing her bones. The baby was screaming. Rock was pushing down onto her, it's weight massive. Thorin was bleeding out in front of her, Fili and Kili laying on their sides nearby. Bilbo was crushed under a boulder, her dwarven family in various states of death and suffocation, the bones in their limbs twisted in the wrong direction. Legolas's vacant eyes stared at her, not seeing anything. She panicked. Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin lay in a pile, Orc arrows spurting from their tiny bodies. Aragorn was mutilated. His eye sockets empty, arms twisted backwards, legs steaming stumps of blood and shattered bone. Gimli- swe,et stubborn Gimli- was dead as well, neck snapped, goblin knife jutting from his eye socket.
She couldn't move.
She had failed.
Her family was dead.
"Five broken ribs, a collapsed lung, fractured arm here, here and here, and internal bleeding in the brain-"
Again.
Do you see the pain, little elf? A voice echoed around the smoldering, crushing weight of the stone that pushed her down. She could feel her bones shattering, her lungs too compressed to form a scream.
You could stop it all. You could bring them all back. Thorin, Fili, Kili, even your dear, dead, parents. Orcs arrows, and rape. Such a sad ending. The voice tsked.
I would give you a little corner of the world for you and your family. Untouched.
He could bring them back. Whatever this voice was. It could bring them all back. It seemed to good to be true.
Of course I require something in return.
She glanced at the mutilated corpses around her. Her birth mother and fathers mutilated corpses. Anything. She would give the voice anything.
The ring.
…. What?
Bring me the ring, little elf. And I will give your family a corner of the world.
The voice…the ring….. They didn't-
And I will make you mine. My Queen to rule beside me. Your family will be left untouched and you will be my prized possession.
She wanted that. She did. Her family would be safe. She would be cared for. Loved. Never left alone again. She wanted to be his... Didn't she?
The voice showed her another vision, her mutilated family fell away. In its place was a throne room. A great, dark throne room. Sitting upon one of two dark thrones, lower than the first, was herself. A dress of midnight black hanging off her body. On the throne beside her, like a mere shadow unable to take human form, golden ring glittering on his finger, hand over hers, was Suron. The world was theirs and they were its rulers. The whole land feared her, and none dared cross her. She was the bride of Suron and the Queen of Shadows. None could withstand her- withstand them.
The vision shifted. They writhed on a great black bed, the dark shadows of Sauron's back shining as he moved inside her. Such pleasure- she had never before known such pleasure. Only he could fuck her like this, driving so deep, her body warm and supple and wet for him. And soon, soon his seed would take root in her womb and the child she would bear him would rule entire universes-
"She is lucky to be alive-"
Someone growled. Someone outside the vision.
No.
She did not want to be fucked and bred like a mare. But on display like a prise horse. As a trophy of victory. She would not give up Frodo, nor forsake their company's quest.
The voice- Sauron- growled. Loyal. Admirable quality. Make no mistake Jaclaë-Frolana. You will be mine.
And a mute nothingness washed over her. And pain. Always pain.
Fëa Nauta.
Legolas carried Jackie into the heart of Lorien, for she had collapsed on the flet as soon as Haldir had declared they would be permitted to enter. He had seen her under the mountain. She had been death on wings. She had been chucked against the wall of the mountain by a cave troll. It was a miracle she had lasted so long before she gave into the injuries that were so obviously ailing her. He had kept watch on her their entire journey to Lorien. Watched as she pushed and pushed and pushed. Waited for her to collapse. When she had he didn't even know he was moving until he had her in his arms. Immediately he could tell she was injured but at that point any slopy, battlefield healing would only have done more bad than good. Especially when they were that close to the heart of Lorien.
"Termáre- as me Dornessiti (Elvish: stay with me Dornessiti)" He murmured. He didn't even know why he cared. He barely knew her. Maybe it was the way she always helped others before herself, even if she was going to die, or the fact she treated them all the same and didn't give a damn about the fact he was a Prince. He had been traveling with her for the better part of a month. Her accuracy was undeniable. Her skill was impressive, no matter what that pig of a man thought.
Her long silver locks, really a darker shade accented with natural streaks of silver so light it was close to white -details only elven eyes could detect- was hanging low to the ground in a loose plait. The wild, stray strands of hair plastered to her face with a fine sheen of sweat so faint he could barely detect and matted with blood and gore. Her raven black suit was darker in spots influxed with blood. He couldn't tell whether it was hers or someone else's.
"Aragorn! These woods are perilous. We should go back." The dwarf whispered loudly. Fool. Did he not realise that his dear- he didn't even know what Dornessiti was to this dwarf. Did he not realise she was at death's threshold?
"You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood. You can not go back." Haldir said cooly, his eyes locking on Legolas's own. "Come, she is waiting."
Haldir led the Fellowship all through the night long night onto a hilltop. And even he could not help but drink in the view before them that Lorien presented, the wonderment at the vista spread before them.
Several miles towards the South, a Large Hill hill rose out of the thick, desne woods. Upon the hill rose many mighty Mallorn Trees, dwarfing those they had wandered through before, taller by far than any of the others. Nestled high in the crown of the Mallorns lay a beautiful elven city. It gleamed in the low rays of the late, afternoon sun. Misty greens, vibrant golds and cool silvers. Caras Galadhon. One of the few known cities -to the outside world- of Lorien. Even the great cities of Mirkwood could not compare to this beauty, they were beautiful yes, but in their own way. This looked to be the work of artists, and most likely was. To the east of Caras Galadhon, the woods of Lorin ran down the pale, distant gleam Anduin, the great river. Beyond the river, the land appeared flat and empty. Formless and vague, until, far away he doubted any but the elves could see, it rose once more like a dark and dreary wall. The sun that lay in Lorien had no power to enlighten the shadows that lay beyond it's safe borders.
It was nightfall afresh by the time they reached the city itself. Dornessiti's pulse nothing but a mere flicker beneath his touch. They stepped onto a wide fleet filled with a soft, pale, light. The walls were forest green and moonlight silver, much like the shade of Dornessiti's hair. The roof was a sunlight gold and in the midst of it all was the mighty trunk of a great mallorn tree, now tapering towards it's crown.
The lord- Celeborn- stepped forward to greet them. Guests, Legolas supposed, honored, filthy guests. His hair was long and silver, the shade of a polished coin -near grey compared to the sheets of hair that hung, dirty and lank, from Dornessiti's head. His face was grave but beautiful, and, as the way of the elves, showed no sign of age upon it. Next to him stood the elf-which Gimli was so rudely prattling about. Galadriel. The Lady of Light, Lady of the Elves. Her hair was the purest gold, her beauty timeless and unsurpassed. Though Dornessiti's face kept rising beneath his eyes. The Lady of Lorien smiled knowingly at him as Celeborn looked hard at Aragorn.
"Eight there are, yet nine were set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him."
It was Galadriel who answered his question. Softly, but they all heard it. "He has fallen into shadow." She looked to Aragorn as if in confirmation. His head dipped in a nearly unnoticeable nod. "The quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all…. Yet hope remains while the company is true."
Was he imagining the pointed look toward Boromir?
The Lady's eyes fell upon Sam. "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest for you are weary with sorrow and much toil." Her eyes settled on his and her voice faded. "Tonight you will sleep in peace…."
Her voice echoed in Legolas's mind. Welcome, Legolas of Mirkwood. Alas you do not remember your companion. Her eyes winded. "Fëa Nauta.
He did not comprehend the ancient Quenya. "Nin híril, he na- negr- listo, he cav athae. (Elvish: My lady, she is hurt, please, she requires healing)"
Galadriel nodded primly, as if just now taking in the amount of injuries Dornessiti had. "Come with me."
Legolas followed her, leaving the rest of the fellowship looking on in worry.
Aragorn watched his friend pace back and forth like a caged animal, his golden hair gleaming in the moonlight, pointed ears peeking out from the blond tresses. Legolas had left Jackie in the care of Galadriel and her elves, albright not very willingly. He wondered if the elf even knew how he was acting. They were all worried for her, and the death of Gandalf had made the fact that she might not make it through all the more real.
The fellowship were all in a pavilion set among the trees near a fountain. They lay on soft couches as elves left food and wine for them. The sound of mournful elven voices singing drifted down from the trees above.
"A lament for Gandalf…" Legolas said softly, barley stopping his pacing.
"What do they say about him?" Merry asked, sniffing.
"I have not the heart to tell you. For me, the grief is still too near." So rarely did you see such emotions in the elven prince. Aragorn did not know what to think. He admired his friend for staying strong, something he was trying so hard to do himself.
He spotted Boromir sitting alone, and decided to approach. Needing a break from his own thoughts just as much as the Gondorian needed company. "Take some rest. These borders are well protected."
The moonlight cast down on Boromir's face, illuminating the trails of tears there. Oh.
"I will find no rest here. I heard her voice in my head…" He knew who Boromir was talking about. "She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor, and she said to me 'Even now, there is hope left.' But I cannot see it… it is long since we had any hope." The Gondorian looked up at Aragorn in despair.
But he was not finished; "My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing and our people… our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right… and I would do it, I would see the glory of Gondor restores. Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze… have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of trumpets?"
He recalled the white city, the day he had seen it all those long years ago. "I have seen the white city… long ago."
"Our paths will lead us there, and the tower guards shall take up the call 'the Lords of Gondor have returned."
He smiled, if only to comfort Boromir. And let his face fall only after Boromir had looked away.
Legolas stared at the small bed in the center of the healers room. Galadriel's own if he was to be correct. Dornessiti lay in the center of the white sheets, a thin, teal cotton cover the only color on the bed. Her long silver hair was splayed over the feather down pillow, tanned face closed and oddly tranquil in unconsciousness. Her black suit had been replaced with slate grey leggings and a high necked, navy wool sweater. Her feet were bare, as were her hands. Two days. Two days of wondering if she was okay. Wondering what the hell was wrong with him worrying about some elf he had just met. Had his father been in this position he doubted that he would be this distraught.
The rest of the fellowship were all in the room, along with the lady of light herself, who had, apparently, been the one doing the healing. And from the troubled look on her beautiful face something was wrong.
"Well?" Gimli- the dwarf, when did he ever become Gimli?- asked. "How bad is she?"
Galadriel frowned slightly. "Five broken ribs, a collapsed lung, fractured arm here, here and here." She pointed long, slender fingers at three different points along Dornessiti's left arm. "A sprained wrist." She pointed to Dornessiti's right wrist. "And internal bleeding in the brain."
"Is she healed?" Frodo asked, his face as ashen as Legolas felt.
"She should be, she has elven healing after all."
They breathed a collective sigh of relief.
"But she is not."
"What?" He asked, unable to help himself.
"I was able to heal the minor cuts and bruises but the major injuries…. Something fell is residing in her, stopping her from healing. Something even I cannot banish, nor tell, exactly, what it is."
"What does this mean, My lady?" Aragorn, his voice cool and collected, though Legolas, who knew him well and had the gift of fine elven hearing, could detect the undertone of worry.
"That until she is able to conquer the darkness that lies within her her healing will be that of a normal -human- woman. As of now she is no longer unconscious, but in a self induced coma."
"How was she hurt so bad?" Boromir asked.
"She was thrown against a wall of dwarven stone by the strength of cave troll, continued to fight and survived the might of Balrog, was she not? And held Master Frodo back as he struggled." The hobbit in question looked down. "It is a gift of the valar she continues to draw breath."
"What should we do? He asked quietly.
"Wait. Legolas Thranduilion. And pray to the valar that she finds her strength to banish the darkness."
"What would happen, should the darkness win?" Merry asked, sounding dangerously close to tears.
"She shall perish."
Aragorn and Legolas were training in the open fields of Lorien. Their blows were swift and fast paced. Aragorn stepped, back, balancing his weight on his left foot, and threw his right fist out in a curved punch toward Legolas's temple. Turning ninety degrees to the side, he brought his right forearm up to counter the ranger's blow, formed a fist with his left, and threw it at Aragorn's outstretched jaw. He dodged the blow and brang his own leg sweeping under the elves feet, sending him falling to the ground.
"Tye nar lenca sira yer-nur. (Elvish: You are slow today, old friend." Aragorn said smiling.
How can he smile when Dornessiti still lies in a trance, locked in a battle that may result in her death. "Apsene- me. Mime ósanwe cait- nanomë exa síra. (Forgive me. My thoughts lie elsewhere.)" He said, moving off the ground in a swift movement, one taught to all the elves of training in Mirkwood.
"Apa Dornessiti? (On Dornessiti?)" Aragorn asked, lowering his upraised fists and taking a swig from a nearby pouch of water.
He was silent for a while. Staring at the glistening foliage of trees around the small field they had chosen to spar on. "Lá. (yes)"
"Tye are vamme er, otorno. (You are not alone, brother.)" The ranger replied softly, coming to stand beside the elf. "Mana tul- lárë, ni elmenda du se sinta-? (What shall happen, I wonder, should she perish?)
"Ni~ ni care- vamme méra ana sinte. (I- I do not wish to know.)" He said gently.
Aragorn smiled, as if he knew what Legolas was trying to say. "Nin sam- sinte rya an úqua tare nó a nótima lemnar, ar ia i ósanwe -o laisa- -rya finta me naira pella mana ni ósanwe -ima yenya Gandalf. Laisa anime -o sina ertië palwa Boromir. (I have known her for nothing more than a few weeks, and yet the thought of losing her makes me sad beyond what I ever thought possible before Gandalf. Losing any of this fellowship, even Boromir.)"
Legolas only nodded his agreement.
"Mana? (What?)" His friend asked.
"Ni ec-al sáme mal elmenda cé tar ma tare ni kav- sam- carina. (I cannot help but wonder if there was anything more I could have done.)"
"Legolas." His friend said sharply, and spoke in the common tongue for what Legolas assumed to be extra effect. "We are lucky to be alive, just as she is lucky to be alive."
The darkness just kept coming. And the pain. There was a lot of pain too. The type of pain that made you want to beg for death. Had there been anyone to beg to, save for the void of black and the voice of Sauron. And then-
And then she was somewhere else. Her body was mere mist racing along winds, over towering trees to- Isengard.
Saruman -eyes alight with a mean intelligence- was talking to an Orc. And orc the size of man, far more powerful than she had ever seen one to be. And naked. The wizard smiled. He could not see her though she could see them. Nothing good would come of this.
"They were Elves once. Taken by the Dark Powers… tortured and mutilated… a ruined and terrible form of life." The birth of orcs. That was what Saruman was speaking of. Was she an orc? A monster beyond mention for all her scars and ugly tissue? "And now… perfected. My fighting Uruk-Hai. Whom do you serve?"
Uruk-Hai. Whatever these things were. They were horrible. A hybrid, an experiment perfected. Something far more dangerous than an average orc.
The Uruk-Hai let out a gotteral rasp. "Saruman."
The vision cut forward. The Uruk-Hai was quickly armored. A breastplate, leg guards, a helmet, an evil looking sword were all thrust into the Uruk-Hai's hand. There were so many of them…. They were all smearing themselves with white paint. A creepy ritualistic ceremony. The white hand of Isengard was smeared on bodies, faces and armor. Saruman addressed a crowd of at least two hundred fully armed Uruk-Hai.
"Hunt them down. Do not stop until they are found. You do not know pain. You do not know fear. You will taste man flesh." The wizard in white- so out of place in this horrible setting- turned to the Orc he was talking to before, the leader it appeared. "One of the Halflings carries something of great value, and an elven woman with hair as fine as silk, the shade of pure moonlight. Bring them to me alive… alive and unspoiled. Kill the others."
The vision cut forward again.
The leader -Lurtz- was leading the host of Uruk-Hai out of Isengard. They ran fast, their powerful legs carrying them at speed. She did not need to look to know they were moving towards Lorien.
Do you see what runs towards you now? The danger you put yourself in? Submit to me, and they will leave. I will make sure of it.
Liar.
You shall be mine, one way or another. I am merely giving you a choice to ensure your immediate family survives.
You would never spare them…. But… immediate family. Birth family. They are dead, perished long ago in the hands of orcs. In your eyes I have no immediate family left to save.
Smart little elleth. I shall take that as a no?
She was silent, which was answer enough.
The voice- Sauron, growled. Then I shall have you by force. I warned you little elleth. And I gave you a chance, more than I do for others of ridiculous ilk. She winced never had she truly heard the voice before. It was like nails on a school board, the grinding of stone against stone, the shreik of utensils against plates. She covered her sensitive elf ears with her hands.
The voice laughed.
Laughed as it showed her the armies of Mordor. Laughed as every horrible, depressing, dark and fell memory she ever had streamed into her head.
And laughed and laughed and laughed.
Legolas stared down at Dornessiti and couldn't help feeling somewhat guilty for new scratches that added to her old ones on her face and the small twigs in her still perfect looking silver hair. If he and the dwarf had not been bickering earlier there was a possibility that the Orcs would not have found them, causing herself to over exert herself once more. He was not stupid, he knew what she did. She must have seen them surrounded and decided she needed to help. The horses had not just came there on a whim, not these horses. These were mountain horses, close in kin to the Meras. She had cried out a summoning spell using even more of her already depleted energy, it was a wonder that she wasn't dead already.
The sagging of the small body in his arms brought him back to the present. Dornessiti had fallen unconscious, he was just happy it wasn't death. Why he wasn't sure but he knew he was.
The dwarf had finally managed to catch up to him and he wondered why the horse had not thrown it off. "Well dwarf." He started while his horse made a leap over a particularly large gap between two areas of land, and, for the first time, realized where the Stallions were taking them; Laketown. "It seems you are once again in Dornessiti's debt."
Legolas ran down the halls of Lorien, Aragorn close behind, the rest of the fellowship lost behind him long ago. He burst through the oak door of the medic room. Galadriel was already there, standing beside a thrashing Dornessiti. The sheets of the bed were twisted around her contorting form. Fine hair twisted into chaotic, frizzy knots around her head, clothing drenched in sweat. Her back arched from the bed, and a scream broke from her throat.
"Mana na- lárë! (What is happening!)" He yelled at Galadriel.
The rest of the fellowship burst in behind him, huffing and puffing, their faces red, breath labored. Gimli let out a cry as he saw the convulsing body on the sheets, Aragorn had to hold him back. He let out a stream of what sounded to be curses in what he assumed was dwarvish. Had he known the language he had no doubt they all would have been milk curdling, judging by the winces on Aragorn's face.
"Im~ he~ i fuin~ (I- she- the darkness-)" Galadriel, Lady of Lorien. Older than the moon, was spluttering.
Gimli growled. "Words we can all understand lassie, if my kin dies on yer watch I don't care 'bout who you are yer dead."
The lady of light took a deep breath, calming herself. "The darkness no longer sits idle. It attacks with vigour."
"And?" Aragorn asked anxiously.
"Such an assault should leave her dead, she should be dead at this point."
"But…" Frodo trailed off.
"Somehow she is resisting. She is fighting the darkness off, or at least keeping it at bay." Legolas moved so he was beside her thrashing body, and crouched down near her head. "Keep in thought that the fallout out of such a battle of wills shall be her death. If she should withstand she shall still require time to heal, and may never be the same." Galadriel continued. "Win or lose, she may perish."
She will survive. He would allow no other option. If he had to fight the valar themselves, he would. And that scared him.
She had to warn Frodo. The fellowship. All of them.
"Win or lose she may perish."
Do you see, little elf. They do not believe you to win, do not believe in you. They know that in the end, I acquire what I desire. It is fruitless to resist.
No.
She was strong. She was brave. She could survive. This- this reality, this test of wills, was all in her head. She could not see anything -or what she could call seeing. Only never ending black. But she could feel the attacks. Like stabs of pain and fear and misery and despair, magnified a hundred fold. The betraying whispers in her mind telling her to give up.
But she had to warn Frodo he was being hunted. Had to tell Legolas the truth.
So she stopped her defensive actions and pushed back. She could feel the shock of Sauron ripple through the black. The anger. She kept pushing.
And soon the memories -black, dark, grey, evil, bad, depressing memories- that had been swirling in her mind turned golden and shining and bright and good. She was chasing the young, naked Fili and Kili through the halls Under the Mountain. Drinking enough to get even an elf drunk and then singing drinking songs with Thorin as they tripped over their own feet and barfed on their clothing. Walking through Mirkwood with Legolas and Kili, bickering over the smallest things. She needed to get to her friends. Tell them everything.
Sauron growled. You will tell them nothing.
And then he was gone.
Legolas watched as golden strands of light twirled around the room, all originating from Dornessiti. It illuminated the room, the bed, the surprised, shocked, or the varying expressions in between of the fellowship, and the well disguised wonder on Galadriel's face. Laughter, clear and bright, the kind that made you think of warm, summer days and the glistening sea, trickled through the room. He would be willing to bet it was Dornessiti's.
All of a sudden she gasped. Her back arched a final time, and she shot into a sitting position, ripping the wool sweater of her sweating, shaking body. Leaving her in only leggings and a band around her chest- that- that did nothing to conceal the thick scar traveling from beneath her right breast to the hemline of her pants, the thinner one along the expanse of her right wrist, and the small one going along for about an inch along the left expanse of her smooth neck. Elves don't scar. He thought back to everytime she had ever covered those areas from them. The high necked shirts, the wrist bands, the long sleeved shirts. Before he could say anything Dornessiti leaned over the side of the bed and wretched.
He slowly sat on the bed and put his head in his hands. The rest of the fellowship looked devastated, even fucking Boromir. "Dornessiti-" Legolas began.
"How did you survive?" Galadriel asked. The portrait of calm and dignity, as if she saw elves throwing their guts up, covered in permanent scars every day.
Dornessiti opened her mouth, waited a few seconds, and closed it again. The leaned over the side of her bed, a fresh sheen of sweat breaking out along her wrecked body. The sound of her hurling echoed through the room. Her injuries had healed.
As if reading his mind Galadriel spoke, in the common tongue for the fellowships benefit. "The light you admitted, child, has healing properties beyond what I could have foreseen. Even I, who have toiled by your sickbed, using my life force to sustain your spirit, feel full with the energy of a newborn fawn."
Dornessiti just nodded, rising from the bed and staggered to the pitcher of water, not even bothering to reach for a cup. The water dribbled down her chin and soaked the white band around her breasts. Now is not the time…He moved to sit on one of the stuffed chairs in the room, the rest of the fellowship finding various chairs or pillows to sit on of the like.
"Dornessiti, what happened." He asked. Again she opened her mouth for long seconds before closing it again, no sound coming out. She moved to sit on the bed, hand over her mouth. Her creamy skin was swiftly regaining it's tanned colour, not the sickly shade of white milk it had been minutes before. "Dornessiti please." He tried, ignoring the scars marring her otherwise smooth skin and toned body.
Gimli moved forward, but Legolas was between the two in an instant, kneeling before the ashen faced Dornessiti. She got up and moved to Galadriel's desk, the lady let her pass and didn't try to stop her. Even when Dornessiti brang everything crashing off of it with a sweep of her arm, the midday sun coming in through the window illuminating her messy hair. Digging around she found what she was looking for, a roll of parchment and a stick of charcoal.
"Dornessiti?" He asked as she sat down in front of him again.
She wrote with a shaking hand on the piece of parchment.
Help.
"Dornessiti, what's wrong?"
"Jackie- what can we do to help?" Aragorn said, pushing past him to sit on the bed beside her.
I can't speak.