Disclaimer: I don't own many of the characters in this story. J.R.R. Tolkien created them with his brilliant imagination. So they belong to him. *sniff* Kirilla and Mearia and Sarolas, however, are my intellectual property.

Don't flame me, please. If you find you dislike MH, don't read it. If you think Kirilla is a Mary Sue.. don't read it. Or better yet, go off and inspect your own work.. there're more Mary Sues around that one might think. I will defend my work. Plug and go screw a thornbush if you hate my work. Don't comment unless you have something /constructive/. It may seem at first like Rilla will be a Mary Sue.. but if you wait and are patient.. she may just turn out better than you thought.

Some quick notes: 'Ië' means yes ; 'Namárië' means farewell ; 'Ortielyë?' means Are you awake? ; Elya is an Elven greeting. Thank you to an old friend of mine, Sara, for helping me out with Elven phrases. Kirilla's name in the story is pronounced *key-real-lah*, with a bit of a slurred accenting. An alternate pronunciation would be *Kare-ill-lah*.. that is how my pen name and MUSH character's name are pronounced. Also, when I write in Elven, though I'm learning the languages, I don't know quite so much. You can assume all words spoken between elves is Sindarin or Quenya. Also, no, Kirilla is not 'me'. To be quite honest, I am rather boring compared to Kirilla. So to answer your question, Gabrielle, no :) She's an entirely different persona, though a bit of me may rub off. :)

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~*~ Kirilla ~*~

As I fought the orc along a northern part of the Anduin, I grew ever more weary. The unicorn's will and stamina deep within me was fading. The elven dexterity and power were slowly draining from the depths of my soul, leaving only human weakness, which I never counted on to help me through problems.

Blood drenched the mossy green tunic and skirt I wore, along with dirt, even slime. Not just blood of my own, mind, but also that of the orcs. For every orc I slayed, there was another. I wanted very much to morph into my alternative form-- that of a unicorn, but I knew that they would close in all the faster. Unicorns are fierce in battle, yes, but the time it took to change would throw me off. It would be a fatal mistake.

I thought back to how I had found myself in this situation. All due to my wanderer's soul, I supposed. Most of the unicorns in the unexplored regions of Endor stayed close to home. But I had fought in many battles. Why was it that this battle was to be my ending? A tear of pain sprung to my face as I realized that my choice of immortality had such a great price to pay. I had hoped to live forever, and find so many more adventures, despite over two thousands years already.

Yet now, as I tried to force the orc upwards and away from me, I knew this could well be my final resting place. My bow and arrow were useless here, yet the finely made elven bow was cracking from its spot around my shoulder and back, pressed against the ground. I thanked Valar that my quiver was thick enough to keep the arrows from stabbing me in the back. It was rather uncomfortable.. but not compared with the bow's splintered edges.

I glanced to the left, noticing my dagger sticking up from the neck of a fallen orc nearby, and, with a spurt of energy, rolled out from underneath the orc upon me, getting knicked by his mace we had been fighting over control of. Snatching the dagger I hadn't had the use of for a long while, I whirled to my feet and deftly sliced the sharp dagger through the orc's neck. Once he fell, I moved on to the next, and over the next quarter hour, I felt triumphant. I would win! I would live!

But triumph is for those who do not think ahead.. or behind, as it may seem. Without my horse, it would be the same. Just as before, the orcs grouped against me.. they took my dagger, and seized me. But not to kill, it seemed. I made out their horrendous speech just barely, for though I had a knack with languages, their accents were thicker than a slab of butter.

I continued to jerk, trying to escape their grip as they argued over what they should do with me. In this time, I lost all but one hope.. the Unicorn's Call, which unicorns used as a last resort, to summon any nearby unicorns to their immediate aide -- unicorns are very fleet of foot. I knew I would have to lower it an octave or two, for the Unicorn's Call is a high-pitched keening wail containing words of my grandmother Iirama's home language.. that of the unicorns.

Elves had the second best hearing of all the creatures. The only creature with more keen hearing was the unicorn, and naturally unicorns spoke with a musical, expressive, tongue.. but the language was very high-pitched, to make certain no wanderers would find the homes. It worked well, for unicorns remained more or less undiscovered.

I prepared for only a moment, because one of the orcs had just suggested they cook me. Then I leaned my head back and opened my mouth. What came out was a wail that took the orcs by surprise. It hurt their eyes, and they cowered. The wail resounded throughout the forest, echoing back to me, but I did not yet cease. It continued for many minutes. When my voice was spent, I collapsed to the ground. I realized that the orcs were gone, and glanced around wearily.

Some had fallen for no apparent reason.. other than my sound bursting their eardrums, or perhaps other parts. I had heard stories of high-pitched sounds breaking things, even rendering beings unconcious or deaf for life. I pulled myself to my feet, feeling faint. Shaking my head, I scowled when I realized my braid had been torn, and my stream of silky silvery-flaxen tresses was now uneven, dirty, and ragged. But it would be brushed out and cleaned at a later date. I had more important things to do now. Like get away from this spot before the orcs reawakened or returned.

Yet before I could step further, a group of elven warriors came through the bush, accompanied by a Man and a Dwarf. I blinked for a moment, focusing on an elven man clad in mossy green and gray, at the front of the group. He stepped closer, and asked me something in Sindarin. Yet the words suddenly didn't make sense. My vision blurred, darkened, and I fell to the ground in a heap, my last thought being, "Who are they that I summoned?" I had no idea that the orcs returned at that moment, and a battle ensued around my fallen form.

~*~ Legolas ~*~

After the battle was finally won and the last orc dead, Prince Legolas turned once again to the young woman who lay crumpled on the ground nearby. He kneeled beside her and peered at her face. It was a very pale face. Elven eyes and ears, he noted silently. But what of the silvery scar that graced her face? It was shaped as a star, and seemed to give off a faint energy. As his blue eyes looked her over, noting her grimy state, he picked her up carefully, trying to avoid the wounds adorning her pale skin.

"Return to Mirkwood. I'm coming right behind you, a bit slower, though," he called to the warriors, who nodded and disappeared, all but the Man Aragorn and the Dwarf Gimli.

"And just how do you expect to get her back to Mirkwood alone?" Aragorn asked, a dark eyebrow raising slightly.

"I shall carry her."

"Carry? To Mirkwood? Rivendell is closer, you know."

"It goes over the mountains.."

"You could always go through Moria.. it's led again by Dwarves, you know," Gimli put in, "You'd experience that hospitality we.. missed that last quest."

Legolas shook his head, then sat down with the woman, laying her across his knees and putting an ear to her heart before whispering softly, trying to speak to her mind lost in the Dream world. At the mention of his home, an outburst of hatred, fear, and anger emerged. Legolas was surprised, but supposed that his companion's suggestion of Rivendell would work better. Even more to his surprise, the reaction he got was filled with calm.

"Rivendell it is," the warrior said simply, and pulled the lady into his arms and began stalking toward the Misty Mountains. Then, resigning himself for several moments for days of darkness, he paused and added, "We're going through... Moria."

Gimli was overjoyed and started off the journey quickly, followed by the Prince of Mirkwood, who was carrying the fallen lady. Bringing up the rear was Aragorn, also pleased to be going to Rivendell, for he had been planning already to journey that direction had the elven folk he'd been traveling with not heard the Unicorn's Call. Certainly, he was pleased to be returning to his wife, the Lady Arwen, who was visiting her father in Rivendell.

~*~ Later ~*~

Their first evening within Moria, Legolas refused to leave the side of the mysterious elf, and throughout the night sat with her across his knees. Thus each of the four nights past. On the third night, she awoke briefly to find herself surrounded by the arms of the elven warrior who had saved her.

"Lady?" a deep voice whispered against her earlobe. Kirilla shivered and slowly opened her eyes, leaning her head back painfully to gaze on his face.

"Wha..?" she managed to croak.

"You've been hurt badly, Lady. We are taking you to Rivendell."

"Rivendell...," she murmured, and a soft smile rose on her face. Legolas was intrigued, for it lit up her entire face, despite the blood and grime settled deeply in her skin.

"Your name, milady?"

She blinked quizzically. "My.. name? Kirilla..," she whispered faintly, then her head fell back to his chest and she was into the world of darkness once again. Legolas repeated the name, frowning to himself. It wasn't from any language he knew.. and in his many years upon Middle-Earth, he had grown to know many indeed. Making note to ask Aragorn in the morning, he leaned back and rested.

~*~ Kirilla ~*~

Once again I awoke from the darkness.. all around me it was white.. the air was fresh. Slowly I cracked open an eye as my senses slowly returned. I realized a warm hand was holding my cold one, a head of long, blonde hair was settled on the bed next to the hand.

Music filtered through the wind, an ethereal quality flowing to it. My violet eyes opened another crack, and the beauty of the room I was in took me by surprise. As I stared in wonder at the shimmering curtains, the head rose, and I was presented with a gaunt, fierce face.. the face of an elven warrior. Blue-gray eyes that were suddenly so familiar are what I noticed first, dark eyebrows arched over them in greeting.

"Elya. Ortielyë, Kirilla?" a deep, rich voice said quietly, in the rhetorical. The lips of the elven man moved with the words, and I nodded slowly, much too exhausted to wonder how he knew my name.

"." I was so tired, and the pain was still great, yet I was awake. I murmured further in elven-tongue, my eyes slipping down to where a hand with long, slender fingers held my own, then back up. I eyed him curiously.

"You.. answered my call."

He nodded solemnly.

"And.. you were the voice in the darkness?"

"Yes."

"Then I thank you," I said, managing a grateful smile before I rose, sitting up in the bed. As suddenly as I had risen, pain shot up my back and I cried out.

The warrior who had saved me rose quickly, standing his full height, and called loudly. He lowered again and watched me, eyes almost warning me not to move a muscle.

After only moments, two elven women came, bearing satchels with herbs, salves, and the like. One carried a cup of hot tea. Setting their satchels down, they shooed the warrior out, giggling like a pair of geese when they came back to my bedside, whispering to each other in excited tones.

I tried not to roll my eyes in annoyance, but even so, I cleared my throat loudly. They both jumped and peered at me.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dearie. I'm Mearia," one said, flipping a long lock of blonde hair. "We're apprentices, you know, but Lord Elrond told us we were to watch over you. The Prince needs to get back to his business, you know. You've taken up so much of his time..."

"It /is/ sad that he feels he must follow through on all his promises, though," the other murmured, pulling a bit of salve out of her satchel and sitting down on the bed behind me. "I'm putting on the salve now, so do be prepared. It will sting, on wounds such as yours."

"Oh, for Eru's sake, Sarolas, sometimes those warriors are rather quiet and trustworthy. Valar only knows how many times I've wished I could make my darling understand what a promise means."

On they chattered, over many different topics. I was not included, though I listened shamelessly, wondering about the goingson around Rivendell since my last appearance in the area. I was amazed that not all the elves here were as I knew elves to be. Because of the more intimate contact with humans those of Rivendell had had since the wedding of Elessar and Evenstar, they must be growing weaker. The humanity was rubbing off on them. It disgusted me. Yet what disgusted me more so was the fact that I myself had human blood running in my veins.. yet I had not succumbed to some of the traits humans had. So I hoped.

My distaste for the maids grew as they prattled on, and I began ignoring them, focusing more on my wounds, murmuring phrases from the oldest language of the unicorns, Danaron.

"Sumachara. nera sula merafula Kasuffola..." I continued on, speaking a chant of healing and restoration for myself. I realized not how long I had been speaking until a new presence entered the room.

"So. You have returned," the voice of Lord Elrond rang across the room. I stopped abruptly in my chanting and looked up, surprised.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded of the elf lord.

"This is my home," Elrond said, grinning wryly. I chuckled slightly.

"Pardon me, then. I was surprised."

"You have suffered a great deal as of late, Lady Kirilla.. I cannot help but know that your mother would not be happy on my next visit to your secluded home."

I raised my chin defiantly. "I have no real home. I am a wanderer."

"Wanderer or not.. you were brought to Rivendell for a reason.. I do not know what yet. But it will reveal itself in due time. You are indeed an odd child, now that I've known you yet again."

"As if you had much chance those thousand or so years ago. I was still the young warrior who knew all the tricks."

"Still rebellious of your human nature--,"

I cut him off with a spiteful glance in the direction of the doorway, "Human nature, you speak of, Lord Elrond? Do you know what goes on within your own walls?"

He sighed deeply and shook his head, staring off in the direction wistfully. "Aye, I do know. We are not all foolproof as you would believe elves to be. Even the unicorns succumb at times. You have your weaknesses."

"I have none," I said impertinently, refusing to acknowledge it as an untruth.

Elrond snorted derisively. "What are you doing in the healing chambers here at Rivendell, then? You are still young and very ignorant. You may have wandered for many years, Lady Kirilla, but you have not found the wisdom unicorns I have met carry."

I shrugged it off. "It will come. We are as immortal as you elves. And I have chosen to be immortal. Humanity matters not. I refuse to be... human."

"You cannot deny your own nature. Your stubborn attitude and stupidity will get you no where," the lord said in a commanding tone. I winced and leaned back, duly chastised. Elrond sighed again and moved toward the door, pausing for a moment to say, "You have suffered a great deal, lady. You need to rest and recover. Drink your tea. You were meant to come to Rivendell."

I could almost hear pity in his voice, and I seethed in anger, glaring after his form as the Lord of the Last Homely House disappeared. I tried to relax and ponder what meaning my coming to Rivendell could hold, but even then a depression covered me. I refused to cry, though. Warriors who could not be beaten did not cry. Yet a nagging voice carried in the back of my mind as I sipped on the drugged tea... You were beaten, though. You are not all powerful. You can be beaten again. "Oh shut up," I muttered out loud. "It was a one time thing." The tea began to take its effect, and as thoughts whirled in my semiconscious, such a human trait as sleep fell over me, and all was dark.

I dreamt of what Galadriel had meant on our last fateful meeting, when she had bid me a look in her mirror. She told me I was searching for something, but I would not know what it was until I could lose the something. It was something I had apparently never found once in all my two thousand five hundred years of life. Yet, I was willing to go onto this journey, even to go so far as to promise I would not use my unicorn form until it was found. A dangerous promise....