Aniarel woke suddenly. There were noises coming from the door. Her head
ached from having cried herself to sleep, even though she had heard Legolas
call to her. Slowly, as if whoever was doing it was trying to be quiet, the
bolts were drawn back, and the old wood swung in a little way. A small
goblin poked his head around the door.
'Lady?' he lisped softly.
She gave no reply, wondering what he was up to. As she watched, he shuffled into the cell, carrying something wrapped in cloth.
'I bring something for you,' he called, peering through the darkness. 'Lady?'
Aniarel sat up, and the goblin limped over to her, smiling anxiously. He offered her the cloth covered parcel. She eyed it suspiciously.
'What is it?'
The goblin shushed her, and glanced towards the open door.
'Food, lady,' he whispered.
'I thought I wasn't to be given anything,' Aniarel said softly, curious as to why the creature was disobeying his master.
'Master say no bread, no water,' the goblin told her, grinning suddenly.
He pushed the parcel into her hands, and shuffled out quickly, shutting the door as quietly as he could. Aniarel unwrapped the cloth, and found a large slice of pound cake, and half a bottle of Gondor wine. In astonishment, she looked up, hoping to thank him before he left, but the bolts were already being drawn back into place. Left alone in the darkness once again, Aniarel ate her forbidden feast, wondering, for the hundredth time, how her friends were faring.
*~*~*
In the darkness, just beyond the light from their campfire, Galadriel knelt beside Legolas, her hands at his temples. His face was white, and his eyes haunted. Aragorn beckoned Gimli over to him.
'How long has he been like this?'
The dwarf snorted.
'He's been slipping into it since Aniarel was taken,' he replied, his tone revealing his fear for his friend. 'Galadriel says the same will be happening to her as well. It's spreading, too.'
It was. The Lorien elves who had joined them on the quest were all beginning to look pale and drawn, feeling the imminent loss of a well loved friend. Arwen joined them, her face sombre.
'He is grieving for her, and she for him.'
Aragorn looked at his wife, confused.
'I have never seen grief take anyone like this before, Arwen. Are you sure?'
She nodded sadly.
'Elves may be immortal, but we can still die,' she told them. 'From injuries inflicted in battle, or from grief.'
Gimli gasped, horrified. He looked over at the stricken elf, who had revived somewhat under Galadriel's care.
'You mean, if we're too late, they'll both die?' he asked, his voice hushed.
Arwen nodded.
'And probably Thranduil too,' she added, looking over at the elven king. His usual cheerful smile had been replaced with a worried frown as he hovered over his son. He helped Galadriel lay Legolas down in his blankets, and sat beside him, obviously intending to keep a vigil by his side.
The Lady came over to the watchful group.
'I have given him a draught that will help him sleep, but there is little I can do to get him through this. He doesn't seem to want to rest or sleep. His every thought is bent on Aniarel, and where she must be,' she said wearily, sitting down by the fire.
Frodo handed her a plateful of the stew Sam had made, and Merry and Pippin arranged her blankets around her. The hobbits had been waiting on Galadriel and Legolas, hoping to restore some of their strength. When she had finished eating, she sighed sadly, and looked around at the worried faces.
'We have to reach the fort soon,' she told them firmly. 'I can keep Legolas alive as long as I need to, but Aniarel has no one to help her cope. We must get him to her as fast as we can.'
Celeborn wrapped an arm about his wife, letting her head rest on his shoulder. The others drifted away to their blankets, casting anxious glances over at her and at Legolas' recumbent form.
Galadriel sighed, and allowed a tear to fall from her eye.
'She is dying, Celeborn. I can feel her essence fading.'
Celeborn held her tighter, knowing how much the young girl meant to Galadriel.
'We will find her, melamin. They will live, I promise you.'
Galadriel smiled weakly, and nestled against him, hoping that he was right.
*~*~*
'Lady?'
The goblin shook Aniarel's shoulder gently, worry etched on his knobbly face. She slept for most of each day and was becoming harder and harder to wake when he brought her food, against his master's orders. The little elf sighed in her sleep and turned over, an expression of deep sorrow on her slumbering face. The goblin shook her harder, not wanting to hurt her, but frightened that she wasn't waking.
'Lady, you must wake up,' he pleaded, shaking her violently now, her body rocking back and forth against the wooden pallet. Still there was no answering yawn, or the smile she usually wore when he visited. He pulled her hand out from under the blanket and slapped it hard, looking hopefully at her face. No response. He stood silently, lost in thought for a moment, then scurried out of the cell. Within minutes he was back, holding a large handful of snow. He pressed it against her face.
With a shriek, Aniarel sat bolt upright, gasping in shock. The little goblin grinned with relief, rocking back and forth on his heels. She glared at him, wiping the water from her cheeks.
'What was that for?' she demanded.
'Lady wouldn't wake up, Graac didn't know what to do,' the goblin defended himself.
Aniarel frowned, more than a little worried herself.
'I wouldn't wake up again, hmm? Well then, thank you, Graac, I'm sorry I snapped.'
Graac grinned, and pushed her meal into her hands, taking with him the remains of yesterday's food. He sent one last anxious glance at her, and shut the door behind him, pushing the bolts back quietly. Aniarel sipped the cordial from the bottle, her own expression one of anxiety. What was wrong with her? All she seemed to want to do was sleep. It was that or cry. Whenever she was awake for more than a few minutes, her thoughts invariably turned to Legolas, and how her heart ached for him. Then the tears would come, and she would cry until there were no more tears to come. The sleeping in itself wasn't a problem; it was how difficult Graac was finding it to wake her recently.
She felt tight, like a guitar string, but brittle with it, as if she would break if someone ventured to play. Her heart was a cold stone in her chest, getting heavier with each passing day. How long had she been here? Aniarel counted back the days. Just over a month, she realised, with no company but that of her jailer, who had informed her that the master simply wished for her to die. Graac had decided that no one, not even an elf, deserved to die like that, which was why he had been feeding her each day. He wanted to get her out of her prison, but the opportunity had not arisen at all. The fort was guarded too closely, he said.
Aniarel brushed the crumbs from her tunic. That was another of Graac's ideas. He had stolen a complete set of clothing from somewhere, and given it to her, since her gown had been made for the warm climate of Lorien, not the snow covered peaks of the White Mountains. She had found in the bundle a shirt, tunic, and trews, complete with a belt. Graac had carefully measured her feet, and a few days later had produced knee-high fur-lined boots, that were a perfect fit. He had taken the gown and slippers away, having discovered that the sight of them made her weep harder.
She had grown quite fond of the little goblin, giving him the silver circlet as a thank you for his help. Everything he did was to make her more comfortable, or happier, although the latter never seemed to work. When she told him what his master had done, he'd been outraged, jumping up and down with his hand over his mouth to prevent anyone from hearing. That had been when the clothing had arrived. He was currently trying to find her a weapon she could use, despite her protestations that she wouldn't know what to do with it.
Aniarel finished the meat pasty, and lay down again, wanting to fight off the sleep that was threatening to consume her, but finding herself unable to. Slowly her eyes closed, and the world once again grew black.
'Lady?' he lisped softly.
She gave no reply, wondering what he was up to. As she watched, he shuffled into the cell, carrying something wrapped in cloth.
'I bring something for you,' he called, peering through the darkness. 'Lady?'
Aniarel sat up, and the goblin limped over to her, smiling anxiously. He offered her the cloth covered parcel. She eyed it suspiciously.
'What is it?'
The goblin shushed her, and glanced towards the open door.
'Food, lady,' he whispered.
'I thought I wasn't to be given anything,' Aniarel said softly, curious as to why the creature was disobeying his master.
'Master say no bread, no water,' the goblin told her, grinning suddenly.
He pushed the parcel into her hands, and shuffled out quickly, shutting the door as quietly as he could. Aniarel unwrapped the cloth, and found a large slice of pound cake, and half a bottle of Gondor wine. In astonishment, she looked up, hoping to thank him before he left, but the bolts were already being drawn back into place. Left alone in the darkness once again, Aniarel ate her forbidden feast, wondering, for the hundredth time, how her friends were faring.
*~*~*
In the darkness, just beyond the light from their campfire, Galadriel knelt beside Legolas, her hands at his temples. His face was white, and his eyes haunted. Aragorn beckoned Gimli over to him.
'How long has he been like this?'
The dwarf snorted.
'He's been slipping into it since Aniarel was taken,' he replied, his tone revealing his fear for his friend. 'Galadriel says the same will be happening to her as well. It's spreading, too.'
It was. The Lorien elves who had joined them on the quest were all beginning to look pale and drawn, feeling the imminent loss of a well loved friend. Arwen joined them, her face sombre.
'He is grieving for her, and she for him.'
Aragorn looked at his wife, confused.
'I have never seen grief take anyone like this before, Arwen. Are you sure?'
She nodded sadly.
'Elves may be immortal, but we can still die,' she told them. 'From injuries inflicted in battle, or from grief.'
Gimli gasped, horrified. He looked over at the stricken elf, who had revived somewhat under Galadriel's care.
'You mean, if we're too late, they'll both die?' he asked, his voice hushed.
Arwen nodded.
'And probably Thranduil too,' she added, looking over at the elven king. His usual cheerful smile had been replaced with a worried frown as he hovered over his son. He helped Galadriel lay Legolas down in his blankets, and sat beside him, obviously intending to keep a vigil by his side.
The Lady came over to the watchful group.
'I have given him a draught that will help him sleep, but there is little I can do to get him through this. He doesn't seem to want to rest or sleep. His every thought is bent on Aniarel, and where she must be,' she said wearily, sitting down by the fire.
Frodo handed her a plateful of the stew Sam had made, and Merry and Pippin arranged her blankets around her. The hobbits had been waiting on Galadriel and Legolas, hoping to restore some of their strength. When she had finished eating, she sighed sadly, and looked around at the worried faces.
'We have to reach the fort soon,' she told them firmly. 'I can keep Legolas alive as long as I need to, but Aniarel has no one to help her cope. We must get him to her as fast as we can.'
Celeborn wrapped an arm about his wife, letting her head rest on his shoulder. The others drifted away to their blankets, casting anxious glances over at her and at Legolas' recumbent form.
Galadriel sighed, and allowed a tear to fall from her eye.
'She is dying, Celeborn. I can feel her essence fading.'
Celeborn held her tighter, knowing how much the young girl meant to Galadriel.
'We will find her, melamin. They will live, I promise you.'
Galadriel smiled weakly, and nestled against him, hoping that he was right.
*~*~*
'Lady?'
The goblin shook Aniarel's shoulder gently, worry etched on his knobbly face. She slept for most of each day and was becoming harder and harder to wake when he brought her food, against his master's orders. The little elf sighed in her sleep and turned over, an expression of deep sorrow on her slumbering face. The goblin shook her harder, not wanting to hurt her, but frightened that she wasn't waking.
'Lady, you must wake up,' he pleaded, shaking her violently now, her body rocking back and forth against the wooden pallet. Still there was no answering yawn, or the smile she usually wore when he visited. He pulled her hand out from under the blanket and slapped it hard, looking hopefully at her face. No response. He stood silently, lost in thought for a moment, then scurried out of the cell. Within minutes he was back, holding a large handful of snow. He pressed it against her face.
With a shriek, Aniarel sat bolt upright, gasping in shock. The little goblin grinned with relief, rocking back and forth on his heels. She glared at him, wiping the water from her cheeks.
'What was that for?' she demanded.
'Lady wouldn't wake up, Graac didn't know what to do,' the goblin defended himself.
Aniarel frowned, more than a little worried herself.
'I wouldn't wake up again, hmm? Well then, thank you, Graac, I'm sorry I snapped.'
Graac grinned, and pushed her meal into her hands, taking with him the remains of yesterday's food. He sent one last anxious glance at her, and shut the door behind him, pushing the bolts back quietly. Aniarel sipped the cordial from the bottle, her own expression one of anxiety. What was wrong with her? All she seemed to want to do was sleep. It was that or cry. Whenever she was awake for more than a few minutes, her thoughts invariably turned to Legolas, and how her heart ached for him. Then the tears would come, and she would cry until there were no more tears to come. The sleeping in itself wasn't a problem; it was how difficult Graac was finding it to wake her recently.
She felt tight, like a guitar string, but brittle with it, as if she would break if someone ventured to play. Her heart was a cold stone in her chest, getting heavier with each passing day. How long had she been here? Aniarel counted back the days. Just over a month, she realised, with no company but that of her jailer, who had informed her that the master simply wished for her to die. Graac had decided that no one, not even an elf, deserved to die like that, which was why he had been feeding her each day. He wanted to get her out of her prison, but the opportunity had not arisen at all. The fort was guarded too closely, he said.
Aniarel brushed the crumbs from her tunic. That was another of Graac's ideas. He had stolen a complete set of clothing from somewhere, and given it to her, since her gown had been made for the warm climate of Lorien, not the snow covered peaks of the White Mountains. She had found in the bundle a shirt, tunic, and trews, complete with a belt. Graac had carefully measured her feet, and a few days later had produced knee-high fur-lined boots, that were a perfect fit. He had taken the gown and slippers away, having discovered that the sight of them made her weep harder.
She had grown quite fond of the little goblin, giving him the silver circlet as a thank you for his help. Everything he did was to make her more comfortable, or happier, although the latter never seemed to work. When she told him what his master had done, he'd been outraged, jumping up and down with his hand over his mouth to prevent anyone from hearing. That had been when the clothing had arrived. He was currently trying to find her a weapon she could use, despite her protestations that she wouldn't know what to do with it.
Aniarel finished the meat pasty, and lay down again, wanting to fight off the sleep that was threatening to consume her, but finding herself unable to. Slowly her eyes closed, and the world once again grew black.