Soul of Elves
By Solara
Disclaimer: Any characters you recognize right off the bat weren't created by me; they are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien, with whom I claim no equity. Any characters you *don't* recognize right away, though, are mine.
A/N: This is my first LoTR fic, which I'm a little scared to admit because people usually click away from the story when they read that- but, oh well, there it is. This story is set ten years after the War of the Ring, and while it contains many original characters and surrounds one particular one, every effort will be made to avoid the dreaded Mary Sue (and I've gotta say, in five years of reading and writing fic in several different fandoms, the true definition of "Mary Sue" is as elusive as ever. Anyone want to give me their version?). Elvish names were created using several online resources and the Silmarillion index. Hope you enjoy!
Asterisks (*) denote thoughts; double slashes (//) denote flashbacks.
Setting: Ten years after RoTK.
*****
Chapter One- The Escape
-----
*Keep breathing. Breathe.*
Her foot snagged on a bush; she staggered before continuing her sprint. Pain slashed through her chest and head like a knife.
There was blood in her mouth.
*You must keep breathing! You must get away! Breathe!*
But it was growing increasingly difficult for the young elf-maiden as she ran blindly through the woods; blood from her head dripped into her eyes, and her ears were filled with the roar of pain and of panic that threatened her flight. Her entire body ached; her back was a burning, wrenching, dripping mass-
*A Elbereth,* she cried out in her mind. *Someone, save me!*
Her pursuer was relentless. Not even her admittedly weak attempts to lose him were having the slightest effect; she had assumed that she would be able to outrun him, even in her horribly weakened, wounded state, but he persisted. She could practically smell him, could feel the weight of his boots tramping down the sweet grass and twigs of the fair wood as he ran after her.
She thought of the previous night, when his foul breath had been even closer to her face, and she had drawn blood from her lip before allowing him the pleasure of hearing her cry out. No, she would not give the beast that satisfaction. Not even when-
//With a snarl, the man picked her up by her hair again- her scalp ached so, but that was the least of her worries- and threw her onto her stomach... her bound hands pressed into her throbbing ribs... vaguely, as the whip was raised, she thought that she mustn't jar her ribs too much, lest the broken ends puncture her lungs- then the lash fell, and she knew no more than the blinding fire that forced the breath from her lungs in a great gasp and her own teeth biting hard on her lip, willing her not to let her screams rip from her ragged throat-//
*They never did make me scream,* she thought, finding satisfaction in the memory. *Not even a sound lashing could break me.*
Her feet and legs were beginning to spasm, and yet she would not allow herself to stop.
Low-hanging branches bent for her, allowing her to pass unharmed; she heard her pursuer's grunts of frustration as the tree limbs thwacked back into place on top of him. *Thank you, thank you!* She willed the trees to understand, even though she knew they could not. *Hear me! I thank you!*
Had she not been so well-versed in her captors' capabilities, she would have readily accepted the trees' help and climbed away, high above the ground, leaving the beastly man with his heavy boots and gear; but no, she remembered all too well what had happened three nights ago, during her first escape attempt.
//She was climbing, branches reaching out to her like arms, pulling her away- she could hear her captors arguing on the ground, their voices rough- then the arrow slammed into her shoulder and she fell...
"Got her! She'll not run far in this condition-"
"Chop the tree up for firewood."
*I'm so sorry!* she cried out with her mind to the tree. She wanted to weep, but the pain in her shoulder took her...//
*He'll just shoot me down and drag me back.* She was growing desperate. *By the Valar, what has come over these men, that they could do such things to elves!*
Her traveling companions had not had the opportunity to escape, nor even to fight; that much she knew. She had been gathering firewood for their camp two weeks ago when she had heard it- the distinct ringing in her ears, of danger- her instinct, which had always been more trustworthy than that of her kin, took over and she ran blindly back to the camp, dropping the firewood, her bow drawn-
*Forgive me,* her mind screamed. *Forgive me, my dear friends!*
//Six faces, terrified and dulled, eyes wide and dark and staring. Blood everywhere. Bows, knives, all weapons on the ground- they hadn't even drawn them.
She literally choked on the death surrounding her, staggering backward a step, a ragged gasp escaping her throat. It was physically painful; her lungs wouldn't draw breath. A dull roar began in her ears and red clouded her vision as the scene hit her fully.
There was nothing to shoot; the area was silent with death. She stood as still as stone, unable to move.
Her best friend Miliar stared at her glassily; the eyes saw nothing. Blood trickled from the elf-warrioress' mouth. Her captain, Vorondil, lay facedown in the dirt. His arms were gone.
She heard a scream, a cry so shrill and full of pain that she was shaken to her core; more so when she realized that the scream came from her. She dropped her bow. Her hands were beginning to shake.
Before she could rush to them, before the horror and grief could fully take hold, a sickening feeling came over her; what felt like a dark, cold, wet blanket over her sight and sound and thoughts. She backed away, clutching her head, and knew beyond a doubt that she had to get away from the place; having enough sense to grab her bow, she turned and ran, and the men she suddenly saw coming back to the camp did not see her flee...//
*Ironic,* she thought ruefully, *that the very plague that brought on my friends' deaths saved my life.*
For there was no question that the grief would have killed her. Even now, as she ran, desperately trying to escape, the image of her six dead companions, warriors all, clouded her vision and threatened to choke her. A small bubble of sorrow lay deep within her chest. She squashed it down further.
*I am sorry, my friends, but there will be time to mourn you later if I live through this.*
Her feet pounded over the woodland, and she shuddered. She found comfort in the trees whizzing past, and felt their concern for her life strongly. She wished she had the ability to thank them. She wished more fiercely, however, for her sword and her bow and quiver- or her horse, for that matter.
Her horse- was he even alive? Had the men killed that gentle, loyal beauty as well?
She had been miles away from the Old Forest, from her dead friends, when the cold wet blanket had finally eased off; she had called her horse desperately, but the faithful red stallion had not come to her whistle... when she had made it safely through the Shire to Bree, she had said a prayer for her beloved companion.
*Airuin, you must be all right!* she willed, wishing that she had a stronger bond with nature, wishing that she could feel her horse's life- force as many of her kin could.
Her odd inadequacy frustrated her, not for the first time in her life. Sharper Elven senses would have aided her, perhaps helped her avoid capture, when they came for her in Bree.
//She was outside the Prancing Pony when the wet cold blanket fell over her senses again; she wanted to scream with the agony of being shut off from the world. She fell to the ground and was only dimly aware of being grabbed up, examined, a grey-skinned face bobbing in her clouded vision... then she was bound hand and foot, bruised, hung over the side of a horse. *Where are they taking me?!* she thought frantically, her mind fuzzy and throbbing from their cursed weapon...//
Blackness was beginning to dance small dots in her vision, and the pain in her body was making her sick. Her back was literally in flames. Her foot caught on a tree root, and as she stumbled slightly she felt it recoil, saddened that it had hampered the life-flight of an elf. She wiped blood from her face and chanced a look back as she ran.
Big mistake- but before she could curse herself for being so foolish, the dark cold blanket was dropped on her the moment she made eye contact with the demon chasing her. With a cry, she fell to the ground, rolling into a clearing and clutching her already wounded head.
The man chasing her reached her in a matter of seconds. "You-" he aimed a kick at her side, and her broken ribs screamed in her chest- "have proven to be much more trouble than I think you are worth."
She rolled away and tried to rise; he aided her by grasping her hair and yanking her upright, his face close to hers.
"I find you no more than a pretty little trifle, and mysterious at that; who else of your kind has hair like this?" His foul breath steamed into her nose, which wrinkled, and with a laugh he twisted her red-gold curls, dirty and matted, between his huge beefy fingers. She cringed. "But my master seems to think you are worth something, and so we will be sharing many more lovely nights together-"
He was not expecting her kick to his groin, a part of his body upon which she could have vented all of her anger. His hand ripped painfully out of her hair as she spun away, the cold blanket fading slightly; she was able to make out her surroundings somewhat.
Her stomach dropped. A cliff. *Manwe, what have I done to deserve this?* her mind shouted. There was nowhere to go but down- or into the arms of her captor.
She was reminded just how undesirable an option that was when his blade dug into the flesh of her arm, cutting open a new wound; throwing herself back, inching towards the cliff, she faced him anew.
His grey skin and black eyes were darker than usual. "You cannot run," he hissed. "My master will have you- *I* will have you. You will never escape me, my pretty little Elven princess-"
Desperation and disgust slammed into her like a rockslide. *I will NOT be his slave!*
Her spittle, tainted with blood, flew onto his face from a good distance away as she backed towards the precipice. "I will never be yours," she said, speaking for the first time in days, her throat ragged from the boiling liquid they had poured down it. "And you can tell your master that an elf is not so easily broken."
She knew what she had to do. His eyes narrowed at her, guessing her plan.
"To Mordor with you," she told him, her voice quiet, cold. She then stepped calmly off the cliff into thin air.
She heard his yell of anger and the rushing of water as she fell, and sighed. *At least I ended it my own way,* she thought sorrowfully, with no fear, only relief. *Ah, Valinor, Valinor! I am ready...*
Blackness took her.
-----
Well? What do you think? This is just the beginning of what is turning into a pretty lengthy epic on my hard drive. not to worry, recognizable characters will be present in the next chapter! PLEASE read and review!
By Solara
Disclaimer: Any characters you recognize right off the bat weren't created by me; they are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien, with whom I claim no equity. Any characters you *don't* recognize right away, though, are mine.
A/N: This is my first LoTR fic, which I'm a little scared to admit because people usually click away from the story when they read that- but, oh well, there it is. This story is set ten years after the War of the Ring, and while it contains many original characters and surrounds one particular one, every effort will be made to avoid the dreaded Mary Sue (and I've gotta say, in five years of reading and writing fic in several different fandoms, the true definition of "Mary Sue" is as elusive as ever. Anyone want to give me their version?). Elvish names were created using several online resources and the Silmarillion index. Hope you enjoy!
Asterisks (*) denote thoughts; double slashes (//) denote flashbacks.
Setting: Ten years after RoTK.
*****
Chapter One- The Escape
-----
*Keep breathing. Breathe.*
Her foot snagged on a bush; she staggered before continuing her sprint. Pain slashed through her chest and head like a knife.
There was blood in her mouth.
*You must keep breathing! You must get away! Breathe!*
But it was growing increasingly difficult for the young elf-maiden as she ran blindly through the woods; blood from her head dripped into her eyes, and her ears were filled with the roar of pain and of panic that threatened her flight. Her entire body ached; her back was a burning, wrenching, dripping mass-
*A Elbereth,* she cried out in her mind. *Someone, save me!*
Her pursuer was relentless. Not even her admittedly weak attempts to lose him were having the slightest effect; she had assumed that she would be able to outrun him, even in her horribly weakened, wounded state, but he persisted. She could practically smell him, could feel the weight of his boots tramping down the sweet grass and twigs of the fair wood as he ran after her.
She thought of the previous night, when his foul breath had been even closer to her face, and she had drawn blood from her lip before allowing him the pleasure of hearing her cry out. No, she would not give the beast that satisfaction. Not even when-
//With a snarl, the man picked her up by her hair again- her scalp ached so, but that was the least of her worries- and threw her onto her stomach... her bound hands pressed into her throbbing ribs... vaguely, as the whip was raised, she thought that she mustn't jar her ribs too much, lest the broken ends puncture her lungs- then the lash fell, and she knew no more than the blinding fire that forced the breath from her lungs in a great gasp and her own teeth biting hard on her lip, willing her not to let her screams rip from her ragged throat-//
*They never did make me scream,* she thought, finding satisfaction in the memory. *Not even a sound lashing could break me.*
Her feet and legs were beginning to spasm, and yet she would not allow herself to stop.
Low-hanging branches bent for her, allowing her to pass unharmed; she heard her pursuer's grunts of frustration as the tree limbs thwacked back into place on top of him. *Thank you, thank you!* She willed the trees to understand, even though she knew they could not. *Hear me! I thank you!*
Had she not been so well-versed in her captors' capabilities, she would have readily accepted the trees' help and climbed away, high above the ground, leaving the beastly man with his heavy boots and gear; but no, she remembered all too well what had happened three nights ago, during her first escape attempt.
//She was climbing, branches reaching out to her like arms, pulling her away- she could hear her captors arguing on the ground, their voices rough- then the arrow slammed into her shoulder and she fell...
"Got her! She'll not run far in this condition-"
"Chop the tree up for firewood."
*I'm so sorry!* she cried out with her mind to the tree. She wanted to weep, but the pain in her shoulder took her...//
*He'll just shoot me down and drag me back.* She was growing desperate. *By the Valar, what has come over these men, that they could do such things to elves!*
Her traveling companions had not had the opportunity to escape, nor even to fight; that much she knew. She had been gathering firewood for their camp two weeks ago when she had heard it- the distinct ringing in her ears, of danger- her instinct, which had always been more trustworthy than that of her kin, took over and she ran blindly back to the camp, dropping the firewood, her bow drawn-
*Forgive me,* her mind screamed. *Forgive me, my dear friends!*
//Six faces, terrified and dulled, eyes wide and dark and staring. Blood everywhere. Bows, knives, all weapons on the ground- they hadn't even drawn them.
She literally choked on the death surrounding her, staggering backward a step, a ragged gasp escaping her throat. It was physically painful; her lungs wouldn't draw breath. A dull roar began in her ears and red clouded her vision as the scene hit her fully.
There was nothing to shoot; the area was silent with death. She stood as still as stone, unable to move.
Her best friend Miliar stared at her glassily; the eyes saw nothing. Blood trickled from the elf-warrioress' mouth. Her captain, Vorondil, lay facedown in the dirt. His arms were gone.
She heard a scream, a cry so shrill and full of pain that she was shaken to her core; more so when she realized that the scream came from her. She dropped her bow. Her hands were beginning to shake.
Before she could rush to them, before the horror and grief could fully take hold, a sickening feeling came over her; what felt like a dark, cold, wet blanket over her sight and sound and thoughts. She backed away, clutching her head, and knew beyond a doubt that she had to get away from the place; having enough sense to grab her bow, she turned and ran, and the men she suddenly saw coming back to the camp did not see her flee...//
*Ironic,* she thought ruefully, *that the very plague that brought on my friends' deaths saved my life.*
For there was no question that the grief would have killed her. Even now, as she ran, desperately trying to escape, the image of her six dead companions, warriors all, clouded her vision and threatened to choke her. A small bubble of sorrow lay deep within her chest. She squashed it down further.
*I am sorry, my friends, but there will be time to mourn you later if I live through this.*
Her feet pounded over the woodland, and she shuddered. She found comfort in the trees whizzing past, and felt their concern for her life strongly. She wished she had the ability to thank them. She wished more fiercely, however, for her sword and her bow and quiver- or her horse, for that matter.
Her horse- was he even alive? Had the men killed that gentle, loyal beauty as well?
She had been miles away from the Old Forest, from her dead friends, when the cold wet blanket had finally eased off; she had called her horse desperately, but the faithful red stallion had not come to her whistle... when she had made it safely through the Shire to Bree, she had said a prayer for her beloved companion.
*Airuin, you must be all right!* she willed, wishing that she had a stronger bond with nature, wishing that she could feel her horse's life- force as many of her kin could.
Her odd inadequacy frustrated her, not for the first time in her life. Sharper Elven senses would have aided her, perhaps helped her avoid capture, when they came for her in Bree.
//She was outside the Prancing Pony when the wet cold blanket fell over her senses again; she wanted to scream with the agony of being shut off from the world. She fell to the ground and was only dimly aware of being grabbed up, examined, a grey-skinned face bobbing in her clouded vision... then she was bound hand and foot, bruised, hung over the side of a horse. *Where are they taking me?!* she thought frantically, her mind fuzzy and throbbing from their cursed weapon...//
Blackness was beginning to dance small dots in her vision, and the pain in her body was making her sick. Her back was literally in flames. Her foot caught on a tree root, and as she stumbled slightly she felt it recoil, saddened that it had hampered the life-flight of an elf. She wiped blood from her face and chanced a look back as she ran.
Big mistake- but before she could curse herself for being so foolish, the dark cold blanket was dropped on her the moment she made eye contact with the demon chasing her. With a cry, she fell to the ground, rolling into a clearing and clutching her already wounded head.
The man chasing her reached her in a matter of seconds. "You-" he aimed a kick at her side, and her broken ribs screamed in her chest- "have proven to be much more trouble than I think you are worth."
She rolled away and tried to rise; he aided her by grasping her hair and yanking her upright, his face close to hers.
"I find you no more than a pretty little trifle, and mysterious at that; who else of your kind has hair like this?" His foul breath steamed into her nose, which wrinkled, and with a laugh he twisted her red-gold curls, dirty and matted, between his huge beefy fingers. She cringed. "But my master seems to think you are worth something, and so we will be sharing many more lovely nights together-"
He was not expecting her kick to his groin, a part of his body upon which she could have vented all of her anger. His hand ripped painfully out of her hair as she spun away, the cold blanket fading slightly; she was able to make out her surroundings somewhat.
Her stomach dropped. A cliff. *Manwe, what have I done to deserve this?* her mind shouted. There was nowhere to go but down- or into the arms of her captor.
She was reminded just how undesirable an option that was when his blade dug into the flesh of her arm, cutting open a new wound; throwing herself back, inching towards the cliff, she faced him anew.
His grey skin and black eyes were darker than usual. "You cannot run," he hissed. "My master will have you- *I* will have you. You will never escape me, my pretty little Elven princess-"
Desperation and disgust slammed into her like a rockslide. *I will NOT be his slave!*
Her spittle, tainted with blood, flew onto his face from a good distance away as she backed towards the precipice. "I will never be yours," she said, speaking for the first time in days, her throat ragged from the boiling liquid they had poured down it. "And you can tell your master that an elf is not so easily broken."
She knew what she had to do. His eyes narrowed at her, guessing her plan.
"To Mordor with you," she told him, her voice quiet, cold. She then stepped calmly off the cliff into thin air.
She heard his yell of anger and the rushing of water as she fell, and sighed. *At least I ended it my own way,* she thought sorrowfully, with no fear, only relief. *Ah, Valinor, Valinor! I am ready...*
Blackness took her.
-----
Well? What do you think? This is just the beginning of what is turning into a pretty lengthy epic on my hard drive. not to worry, recognizable characters will be present in the next chapter! PLEASE read and review!