Note: Much as I would love to, I don't own any Elves. Just Danali, who will have to do for now. J.R.R. Tolkien created them, and his they shall remain.

Thanks a million to everyone who reviews or has reviewed. I know this isn't the most thrilling adventure story you've ever read, and I appreciate you sticking with me. (

Fire and Rain

They had been raised in sterile grimness and stark isolation, soldiers being prepared for what great battles were to come, whatever they might be. Girls they were, and chosen so for their quiet resilience and inner strength. Trained from an early age to kill or be killed, their lives twisted and wrapped around the harsh rules of war, the children knew only violence, and fear, and death. Coldness was the only gleam in their eyes, suspicion and alertness their only friends. Unsmiling killing machines, the Master remarked of them once, with a sad pride. They're going to save this world and all the poor bastards in it, they are. And then they're going to die.

He was a proud and battered man, the product of years of rigorous training in the great kingdom of Gondor; that is, until Gondor had fallen somewhat into a pitiable state of martial disrepair. The Steward grew careless in his vigilance, the people grew indifferent, and as time continued it's ineluctable march over the world, the Master became consumed with worry and frustration, until he decided to gather matters into his own hands. He would create an army that would eventually put an end to the despair that was slowly crushing Middle-earth in it's vise-like grip. Quietly, unnoticed by most, he would strike a fatal wound to the evil that the Elves had been unable to stop. He would become a god.

Slowly, the delusions crept over and suffocated his mind until he believed he held the solution, the key to unlocking the unbreakable stone door of vengeance. He formulated a plan, an experiment of the riskiest degree, and once he had painstakingly chosen the women, he set it in motion. Nine months later, twenty strong girl babies were selected from his stock, taken from their weeping mothers to fulfill his chaotic dreams.

He could not create Elves, but he could come close.



Danali was trained proficiently in the martial arts. At three years of age she could wield a bow and arrow; at seven years she could hit a bulls-eye three in a row, rapid fire. The sword was second nature to her, the short knives were simple handling. By the age of twelve, the girls were as lethal as the famed soldiers of Gondor. They were regularly dispatched to hunt small bands of Orcs and often returned successful, only slightly bloodied and bearing gruesome trophies of their missions. The raids became games, competitions among the young warriors for the heady inebriation of glory. Day by day, the woods were rid of a few more Orcs, and the girls' lust for bloodshed grew, to the delight of their masters, their overlords, the ones they hated and loved most.

They were ruled with an iron fist. They learned early on that crying was a weakness reserved for the timid souls unfit for survival, and also learned to hate.

They were taught to speak fluently in the tongue of the Fair and Ancient, were taught to revere the Elves as gods, and were pressured to emulate the great deeds of their immortal cousins in everything. They were taught as well to regard themselves with disdain, and grew accustomed to having insults hurled at their spirits. Every warped perception the Master held of the world was imprinted on the young women's malleable hearts, and they soon found themselves unable to wrench free of the cold chains wrapped around their souls, their identities stolen from them, never to be returned.

They were taught to kill.

Their souls were knotted and warped into hideous remnants of the beautiful creatures they could have been, their minds were spattered with blood.



One evening, when she was fourteen years old, Danali was denied her place in the hunting party for supposed insubordination. She calmly watched the girls glide away and melt into the twilit forest from her doorstep, then blankly walked inside and released a crippled pet rabbit from it's cage. She fed it some carrots, then, pretending it was the Master, bludgeoned it to death with a broken tree branch.

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The footsteps lightly crunching on the golden leaves were the only sounds in the still wood as the small party marched through the Naith of Lorien en route to the great tree city of Caras Galadhon.

Orophin and Lothir walked in front, their soft conversation contrasting with the awkward silence behind them. Rumil's head remained ramrod straight, his eyes staring ahead at the leaf-strewn path before them, his mouth set in thought. Danali shuffled beside him, her feet scattering the multi-hued leaves in little eddies to the side of the road. Eyes downcast, she pretended to observe with interest the colorful ground, but instead grew bored and began multiplying numbers in her head. She did not notice the group had stopped until she walked into Lothir, who almost toppled backwards from the force.

"Nine by twelve is one-hundred eight!" She blurted out harshly, startled. Her eyes grew wide upon seeing the perplexed Elves standing around her, the hint of a smile forming on Orophin's face. His rich moss-colored eyes danced.

" And eight by four is thirty-two. The day grows long, and night stalks us. Would you care to take a rest, Dani?"

Taken slightly aback, Danali could only nod her head slowly. Orophin grinned playfully and flipped a lock of her hair over her shoulder as he swept past her to hunt for firewood, Lothir in tow. Danali remained frozen until Rumil waved a hand in front of her eyes and bid her set down her pack. Her mind continued to swirl ponderously as she helped Rumil prepare the camp.

They finished early, and Rumil sat down cross-legged on the forest floor amid the crisp wafers of gold to search his pack for food. Danali wandered over to a sturdy log and carefully rested her weary legs, observing the weeping trees shedding their tears of gold and red to splash on the ground. A simple tune leaped into her head and she began humming softly to the evening until a soft voice interrupted her mind's wanderings.

" What song is that, lady? I have not heard it."

The humming ceased. Danali's gaze crept languidly downwards until it fell upon the inquisitive Elf. He was turned to face her, his grave eyes calmly searching hers. She blushed.

" I know not. I made it up."

Rumil's somber countenance lifted a little, and Danali was relieved to see no sign of amusement on his features.

" Sing some more. I am sure even the trees are enchanted."

The blush deepened and spread. Danali concentrated on her folded hands and cleared her throat to change the subject. Singing had been ridiculed at Nencoras.

" Have the Elves lived in these woods long?" Her curiosity was genuine, and she had been wondering about the enigmatic beings lately.

Rumil turned back around, placed his pack on the ground and thoughtfully walked over and settled himself on the log close to Danali. His eyes shimmered wistfully as he spoke, staring vacantly into the mystical dusk.

" For as long as the trees can remember. I have never known any other home, and I have not been far from it's borders in all my years."

His right hand slipped up to rest lightly on the glossy bark of a tree behind him, and his voice mingled with the placid breeze.

" My heart belongs here."

Danali lowered her eyes and turned her head to gaze off in the opposite direction. An enchanting scent of pine and autumn gently swirled around the two, and a reflective stillness lightly reclined in the small clearing.

The peace was shattered by Orophin and Lothir busily piling wood in the fire ring and striking stones to create a spark. Rumil nimbly rose and was soon parceling out dinner to the companions, which was hungrily devoured around the cheerful little blaze in short time. Afterwards, Orophin volunteered to stand first watch if Rumil would finally tell him of the feast he had missed. Rumil rolled his eyes and consented, and soon the cool dark of night descended to blanket the world in shade as Rumil began describing the celebration.

Lothir reclined against a nearby tree and carved into a thick branch while Danali and Rumil reposed against another. Orophin's eyes were fixed with rapt attention upon Rumil as he spoke. The soft Elven voice lulled the girl's senses, and her eyes grew heavy with slumber. She gathered her cloak sleepily about her and sighed as her lids closed and her body relaxed. She pressed into the warm body next to her and slipped into dreams tinged with starlight.

Rumil seemed not to notice the peaceful form slumbering on him until he finished recounting the festival and bid his brother goodnight. He sighed and pulled a large grey-blue blanket from his pack that shimmered strangely in the crystal moonlight, carefully draped it over him and the girl, and closed his own eyes in Elven meditation, his breathing deep and measured.

The moonrays dissolved into Orophin's eyes and accented the light that burned in them. The penetrating silver-green gaze remained steady on the sleeping companions, then wandered heavenwards to greet the cold glowing orb as it traversed it's path amongst the glittering points of white in the velvet deeps. The wings of night found Orophin singing softly to the stars as they folded against the earth to sleep.





Another note (To all who care): This is not a romance. It never will be. I simply don't believe Elves are as reserved as Men about displaying affection to each other or others, for that matter. The Elves are being nice, and Danali is too screwed up anyway to fall in love. There. That's my annoying little disclaimer. No more, I promise. (