Chapter 10 means there are five chapters after it. We're nearing the end. *waits out cheers and boos* That is both good and bad. Good, in that we're getting closer to the sequel with Legolas in it, for those of you who are anticipating our favorite elf. Bad, in that we're getting closer to the sequel with Legolas in it and I have not got it finished. Hehm. I've reached a stumbling block, basically, and have just added school into the mix along with volleyball, which starts Monday. Fun, fun. That, and I've been corrupted by Harry Potter, which means I'm writing a little on that and it's distracting me from my wonderful--*hears coughs from some of the readers* Uh, entertaining, story.
Er...right. Now, after my customary word to my wonderful, delightful, always appreciated reviewers, we can get onto this next chapter, putting you one more chapter closer to the end--though perhaps not all that much closer to the answers you desire. *winces* Most of the explanations come in the next story, I think. I really can't remember, but I think that's the way it ended up. I'll know for sure when I go to proof-read the remaining chapters. Hehe. Sorry in advance, though that gives you the perfect incentive to continue reading. Hehe--um. Right.
Grumpy: Hm, yes, multiple baddies. Wonder who will reach them first. Glad you enjoyed.
Bill the Pony2: Ooh, identical twins cousins. Yikes. I don't know if I should apologize or cheer. Freaking people out was, after all, the idea. After all, why should Aragorn be the only one to suffer? "Wow" is always a good thing. *smiles widely* Thanks, so happy you enjoyed.
Tereza: Ah, forgiven. And I love writing Elladan and Elrohir because they can be so much fun. And who said Elladan and Elrohir were going to rescue him? *looks expectant* Ah, this started out as a crazy whim, was written in my head, and was simply completed before I started posting. Posting it was a crazy whim, too, by the way. Lol. It's going so much better than I thought it would.
Now, on to the chapter. Enjoy. (I hope I didn't mess it up when I made the changes. Sorry if I did.)
Tread the Darkness
Silence hung in the air as the two companions made their way through the long dark tunnels, the flickering flame from the torch held aloft their only light. They had traveled for many hours at a quick pace and, by Aragorn's estimation, covered at least three leagues, though he was finding it difficult to measure and he had long since lost track of the passage of time. He was tired but he would not admit it. Pride would not allow it though he ached and it was becoming more and more difficult to keep his legs moving forward.
He frowned as he stumbled slightly, glancing almost guiltily at Kalya to see if she had noticed. If she had, though, she made no sign and he breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted was to be weak. Isildur was weak.
He closed his eyes painfully and reached out to brace a hand against the cave wall to keep his balance. Memories flooded his mind, sending pain shooting through his heart, stealing his breath. Why could not he be normal? Why did he have to carry a destiny that was too large for him? Why did he have to hurt everyone he loved? Why did they have to suffer because of him? He stumbled again and barely bit off a curse that would have given him away immediately.
"We'll rest here," Kalya announced suddenly, stopping before he could protest and propping the torch against the wall. The sudden stop nearly sent the man sprawling across the floor.
He glared at her. "I'm fine. We should move on."
"You are not fine. That was the fifth time you've stumbled in as many minutes."
His eyes narrowed. She had known of his weakness. "We gain nothing by stopping. You said yourself I cannot sleep, so we should move on."
"You must rest even if you cannot sleep."
"I want to--"
"Aragorn--"
"What did you call me?" he demanded suddenly, advancing on her, his eyes flashing.
Surprised, Kalya tried to back up and found she had no where to go, her eyes flashing in what appeared to be fear. He stopped. She licked her lips in a gesture of nerves he had never seen before from her. "Aragorn," she declared, her voice steady.
"Where did you hear that name?" he continued dangerously.
She hesitated briefly before answering. "You claimed it in your sleep while you were dreaming. I heard you say it while I was trying to wake you." Her blue eyes, dark in the dim lighting, watched him intently, but Aragorn took no notice.
She knew his identity. He was supposed to keep it a secret. He had proven his weakness. He turned away from her, stumbling to the far wall. He was a disgrace. He could never be king, never. The people would not be able to trust him. He had given his word. He would tell no one, no one could know. His mind whirled in a circle before grasping onto one thought: his family was right to disown him.
He gasped and fell to his knees, his hands moving to press against the sides of his head, hoping to hold it together.
*"You never were good enough"
"I can't imagine why father took you in."
"So weak."*
He hissed slightly between his teeth, pain flooding through his body, forcing him forward as he sought to ward it off. He folded in on himself, hoping to escape. The world around him dimmed.
*"Do you care for my daughter so little, son of Arathorn?"
"Do you care nothing for her own feelings?"
"They will die because of you."
"Evil was allowed to remain."
"Because of you, he will die."
His friend's body lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving, his eyes staring sightlessly far too wide to be sleeping, horror shining brightly in their sightless depths, chilling his blood even further. Blood pooled around him, soaking the ground that did not seem to be there and yet was. Too much blood. Some of it leaked from the side of the being's mouth, from the corner's of his eyes, his nose. A large spot colored his tunic, darkening most of the dark green fabric with its horrid stain.*
A hand touched his back, but he barely noticed it. The pain. . . .
"Aragorn," a voice called and he focused on it against his will. The darkness called him. It could give relief from this pain. "Aragorn, you must focus on me. Focus on me and the pain will ease, I promise, but you must leave the darkness."
He looked up at Kalya with bleary eyes full of pain.
She smiled at him encouragingly. "That's it, Strider, focus on me. We are going on a walk, there is nothing to fear here. No one will find us hear. No worries."
He focused on her, forced himself to listen to the words she spoke and slowly, ever so slowly, the pain began to diminish. Eventually, he got his breathing back under control and the pressure in his mind eased.
Kalya shifted and sat crossed-legged on the floor before him, her gaze intent. "It takes you, the darkness. You must fight it or you will die. If you do not fight the shadows will take you and there will come a point when I will no longer be able to draw you back."
"I do not want to be drawn back," he told her testily.
She seemed unfazed. "It feeds off of your insecurities. Any fears you hold are fair game. The visions will only get worse before the end, even if you do not fight. The only difference shall be that you will never wake. What you see in your visions is only your fears, not truth itself."
"You do not know what I see."
"Tell me."
He looked away. Images flashed before his eyes. "I cannot. It is too painful."
She was quiet for a long moment. "Who are you, Aragorn, that you would hide your name?"
He hesitated, thinking through her request. He was not supposed to tell anyone, lest the information fall into the hands of evil, yet he was dying. Kalya had admitted as much herself. Once he was dead, the information would be able to hurt no one for there would be no use for it. He had given up hope, there was no reason to withhold the information from someone he could not convince himself not to trust. There was nothing more she could do to him anyway. He leaned back against the rock wall.
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's heir and heir to the throne of Gondor," he intoned wearily. He was staring straight ahead and so missed the shock that danced across Kalya's face.
She stared unseeing at the wall across from her. Isildur's heir, she mused in horrified fascination. I was supposed to find him and found him by accident. Now I have given up my life to save him and I was supposed to kill him. I would have killed him and never known it. Where does that leave me?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Nirt ran up to the group gathered in a circle around something on the ground. Adrenaline coursed through her bodyand everything seemed sharper to her somehow. She slowed down as she reached them and two of the group moved aside to let her in. Her first look around revealed what held everyone so enraptured.
Shirk knelt beside a map spread out on the rocky ground of the mountainside, studying a map which represented their best estimate of the locations of the various tunnels running under the surface--a map which was probably largely incomplete; no one knew where all the tunnels were, nor where all of them went. It was a labyrinth which would take more than one person multiple years to fully explore and uncover every single passage beneath the Misty Mountains. Luckily, such a feat was not necessary for their purposes. Nirt could see it in Shirk's posture, in his bearing. He was excited . . . satisfied.
The being looked up, both fair and terrible at the same time, a contrast incredible to see, his gray eyes flashing with inner fire, burning with the intensity of the sun; it was no wonder he was followed, no wonder he was feared. His eyes held hers and he smiled, an expression which sent shivers up her spine of an unidentifiable emotion. "We have her," he declared, his voice low and menacing. "She is before us but we will reach our destination first."
"My lord?"
He looked to the south, his gaze unfocusing slightly, the expression long familiar to her, then he looked back. "She will make for the Hidden Pass. It is the only location in this region where the herb necessary to save the human grows. She will need it to save him and will go there. We will be waiting for her." Nirt smiled as well, his excitement becoming her own. He glanced at another man beside him, his look bordering on feral before he stood, commanding the attention of all. "Come. We make for the Pass."
The group stood and watched as their leader took off in the indicated direction, most following immediately on his trail. Nirt took one last look around her, a strange sense that something had been overlooked sweeping through her.
Torl came up and stopped next to her. "We'll be there in two days."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Both sat silent but for different reasons. Kalya was the first to rouse herself, shaking off her thoughts, having decided to ensure he lived through this. Shirk no longer deserved her loyalty, that much she was sure of. And if Sauron wanted him dead, that was reason enough for her to want him alive. After that . . . well, she would decide when it came to after that. "Come. You are right, we should keep moving."
Aragorn looked up as Kalya stood, stooping to pick up the strap to her pack and the torch. She looked down at him and raised an eyebrow imperiously. He attempted to smile and climbed to his feet, his movements unsteady. A small hand steadied him.
He focused on regaining his balance and pushed everything else away. Every emotion, every image, everything that he did not need, far away into the darkest reaches of his mind, away from his thoughts. When that was done, he felt better.
Somewhat back to himself, he looked at her. "Will you tell me who you are now?"
Her eyes clouded and she looked away. "I do not know."
He frowned. "Surely you must know."
"No, I must not, for if I did you would be dead." She started walking once more, and he followed.
"Explain." Her answer made no sense to him.
She glanced back at him and sighed. "You know, I suppose, that I am not what I have said, or not all that I have said. I know Shirk . . . personally. My 'experiences' with the Slyntari come from the fact that I am a member of the group."
It was his turn to be surprised. "You are Slyntari?"
She nodded.
"And the Slyntari are trying to kill me?" he asked. She nodded again. "They why did you save me?"
She glanced at him, then started walking faster. "I do not know."
"You like that phrase," he observed, matching her pace despite his fatigue.
"It is the truth."
He was silent a moment, contemplating this new information about his companion. She was the enemy and yet she had tended him, cared for him, protected him. He had told her the truth about his heritage. Was she trustworthy?
Again his head screamed no and his instincts screamed yes. He briefly touched his fingertips to his forehead. Constantly being pulled in two directions was deterimental to one's health, he was sure. He would give just about anything to breath fresh air again. "Where are you taking me?"
She glanced back at him and that same measuring look he had noted earlier was in her gaze. "To Rivendell."
And suddenly, he knew why she had hesitated before answering. The name, the memories that went with it sent a burst of pain through his mind, making lights flash and curl before his eyes. He stumbled.
Kalya caught him, and he clung to the feeling of her hands against his skin as a basis to reality, needing something to ground him. As the pain resided he heard, "Trust yourself, Aragorn. Do not listen to the shadows for they have ever hidden truth from sight."
He blinked as he looked up at her. That was an Elvish saying. How did she know it? She must have seen the question in his eyes, for she spoke.
"Walk with me, Ranger." He started walking and she began talking. "I suppose you wonder how it is I know Elvish sayings when I, though you only suspect it but cannot put the suspicion into words, serve Mordor. Where would a servant of Mordor learn Elvish ways?" She smiled briefly, a sad, lonely smile that was more revealed in her eyes than anything else, and he only saw it because she had glanced back at him in that moment. "Simply because my mother was an Elf. She taught me the ways of her people, hoping they would become my ways that I might defy the Shadow. For her kindness, I gave her death."
She paused and he waited. One thing he had learned among the elves was when to stay silent and simply listen. Now, he knew, was one such time. "I did not kill her, not literally, but I may as well have. It was for my sake that she died. I hated her, despised her, but I would not leave well enough alone. Something kept drawing me back. Even though I knew I was not to see her, I returned time and time again to hear what she would say and ridicule her sayings and beliefs." Her voice was calm and steady, lacking the emotions he would have expected from such a tale, though he could tell the memory saddened her, if only through a slight change in her demeanor.
She sighed. "The odd thing is that I think it gave her peace." He could not see her face, but he noticed that her posture was not so tense as before. "Somehow, the fact that I kept returning comforted her no matter what it was I said. Looking back, I know she was comforted that I returned. It gave her hope. Hope that the darkness had not won."
Aragorn walked silently for a moment, then prompted, "And now?"
"And now," she looked at him with a frown. "And now, I do not know. I hope she has the peace she deserved."
The ranger merely nodded at this, sensing she wished to leave this topic of discussion. He felt he would gain more from her by letting her set the pace. Kalyamuina, indeed, he thought. Your mother named you well. I can feel the light you hide. What will it take to draw it out? He watched the ground as he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, one hand tracing against the wall. He wished she would speak for the silence left him too much room to think, and his thoughts always spiraled away towards darkness whenever they were given the chance.
"How do you feel about dying in a cave?" she asked suddenly, the abrupt question slicing through the dark silence.
He regarded her a moment, then replied, "About the same way I feel about living in one," though it had been awhile since he had contemplated the matter. The last time had been in Legolas' company.
"How is that?"
He stubbornly focused on the words, tuing out the memories. "I wouldn't want to unless I had no other choice."
She chuckled. "Same here."
He smirked, a decidedly elvish prejudice striking him and he said, "Good."
He caught curiosity in her eyes when she turned to look at him. "Why good?"
"Wouldn't want to die with a cave dweller," he replied.
A snort reached his ears. "No dwarves, then?"
"Would you?" he asked, catching something in her voice that made him ask.
She shrugged. "It could be comforting." But her tone was too casual for him to believe she actually thought that. If her mother had been an elf, he wondered how many elvish prejudices she had picked up, as well.
"Or not," he countered, pausing as he thought on that for a moment. What would a dwarf likely do? "They'd probably brag about how the dank darkness has no effect on them, then insult you as a coward."
She snorted again. "You've had experiences with dwarves, I see."
"Charming folk."
"Indeed. But, Aragorn, these caves are not dank. They're dry."
He shook his head slightly and remained silent. She, too, let the conversation fall away. He was pretty sure she had no wish to carry on a conversation and that she would much rather have silence. But he also had a hunch that she was aware how tortured his thoughts were when he had any length of time to dwell on them. She had said, after all, that she had had experience with this drug. It was quite possible that her experience had been much the same, or that she had wished for someone to relieve her of the pain of her own thoughts and that she sought to do that for him now. He wished he could think of something to ask.
She beat him to it.
"Strider?"
"Hm?"
"Why Strider?" she asked.
Pain lanced through his mind, though not as sharp this time. The memory was too far removed from his pain to be overcome by the darkness. He smiled softly, remembering that time so long ago. "Inside joke," he answered, distractedly.
"Inside where?" she asked, but he was not listening.
His thoughts had already turned to the past, hundreds of miles away from their current location. It had been in the forests of Mirkwood, the outskirts, actually, the result of a battle between orcs and dwarves. He had, quite literally, fallen into the other's life, and he would not wish it otherwise. If he knew his friend, and he was pretty sure he did, then he knew Legolas would not wish it otherwise, either.
"Strider."
He laughed as he realized she had been calling his name for at least the past couple of moments and he had been lost in the exact thoughts he had been hoping she would distract him from. Briefly, he wondered why the thoughts did not pain him, but he refused to dwell on it. "You should meet him," he commented.
"Meet who?" she asked with a frown.
"Legolas," he answered.
"Legolas?" she repeated, her tone thoughtful, as if she was searching through her mind for some piece of lost information. "Thranduil's son?" she continued after a moment.
"Him," he confirmed.
She glanced at him sideways, turning slightly. "He's from Mirkwood."
"Indeed."
He caught a slight frown on her face and smiled a little. He was surprised the shadows were not haunting him any more. He wondered why but pushed it aside when she responded.
"Wood-elves don't like men."
"Indeed," he said again, voice bland.
Kalya glanced back at him, irritation flickering across her face before settling into a mask of non-concern. Deadpan, she intoned, "You are a man of many secrets, Strider."
He cocked his head slightly to the side, his expression innocent. "You noticed?" He was enjoying this game. He could not remember a time when he had had so much fun with a maiden. Still, he was not sure he could classify this one as a maiden.
A slight smile pulled at the girl's lips. "Indeed," she replied wryly. He resisted the urge to laugh and mostly succeeded, a slight smile the only sign of his struggle. He looked up sharply, though, when she spoke again, caught off guard. "Explain Strider."
"Explain what?" he asked, confused.
"Strider."
"What?"
She glared at him but he saw amusement sparkling in her dark eyes. "You name, human," she clarified. "Explain your name."
He half smiled at the use of the slur human. He was sure she and Legolas would get along splendidly, if for no other reason than they could both pick on him. He answered, "Strider means one who strides."
The figure before him made no answer and had in fact started walking slightly faster so he could no longer see her face. After several moments, he prompted, "Kalya?"
"I wonder about you," she said, the comment coming out of absolutely nowhere.
He frowned. "You do." A question in the form of a statement, not entirely sure he wanted to understand. Such statements from his brothers usually meant trouble and he wondered if it was the same for her.
"I do," she acknowledged.
He swallowed and braced himself. "How come?"
"Pick a new question."
"What?" he asked, startled.
"Doesn't work," she responded.
"Huh?"
"Are you giving this any thought?"
He blinked rapidly, quite lost. The ranger had absolutely no idea what it was she was talking about. Whatever it was, though, seemed to be amusing her greatly for he caught barely restrained laughter in her voice. He bit his bottom lip briefly, then ventured a response. ". . . no?"
Kalya laughed heartily, the first he had heard from her, then threw a smile back over her shoulder. "Don't worry about it, human." She paused a moment, then stopped and turned to face him. Before he could act, she spoke. "How do you feel? I need you to be honest."
He blinked, then took an inventory. He had been so focused on the pain in his mind that he had completely ignored everything else, and the banter between them had made him forget, at least for the moment, even that. He had a feeling that was why she had engaged in the verbal sparring in the first place. He blinked again, his forehead furrowing. "Not so good. Headache, mild cramps, somewhat chilled. Why?"
"The more physical aspects of the poison are catching up with you."
"I thought you said it won't kill me," he reminded her.
She nodded and started walking again. "It won't."
"You mean I don't just have to deal with those insane visions?" he demanded.
"We've been over this," she answered. "You're actually doing well to still be able to walk at this point."
He blanched, then resumed his pace. "Oh, great. I suppose I should feel comforted."
She smiled slightly at his sarcasm. "You could. It's a good thing."
"Nothing concerning poison is ever a good thing," he countered, his voice flat. He had too many bad memories with the foul substances to consider anything having to do with them good.
"Well," she hedged. "It could be worse."
Aragorn chuckled tiredly, amused in spite of himself. Then another thought occurred to him, and before he could stop himself, he spoke. "I'm going to be in trouble," he said.
She looked at him incredulously. "You mean you aren't already?"
He smiled, then deadpanned. "Father--Elrond's going to kill me."
She snorted and turned about. "Then he'll have to get in line, Ranger, for you seem to have gained the ire of quite a few people." She continued walking.
That thought was not exactly encouraging to the tired young man and his steps slowed slightly. Shirk was after him. The poison was not fatal according to Kalya, but he could still die from it, and he had the rest of the Slyntari after him as well.
He frowned, wondering where his brothers were. He wondered if they had noticed he was missing yet or not. Truly, he was surprised they had not turned the mountain upside down looking for him. Distracted, his hand drifted up to massage his head, where the steady pounding was beginning to make his vision blur.
"Come on, Aragorn."
He glanced up. The ranger had not realized that he had stopped. Kalya, though, had and had come back. She now stood before him, the kindest expression on her face he had seen yet and he knew he could trust her. Until this moment, he had not been convinced she was trustworthy, but he had a feeling the shadows he had seen were more a defense than anything else, a way to ensure nobody got too close. He thought he would enjoy trying to pry information out of her. It could be fun.
"Come on," she repeated.
He nodded. "How much further?" he inquired, not sure he wanted to know, but habit forcing him to ask.
"Not far."
He shook his head. "I've heard that before," he told her, desperately trying to take his mind off the newly awakened pain he had just been made aware of by her question. He would have to remember to thank her for that later.
"In a cave?" she asked doubtfully.
"Of sorts," he answered.
She nodded slowly. "What happened?"
His lips twisted slightly. "It wasn't 'not far'."
She glanced back at him and the expression on her face made him laugh, which did not help him at all, since his shoulder where the arrow had pierced him had begun to hurt though he could not imagine why. Luckily, it did not last long and he was able to straighten up and continue walking. He shot her a dark look. "Don't make me laugh," he charged.
She looked blandly back at him. "I didn't say a word."
"Don't make me laugh," he repeated, determined to get an agreement from her, though he could not imagine why.
"Why?" she asked, now overly innocent.
"Hurts too much," he ground out, breathing deeply through another brief round of pain. He hoped this was not a trend that would continue long.
"Why Strider?" she asked.
"Because I've been poisoned," he told her, his tone suggesting that should be the most obvious thing in the world.
She laughed, a quick sound that reminded him distinctly of elves and he shook his head to clear it, for it had sounded to him like more than one elf laughed. Her tone was amused when she spoke. "You were named Strider because you were poisoned?"
He snorted and shook his head despairingly. Her sense of humor was worse than his. "We need to work on your conversational skills," he told her.
"I learn what I want to know," she told him blithely, then raised an inquiring eyebrow. "So?"
"How did I get the nickname?" he clarified.
"That's what I asked," she confirmed, suppressed laughter in her voice.
He mock glared at her. "You know, if you keep holding that laughter back, you're going to hurt yourself."
"I think I'll manage," she answered breezily. "I believe you have a story to tell, Ranger."
He shook his head, but obliged. It was not like he had anything better to do. Losing himself in the memories, he proceeded to tell her how he had met Legolas all those years ago, years that seemed more like decades with all that had happened since then. His first outing that had culminated in a fall through a tree seemed so simple compared to what he was going through now. The mistrust that had formed a barrier between their friendship was long gone and for that he was grateful, for he knew he would never be able to stand losing Legolas' friendship. He finished describing the orc attack and concluded. "A contingent of Mirkwood warriors appeared and killed them all. I felt then about the same way I feel right now, actually. Anyway, when the others asked who I was, Legolas knew he could not tell them my birth name, so he called me Strider for my 'haughty gait'."
Kalya laughed heartily at this, her amusement still showing through when she spoke, making her voice thick. "Telcontar," she mused. "Ah, there are worse things."
Now it was Aragorn's turn to laugh, the fact that Legolas had used practically the same words striking him as hilarious. "Yes, and he was kind enough to point that out, too!" he declared through his mirth.
"Oh, indeed?"
"Yes. He even gave me some examples."
She chuckled. "This I have to hear."
"Striver and Wanderer."
At that she started laughing so hard that she had to stop walking, reaching out with her right hand to brace herself against the wall and remain standing. He had not thought it was all that funny, but watching her collapse against the wall and slide down it he came to the decision that she did. The young ranger was not sure if he wanted to be offended or amused, but was tending toward the latter as her amusement was becoming contagious.
"Oh all right," he finally said. "It was not that funny." She looked up at him helplessly, making absolutely no effort to stop laughing. He frowned in mock consternation. "Fine," he declared. "I'll go on without you," and stalked off. He got ten paces before he heard movement behind him and a breathless voice.
"Come now, Strider--" a helpless burst of giggles-- "it's not my fault I'm deprived."
"Depraved, you mean?" He countered.
"Besides, you can't go off along. The mountain trolls will get you."
The man turned around and raised an eyebrow. "Mountain trolls? There are no mountain trolls here."
"You never know," she taunted, finally regaining control and approaching him. "Today might just be your lucky day."
At that, Aragorn rolled his eyes. "If this is luck, I don't want it."
She cocked her head slightly. "Well, look at it this way, son of Arathorn: if your luck was worse, you would not have survived so many bad encounters to be able to face the next one. You would already be dead."
"I'll let you know later if that isn't a good thing."
Kalya laughed, then turned and looked at him, grabbing his arm in order to force him to halt. Keen blue eyes regarded him seriously, all trace of the playful, mischievous girl he had just been talking to gone beyond any hope of recovery. The lack of expression on her face was almost worse than any expression of anger could have been, and yet he was not worried. Not yet. He felt that if she was going to kill him, she would have done it already regardless. Strangely, he felt at peace. She nodded once, as if whatever she had seen confirmed something she had thought.
The girl pulled him over to the wall and pressed him down into a sitting position. "You need to sleep," she declared.
"I can't sleep. The drug--" Aragorn objected, but he never got to finish.
"Dwells on your insecurities. If there are none for it to plague your mind with, you will be fine." She paused slightly before plunging ahead. "The catch is that you will have to trust me."
He looked at her. Trust her? To do what? Could he? Did he want to? He bit his lip as he considered, then realized he already knew the answer, and wondered when she had proven that she was worthy of his trust. "I do," he affirmed.
She nodded, then quickly dropped down beside him and pulled his head into his lap, causing him to frown at her in confusion. She explained before he could ask. "I must guard your dreams," she said. "My mother taught me how. Elvish song is very powerful. Fuume, mellon nin, ar uume kuare. (Sleep, my friend, and do not fear.)"
Without conscious thought or decision, he felt his eyes begin to drift close, their weight becoming too heavy for him to fight, all the stress and activity finally and irrevocably catching up to him. He drifted off to sleep, distantly noticing that her voice had changed, her tone containing more authority than he had ever suspected it contained, it's quality more on the level of an elven lord. . . .
Before he drifted away beyond recall, a soft voice, like silver, drifted into his consciousness:
A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
silivren penna míriel
o menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-díriel
o galadhremmin ennorath. . . .
And after the first line, it seemed to mix and blend with the voices of many others, all singing in harmony, and he floated on a silver cloud, far from harm or the possibility of darkness.
