A/N: Hmm. Well this fic seems to have taken off, now doesn't it? I guess I've just had this big inspiration, and everything is suddenly so easy to write. Well, we can all be thankfull. The only thing that I think needs some change, is the fact that I have had no new REVIEWS!!!*evil glares* Come on people!!! I'm giving you what you want right? So REVIEW!!!! Now, on with things.
Chapter Six
Hasana sat serenely by her bay window, the glass doors open to the elements. A gentle breeze blew the curtains, and a few wisps of golden hair were pulled loose from their tight braids. Outwardly, her appearance would be one of deep thought and contemplation, calm and contented, but inwardly, Hasana trembled and shook, a despairing chill that never left swam and coiled around her like some dark snake sizing up its prey. Her strange eyes betrayed her though, hazing to a troubled midnight blue despite her struggling attempts to keep them a clear emerald green. They always changed with every shift of mood or thought, whether she wanted them to or not, and at that moment, complete control and stillness was needed, which became more impossible with each passing second. If she could barely keep her emotions in check, how could she attempt the perilous and draining task of using the craft?
After all, the craft was all she had now. All she had left. The people she had so truly devoted herself to were long sinced murdered, the forest in which she dwelt and protected burned and destroyed. The soul she had bound herself to, and loved more with each passing day was imprisoned and kept from her sight, which in itself, was more terrible than having him killed. Perhaps she could have used the craft to set him free, if only to set her own doom, but wouldn't it be worth it?
With less than complete concentration, she watched a scattering of small pebbles on the balcony shudder and roll at her wordless command, moving to form the tiny image of a tall oak. It was a pathetic use of the craft, useless in the grand scheme of things, but Hasana sometimes liked to do that, just to make things a little easier. It helped sometimes.
"You shouldn't do that." Came a voice from behind her, snapping what little concentration she had mustered into a million little shards. The pebbles dissapeared, back in the pile where they'd been a moment earlier, the image of the oak no more.
Hasana turned, giving Eldarion no more than a brief glance, before turning her gaze to her hands which had involuntarily clenched into fists. She loosened them slowly, calming her quickened breathing.
"You shouldn't waste yourself like that." Eldarion continued, picking up and studying a small bottle of perfume from her desk. "Your power is needed for more important things."
"I will do with the craft what I wish." Hasana said calmly, in her serene way. "It is no concern of yours."
"Ah, but that is where you are wrong." Eldarion corrected, placing the bottle back in its place. He watched her back stiffen, but only slightly, and felt his blood stir at the sight of her smooth skin twisting in that fashion. She had always been a secret passion of his, her beauty flawless, ageless, unparalelled. After all, she was not an Elf, despite her choice in a lover, and to many, she was quite a sight. So far though, she'd been nothing but a fantasy.
"I do not understand what you mean." She replied evenly.
Eldarion hid a smile, striding closer so he stood beside her. She would not meet his gaze, her eyes trained outside, though he knew she was just avoiding him.
"Lle rangwa." He whispered accusingly, close to her ear.
Hasana choked down a gasp, the hairs on her neck standing. It had been so long since she'd heard Elvish spoken, and of all the people she'd expected to hear it from, Eldarion was far from her mind. A tingle ran down her spine at the familiar words: You understand. The same thing Bren, her sister had said to her at their old home. The last time she'd seen Bren….was a time not to be remembered. Sometimes the nightmarish howls of the Azaad Lud still invaded her dreams, and most times, she could not shake the vision of the two lovers, Bren held tightly in the Elven Prince's arms as the final strike rained down upon them. It was mere chance Hasana had been there in time, for she could not stand idly by and watch as Galadriel's plan fell in shambles around them.
"You did not think I could speak the language." Eldarion murmured, letting his hand trail against her shoulder as he moved to sit oposite her. "But my mother, the Undomiel, bore Elven blood did she not? And my sisters, were testimony to that heritage. One does not grow up without learning."
Hasana's blood ran cold. Visions passed before her eyes of the sisters he spoke of, four near identical young women, each more beautiful and lovely than the next. The walls around her seemed to echo with the sounds of their singing, lilting melodies than touched the heart and made the soul cry, and the horrific screams as they breathed their last at the hands of their only brother. It was a disturbing sight, for Hasana had never known the true nature of their death. It was more than plain now, that Eldarion had murdered them.
She was suddenly trembling perceptively, even as the vision faded before her, and it took all her courage not to scream with fear. All her training with Galadriel seemed nothing now. The serene power and calm authority Hasana had once felt, was quickly crumbling away, and she was becoming something entirely different. A weak, emotionaly strained mortal with no path to follow and no light to guide her.
"You killed them." Hasana whispered, feeling the tears running down her cheeks. "You killed your own sisters."
Eldarion did not seem troubled in the least, dismissing her horror and disgust with a mere glance.
"That is the past. They were nothing, a problem easily remedied; a thorn in my side."
His tone was expressionless.
Hasana pushed down the rising anger within her, wiping the wet rivulets from her cheeks. She sighed heavily, clutching the fabric of her gown in her lap with a tight grip. Eldarion was silent for a time, watching outside the window with complete disinterest, then rose from his seat, striding towards the door.
"Your services will be needed tonight. Make sure not to wear yourself out." He cast a quick look over his shoulder. "Caelan will be sent to fetch you, after he has finished his report on a duty he preformed the night previous. Be ready when he comes."
Hasana stared after him, waiting until he was out of sight before stepping outside and looking over the balcony. The outcrop looked over the courtyard below and to the left. The gazibo placed in the center was indeed empty, but she could still feel the strong energy that had been there not long before. It was faint now, but defenitely there. She'd known someone, actually three people had been inside the night previous, three figures that shared a strong bond, but Hasana had been unable to see who. The power she'd sensed was most familiar to her, and it was now that she wanted to find out why.
Clutching the railing to steady herself, Hasana closed her eyes that had changed to an uncommonly clear gray, and slowed her breathing. Deep from the belly, out through the nose, she closed her ears to the world around her, letting silence and calm envellop her senses. Slowly, her tense body unstrung itself, settling into a stillness. Hasana crawled deep inside herself, a trance like state it would take much to bring her out of. The energy was much clearer and sharper now, and as the trance deepened, she began to see images. It was three Elves, she soon realized to much surprise, two men and a woman. They were talking amongst themselves, and slowly, the voices came to her.
"We do not have much time." The woman said urgently.
The blonde spoke up. "Eldarion cannot separate us for long. Soon we will be free of this evil place."
The taller, older looking one ignored him.
"Until we are given more time, you must continue on." He said to the woman, and it was this man that Hasana felt was most familiar. The red hair, and the emerald green eyes sparkling with clarity, tugged at her memory fiercely, though she did not know why.
"Namaarie." The woman said to the other two, embracing them tightly. Hasana had missed something. She struggled to bring it back, but they were fading fast, and soon, the energy spent itself, and was gone. Sighing inwardly at her failure, Hasana began to slip out of her trance, feeling each strand of concentration and the craft leaving her slowly. It must have taken her quite some time, because when she finally opened her eyes once again, the sun was nearing the mountains in the west, and a crisp breeze blew through the air, a promise of the night chill to come later. Her body was heavy, and Hasana suddenly felt very weary; she clutched the railing harder to keep from collapsing.
Taking one last look down at the gazibo, Hasana returned inside, closing the glass doors behind her with a click.
The day after was long. Eomynne could not remember any other day being as long and painfull as the one she had just finished. The loneliness had returned, along with her fear, and without much to do, haunting memories caught up with her, and despite her strongest efforts, she could not escape them. Without much care, she tried to busy herself with exploring her large and spacious room, for it was still strange and new. In drawers she found silk dresses and soft slippers, combs for hair and combs for decoration, books and papers and even a diary, which was locked, much to her dismay. A vast array of different items were presented to her with each discovery, and it became very apparent afterwards, that whoever had stayed there previous had either forgotten everything in their departure, or left in quite a hurry.
Opening the diary, was her next task.
It was a lovely piece of work, bound in leather and embedded with tiny precious jewels, stitches of gold thread creating a pattern of roses down the spine. Without opening it, she could tell it was old, and had been well used by its owner, the pages slightly yellowed with time and exposure. The clasp though, was most definitely locked, and it took Eomynne some rummaging before she found a pin that could be utilized to open the mechanism.
Sitting center on her bed, she slid the hair pin into the key hole, feeling it rattle around inside as she poked and prodded, twisting it one way or another. A strand of hair slid free from behind her ear, and she pushed it back, balancing the book on one knee and at last finding what she was searching for. With a sharp click, the clasp popped open.
Moving the cover aside, the pages creaked and cracked with protest with so much activity after such a long time. Eomynne carefully turned each page, letting her eyes scan the first entry. It was a picture, of a tall, handsome man with straight blond hair hanging just above his shoulders. He wore fine clothing, a wine red tunic rimmed with gold over heavy chainmail, and a green cape about his shoulders, held in place with a glittering leaf pin. He was standing in a field, his face to the pearly blue sky, and his clear green eyes held a sorrow in them, a deep and overwhelming sense of loss and regret, of guilt and a longing of what could not be. In the corner, scrawled in neat black print, was: "Son of Gondor, thee lie in green fields, rest without worry or strife, for thy evil has passed. Remember thy king, as thou once knew him, and have faith, for he comes to you, and forever shall thou be forgiven."
Eomynne felt tears begin to gather in her eyes, for the words held a hidden message, of a deep and emcompassing bond. Like family, she thought with a pang of anguish, Caelidur and Elleduil's faces swimming before her. Perhaps they were brothers. But no, the poem clearly spoke of a King, and was too old to have meant Eldarion, so it must have been Aragorn, and he did not have brothers. Eomynne tried to dredge up a memory of him, from what her Father had said here and there, but she saw nothing. She remembered then though, the tale of the Fellowship of Nine, and it suddenly became very clear who the man portrayed was.
"Boromir." Eomynne whispered, running her finger tips over the page slowly. "You let the Ring destroy you."
"That was my Father's." a soft voice spoke suddenly from the doorway.
Eomynne's head snapped up, meeting Eldarion's eyes fully. He stood casually, leaning against the frame, arms folded across his chest. His eyes were calm, as if they had thawed after a long winter. Eomynne had never seen him so withdrawn and unguarded.
"I assumed as much." She murmured, studying the picture again.
"He had his scribe paint that as his last entry." Eldarion continued, moving forward into the room. "Before he died. By the time the scribe had finished it, my Father was drawing his last breath. He told me that he could die in peace after seeing it, for his burden of guilt had been lifted. He somehow assumed that Boromir's death had been his fault, and that he'd never truly forgiven him for what he did."
Eomynne was shocked into silence at his bold speech, willing back the tears of pity that sprung forward for this man she had never known. She knew the tale of the One Ring better than most, and what the Lord Boromir had done in an attempt to gain the ring for himself, but it had never occurred to her until then how much guilt and sorrow had passed between the King and his 'brother' over the matter; how much it had torn apart Aragorn afterward until his death. It seemed now that the two had come to some sort of peace.
"Why did the scribe leave?" Eomynne asked, gesturing to the way the drawers had been haphazardly emptied and how some items had been left behind, including the journal.
"He didn't." Eldarion replied. "His wife did, after his death. She didn't take much with her, and left in quite a hurry. I suppose my Father's journal was forgotten in her haste."
Eomynne lifted the leather bound book, offering it to Eldarion with a surprisingly steady hand.
"You can have it. I was just looking."
Eldarion regarded her neutraly for a moment, considering it, then shook his head and turned away.
"It's yours now. At the very least it will give you something to do. I might call for you later. Make sure you are not late."
Eomynne did not answer, staring after him until he had left, then stood and closed the door he had so rudely opened. After the silence settled in again, she returned to the bed and lay down, placing the journal on the bedstand beside it, trying not to look at the blood stained dagger she still had not found the courage to put away. Her thoughts were vague, focusing mostly on the odd manner in which Eldarion had treated her. She went over the conversation again and again in her mind, but still could not see why he had been so calm and aloof. Something had occurred perhaps? A slip in the guard? A prisoner loose? An ill fated venture? It seemed more than strange that he had not found some way to insult her, or frighten her, or smile in that way of his that told you more than you wanted to know. It was as if they had just been two friends discussing the tragic tale of their forefathers. Nothing more, nothing less.
A vision swam before her eyes then, of her and Haldir standing in the tower, the same vision Elleduil had comforted her with before. It was no where near comforting now, and made Eomynne's heart twist painfully in longing. She had never felt such strong emotion for anyone before, with the exception of her brothers, and was unnacustomed to being near overwhelmed with sorrow. She wanted to be back in the Haven with Haldir so badly. She wanted to hear his strong and melodious voice sing sweet songs to her, or tell her a lovely tale of two starcrossed lovers who eventually found peace together. This task was cruel indeed, to separate her from those she loved, and put her at the mercy of an evil and blood-thirsty murderer instead. Life in the Haven was simple. Middle-Earth was a place of unmeasurable pain and suffering. How could one count how many had died on its foul soil, how many had lost familly or friends, or known the torture of a foul beast, or of the heart-sick soul?
Drifting into a restless sleep filled with foul dreams, Eomynne left herself to the mercy of the nightmares, and bore it with silence, as those who had suffered before her. She would be just as strong, if it cost her everything.
It rained. The wind thrashed, the relentless wet poured through every crack and crevice, found its way into any space possible, soaked into your skin. The howls echoed in your mind, beating against stone and earth, against all in its way. It held no mercy for the weak and powerless. It had never rained in the Haven before, that I knew with a clear certainty, but it was not that that frightened me. What frightened me, was that it didn't. It was undeniable how clear an omen it was, that evil was on its way, but I was not frightened. I knew, with an identical certainty, that my daughter was fighting, and she was losing. But she was fighting, and she would win.
No one believed me. They believed that she would lose, that she would die, and that in the end she would scream for mercy. They wanted to save her. They wanted to go and risk everything to save my daughter, who was in reality, saving them. I expected him to understand, of all people, how wrong they were. I knew he loved her more than he loved anything else, but because he didn't believe, he could never understand. He could never understand how strong she was.
Even her own father could not see what I was trying to tell him.
And the other, the one I knew she did not want to leave behind, the one who loved her, and did not know he loved her, was the farthest lost. He could never see past his own hatred, his own rage, to know how much he loved her, and knew, like I knew, that in the very end she would rise victorious. I knew, perhaps even before he knew, that he would lose her.
A/N: Well, I have to say, I hate this chapter. *gags. Yuck. I hate how I wrote all of this, except for the end. I just came back from seeing White Oleander, which was a really good movie, and was struck by inspiration, and just had to write this part. It's Bren speaking, if you didn't already guess, and I really liked how deep this went. I rarely write this deep, except on occasions. The end is the only part I'm happy with. Maybe you like it too? Yes? Please say yes *hopefull look. Anyway, R&R!!!!!