~[AN: Playing with style here. That's mostly what the story is about/for, though I do like most of the content as well. Tried not to pull a Mary Sue, but if you think I did, then you'll enjoy the end.]~
She rested her head on the pillow next to him, feeling his long hair tickle her cheek. Since his hair and hers were the same shade of moonlight blonde, the locks twisted around each other and mingled. She stroked his face, reveling in the sensation of his smooth flesh. He was old beyond the reckoning of mortals, but the body that housed his soul looked young. She fingered a lock of hair and couldn't resist tracing her finger along his upswept ear. Nothing about him was sharp--except his sight and his arrows--and his ears were no exception. No forced and harsh points graced the sides of his face, but instead ears that swept up to enough of a point to declare that he was Elvish.
She wondered how he could sleep through her messing around, but such is the way with Elves. With open eyes, she let herself drift into the waking-dream that was the sleep of Elves. She needed the rest.
Sleep had come easily, on her back with one arm tucked under her pillow, but a soft touch on her cheek woke her. A grin formed on her lips as she closed her eyes tightly against the calling day.
The touch came again. Either she was mistaken, or the silky brush was from the petals of a flower. She wrinkled her nose, still smiling, teasingly now fighting waking up. She was more absolutely content than she could ever remember being. Then...her heart trembled softly. 'I have this terrible feeling,' she thought as the sudden frightened feeling grew slightly, 'that I am going to wake up to something horrible.' The fear kept her eyes shut for mere moments before she pushed them open.
And there he was. His smooth, sun kissed skin was framed by platinum blonde hair pulled back from his face. There were a few strands he had not caught when he'd put his hair up, and they were almost close enough to tickle her face. She knew that if she reached up and touched his face, it would be as soft as the petals he was studiously dropping on her skin. The echoing smiling on his lips came to a crescendo in his sparkling eyes.
She sighed happily, reaching up to tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear, taking the opportunity to run her fingers over that same ear. Upswept, it was blunted at the top, not sharply pointed. There was a braid that started behind his ear and continued into the rest of his hair. She fingered it, and smiled again.
He didn't smile much, and she treasured each expression that showed on his worried face. There were horrible things happening in the wide world outside of Mirkwood. The kind of horrible things that would call Mirkwood's prince far away and never let him return. If there would be anything to return to.
That thought made her sad, and reawakened the desire to keep him beside her forever. She was not the strongest of the Elven-maidens, or the fastest, or the most worthy, but she did love him with the kind of love that only Elves are able to form in their eternal, undying hearts.
There was little else to do but give into the day that shone through the windows. It would be a long day measured in short moments. She could already see the proud white stallion that he would ride, not bridled or saddled after the manner of the Rohrim, but free to express his gratitude with speed unknown to mere mortals. She could see them picking their way across a rock strewn field, then he—proud Elf-prince—leading the equine up a stone hewn path, to dangerous for the pair together, but safe if both would walk.
She was gifted with Sight beyond those things which Men see and saw what had not yet been as pictures frozen in time most often, and rarely as if they were happening before her. First always in her Sight was the longhaired Elf-prince of Mirkwood. She felt, almost, endowed with his protection, though it seemed her hardly needed her.
The Lady of the Golden Wood, had been her first mentor, guiding her in paths that she untrained had not Seen. When they had been younger—and even still, now—she had told the handsome Elven archer of the green woods that became gold. That was not where her heart was, however. She loved the woods, and was bound to them by several unshakeable oaths, but her heart yearned for the stars that hung themselves above her head. Some speculated she garnered her Sight from the heavens. She cared less for the truth of that at this moment than ever before. Now, her Sight was failing her.
She could see the beautiful Elf-Prince leaving the green of Mirkwood, but she could not see herself by his side. That disturbed her. To remind herself that he was with her now, she traced long fingers over the well defined muscles of his arm.
He turned back to her with a slight grin...and that was when she knew that he would leave this place alone.
The moments it took him to get ready to leave passed like hours. She savored each breath of the time, watching him as he dressed. There were many things she didn't understand. She didn't understand why he had to go...or, she understood why in her mind, but her heart wished he'd stay. In her dreams, and sometimes even in her waking, she could smell salt and hear the crashing of waves. It frightened her.
She reached over and put her leggings and tunic on. The earthy greens and browns made her look like she had been born beneath a Mirkwood tree. She clasped her Elven cloak with a black and silver star before standing up. It wasn't like her to take very long, but she paused an extra span of time to straighten her hair. There might be only a few hours left between them, and she wanted him not to forget her.
When she walked out, there were Elves on unbridled horses preparing to leave. The group was preparing to leave for the far reaches of Rivendale. She had been there a few times, always in awe of the dark-haired Elrond. The great Elf-lord exuded a power and an authority unlike any that she had ever seen.
She closed her eyes and when she reopened them, there was an Elf in front of her. The beautiful prince that she had come to think of as hers was looking at her with his head cocked to the side. Blonde hair spilled over his shoulder like moonlight through a thicket. The sight evoked a slight smile from her lips, but her eyes were still shrouded in sadness.
He offered up a smile of his own, trying to reassure her as best he could, knowing what he did of the path before him.
Then, with passion unlooked for, she grabbed him and stared with widened eyes into his face. Into that look, she forced all her fears and fright about where he was going, and her desire to go with him. She filled her eyes full with protection and fire. Were he to leave her, the look spoke, she would follow and hide in the shadows until the shadows overtook them. Then, she would come forth, with high raised banner and gleaming arrow to protect and teach a lesson hard earned. Even that she could be of some service. Yet, if he told her to stay—she begged him not to—she would stay rooted to the place, were the very flames of Hell licking at her body.
He broke contact with her unworldly passionate eyes and turned away from her.
She let him go, watching his retreating figure slip into the woods that embraced her. The rest of the party on horseback had already delved into the shadows.
With a final glance at the stars that guided her, she stepped out of the gathering night and into the dimly lit house—the lights dimmed in anticipation of nearing flight. There would be only a few hours between herself and the party.
She would follow unbidden.
There was a rush of carefully directed speed as she gathered her things. Some food, water, and very little else filled her pack. She knew she'd need to move quickly and carry very little.
Then, she began running, sprinting away. Muscles in her chiseled legs tensed and released as she propelled herself faster. One of her bare feet struck the ground, sinking almost up to the tattoo around her ankle in soft dirt. She paid it no mind and she ran on. Fire burned through her, adrenaline pumping and focusing her full attention. Her heart raced with her tensed body as muscles gathered to send her flying over a half-fallen tree.
She landed, her feet finding purchase among the leaves that hid the floor of the forest that she was intent on leaving. It wrapped itself around her, offering shelter for her grey clad form, the shape of her body hidden by the cloak that was clasped at her neck, but streaming behind her like smoke after a fire. At this point, the cloak matched the storm grey of her eyes, but as she slowed and pressed her form against one of the last trees offering her shelter. The tree was a familiar one, the shape of which she knew. She closed her eyes, feeling the tree's embrace offering her comfort. An image leapt into her mind, unbidden by conscious thought. Trees burning, eaten alive by fires fueling unholy passions. She gasped, forcing her eyes open, filling them with the greens and browns of the living forest, trying to force out the image that persisted, tingeing her vision with fire. Something born of fire and nurtured in evil was awakened, casting a shadow over everything she saw. It burned behind her eyes with a physical pain. The female Elf collapsed to the ground in the soft moss that covered the base of the tree that knew her. Her head was buried in her hands, dislodging locks of hair as she tried to literally hold herself together.
Moments passed like that, in complete silence until she realized something was falling on her. The physical sensation of something cool on the back of her neck lifted her head. The tree above her was offering comfort in the only way it knew: shedding leaves on her like a blanket of the life that was birthed in the forest. She accepted its gift by turning to her side and resting with the wide-eyed sleep that the race of Men found so disconcerting.
Sleep was easy for her to come by, caressing her sleeping mind with watching-dreams that showed her what the future could hold for herself, but she remembered them as fragments. The Elvish maiden never shifted in her sleep, save fleeting eye movements as she dreamed.
When morning found her curled beneath the leaves, she was watching in her dream-sleep. The sunrise tugged at her consciousness prodding her awake. She yawned as she woke. The morning was crisp and clean as if it had no idea that some of the days after it would completely devoid of light. This was far in the future, however, and did not concern her now.
What did concern the Elf was a pool of water in a clearing nearby. It called to her, inviting her to slide her body into its uncharted depths. She slipped out of her clothing, leaving her body encased only by the warm embrace of the Elven cloak.
She shrugged luxuriously then, letting the grey cloak slip off her shoulders and down her body. It fell at her feet in a shadowy pool of fabric that seemed to have a life of its own. She stood there, bare, long enough for her skin to begin to tingle from the cold. Then she carefully lifted one naked foot from the warm embrace of the cloak. The soft material stroked her smooth skin and she smiled. The warm flesh of her foot connected with the chilled stone around the pool that she planned to enter. She lingered with one foot still within the warmth of the cloak, but moved it soon, preferring the water to the cold air.
Almost gingerly, she pushed her foot into the water: first her toes, then her heel, and then the water was up to the chain-leaf tattoo around her ankle and she slid the rest of her body into the domain of fishes.
Her pale blonde hair floated in the dark water, twisting around her body like moonlight on a black night. Her hair was long, falling from her upswept ears to the small of her back when it was dry. In the water, it was like living tendrils.
The water held her in its embrace on the surface of the pool. She floated for long moments, loving the feel of the water working its way over her entire body. Then, she moved her arms, propelling herself underwater with a flash of tanned flesh.
If she knew he was watching her, she never said a word.
She Saw that the next step would be the steep slopes of Cahadras. They wouldn't make it, she thought as she put her clothes back around her body. The mountain was in a foul humor and would not let them pass. She fought inside of her between staying where she was or attempting the slopes. He would come back down the path she was fighting against traveling, but that would be too long of a wait. And if the mountain did let the Companions of the Ring pass, it would be impossible for her to catch up to them.
Having decided her course, the Elvish maiden began to move in the direction of the mountain. The path was rocky and not smooth beneath her callused feet. She did not mind walking it, though. There was very little that she minded, save the cold. The thought of willingly forcing her body into the cold that she hated so much made her shudder.
As she moved in her silent, breathless way, she kept her eyes open wide. The ghosts of small animals hid in the shadows of the bushes just off the path, permitting her to pass for the moment. Her eyes Saw them in their nearly-shapeless forms stalking behind her. One touched her foot and she knew that the Fellowship had passed this way. She left herself sink into the path and its memory of those who had passed that way as she loped along.
The landscape gave way from rocky terran feathered with ferns to a harsher, more bleak landscape of snow. There was so much snow that she thought for a frantic instant that she would be lost in it forever. But no. There were footprints, some dug deeply into the white belly of the mountain while one set could be seen easily dancing over the top of the crest of snow.
She would wait here. The foul mountain would not let them pass; of that she was sure. But it was so cold. She could feel the cold eating into her, drawing any heat that she could generate away. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself. She trembled; the cold had even invaded her grey cloak. She'd pulled the hood over her head and looked like a rock or a huddled shadow to any passerby. She'd intended that. She intended to be a shadow to all but the one who was looking for her. He would see her, huddled in the snow. He would see through any of her disguises or hiding places. There had been a thought in her mind to seek him out, but she knew that in the seeking, she could be lost.
Voices came to her through the cold, falling on her upswept ears. More important than any other noise she heard was the sound of him laughing as his light feet carried him over the layers of snow. Just the few words she was able to pick out gave her faint hope.
She looked out from the confines of the cloak and knew he'd seen her. It was several minutes, however, before he reappeared, searching with his farseeing eyes for her form. She stood, unbending her long legs and shaking snow off herself just as he arrived. She licked her wind-dried lips and opened her mouth slightly as if she were going to speak.
She didn't get a chance because he moved close to her and pressed his body to hers, drawing out all the chill and filling her with his warmth. She gasped, wanting to pull him closer, but he was doing the pulling, holding her to himself until she forgot ever being cold.
There was no other sound made between the two Elves. There didn't have to be anything said as she stroked the smooth skin of his cheek. She thanked him that way. He told her she was very welcome by dropping a kiss on her neck. She had not seen him in a long, long time and was not satisfied until their lips met. They had to part long before she was ready, and she cursed the mortals and their reckonings of time.
They moved apart, far enough so that they seemed separate shadows in their Elven cloaks. She bowed her head, hating that he was always the rescuer. Someday, she swore. Someday, she'd rescue him.
But for now…she could only watch as he moved off to rejoin those with whom he traveled and dream of someday.
He paused somewhere between where she stood and where his companions had gathered. The wind—left over from the mountain's rage—whistled about them almost playfully now that they had given up their quest for the other side. She tried not to shudder. The dark halls of Moria were their next stop, and she knew she was not strong enough to tempt that. The mountain would be kinder to her, she hoped. She would show it the respect it believed itself to deserve.
She passed by the Ring, placing her footsteps carefully above the snow. There was an intense cold around her, by the thought of him kept her warm as she started up the mountain. The Companions looked at her as she passed them, each giving her a different, varied look. The smallest member stared at her with open distrust, unlike the sons of men who matched curiosity with other, more veiled emotions. Something about the Halfling made her pause, one Elven foot poised above the snow capped mountain's surface. She turned, looking at him. Her Elvish eyes Saw a series of images of the small one superimposed over a circle of fire. A whisper—softer than that of the mountain's taunting—wrapped itself around her body, murmuring words in a language that should have been forgotten ages ago. But the words were still as alive and as malicious as when they had been first spoken. Her eyes widened, Seeing the Ring itself attached to the little one's body by a chain and she could feel that the Ring wanted her. She reached out, suddenly, as if her heart was giving into the lust for the thing. Her eyes widened in stark realization of its nearness, then narrowed just as quickly with pure unfettered desire. The expression on her face was out of place among the beautiful moonlight blonde strands of hair that framed her eyes.
As if it were no longer under her control, her hand snaked out towards the bright trinket. Long fingers that were powerful and sure at anything she set to do crossed the distance between herself and the Thing. She ran her tongue over her teeth in animal anticipation…
…and just before he grabbed her forearm to stop her, her keen eyes broke contact with its smooth, unblemished surface and she stopped. Pulling herself back, she looked up to the stars above them and whispered something—a curse or a prayer?—in her willowy native speech before she was gone.
After her flight, she collapsed into the snow to pull herself together. The Ring, the One Ring of Power was passing through Moria. The thought terrified her to the point where she had no desire to follow them. She paused, trying See that they would make it through...the scene before her eyes faded out. It got darker, her vision filled with black and shadow. A creature of fire and darkness welled up in her mind and in her Sight. Something that had not been aroused for a very long time was being drawn to the Ring. It was nothing that even her Sight could have prevented. She pushed on with her Sight, but could not see the death of the one she loved. He would survive.
With that in her mind, she stood and began the journey over the mountain. She knew that she was going home—back to Lothlorien. Her lithe body moved with purpose up the side of the mountain, walking above the snow. Her bare feet were cold, caressed by the snow. There was barely a noise beneath her feet to disturb the mountain. She, in fact, disturbed little of the world around her as she passed through it on her way to the Golden Wood.
When she arrived at the Wood, she was heralded by none and intercepted by a single Elf. The Lady had sent him whom she had least wanted to see. His long face held eyes that had seen more than many of the other Elves of Lothlorien. He was one who went abroad, watching and gathering news of their enemies. He was the leader of the guardian Elves at Lothlorien…and he had loved her once.
She spoke to him softly, like leaves rustling through the Golden Wood. The Guardian responded to her, his voice almost clear of the arrogance he showed to all others. The Lady was waiting for her, with a special deed in mind, and the Machwarden was to take her there. She nodded in obedience—like always.
He led her through the woods on paths that she knew well and she knew she had been in Mirkwood's embrace for too long. The paths that had once opened themselves to her were more guarded and closed to her grey eyes. The time of the Elves was slipping away, ushering the way for a new age—an age of men, if her Lady was correct. The beautiful Lady of the Wood, her sunlight hair reflecting the Golden Wood that she resided in, was waiting the pair.
With her eyes caressed with starlight, the Lady of the Wood took the other Elf's white hand in hers. No words passed between the beautiful mentor and her unsure pupil. There was little need of clumsy words between Elves with such gifts. The Lady's eyes reflected the heavy weight of the future that the other maiden Saw. It was an ugly, war torn conformation of the Lady's own Sight.
There was nothing, however, the Lady could do but send the grey-eyed Elf on her way and await the Fellowship's arrival in the Golden Wood. The Machwarden was to take the Elf on the next—short—section of her journey. She sighed softly, the exertion of the day finally taking its toll. With just that sigh, her head found a resting-place on his knee. Her soft cheek was pressed into the rough texture of his leggings as she closed her eyes. Water slipped past the boat in a soothing, rustic lullaby, calling her to sleep in the safe place she'd found against his leg.
He, in the meantime, dipped his paddle into the water for one more stroke, creating little eddies behind the boat. Then he placed the paddle over his lap, behind her head. Water dripped off the wet end, almost making no noise at the droplets hit the river. He rested his hands on the handle of the paddle listening to her breathing.
There was only one seat in the small boat, and that was taken with his body. So she was forced by the placement of the supplies to sit at his feet with her legs drawn up beneath her. It did not seem to bother her that she was nestled between his feet and up against his left leg. In fact, she seemed quite comfortable. He did not mind her warm body pressed against his, but did have to resist the temptation to stroke her pale golden hair as wisps of it fell in her face. She was beautiful in the innocent way that children often posses—despite her age.
The Machwarden touched her shoulder to rouse the sleeping Elf. She shook herself and rose. The boat rocked and had to be steadied before she disembarked. Her supplies, her arrows, her quiver, and her bow were all handed to her by the other Elf of Lothlorien. He would have asked her not to leave had he himself not been aware of the duty she had to the Lady.
She did not look back at him as she slide her body through the woods, finding a place to lay down for the day—before the night was upon her.
Waking, she pushed golden hair out of her grey eyes, locks that had not been swept up in her Elvish braids. Years had passed her by but the time was marked only by her deep eyes; her beauty was ageless. There was a slight indentation in the leaves where she'd bedded down that night. She scuffed them up slightly, returning the natural unbidden beauty to the forest floor.
Then they were upon her.
Orcs—unholy, decayed bloodline of Elves that made her tremble when she even thought of them—surrounded her. Her bowstring sang with death. She had her gloved right hand wrapped tight around the inlaid bow. Many times she'd been told that she was not a killer nor suited for that work, but necessity drove her to excel in the destruction of others. Vibrant yellow and earthy brown feathers teased the flesh of her chin in a way she'd have found pleasant had the deadly tip not been pointed at another being. She released the arrow and steeled herself to watch it fall. She resisted cursing out the hateful thing's name as black liquid burst from its pierced eye. The liquid ran down its face and she had to fight back the rising bile in her throat. No, she was not a killer. And the death of even this thing—a bastardization of Elves—was turning her stomach.
But the deed had to be done. There were more important things than keeping her porcelain-white hands clean. Those things currently involved killing as many of the abominations as possible before they tasted the blood of the Fellowship.
She pressed another arrow to her bowstring, but let it drop at a sharp pain in her side. Horror traversed her face in a smooth motion, winkling her brow. An arrow protruded from her body with shaft twice the size of her and black like the blood that oozed to the ground from a corpse she had pierced. Another slammed into her chest, knocking her back. The sound of bone cracking mingled with the thud of violated flesh barely registered as she closed her eyes and reached out one last time. "Iale….nedh dúath im utuva le…beria…lle…" [Even…in the darkness I shall find you…protect… you…]
Her body relaxed and the darkness claimed her.
methed. end
~[AN: A final note here. The grey-eyed Elf chick's name is Rihannlein. She can see the future sometimes (her 'Sight'). She had been in love with Haldir (The Guardian) and at the beginning of the story is with Legolas (the Elf-Prince). Basically, she follows the Fellowship around and gets killed trying to help. So she's not the most brilliant Elf ever…anyway. I hope you enjoyed it. I enjoyed writing it. I started with a handful of what I call 'images'—two or three paragraphs describing a particular instant (like when she gets in the pool) and built the story around it. I was playing with using no names, no dialogue, and no scene breaks.]~