Disclaimer: See previous chapters.
Chapter 23: "For in the Sleep of Death What Dreams May Come"
Omnes una manet nox - The same night awaits us all. (Horace)
The Fifteenth of March in the year 3019 of the Third Age would be one of the most eventful days in history. The Witch-King would break the Gates at the city of Minas Tirith, and in doing so would bring great injury with his darkness to the Lady Éowyn, dressed as a soldier, and the hobbit Merry. Denethor, the Lord of Gondor, captured in the claws of madness, would throw himself on a pyre, and burn to death. King Theoden, the great man that had risen anew with the power of Mithrandir, would be slain as the Battle of the Pelennor Fields occurred on the grounds of Gondor. Aragorn, with the ships of the Dead, the specters of old warriors fulfilling their vows, would come upon the city, unfurling the standard made for him by the Lady Arwen and would bring his Grey Company to the battlefields to fight and defend the last kingdom of Men. In Mordor, Samwise, the ever-faithful servant having found his very weary and battle-beaten master Frodo at the Tower, would help him escape and then begin their arduous journey of setting out towards Mount Doom to destroy the One Ring. Lorien, that sanctuary seemingly untouched by time, reigned over by Lord Celeborn and the Lady of the Golden Wood, Galadriel, would be assaulted for the second time by the forces coming from Dol Guldur. And in Mirkwood, the elven realm that seemed to always be assailed by the forces of Dol Guldur, a battle would rage under the trees, a great fire would blaze in the wood. Lórien would be assaulted for a third time in the days after the 15th, but they would win. The elves of both realms would fight valiantly and win, even if the victory was bittersweet. They had driven the forces out, but those leaders of those realms, still did not know the fate of the One Ring. All wondered, if the fighting of this day was in vain. No matter how they fought, if they won or not, if Sauron captured the Ring, all of their work, of all the peoples, would be for nothing.
***
In the realm of Mirkwood, on the morning of the 15th of March, Brhagdan of the Emerald Isle, of a realm unknown to most inhabitants of Middle Earth, awoke with a slight smile on his face. The journey to the realm of Mirkwood, a journey he had been positive would be of no real value to him, turned out to be one of the best journeys he had taken in a long time. Not only was his own military training being perfected by the teaching of elves that regularly had to defend the borders of Mirkwood, he had also met a lovely she-elf, who seemed to know quite a lot about battle, and other topics of interests that Brhagdan had found many females did not care about. Laurea, she was a lovely female. If they had more time together, Brhagdan would have attempted to start a relationship with her. However, time was short, very short, he could feel it. Especially in this morning, he felt it in his soul. Something was going to happen today. He did not know if it was for good or ill. Only the progression of the day would tell. Brhagdan pushed himself out of the soft bed.
He had not seen his sister in almost three days. He had been training, as had she. When she was not training she always seemed to be in council with the King and one of the King's other sons, his heir, that had just returned the previous day. They would see each other at dinner, but Rhiannon would still be in a form of lessons as the elf Menepaurion attempted to teach her the speech of the elves of Mirkwood. This resulted in more than one humorous moment when Rhiannon, forgetting her place, would throw proverbial daggers at Menepaurion and demand in a cold voice Brhagdan rarely heard from his sister,
"What did you just call me? You may think I do not know your language, but I have always made it a point to learn the words for insults in any language."
Menepaurion would shakes his golden head and roll his eyes, "I did not insult you. I actually complimented you. The word for the insult you are thinking is similar to what I just said, but they are pronounced slightly different. Honestly, you have no listening and comprehension skills."
With a look of pure fury are her flushed countenance Rhiannon would then grind out, through a closed jaw, "Excuse me, but I consider it a flaw of language if a word of insult and a word of compliment are so similar."
Menepaurion, with a very flippant air would match Rhiannon's glare with one of his own, the elf was either fearless or stupid, possibly both, "You criticize our language, you criticize us."
Indignant, Rhiannon would forget her place and stand, "I did not say any such thing!"
Menepaurion would answer her stand, and her statement with the childish retort, "Yes, you did!"
Only to be answered with the just as childish, "No, I did not you prancing little.."
Then King Thranduil, while trying and failing miserably to hide his smile, would hold up a hand and beg the two to stop, for they were making his stomach hurt with all the laughter. Menepaurion would get this look on his face as if someone had just poured purple dye all over his best green outfit and Rhiannon would get this look of exasperation. Brhagdan always felt so at home at those times.
Pulling himself from his memories, Brhagdan stretched and prepared himself for his training. Today would be an eventful day, he could feel it.
***
Rhiannon suddenly awoke from her dreams in the middle of the night. She was breathing rapidly and heavily, what she had seen in her dreams scaring her. She closed her eyes and forced herself to calm. A tentative hand reached for the glass of water she kept by her bed. The images made little sense to her. She saw fire, a large fire, it swirled, and became a vaporous black cloud hovering above a crumbling city. She did not understand, she did not understand at all. Rhiannon laid back on the numerous pillows that rested on the bed and concentrated on the dream, trying to make it more concrete. She needed to get a night of restful sleep, every night had resulted in a disturbing nightmarish vision that left her without any of the comforts Morpheus . Oh, that sneaky god of Dreams, he could deal out the pleasant dreams just as swiftly the painful ones. What made all the dreams worse for Rhiannon was the knowledge that these were not really dreams, but visions of what was to come. She knew this, and it left her even more frightened. The crumbling city, where was that? She had never seen the place. She shook her head and slid off the bed, maybe some pacing would help.
After sometime she decided that no, pacing would not help. It only wore a track in the carpet. There was just an uneasiness to her. Rhiannon sat on the bed, tracing the patterns woven into the ancient bedspread of Legolas. She had talked to Thranduil, wondering why all the memories in the room were from the childhood of Legolas and not of more recent times. Thranduil explained that his younger sons, those not heir to the throne, chose to live out among the population of Mirkwood, in their own version of flets or in small huts, especially on the outskirts, near the borders. The caves mostly provided protection for the citizens when an attack was eminent. Odd, how much that seemed like Helm's Deep. Would the fortress of Thranduil fall soon? Rhiannon's fingers continued to trace the small pattern of threading in the weave of the bedspread, now a motion of focus, as she released the binds on her mind and opened it up, reaching out, to see what Legolas was doing at the moment, see if he was in that crumbling city.The sights she saw through the eyes of Legolas made little sense. It was not the crumbling city, there were ships, and.the Dead. Through Legolas' eyes she scanned the deck they were on, her eyes rested on various people as Legolas, most likely sensing her in his mind, scanned the area, gifting her with his vision. They were headed towards land, as dawn came, she saw the fire, the smoke rising from the land, and, as the people on the deck started to hurry for their arrival, she was pushed out of Legolas mind with his soft whisper resonating in her head,
"Rest and dream of nice and comforting things for the both of us, we will need it, today will be dark, I can sense it."
***
Legolas let a smile come to his face, feeling Rhiannon leave his mind. She needed rest, a peaceful slumber, he could sense her coming emotional weariness. Odd, why did she not just go to her brother, he could comfort her. And if not him, Lostladion, or one of his brothers would be sure to ease her mind. Legolas had no desire to look in on the events of his homeland. If all was not well, he would lose his concentration here, and if all was going fine, he would still feel unease for Mirkwood was always under some sort of cloud of danger.
Legolas stared at the land, he eyes caught the fire rising from the city of Minas Tirith and the surrounding areas. They had seen the smoke for some time It was if they were too late, or perhaps and hopefully, just in time. He scanned what he could see, all looked to be devastation. The elf had been amazed by many sights he had seen in the past few days, he had felt childish excitement at almost viewing the sea, however, upon seeing the vast number of seagulls, trepidation creep into his soul, the words of the Lady of the Golden Wood ringing in his head. So much had been happening, so fast, too fast for most elves. However, he always had faith, he had grown up where the matters of Men meant little to him, he would not fear the darkness they now feared. He would enjoy the battles, revel in the friendships that had formed on the battle fields. Legolas turned his golden head towards the bow of the ship as Aragorn strode forward, the King in him revealed, as the banner of Arwen Undómiel, the Evenstar, was unveiled, bearing the signs of both Gondor and Elendil, proclaiming to all that the lost king had returned, and that the forces of Mordor had not yet won; for the battle was far from over. Legolas observed the Riders of the Mark moving to fight those that came out of the South, another united force, unknown to him, came to fight those forces assailing from the East. Legolas and the battle-ready Gimli followed the company off of the boat. Aragorn, the true Grace in him revealed, carrying the so-called Flame of the West, the great Narsil re-forged by the elven-smiths; upon his brow sat the Star of Elendil. Halbarad, long-time friend, fellow Ranger of Aragorn carried the standard of Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir also followed, their own brilliance revealed, and with all the forces that came with them, they headed towards the battle-field.
Many would die that night, the ground would seem soaked in red, choked by the blood spilt, suffocating under the weight of the memories of all that life. Theoden King already had passed by the time Aragorn and his company had arrived. Faramir, the only living son of Denethor, was in an unfit state, as were Merry the hobbit and Éowyn, now sister to the newly crowned Éomer King. Lord Denethor, ruler of Gondor, in madness from the temptation he fell into, seduced by the dark forces of Mordor, threw himself on a pyre, burning to death, his life being the price exacted for the so-called knowledge he gained from his palantír, twisted by the darkness. However, all things in life are at least two-fold. With darkness comes light, Merry, Faramir, and Éowyn still lived, and could possibly live, if one believed in the wisdom of olden tales, and in the Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, a great man and ally was found. They had won this battle, at the sacrifice of many great men, but they had won just the same.
As night came, the soldiers set up their tents outside the city, Legolas watched, his curiosity peaked as Éomer, Aragorn, and Prince Imrahil walked towards the city-gates, their business unknown to him. Gimli turned toward Legolas, as he cleaned his axe,
"And what, do you think, Master Elf, is occurring in our home lands?"
Legolas smiled, "I wish I could know, but something tells me I do not want to see."
***
The tension Rhiannon had felt in the middle of the night has increased tenfold by the time she had awoken. She had had warm dreams, of the kind full of laughter and warmth and light. Darkness would occur to day, pain, death, she knew this. But now, standing out on the training fields, trying to concentrate on her physical combat lessons with Menepaurion, her mind was drawn elsewhere. The wind rushed through her ears, she could smell fire, hear the anguished cries that were coming from far off, Menepaurion stopped as he heard them also. Elves were running towards the hall of Thranduil, their sanctuary, as the call was sent out for all troops to rally.
Rhiannon's mind was not on this battlefield of Mirkwood as Menepaurion tried desperately to usher both himself and the non-responsive ¾-elf towards the stone halls. Rhiannon's expression was vacant, and Menepaurion knew her eyes did not see nor hear any that was occurring around her. Typical, when he needs her to be responsive, her witty jests to calm his own troubled spirit, her mind is off in another land.
Rhiannon saw black flame, a shadow personified, she spied one of the hobbits, the height giving the being away, a soldier, no, no man, a woman, she stood in battle garb, before the flying shadow. Devastation lied all around, fires in the air, this was the crumbling city, broken gates. A mocking voice, the shadow speaking, mockingly to the female, the soldier in disguise and the hobbit, taunting their threat of revenge, revenge on what? The shadow spoke, what was it?
" 'Come not between the Nazgul and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and they shriveled mind be left naked to the lidless eyes.'"
Nazgul, was this the King of them? Gandalf had spoken of him more than once in their travels.
The female, Éowyn, yes, she was a shield-maiden and a soldier, unsheathed her sword " 'Do what you will, but I will hinder it, if I may,'"
The shadow laughed at her, " 'Hinder me? Thou fool. No living man can hinder me!'"
The arrogance one must pay for not believing predicted fates..
"'But no living man am I! You look upon a woman. Éowyn I am, Éomund's daughter. You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or undead, I will smite you, if you touch him.'"
Such bravery and defiance, if only we all could have that.then again, Éowyn fought with that power of despair. The bravery granted when we believe we have nothing to live for.Rhiannon continued to watch the scene in her mind as Menepaurion dragged them over tree roots and overturned carts left in the pathways as their owners ran towards their haven. Rhiannon stopped the vision, forcing it away as she saw both Éowyn and Merry overcome by some darkness and as an elf in front of her was taken down by an enemy's arrow.
She felt everything now, the despair of all around her, the anger in the forest air, the anger of the people. The arrows were coming faster and in larger numbers now. Where was the King and his own soldiers? She ducked her head as an arrow headed straight towards her, embedding itself in Menepaurion shoulder. The elf winced but made no sound as the blood started to stain his tunic and his blonde hair, near where her hand now rested. Rhiannon looked up at him in concern as they ran faster,
"You are not hurt?"
"Tis no more than a scratch. It will hurt more to try and force the blood stain out of this tunic."
"You can not be serious."
"I am, very, this is one of my favorite tunics. Oh, look there is the King, and your brother, I think it is best if we get out of the road now, they are coming at a fast pace."
Rhiannon and Menepaurion sidestepped onto the path as the King, his eldest sons, Brhagdan and many others came galloping by as if the hounds of hell were on their heels. Her brother, focused, and in battle mode, gave no acknowledgement to her, but she sent a silent prayer.
"Good luck, frater, Return to me.."
"He will be fine.." the soft voice of Cerethena stated in her mind, "He is of our make, he will survive.."
Rhiannon glanced up at the watchtowers that preceded the back entrance of the Elven Caves, there stood Laurea, her blonde hair hanging to her waist, playing on the wind, as she watched the horsemen ride out from the window. They locked eyes, the sapphire ones giving a measurement of Rhiannon's and Menepaurion's conditions, she hurried from the window, seeing that her brother was injured. Rhiannon belatedly realized that this was her vision fulfilled. Not as grim as she had thought, and yet the night was far from over.
***
King Thranduil and his forces, after an arduous battle, were able to once again push the forces of darkness away from his borders one more time. The fire that burned through the Wood destroyed much, but even so, healing rains came to put out the remnants of the fire and give water to that which needed to grow. Elves did fall in the battle, more than a few from Thranduil's own personal circle, but the King, his sons, and Brhagdan all came back alive, with some injury. As the Men fought the battle of the Pelennor Fields, and the elves of Mirkwood fought the forces of Dol Guldor, the elves of the Golden Wood fought the forced of Dol Guldor on the borders of the realm of Lothlorien for the second time in one month. While the dark forces were defeated in all of these battles, a palpable tension was still in the air, the worst was truly yet to come.
***
After a well-deserved night of rest for Brhagdan, it was decided that the two guests of Thranduil must make haste towards Gondor, following both Mithrandir orders and Rhiannon's inner-feelings, the two set out. With them went Menepaurion, to help as much as he could. It was not easy for the three to leave the Wood, for Brhagdan and Rhiannon, it had felt like a home. For Menepaurion it was a fear that something would happen to his sister, for he would not be there to watch them go. It was not easy for Thranduil to release the three, send them towards an uncertain future, towards possible death, towards the danger that lied out in the Wild at this moment. However, he knew their place was by his younger son Legolas and the prophesied king. Laurea did not take their leaving well, private and emotional conversations were held with both her brother and the male she now took interest in. Thranduil put a precious package to Legolas in Rhiannon's care, within it lied the blood-stained tunic of Lostladion and a braid cut from his head, to bring closure for the loss of the brother-of- his-heart. Thranduil watched the three leave, galloping out to that last realm of Men, until his sharp elven eyes could no longer detect their figures. A blessing for them laid on his lips,
"Tira ten' rashwe, Astalderea. Quel marth" (Be careful, Valiant ones, good luck)
A/N: Quotes come from Lord of the Rings, as usual. Once again thank you for all the helpful comments. Thanks to Jouri, Jenny, Dimi, all you all for kicking me in the ass to get this done.
Chapter 23: "For in the Sleep of Death What Dreams May Come"
Omnes una manet nox - The same night awaits us all. (Horace)
The Fifteenth of March in the year 3019 of the Third Age would be one of the most eventful days in history. The Witch-King would break the Gates at the city of Minas Tirith, and in doing so would bring great injury with his darkness to the Lady Éowyn, dressed as a soldier, and the hobbit Merry. Denethor, the Lord of Gondor, captured in the claws of madness, would throw himself on a pyre, and burn to death. King Theoden, the great man that had risen anew with the power of Mithrandir, would be slain as the Battle of the Pelennor Fields occurred on the grounds of Gondor. Aragorn, with the ships of the Dead, the specters of old warriors fulfilling their vows, would come upon the city, unfurling the standard made for him by the Lady Arwen and would bring his Grey Company to the battlefields to fight and defend the last kingdom of Men. In Mordor, Samwise, the ever-faithful servant having found his very weary and battle-beaten master Frodo at the Tower, would help him escape and then begin their arduous journey of setting out towards Mount Doom to destroy the One Ring. Lorien, that sanctuary seemingly untouched by time, reigned over by Lord Celeborn and the Lady of the Golden Wood, Galadriel, would be assaulted for the second time by the forces coming from Dol Guldur. And in Mirkwood, the elven realm that seemed to always be assailed by the forces of Dol Guldur, a battle would rage under the trees, a great fire would blaze in the wood. Lórien would be assaulted for a third time in the days after the 15th, but they would win. The elves of both realms would fight valiantly and win, even if the victory was bittersweet. They had driven the forces out, but those leaders of those realms, still did not know the fate of the One Ring. All wondered, if the fighting of this day was in vain. No matter how they fought, if they won or not, if Sauron captured the Ring, all of their work, of all the peoples, would be for nothing.
***
In the realm of Mirkwood, on the morning of the 15th of March, Brhagdan of the Emerald Isle, of a realm unknown to most inhabitants of Middle Earth, awoke with a slight smile on his face. The journey to the realm of Mirkwood, a journey he had been positive would be of no real value to him, turned out to be one of the best journeys he had taken in a long time. Not only was his own military training being perfected by the teaching of elves that regularly had to defend the borders of Mirkwood, he had also met a lovely she-elf, who seemed to know quite a lot about battle, and other topics of interests that Brhagdan had found many females did not care about. Laurea, she was a lovely female. If they had more time together, Brhagdan would have attempted to start a relationship with her. However, time was short, very short, he could feel it. Especially in this morning, he felt it in his soul. Something was going to happen today. He did not know if it was for good or ill. Only the progression of the day would tell. Brhagdan pushed himself out of the soft bed.
He had not seen his sister in almost three days. He had been training, as had she. When she was not training she always seemed to be in council with the King and one of the King's other sons, his heir, that had just returned the previous day. They would see each other at dinner, but Rhiannon would still be in a form of lessons as the elf Menepaurion attempted to teach her the speech of the elves of Mirkwood. This resulted in more than one humorous moment when Rhiannon, forgetting her place, would throw proverbial daggers at Menepaurion and demand in a cold voice Brhagdan rarely heard from his sister,
"What did you just call me? You may think I do not know your language, but I have always made it a point to learn the words for insults in any language."
Menepaurion would shakes his golden head and roll his eyes, "I did not insult you. I actually complimented you. The word for the insult you are thinking is similar to what I just said, but they are pronounced slightly different. Honestly, you have no listening and comprehension skills."
With a look of pure fury are her flushed countenance Rhiannon would then grind out, through a closed jaw, "Excuse me, but I consider it a flaw of language if a word of insult and a word of compliment are so similar."
Menepaurion, with a very flippant air would match Rhiannon's glare with one of his own, the elf was either fearless or stupid, possibly both, "You criticize our language, you criticize us."
Indignant, Rhiannon would forget her place and stand, "I did not say any such thing!"
Menepaurion would answer her stand, and her statement with the childish retort, "Yes, you did!"
Only to be answered with the just as childish, "No, I did not you prancing little.."
Then King Thranduil, while trying and failing miserably to hide his smile, would hold up a hand and beg the two to stop, for they were making his stomach hurt with all the laughter. Menepaurion would get this look on his face as if someone had just poured purple dye all over his best green outfit and Rhiannon would get this look of exasperation. Brhagdan always felt so at home at those times.
Pulling himself from his memories, Brhagdan stretched and prepared himself for his training. Today would be an eventful day, he could feel it.
***
Rhiannon suddenly awoke from her dreams in the middle of the night. She was breathing rapidly and heavily, what she had seen in her dreams scaring her. She closed her eyes and forced herself to calm. A tentative hand reached for the glass of water she kept by her bed. The images made little sense to her. She saw fire, a large fire, it swirled, and became a vaporous black cloud hovering above a crumbling city. She did not understand, she did not understand at all. Rhiannon laid back on the numerous pillows that rested on the bed and concentrated on the dream, trying to make it more concrete. She needed to get a night of restful sleep, every night had resulted in a disturbing nightmarish vision that left her without any of the comforts Morpheus . Oh, that sneaky god of Dreams, he could deal out the pleasant dreams just as swiftly the painful ones. What made all the dreams worse for Rhiannon was the knowledge that these were not really dreams, but visions of what was to come. She knew this, and it left her even more frightened. The crumbling city, where was that? She had never seen the place. She shook her head and slid off the bed, maybe some pacing would help.
After sometime she decided that no, pacing would not help. It only wore a track in the carpet. There was just an uneasiness to her. Rhiannon sat on the bed, tracing the patterns woven into the ancient bedspread of Legolas. She had talked to Thranduil, wondering why all the memories in the room were from the childhood of Legolas and not of more recent times. Thranduil explained that his younger sons, those not heir to the throne, chose to live out among the population of Mirkwood, in their own version of flets or in small huts, especially on the outskirts, near the borders. The caves mostly provided protection for the citizens when an attack was eminent. Odd, how much that seemed like Helm's Deep. Would the fortress of Thranduil fall soon? Rhiannon's fingers continued to trace the small pattern of threading in the weave of the bedspread, now a motion of focus, as she released the binds on her mind and opened it up, reaching out, to see what Legolas was doing at the moment, see if he was in that crumbling city.The sights she saw through the eyes of Legolas made little sense. It was not the crumbling city, there were ships, and.the Dead. Through Legolas' eyes she scanned the deck they were on, her eyes rested on various people as Legolas, most likely sensing her in his mind, scanned the area, gifting her with his vision. They were headed towards land, as dawn came, she saw the fire, the smoke rising from the land, and, as the people on the deck started to hurry for their arrival, she was pushed out of Legolas mind with his soft whisper resonating in her head,
"Rest and dream of nice and comforting things for the both of us, we will need it, today will be dark, I can sense it."
***
Legolas let a smile come to his face, feeling Rhiannon leave his mind. She needed rest, a peaceful slumber, he could sense her coming emotional weariness. Odd, why did she not just go to her brother, he could comfort her. And if not him, Lostladion, or one of his brothers would be sure to ease her mind. Legolas had no desire to look in on the events of his homeland. If all was not well, he would lose his concentration here, and if all was going fine, he would still feel unease for Mirkwood was always under some sort of cloud of danger.
Legolas stared at the land, he eyes caught the fire rising from the city of Minas Tirith and the surrounding areas. They had seen the smoke for some time It was if they were too late, or perhaps and hopefully, just in time. He scanned what he could see, all looked to be devastation. The elf had been amazed by many sights he had seen in the past few days, he had felt childish excitement at almost viewing the sea, however, upon seeing the vast number of seagulls, trepidation creep into his soul, the words of the Lady of the Golden Wood ringing in his head. So much had been happening, so fast, too fast for most elves. However, he always had faith, he had grown up where the matters of Men meant little to him, he would not fear the darkness they now feared. He would enjoy the battles, revel in the friendships that had formed on the battle fields. Legolas turned his golden head towards the bow of the ship as Aragorn strode forward, the King in him revealed, as the banner of Arwen Undómiel, the Evenstar, was unveiled, bearing the signs of both Gondor and Elendil, proclaiming to all that the lost king had returned, and that the forces of Mordor had not yet won; for the battle was far from over. Legolas observed the Riders of the Mark moving to fight those that came out of the South, another united force, unknown to him, came to fight those forces assailing from the East. Legolas and the battle-ready Gimli followed the company off of the boat. Aragorn, the true Grace in him revealed, carrying the so-called Flame of the West, the great Narsil re-forged by the elven-smiths; upon his brow sat the Star of Elendil. Halbarad, long-time friend, fellow Ranger of Aragorn carried the standard of Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir also followed, their own brilliance revealed, and with all the forces that came with them, they headed towards the battle-field.
Many would die that night, the ground would seem soaked in red, choked by the blood spilt, suffocating under the weight of the memories of all that life. Theoden King already had passed by the time Aragorn and his company had arrived. Faramir, the only living son of Denethor, was in an unfit state, as were Merry the hobbit and Éowyn, now sister to the newly crowned Éomer King. Lord Denethor, ruler of Gondor, in madness from the temptation he fell into, seduced by the dark forces of Mordor, threw himself on a pyre, burning to death, his life being the price exacted for the so-called knowledge he gained from his palantír, twisted by the darkness. However, all things in life are at least two-fold. With darkness comes light, Merry, Faramir, and Éowyn still lived, and could possibly live, if one believed in the wisdom of olden tales, and in the Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, a great man and ally was found. They had won this battle, at the sacrifice of many great men, but they had won just the same.
As night came, the soldiers set up their tents outside the city, Legolas watched, his curiosity peaked as Éomer, Aragorn, and Prince Imrahil walked towards the city-gates, their business unknown to him. Gimli turned toward Legolas, as he cleaned his axe,
"And what, do you think, Master Elf, is occurring in our home lands?"
Legolas smiled, "I wish I could know, but something tells me I do not want to see."
***
The tension Rhiannon had felt in the middle of the night has increased tenfold by the time she had awoken. She had had warm dreams, of the kind full of laughter and warmth and light. Darkness would occur to day, pain, death, she knew this. But now, standing out on the training fields, trying to concentrate on her physical combat lessons with Menepaurion, her mind was drawn elsewhere. The wind rushed through her ears, she could smell fire, hear the anguished cries that were coming from far off, Menepaurion stopped as he heard them also. Elves were running towards the hall of Thranduil, their sanctuary, as the call was sent out for all troops to rally.
Rhiannon's mind was not on this battlefield of Mirkwood as Menepaurion tried desperately to usher both himself and the non-responsive ¾-elf towards the stone halls. Rhiannon's expression was vacant, and Menepaurion knew her eyes did not see nor hear any that was occurring around her. Typical, when he needs her to be responsive, her witty jests to calm his own troubled spirit, her mind is off in another land.
Rhiannon saw black flame, a shadow personified, she spied one of the hobbits, the height giving the being away, a soldier, no, no man, a woman, she stood in battle garb, before the flying shadow. Devastation lied all around, fires in the air, this was the crumbling city, broken gates. A mocking voice, the shadow speaking, mockingly to the female, the soldier in disguise and the hobbit, taunting their threat of revenge, revenge on what? The shadow spoke, what was it?
" 'Come not between the Nazgul and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and they shriveled mind be left naked to the lidless eyes.'"
Nazgul, was this the King of them? Gandalf had spoken of him more than once in their travels.
The female, Éowyn, yes, she was a shield-maiden and a soldier, unsheathed her sword " 'Do what you will, but I will hinder it, if I may,'"
The shadow laughed at her, " 'Hinder me? Thou fool. No living man can hinder me!'"
The arrogance one must pay for not believing predicted fates..
"'But no living man am I! You look upon a woman. Éowyn I am, Éomund's daughter. You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or undead, I will smite you, if you touch him.'"
Such bravery and defiance, if only we all could have that.then again, Éowyn fought with that power of despair. The bravery granted when we believe we have nothing to live for.Rhiannon continued to watch the scene in her mind as Menepaurion dragged them over tree roots and overturned carts left in the pathways as their owners ran towards their haven. Rhiannon stopped the vision, forcing it away as she saw both Éowyn and Merry overcome by some darkness and as an elf in front of her was taken down by an enemy's arrow.
She felt everything now, the despair of all around her, the anger in the forest air, the anger of the people. The arrows were coming faster and in larger numbers now. Where was the King and his own soldiers? She ducked her head as an arrow headed straight towards her, embedding itself in Menepaurion shoulder. The elf winced but made no sound as the blood started to stain his tunic and his blonde hair, near where her hand now rested. Rhiannon looked up at him in concern as they ran faster,
"You are not hurt?"
"Tis no more than a scratch. It will hurt more to try and force the blood stain out of this tunic."
"You can not be serious."
"I am, very, this is one of my favorite tunics. Oh, look there is the King, and your brother, I think it is best if we get out of the road now, they are coming at a fast pace."
Rhiannon and Menepaurion sidestepped onto the path as the King, his eldest sons, Brhagdan and many others came galloping by as if the hounds of hell were on their heels. Her brother, focused, and in battle mode, gave no acknowledgement to her, but she sent a silent prayer.
"Good luck, frater, Return to me.."
"He will be fine.." the soft voice of Cerethena stated in her mind, "He is of our make, he will survive.."
Rhiannon glanced up at the watchtowers that preceded the back entrance of the Elven Caves, there stood Laurea, her blonde hair hanging to her waist, playing on the wind, as she watched the horsemen ride out from the window. They locked eyes, the sapphire ones giving a measurement of Rhiannon's and Menepaurion's conditions, she hurried from the window, seeing that her brother was injured. Rhiannon belatedly realized that this was her vision fulfilled. Not as grim as she had thought, and yet the night was far from over.
***
King Thranduil and his forces, after an arduous battle, were able to once again push the forces of darkness away from his borders one more time. The fire that burned through the Wood destroyed much, but even so, healing rains came to put out the remnants of the fire and give water to that which needed to grow. Elves did fall in the battle, more than a few from Thranduil's own personal circle, but the King, his sons, and Brhagdan all came back alive, with some injury. As the Men fought the battle of the Pelennor Fields, and the elves of Mirkwood fought the forces of Dol Guldor, the elves of the Golden Wood fought the forced of Dol Guldor on the borders of the realm of Lothlorien for the second time in one month. While the dark forces were defeated in all of these battles, a palpable tension was still in the air, the worst was truly yet to come.
***
After a well-deserved night of rest for Brhagdan, it was decided that the two guests of Thranduil must make haste towards Gondor, following both Mithrandir orders and Rhiannon's inner-feelings, the two set out. With them went Menepaurion, to help as much as he could. It was not easy for the three to leave the Wood, for Brhagdan and Rhiannon, it had felt like a home. For Menepaurion it was a fear that something would happen to his sister, for he would not be there to watch them go. It was not easy for Thranduil to release the three, send them towards an uncertain future, towards possible death, towards the danger that lied out in the Wild at this moment. However, he knew their place was by his younger son Legolas and the prophesied king. Laurea did not take their leaving well, private and emotional conversations were held with both her brother and the male she now took interest in. Thranduil put a precious package to Legolas in Rhiannon's care, within it lied the blood-stained tunic of Lostladion and a braid cut from his head, to bring closure for the loss of the brother-of- his-heart. Thranduil watched the three leave, galloping out to that last realm of Men, until his sharp elven eyes could no longer detect their figures. A blessing for them laid on his lips,
"Tira ten' rashwe, Astalderea. Quel marth" (Be careful, Valiant ones, good luck)
A/N: Quotes come from Lord of the Rings, as usual. Once again thank you for all the helpful comments. Thanks to Jouri, Jenny, Dimi, all you all for kicking me in the ass to get this done.