Down her cheeks the moisture trails silently, falling to wet the fabric of the gown as she walks past the river, staying away from the banks. She has no desire to feel the chill of the water touching her flesh, no need for the soothing embrace it would offer her.
Having been startled from the horrors of the memory by a call not far off, Maiestas had risen and taken to walking. The wind had picked up, blowing through the bangs that she kept cut short. They fell to frame her face, the short locks before her ears accentuating the delicate points of the elf's ears. Her bangs come to a point to dip between her eyes, which seems only to make her already large mercury colored gaze that much larger. The rest of her hair is drawn up in braids that are formed into twin peaks upon her head. She rarely left it down to flow freely anymore, always having found it a nuisance in the tasks that she had been made to complete during her time in the Dark Lands.
She can recall with far too much ease when it had been used against her, shorn and taken from her with malicious intent. Closing her eyes, she tightens her jaw to battle the images away, if for only another moment.
Too much has she now to focus on, too much to warn the others of what will be their impending doom should they return to their home, to the valley of Imladris. Already there is danger present within the haven, for the evil is already inside. He has yet to be known, protected by a spell of the Necromancers own making. It was not by choice she had summoned the darkness back to life, but by a bond given, an oath made.
Why she had weakened instead of fading she would never put to words, yet she would not leave Middle-Earth without seeing him one last time. She had made a promise to herself upon leaving early in the third age that she would return to the second home she had known before she sailed into the West. Never would that option is open to her now, for surely the Valar would cast her down to the pits of Melkor's domain instead of welcoming her.
She had been but 17 years old when the place of her birth had been laid under siege, Sauron's forces brutal in the slaying of those who defied him. Celebrimbor had been only one of those who had been slain at the fall of Ost-in-edil in 1697 of the Second Age. Her parents had been others. It had been because of her parents' murders that she had been gifted with the ability that she had discovered one day in the woods of Imladris.
She had been searching for healing roots that the House of Healing had needed, their supplies having run low. She spent time in the House often, for it was a rare day when the Lord of the Last Homely House was unseen there. Of a sudden, carried on the light breeze, a metallic scent had drawn her attention, permeating through the trees. She turned quickly, the smell having come from the south. She carried no weapons on her person, so as she ran she stooped, grabbing at a thick branch. She knew these lands well, as for the last three hundred and fifteen years she had dwelled here in safety and a harmony, if not an unseen position.
Her time here had not necessarily been bad, for she'd felt the love and support of a family that had taken her in. They had treated her as one of their own, yet even they had left her, taking one of the many ships that Cirdan had brought to the Grey Havens so they could go to Valinor, awaiting the time they would be reuinited with their son, who had sailed many years earlier. She had not been with them for an overabundance of years, had, and in fact, only just started feeling comfortable around them. After they'd left she had not wished to move in with another foster family, so had held her own, living alone and keeping herself out of trouble and notice by working with the healers. It was the notice of the one she had grown to long for that did trouble her, for never was such attention given to her. She was but a background image, a singular face among many.
To the south she ran, the makeshift club in her hand weighty and thick enough that, should she choose to bash something over the head with it, it would certainly at least be dazed. To a clearing that was extremely small she came, halting quickly with a gasp. The scene that greeted her was harsh indeed. A fawn lay on a soft bed of grass, yet instead of a vibrant green, it was colored a dark and mean red. The side of the infant had been gashed open and, upon further investigation, the jaws of a wolf had ripped open the neck of the animal. Sorrow filled her at such innocence lost, for the fawn died in the very next breath.
A rustle behind her and she believed that the wolf had returned to enjoy the meal, perhaps get an elf on the menu. Clutching the branch, she whirled around with her gaze narrowed, only to see a doe, still and poised. She lifted her nose into the air, sniffing with the delicate muzzle. The black eyes that settled on Maiestas held a sadness that seemed to be palpable, so intense and deep.
"I am sorry." No words could remove that sorrow from the parent whose young had been slain, taken from the world by the hands of a beast.
Fearing nothing from the doe, Maiestas turned back to the fawn and lowered the branch to the grass. Her eyes move over the silky coat of fur, spotted with white, until they settle on the wound. She was not a healer, but the scripts she had begun reading many years before came back to her now. Her hands followed her eyes, unmindful of the blood that warmed her own flesh as she laid her hands on the silkiness of downy fur. Her pupils seemed to dilate as her lips began to move, little sound coming out. The words had been foreign to her, brought in the hidden bag of an unidentified visitor long ago. The Black Speech came haltingly to her now, though the pronunciations were bad, the syllables misused.
She felt as though she had remained thusly for hours, seeking life for this beast, for surely if she but willed it long enough, it would answer her call? No parent should see its child perish, and this doe was no different. Weakness assailed her easily, yet for such a simple soul, for such a young life that had only fled so recently, she needed not a greater strength then she possessed.
Without knowing the how's or why's, she felt a stirring beneath her hand, causing her to blink. Her eyes, though open, had been unseeing, fading to see nothing but an abysmal darkness that had engulfed her and her very spirit. The animal beneath her tainted hands no longer had wounds of death upon its skin, but was marred still with the blood of its death. Black eyes stared up at her, blinking slowly with life glimmering in the depths. Her own eyes widened as she fell back, her breath being torn from her loudly and harshly, lips parted in utter shock and amazement. Her entire form trembled not only with the absolute astonishment of what had just occurred, but also with a great fatigue unlike any she had ever felt before.
The fawn scrambled to legs that seem too spindly to hold its weight before it shook its head, and blood flew in droplets from its coat. Maiestas sat, unmoving on the grass, her bloodied hands held behind her gripping the earth she had fallen to. Bewilderment rippled through her as the fawn leapt away, disappearing behind the trees. The doe remained, watching Maiestas for a pair of heartbeats before her head lowered and she, too, was gone.
After several more hours, for as soon as the duo had taken their leave, she had collapsed upon the stained grass, her eyes falling closed as fatigue took her to a realm of rest, she had risen and walked to a nearby stream. The reflection that looked back at her was heavily marked, the spatters of blood that flew from the fawns coat having landed upon her face and the bodice of her robes. She washed quickly, shedding the robe to reveal her tunic and pants beneath. The robe she rolled up into a bundle, the bloodied portion within the clean, and as she returned to camp, she found a fire that had been burning and cast it within, watching until it disappeared.
Never had she spoken a word of what happened that day in that tiny clearing. From that day forth, however, she spent less time in the House of Healing, and more time in the great library of the Homely House, seeking the information she needed. It was not easily found, for Necromancy was not something looked upon with pleasure in the valley. Her one thought now, her one goal, was to see again the faces of her parents, the loving facade of her mother as joy or pride would touch her features.
Her chance to discover the full potential of what she had discovered came in the year 51 of the Third Age. It was this year that she had taken her leave of Imladris, leaving when the shadows of night had stretched long across the land. She left no missive, no indication for where she was headed, for why she had left. None knew of her reasons, yet the arrival of a golden haired elf maiden, kind and gentle had preceeded her. An Elf Lord who had captured the heart of the young elfling he had saved many years before now had eyes for none other then for this vision of beauty... Celebrian.
A gentle smile lifted the corner of her lips as she travels the lands of time to find herself not in the woods of Imladris, but those of Lorien, some four thousand years later. Had she known what bringing that poor animal back from the depths of death would bring to her; she might not have done it. She might have willed its mother to suffer the sorrow and offered a prayer for the spirit to the Valar.
As it was, she had done it. She had delved into the art of divination and had been successful. There is a possibility, one she has put much thought to, in which losing her parents, knowing how deeply it hurt to lose one you loved, had aided her that day, creating for her a life not so much of her own choosing as one made for her.
Despite the choices made, she is now here; a servant both of the Elves, as well as one of Darkness, for it had been that ability that Sauron had needed of her. He had need of her powers, of the havoc she could wreak upon those who were strong enough to best him.
The Three.