Chapter 5 - A Promise Under the Starlight
The greatest tragedy in any strength residing in the earthly realm is that it is be balanced with a weakness of equal severity.
For the elves, it was their heart's bond with those they love. Eternal love that never fades with time, it was truly a gift from the Valar… but take away what they love and it becomes a curse… for they shall fade from a broken heart.
For the dwarves who prided in their rocks and metals; give them too great a bounty of precious ores and the curse of a dragon's greed will sink them into madness.
For men, it was the great persistence in which their mortal spirits sought hope and strength. It advanced them far in time. But give them a false hope fabricated from a promise of power in the times where they desperately seek hope, and they can fall far and hard into darkness.
For the dragons, it was their magic's vigor and might that became their greatest bane.
Such raw potency woven through their very flesh and blood, they were living vessels in which ancient magic thrived. Naught even dragons could explain all that there was of their own magic. They could only understand, by some instinctual force designed by the higher powers of Arda. The dragons will and steadfast spirit kept their magic controlled.
But break their will and their own raw power will consume them and drown them into spite and chaos.
Break their spirit and their honor shall twist into malice, pride into contempt, and from the despair they will become monstrosities of legends.
Such was the method in which the Dark Lords, the Forsworn Shadows, the great bane of Middle Earth swayed them into malice.
~O~O~O~O~O~
The hobbits were beginning to tire. Elysia ended up carrying many of their belongings, particularly Sam's large pack. In the night, she had managed to dry much of the meat, providing the hobbits with much needed strength and something to chew on while they kept up with Strider's long pace. They finally were settled at Weathertop at the ruins of an old watch tower where the hobbits, too tired to complain or utter a word, dropped what they had and sat down on the moss covered stone.
The land looked ominous and miserable under the murk of dark clouds. It choked the light in the sky. Though the higher ground seemed safe, the sky unsettled Elysia.
Strider began arming the hobbits with small and rather shabby looking swords most likely bartered in the markets of Bree. Seeing the hobbits armed brought her a very slight comfort. While they held no experience wielding such things, it was better they were armed nonetheless. If the potential threat of black riders didn't need her attention, she would have taken some time to teach them to fend for themselves.
Elysia stood close to the steep edge of the watch tower, eyes scouring the shadowed lands.
Strider walked to her side.
"What is it?"
After a few days of travelling together, the two practiced survivalists began to work in unspoken cooperation. Although Elysia still remained distant, dispassionate in befriending and cozying up to the ranger, with their goal being similar in keeping the hobbits protected and the ring protected, they remained civil. Only out of necessity did Elysia ever engage the rider in a conversation, even then, words were always short and brusque.
"They're close… The wind carries their stench." Her lips thinned and her glare narrowed.
"Can you tell how long?" He asked, more concerned about the wraiths than to question her peculiarly keen senses. He'll figure out the riddle of this woman some other time in the future when the situation wasn't so dangerous.
"No." She sighed. "But it's best if we move in the early morn, before the first light of dawn."
She despised pushing the exhausted hobbits like this, but there was no other way; unless she shifted to her scaled form. It was a tempting idea to just pluck them all up and fly all the way to Rivendell.
It was a ludicrous idea, tempting nonetheless. She might as well light herself on fire and scream like a noisy beacon for all of Sauron's servants to see. Furthermore, the elves would most definitely not react so welcomingly to having a dragon swoop into their sacred halls. Even Strider might most likely brandish his sword at her in fright and attempt to slay her.
She released a tired sigh and pulled down her hood, allowing the wind to caress her face. Closing her eyes, she massaged her temples with a grimace. Their progress was slow, and the situation was thinning. The longer they resided in the wilds, the greater the danger will be.
The signs of fatigue did not go unnoticed the ranger.
"You should rest. Not once have I seen you sleep since the journey." He saw her frown deepen and misunderstood. "Unless you do not require sleep."
"I'm not an elf, ranger." Elysia snapped, baring her teeth at him. "But I shan't sleep with the shadow looming over my back like this." She then walked off to explore the tower, leaving Strider to frown.
Her teeth… Were his eyes playing tricks on him, or were her canines rather sharp?
Having noticed their prickly interaction, Frodo spoke to the ranger.
"Please don't take any offense. Elly can be difficult to strangers at times, and she may not seem very nice, but she is a good person." Frodo's earnest remark produced a small smirk from the ranger.
"To be good is of greater significance than being kind, Frodo." Strider remarked, giving him a small smirk. "I hold Elysia at no fault…. A good person is hard to find in this world. Are you certain your friend is good?"
Frodo did not waver. "More than enough to have the trust of me and my company. We owe her our lives."
The smirk grew into a soft smile at the hobbit's loyalty. The ranger gave him a curt nod and departed to ponder in thought. He knew more of her than most would assume. Having traveled far and wide himself, he would have to be blind and deaf to not know of the Istari's apprentice and the primary protector of the Shire. She was titled with many names, one as odd as the other, but even for a person as elusive as she, it was near impossible to avoid being in the tales of many who remembered the desolation of Smaug and the battle for Erebor, especially when she was such a direct participant.
As vague as the lady was with her midnight garb and striking swords, he found her to be honest. It was a paradox, but regardless, he trusted her.
While she remained rather cold to him, it was her interaction with the hobbits that revealed much of her better nature. That alone was enough for him to see she was no foe. She treated them with an air of delicacy and great care, despite her shrewd behavior, spotting and tending to minute things for the sake of the hobbits.
In particular, she was fiercely fond of Frodo. He had no doubt that she would kill for him with little restraint.
As a foe, she was to be feared, but as a friend…
He turned and spotted Elysia coming to Frodo with a handful of wild carrots and potatoes. She tossed them to Sam, who immediately looked overjoyed and sat herself down next to her small companion. Frodo then leaned against her arm with a tired sigh and closed his eyes. Elysia simply draped an arm around him and murmured words to him; face still blank as a slate. Something she said seemed to amuse Frodo, as he smiled and let out a small chuckle. Elysia did not smile with him but there was mirth twinkling in those argent orbs.
~O~O~O~O~O~
The wind howled against her ears at the peak of Weathertop. The ruins were gloomy and the eroding statues of great men looked particularly eerie.
Elysia sat against a pillar, dangerously close to the edge. Her eyes gleamed silver as they scanned the misty land for any sign of danger. With the wind berating her ears, she couldn't hear the hobbits in the midlevel of the tower, but she assumed they were asleep. The ranger was scouting the lands on foot for any danger and perhaps for another deer or rabbit.
She had eaten little close to nothing on this journey, preferring to give her portions to the others. They weren't used to travelling such long distances, so their generous appetite had increased considerably. It was understandable. She only ate a few bites at a time to please Frodo, who worried excessively for her. Even Strider took the liberty of making sure she ate something.
While she was mildly touched by the ranger's concern, Frodo's amused her.
Silly little one, he knew what she was. There was no need to worry for any lack in her energy.
She continued to think on. Once they arrive and settle in Rivendell, the first thing she would do is bathe, then she would to her stomach's content. While her scales might not be dirty, this two legged form was starting to feel unpleasant. Being grounded for too long never settled well with her, and the atmosphere up here was melancholy and dark, making her even more sullen. The wind seemed to taunt her, teasing her of the flight that she couldn't have. But by the second, the air was also feeling fouler. It was as though-
A shout snapped her out of the reverie.
"Put it out you fools! Put it out!" Frodo yelled.
"You got ashes on my tomatoes!" Pippin cried indignantly.
Then, with an ear splitting shriek that struck fear into hearts of grown men, they came. Elysia released a hiss and leapt to her feet. Within a few bounds, she ran across the top of the tower and gazed at the bottom of the other side. To her dreadful suspicions, she spotted black figures cutting through the misty floor. Five of the nine wraiths were coming to them, gliding towards the tower like restless spirits.
The sound of bustling feet came behind her. Elysia whirled around, unsheathing Silvindr from her hip. The falchion gleamed dangerously, daring its foes to challenge its swift edge only to meet the terrified gaze of four hobbits.
They had run up the tower, swords unsheathed, fear flooding their eyes. Elysia lowered her blade, her shock muting any gesture of apology.
"The fire. Miss Elly, we're so sorry-" Sam apologized in a frantic rush. Elysia cut him off. Now was not the time to stumble a foolish apology.
"Get behind me!" She commanded.
The wraiths made no move to be stealthy. Their armored feet stomped the ground as they climbed up Weathertop.
The hobbits immediately obeyed, frantically looking left to right while Elysia stared at a particular area. She knew where they would come. They were practically announcing their arrival, announcing the promise of pain and death as their noisy armor shifted under the ragged black cloak.
They came like a looming shadow with every step. Their stench was nauseating.
Elysia's grip on Silvindr's handle tightened. As the wraiths began to draw their blades, the blade of Silver Wind began to gleam brighter, battling the corroded dull blades of the Nazgúl with its luster like a bristling wolf against the wild dogs.
They were not outnumbered, but sorely outmatched like this. Elysia was strong, but a wise dragon admitted a challenge when they saw one. The hobbits were nothing but pigs to the slaughter against these ancient evils, and in this form she was definitely uncertain if she could battle five of them simultaneously. Five orcs? Definitely. Ten golbins? Yes. But five Ringwraiths with four frightened, inexperienced hobbits under her guard?
Where is that blasted ranger? Elysia growled internally.
Now was not the time to seek the ranger. She had little to rely on but her own skill... and sheer luck.
The servants of the Forsworn raised their blades, ready to skewer them as they advanced smoothly.
They seemed to designate Elysia as a formidable threat. Three split from the five and lunged towards her as though they pack of crows towards carrion. But a dragon never consents to be carrion.
Silvindr's edge collided against rusty blade, parrying the blow as Elysia swayed to dodge another from slicing her arm. The brute strength of the wraiths was formidable and their blades were swift. Silvindr deflected blow for blow of the three's onslaughts, and Elysia ducked, narrowly avoiding a beheading swipe. She swung under their feet and diagonally up.
It was an alien feeling to not feel the resistance of solid flesh as she cut a wraith's torso with a slash. The wraith shrieked, more in rage than in pain. Elysia sent a kick hard enough to crack a rib at another wraith closing in on her open side. It flew back with a loud clank of armor onto the ruined pillar while she began to duel the remaining uninjured Nazgúl.
Its comrade quickly recovered from her cut and with a hiss, drew another blade hidden deep within its cloak. The blade was shorter, and its cross guard was oddly shaped. Elysia nearly retched at the rotted smell of foul magic. She was familiar with the cursed edge. It was a blade of Morgul.
A shiver shot her spine, nearly bringing a falter to her movement. Caught off guard by the whispers that slithered near her ears, she staggered back at a particularly hammering blow against her falchion.
Frodo!
She heard those invasive whispers one when the Ring was exposed to the air, out of Frodo's pocket, in his hand. Something was wrong. Its poison was strong with the presence of its riders.
The momentary distraction was all that the wraith needed. It immediately tackled the opportunity and with a fearsome shriek, threw the deadly weapon.
She would've dodged the weapon. It would've been the safest course to take in the short time the blade was being propelled to her. But that left the chance the projectile would strike one of the hobbits, something she couldn't risk.
Her thoughts went as quick as lightning, and in the split second, her body made the choice before her mind.
Silvindr in hand, she parried the blade as fast as she could, just before it struck.
...There was a shattered sound of breaking metal, soon followed by a scream of agony.
She felt a sharp pain spread across her torso and arms as fragments of the sinister blade embedded itself is multiple areas on the front of her body. The piercing sting was quickly followed by an excruciating sensation akin to acid corroding the flesh of her open wounds, travelling through her veins with the flow of her heart. A scream tore itself out of her throat and her grip on Silvindr slipped. The pale sword clattered on the stone floor.
Her ears went numb. No longer did she hear the howling wind or the terrified cries of her hobbits. There was only the muffled sound of her heart hammering in her chest.
Her knees disobeyed her will and fell to the floor. Elysia barely managed to place a palm against the floor to steady herself. She reached for the corrosive pain leeching what strength remained in her shoulder and her upper right arm. Her fingers felt the warm, wet edge of a metal shard stuck just beneath her collar bone, but before she could pull out the fragment, it crumbled into dust, leaving her wound open and bleeding.
Sweat trickled at her brow, and the stray hairs freed from her braid began to stick to her face. Despite the cool air, she wanted to gag. Black magic was writhing its way within her, strangling her spirit. It was trying to take her flame. It wanted to wield her magic, take it for its own.
It was a scream from a voice all too familiar that broke her from the black trance. Her body became alert once more, recoiling back to reality.
A Nazgúl had raised its sword on her fallen figure, intent on skewering her from her back to her gut. Elysia dodged with a roll to her side.
As the sword missed its mark, the dragon's hands reached two ways. One found its grip on the handle of a fallen falchion, while the other wrapped itself around the leather handle of a sapphire pommeled sword strapped to her back.
With a yank, she pulled Faersing loose from its place on her back, sheath and all while slicing the standing wraith, clean off its legs with Silvindr.
Her body felt sluggish and cold. The burning poison was beginning to turn to ice in her veins. It was trying to stop her from resisting, stop her from fighting. But a dragon's fire was not so easily extinguished.
As the two ring wraiths realized their brethren had been outmatched by the swordswoman, they armed themselves and moved towards her.
Then she saw the little hobbit, lying against the broken pillars, blue eyes dulled by mortal pain.
It had been Frodo's anguish she heard.
When she realized her ears had captured the gut wrenching sound of Frodo's agonized scream, the ice began to melt and the embers of her will blazed into an wind began to howl and moan even louder, and under its caress, Silvindr's edge sang of a deadly promise.
The black tongue echoing around her began to quell, for there was something far greater than the foul speech that flooded her mind. The world seemed to move slowly, as if time was holding its breath, waiting for her course of action.
The Morgul wounds she bore did nothing to deter her movement now. Too much fire has been awoken.
Merry and Pippin, who arrived at her side when she fell in attempts to aid her, found themselves staring at the sheathed tip of her second sword.
"Hold it!" Elysia all but snarled.
They obeyed the command immediately, grabbing the fine dark blue leather scabbard. It was warm in their hands and it… was humming…?
Storm clouds gathered in anticipation, fueled by her will. The wind stirred and seemed to rotate around her, rising and swirling about her standing form.
Her grip on the handle of Faersing turned tight, paling her knuckles. The sapphire pommel seemed to wink and burn as if flame was licking it from within.
When the first Nazgúl came to lunge at her, Elysia moved forward and yanked Faersing out from its scabbard. The sapphire pommel seemed to wink and burn as if flame was alive from within.
...
Aragorn had climbed up the watch tower as fast as he could, dreading what he would find on the top. He could only hope that the hobbits were alive, hope that Elysia's might would match and stall the riders. His torch roared and burned as the gales around him no longer caressed the stone but violently collided with everything in its path.
What he had hoped was slightly different from what he saw.
He nearly lost the grip on his torch by the sight that would forever be ingrained into his mind.
The sight of Elysia, drawing forth a sword from a scabbard Merry and Pippin had been holding. As she unsheathed the hand-and a half sword, storm clouds from above rumbled and roared. Like lightning, the woman lunged forward and swung the blade in a blinding blue blur.
The wraith barely had time to lift its sword up and parry the blow, but the moment the sword met the jagged edge, the Nazgúl's blade did something Aragorn had never seen a wraith's sword do against another blade.
It shattered like splinters of ice, and the blue blur sliced the tall form of the undead servant straight across its armored torso. The wraith released an unearthly howling shriek.
It's comrades nearby seemed to be taken aback, and a cacophony of incredulous screeches followed. The wounded wraith writhed and began to kneel.
Like the oncoming storm, merciless and enraged, Elysia did not hesitate to lash at the next wraith. With a flash of fiery blue, another wraith was maimed as its hand fell from its arm. With her falchion in one hand and a half and the sapphire pommeled, she spun like a cyclone of blades twisting this way and that, blocking and slicing through the Nazgúl.
Breaking out of his stupor, Aragorn quickly joined in on the fight. He lit the frayed cloak of an incoming wraith before lunging at another with a battle cry. The wraiths began to scatter like bats in the night, shrieking in a chaotic flurry.
When the last wraith fled into the night with a torch stuck in its face, courtesy of Aragorn, he turned to Elysia. Her swords finally went still in her white grip. A crack in the clouds allowed the moon to peek through and illuminate Weathertop, and with its light Aragorn focused his gaze on the most peculiar long sword.
The hand and half sword had a long edge, concaving as it neared the crossguard. An ovular star sapphire donned its pommel, held firmly in place by four claws of pale, almost star-like metal. But it was the blade that captured most of the ranger's focus. The blade was blue, a paler shade of blue than the scabbard but blue no less. Cable like streams patterned the surface of the deadly blade as if the flames in which it was forged left a permanent mark.
Under the moon, its brief sheen winked a deadly sapphire hue as though it was jovial upon being summoned, gloating its freedom and victory against the lesser blades that had the misfortune of crossing its path.
The sword was a thing of menacing beauty. It was a weapon that petrified foes and mesmerized comrades with its terrifying splendor, and it was held in a being whose appearance belied her strength upon first glance.
She stood there tall, dangerous, and resolute despite her petite frame, and the blue sword did not appear to be some mere weapon she wielded. It appeared to be an extension of her proud being.
...
Faersing's leather handle felt warm under her grasp, and the sword seemed to gleam in joy at being summoned to battle, however sudden the battle was. It comforted her, giving the dragon much needed strength and savagery against the darkness assaulting her spirit.
But at the sound of Frodo's agony, the savagery quickly dissipated. She whirled and rushed Frodo and set Silvindr and Faersing swiftly but gently on the ground near her. As her ferocity began to fade, so did the stormy skies. The light of the moon began to spread further and brighter.
"Frodo…" Elysia whispered as she knelt beside him. It stung her body to do so, but she took little heed in her own pain.
Frodo gritted his teeth and his stricken face twisted her insides. On the left side of his chest, there was a puncture wound.
"Strider!" She barked as she gently brushed Frodo's stray curly locks from his face.
The said ranger came and quickly assessed Frodo's condition. Grabbing the foul blade near Frodo, he scowled.
"He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade."
Elysia's breath hitched. Her own wounds from the blade seemed to throb. The dark spell poisoning her was pulsating, gloating at its victory.
"Can you help him?" She managed to croak.
Elysia's abilities with healing were mediocre, never being one to really need much in tending to her own wounds with her draconian vigor. She read books and scrolls upon medicine and healing in her long years, but had little firsthand experience, much less on how to heal a hobbit.
Strider moved and picked up the wounded Halfling. "This is beyond my abilities. He needs elvish medicine."
Elysia's own Morgul wounds were dismal in comparison to the wound her little one bore. It laced her with heart twisting guilt. Morgul wounds were cursed. A single puncture, regardless of whether or not it strikes any vitals, is capable of bringing a strong man down on his knees. To be struck with a Morgul shaft was detrimental, but to be wounded by a Morgul blade, most likely the first of its accursed creations, wielded by one of the Nazgúl… It would be fatal.
A spike of pain nearly sent Elysia stumbling on her footing. Her dark garments concealed the wet warmth of blood leaking from her wounds. The deepest of which were inflicted on her torso and on the other side of her waist.
Should they had been caused by any other weapon, her body's vigor would have sealed the bleeding and within a day or so, she would have recovered. However, the curse imbued within the Morgul blade warred against her own body's magic.
To say that it was problematic was an understatement. This entire situation had become disastrous within minutes on Weathertop, and Elysia felt the brunt of the fault fall on her. She had been inadequate, too careless with the hobbits, too deep in her thoughts.
She then heard Frodo call out for Gandalf and then her, and it was breaking her heart.
Ebrithil… Bilbo… I failed you.
They ran through the woods until they entered a wide enough clearing, quickening their pace when they heard the screech of the wraiths. In the back of her mind, she recognized the place; three monstrous troll statues cracked and covered in vegetation. It has been decades since that incident where Bilbo fist snagged trouble.
There was little time reminisce of lighter times. Aragorn settled Frodo down on a bed of grass. The hobbit was ashen, convulsing and twitching. Elysia once again knelt to his side.
"Little one." At the sound of her voice, Frodo gasped and his glassy eyes lied upon her.
"Elly…"
"I am here, little one." She soothed. "Keep your eyes on me."
"It… I-it… G-Gandal-"
"Hush, Frodo." She grasped his hand and the blade of guilt in her heart twisted mercilessly. His hand was so cold and clammy, lying feebly in her hold.
Wraiths howled in the night, and while Elysia tended to Frodo, Strider grabbed Sam by the shoulder. "Sam, have you ever heard of the Athelas?"
"Athelas?" The words were foreign to his tongue.
"Kingsfoil. It's a weed." Elysia informed without looking away from Frodo. "It will help slow the poison."
They left to search for the plant in a hurry. Meanwhile, Elysia drowned in her guilt. How could she have let this happen? How could she fail Gandalf like this? Frodo hadn't just been injured by a knife or nicked by a sword; he had been stabbed, stabbed by a Morgul blade under her guard after she promised. She didn't just fail Gandalf. She failed Frodo and even Bilbo. Bilbo trusted her with Frodo, and Frodo trusted her to keep him protected from harm like this. How could she have let this happen to her precious little one?
You are still weak…
Elysia froze. A voice echoed in her mind, alien, gurgling with malice.
Weak and insufficient…
This wasn't her mind's voice. It felt far too evil.
You lack strength… you lack power. You were a weak, pathetic thing then. You still are now… Even with all those around you who encourage you. They have put their faith in a fickle thing.
She wanted to scream, to dig her nails into her scalp and scream away the voice.
A last hope for a dying race… You will fail… You already have failed one… you will fail them all.
This voice was chipping her away into madness.
Then there was a sudden, sacrosanct light.
It was so bright; it seemed to force the black voices to shy away from her spirit.
An aroma caught her notice, breaking her from her own lapse in sanity. She looked up and confirmed the unmistakable scent of an elven rider approaching them. The she-elf leapt off her pale horse with inhuman grace and moved towards them, the halo of radiance following her fair footsteps.
Elvish words rolled off her tongue; her voice soft and musical.
"I am Arwen… I have come to help you…" Those words were directed to Frodo, who was equally mesmerized by the elven maiden in his agony.
Elysia recognized the name and the radiant appearance. This maiden is the daughter of Elrond, Arwen Evenstar, Fair Lady of Rivendell.
"Hear my voice… Come back to the light."
But as lovely as her voice was, whatever enchantment she was attempting seemed to have little effect. Frodo's grip on Elysia's hand became nonexistent.
"He is fading." Her panic rose as her hand wiped the sweat from his sallow face.
Arwen was by Frodo's other side in an instant. "He's not going to last."One look upon that deathly ill face and milky eyes told the elf enough.
Elysia said nothing but gave the woman a fearsome glare, daring her to say Frodo was hopeless. If the she-elf uttered those words and gave up on Frodo, she will burn off that pretty dark hair from her precious scalp.
Arwen was not offended. Her eyes merely became saddened at the pain evident in Elysia. "We must take him to my father."
The ranger lifted Frodo from the ground and away from Elysia. Her grasp slipped from Frodo's clammy hand.
"I've been looking for you for two days." Arwen stated as they headed to her steed. "There are five wraiths behind you, where the other four are I do not know."
As Frodo was propped onto the saddle, his head lolled feebly. Elysia grabbed her waterskin and snatched the remaining Athelas plant from Sam's hand. She began to quickly chew on the weed into a pulp before spitting it into her water pack. Sealing the cap, she shook it a few times in her hand and marched to Frodo's free side.
Arwen and the ranger were speaking in elvish, softly arguing with each other. Arwen reasoned she was the faster rider, but the ranger was concerned with the dangers. In any other situation, it would be rather touching for Elysia to witness, but in a time like this it was making her angry.
She pulled Frodo from the saddle and into her arms, unscrewing the bottle. Carefully, like a mother with a bottle, she began to feed Frodo the water. It mostly spilled from his lips, but Elysia managed to have him swallow a few gulps. Tossing her empty water sack to the side, she held him close for a moment.
"The stars watch over you, little one." She whispered into his ear before setting him back up the white horse. "Forgive me… Please forgive me and live."
Time was short, and Elysia's patience ran as thin as a blade.
"If both of you keep arguing, I am going to cut off your tongues." She hissed savagely, focusing on Strider. "Hold your romantic chivalry, ranger. If this she-elf is the faster rider then let her ride. Frodo's time is hanging by a hairline thread, and I will not have you waste any more of it."
Strider's eyes narrowed in anger while Arwen was somewhat abashed. Elysia offered no apology or look the slightest remorseful at her insult and threat. Even with that voice, radiance, and high status, Arwen could be as mighty as Galadriel of Lothlórien and she'll care as much as she cared for dirt.
The ranger opened his mouth to argue, but Arwen looked to him imploringly.
"She is right, we are wasting time." She gazed deep into those eyes she grew to love. "I do not fear them."
At her determined gaze, Strider's resistance died. He helped the she-elf leapt onto her saddle.
"Arwen." His heart beat fast as the lovely name escaped his lips. "Ride hard, don't look back."
Arwen urged her horse forward with urgent words and rode into the night, leaving Elysia and Strider staring at her departing.
"Those wraiths are still out there!" Sam cried in indignant rage. Elysia whirled her gaze to him.
"And if he stays with us, he will become one of them." Her voice was hollow.
Without another word or notice to any others, she began to walk. The others followed after some hesitation.
When she passed his silent form, Aragorn's keen sight finally spotted the darkness staining her arm. With Frodo wounded and her midnight garb already dark, he hadn't noticed. But with the torchlight, there was that telltale gleam.
"You're bleeding."
"What of it?" She snapped as she continued to walk through the forest.
The ranger quickened his pace to walk side by side with the woman. He scrutinized her stony face briefly before staring ahead.
"Do not fret. It will do nothing for Frodo, but he is in good hands." He said.
"Cease your feeble attempts to ease my conscious, Dunedain." Her reply was frigid, but there was sorrow under the ice, sorrow and fear.
Everything you love will die. You will be left alone, with naught but the company of your failures.
BE SILENT BLACK TONGUE.
Be it silence or be it loud, the truth shall remain the truth.
She wanted to fly. She wanted to set something ablaze, break something, anything to keep the dark voices from rolling their tongues in her mind.
Aragorn saw the strain in her jaw. There was something amiss. He could see, now, the wounds she bore in the dim light. It appeared as though the fragments of something broken had torn at the upper sleeve of her right arm and punctured her shoulder. The telltale sign of blood was also spotted on her left waist.
Recalling the way the Nazgúl's swords shattered against her blue sword's swing, Aragorn deduced. Had the fragments of some blade struck her? Was that what was causing such discomfort? Were they stuck? No… It appeared to be something else.
~O~O~O~O~O~
They trekked long and hard, this time with Elysia in the lead. The company was quiet in their anxiety, but eventually they had to stop for it was still dark and the hobbits were exhausted.
They camped under the pine woods. The hobbits slept, huddled together for comfort and warmth. Elysia had covered them with an extra blanket before she set herself down against the base of a tree. After a pause, a shuffle was heard as the ranger sat by her side. Elysia fought the urge to growl like a wounded animal.
"The wound will fester." He didn't miss the scowl forming at her lips.
Elysia wanted to say "let it" but that was a childish thing to do.
Instead, she made no sound nor moved a muscle. A sigh was heard and suddenly, she felt him gently touch the tattered sleeve of her wounded arm.
Now she didn't refrain. A hiss escaped her and her pupils nearly turned into slits. Strider stared at her, quirking his brow with a scowl of his own. Did this woman just hiss at him?
Determined and a little annoyed at her stubborn and bizarre behavior, he didn't release his gentle hold on her sleeve. He opened the ripped blood soaked cloth wider, astonished by the startling heat of her blood and skin. Was she feverish? She felt that way, but her face had yet to break any cold sweat or looked sickly in any way.
Perplexed, he continued his examination and his frown deepened. Her upper arm had a cluster of uneven punctures, small yet bleeding quite profusely. However, that was the least of what bothered him.
This was no mere flesh wound. The surrounding skin of the tissue was tainted dark, veining out like marks of black lightning charred under the skin; the blood was dark and the flesh was blued. The blood oozed from the wounds, resembling thickened sap.
"You were wounded by a Morgul blade." His discovery darkened his voice. He undeniably frustrated that it was not known sooner.
"Perceptive." She snidely remarked, although her face lost some color.
"Why haven't you done anything about this, at the least bind it? Gathered more Athelas?" Strider nearly snarled, forcing himself to control his voice to not wake the hobbits.
"If you haven't noticed, we have been preoccupied as of late, and I've done what was needed with the last of the Athelas." She deadpanned and then cut him off before he could continue.
"Stop fretting." She snapped. "And stop touching my arm, you'll get it dirty."
"The curse… It's poison is slow, but regardless it is still affecting you. You will become one of them if we cannot make it to Rivendell in time." Strider warned.
"I am aware" He was surprised by her apathy.
There was a moment of silence before Elysia spoke, the cutting edge gone and in its place was a quieted air of forlorn sorrow.
"Kill me… before it happens."
She would rather be run through with the ranger's sword than become one of them. The thought of a dragon becoming a wraith was nauseating. An abomination as such should never exist.
The ranger stared at her long and hard. "No, there has to be another way."
"I'm not asking to be slain at this moment, you smelly fool." She snapped. "But if all else fails and we do not make it to the House of Elrond in time, do what you must and just end the misery."
"We will make it. I do not doubt your strength." His defense was a little flattering, if not exasperating. Men and their sense of honor, it was really blinding him from the situation.
Seeing his resolve, Elysia felt too tired to argue. "Nevertheless, I trust you will do what must be done if it is inevitable."
Strider almost looked pained, puzzling Elysia. For barely knowing her, he was getting rather sentimental.
"This is not inevitable and it never shall be inevitable. We will make it to Rivendell and you will be cured." His certainty was fierce.
He then pulled out a roll of linen from his pack and began to wrap her upper arm. This time, Elysia did not protest. She seemed lost in thought. They stared at the sky with that same air of longing.
They remained in silence for quite some time. Strider said nothing as he sat against the tree by Elysia's side. The stars twinkled down upon them, bringing little comfort as they gazed up towards the heavens.
"I wish not to fall…"
Aragorn turned to her once more. Her eyes mirrored the glittering pelt of stars, far away and pensive. It was a much sadder expression than the time he caught her stargazing in the marshes. He remained silent, encouraging her to speak her mind.
"I promised... I promised." Her voice softened.
"… Promised what? To whom?" She wasn't making sense to him.
She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply through her nose, and held her breath. She remembered those final days… Those words…
"… L-live... P-Please live."
The first and last plea of a most cherished person.
Elysia opened her eyes. Just as she gazed at the sky once more, a meteor whisked through the night, disturbing the still picture of heaven's glittering jewels.
"To live…" She answered. "I promised her I'd live."
"You will die… You will perish, lest you become stronger."
As if to confirm the dark voice, her wounds began to burn. Elysia grimaced. Her hand came to her head and gripped her scalp painfully in her desperate attempt to rip the poison in her mind.
"Power comes only to those with ambition to seize it… to use it… to submit to it."
Elysia gasped. Against her will, her mind began to flicker images into her mind, retrieving memories that were long buried.
The world around her was red. The stars were gone. There was too much smoke in the air. She couldn't breathe. The air reeked of metals and cinder.
Why was the world so red…?
Where was mother?
"The world will fall around you. Darkness is to come and reign upon this Middle Earth. It is inevitable… You will fall… you will DIE… lest you succumb."
No… No, no, no, NO-
"Elysia!"
His voice called her back. Elysia's eyes opened, and it came to her realization she had been huddling, fingers digging into the damp earth while she remained hunched on her knees.
Not one second ago, she had been silent and still, but Aragorn watched as it quickly changed. Her face twisted and she began to shrink as though she suffered pain. Her breath had come in ragged breaths while she muttered unintelligible things. He panicked and had called out to her, but she ignored him until he was knelt by her, arms stretched as though he was tempted to hold her still.
When she ceased her trembling, Aragorn rested a hand on her back.
"Elysia…" He whispered. It didn't take a man raised by the elves to know what ailed her.
"I can feel it growing. It's holding my mind in chains." Her voice shivered. "It's caging my body… It's speaking to me, whispering words of death… it wants me to yield. Like many others before me… It wants me to succumb."
"You must fight it." Aragorn encouraged. "You… You are not the others before you… You are yourself. You are strong."
When he uttered those assuring words, Aragorn felt hypocrisy sting his throat. They were words that his friends and family repeated to him all throughout his life.
"I…" She bit her lip. "I want to live."
Her words bled with desperation, with hidden fear.
"You will." His hand gripped hers, calloused and firm. "You mustn't let the evil taint your will. You mustn't fall to it. You will perish if you do. Your body may not perish, but your spirit, the essence of you who are will die." She was silent, and Aragorn leaned to her ear.
"Remember your promise… You promised to live… Twas not a promise to exist… To merely survive and exist as an empty shell… You promised to live."
His words began to bore holes into her head, swaying the haunt of the black tongue.
Elysia stilled. The ranger was right…. She promised…
No matter what suffering… what grief… what despair came her way, she will live, and she will do so with pride. She must live as herself and as no one else.