Finally, an update! Perhaps a bit short, but at least it's something…
'xoxo's mark the change of scene, or the break from the chapter to the author's note. I would have used asterisks, but they're not showing up.
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When Naomi finally awoke, the world had been sheathed in gray gauze that blurred everything she saw. She couldn't distinguish anything beyond the barest shapes, and even those seemed contorted into grotesque beasts, bodies that could not belong to either man or beast. Still worse, was the one flickering emblem in the middle of it all; it refused to stand still, constantly darting about. Naomi was fascinated by it, unable to tear her eyes away.
Dimly, as if crossing a great chasm, her mind supplied the word: fire.
Feeling extremely stupid, yet oddly reassured, Naomi attempted to get a grip on her surroundings. Unfortunately, her senses only extended into her immediate environment before disappearing into the haze. The knowledge that could reach her mind was extremely limited. She was lying on something soft; her head was cushioned, and a blanket of some sort had been pulled over her. She twitched her wrist; there was no trace of pain.
She prepared to fall asleep again. After all, she had been awake for more than a few minutes, and no hideous, alien creatures had attacked her yet; safe enough by her rapidly plummeting standards.
However, the voice would have none of that. Lazy, worthless di'thang! it hissed. Familiar tremors of pain began to seep from her shoulder and slither down her right arm like so many serpents. Moaning softly, Naomi tried to ignore the voice, to no avail. The pain intensified along with the speaker's volume. I'll not see half my life's work wasted. You will find the fellowship again. Against her will, Naomi felt herself get up and start to move.
Naomi took another trembling step, gasping as her foot made contact with cold, rocky earth. She forged forward blindly, the voice guiding her every step. She had only taken a few steps when the voice told her stop with such force that her knees buckled and she landed rather painfully on the ground.
The impact made her open her eyes, and she was gratified to see that the gauze had disappeared. Instead, it was replaced by the welcome sight of the three remaining members of the fellowship; Legolas, Aragorn, and the Dwarf, whose name she could not recall. Naomi smiled grimly to herself. All the prejudices of Middle Earth could probably fit into this one trio.
But an ominous crack in one of her fingers, accompanied by a harsh Go! reminded her that she hardly had time to ruminate over the bigotries of Middle Earth. Still moving slowly, Naomi approached the group.
They did not realize that she was advancing, seated around the fire the way they were. Aragorn was seated next to Legolas, talking with him in a voice too soft for Naomi to hear. Their backs were towards Naomi. The Dwarf—Gimli, she remembered now—was sitting across from them, eyeing them warily.
Naomi continued to approach the trio, but she had only gotten a few feet closer when Legolas had unsheathed one of the daggers he wore crossed over his back and had the blade at her throat, where it pressed as far as possible without actually breaking the skin. In an abrasive voice that held no trace of leniency or mercy, he asked, "Who are you?"
It was worth remarking, Naomi later reflected, that he had done all this without turning around.
As it was, she was terrified out of her wits. When she finally summoned up the courage to speak, her voice was a quavering falsetto. "Naomi, my Lord. Lady Galadriel's maid."
At once the sword was lowered and the elfin prince turned to face her. "Of course." The voice held no trace of emotion. He motioned to a spot on the ground between Aragorn and Gimli. "Sit there." Without waiting to see if she would obey, he reached for a bowl that was sitting by the fire and thrust it in the direction that he assumed she would be sitting.
Nursing her dignity, Naomi walked over to the indicated place. She accepted the bowl, sniffing at the contents. Broth, slightly flavored with something she could not name. She took a small sip and fought not to cringe. The taste reminded her of the few times she had been sent to throw left over food to the pigs. If worst came to worst, she would offer her cooking skills in exchange for traveling with them.
The other three seemed content to sit in silence, but Naomi soon found herself itching with the weight of the stillness. Desperate to dissipate it, she asked, "So, what are we doing?"
The response to her simple question was almost comical. Aragorn started to cough emphatically, Gimli dropped his ax to the ground, while Legolas merely stared at her with an expression caught somewhere between mortification and amusement.
Nonplussed, Naomi stared back. "Well?"
The word hung in the air, an almost tangible object, before Aragorn finally deigned to talk. "You can't possibly think that you will accompany us!" This proclamation was accompanied by a hearty "Aye!" from Gimli, but Naomi noticed that Legolas was now avoiding her gaze. Sensing at least one point of weakness, she honed in.
"But why not?" she asked, taking care to keep her voice from sliding into petulance. "I've made it this far, and you didn't even notice me. Obviously, my being in the way won't be a problem."
Already Gimli and Aragorn were shaking their heads, but Legolas still remained with his head bent. The Dwarf now took up the argument. "But you understand, girl…" Naomi felt anger rise up within her, hot and pulsing. Girl, indeed. She was easily a foot taller than the Dwarf. Well, at least half a foot. "We will be traveling all day, pursuing dangerous creatures the likes of which you've never faced. Far apart from whether or not you can defend yourself, you'll never be able to keep up the pace. No," he shook his head emphatically, "you'll just be a hindrance."
By now Naomi was well and truly infuriated. She was about to launch into a tirade, when Legolas decided to speak. "Let her go."
Aragorn and Gimli immediately began to protest, but the elfin prince cut them off with a wave of his hand. "She has managed to avoid detection for this long." He turned to face Naomi. "Few humans could do that." Aragorn began to speak again, but Legolas overrode him; "No, Estel. You must admit…" he turned so that his gaze took in both man and Dwarf. "You must admit that telling her she could not come was hardly the best thought out plan. We can hardly abandon her to the wolves. She deserves to come."
Naomi felt her heart begin to warm to the elf just before he said, "At any rate, even if she does prove to be a hindrance, we can just leave her in any town we come across."
She glared at the Elf, but he didn't seem to notice.
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The next morning dawned in a nauseatingly cheerful fashion. Naomi was rudely shaken awake by the tremors of a foot stamping impatiently. As she blearily raised her head, she heard an imperious voice say, "We don't have time to dawdle." Turning her face up, she saw Legolas, looking particularly superior as he gazed down at her.
Naomi was still too far asleep to protest, despite the fact that she had never gotten up this early in her life, a fact of which her body reminded her at every opportunity. Still keeping her eyes half closed against the intrusion of the sun, she rolled up her makeshift bed, blanket, pillow and all and slung it over her shoulder.
Their journey soon started, and Naomi was relieved to see that she wasn't holding them back. Indeed, the Dwarf was an even slower runner than she was, and while she couldn't keep up the breakneck speed that both Legolas and Aragorn maintained with ease, she was pleased by the fact that they never had to wait for her.
The quartet ran for what seemed like ages, over dull, flat terrain that never changed. In fact, the only indication that they had moved at all was the movement of the sun overhead.
They stopped at what must have been around noon, if the position of the sun was any indication to Naomi's untrained eyes. She kneeled over gratefully, letting herself notice for the first time the dull ache between her ribs and her distinct lightheadedness. To her great irritation, Legolas seemed to need no rest at all; while the other three were panting in various stages of dehydration, the Elf managed to look as if he had only just finished napping.
Naomi had wished that they would be eating something that bordered on real food, but her hopes were crushed when Aragorn took a leaf-packet from his pack and proceeded to break up the bread it contained into four even pieces, and then dispensed them to the rest of the group.
They ate in silence, though Naomi noted that Legolas barely nibbled at his piece, and put it back in Aragorn's pack as soon as he was sure that man wasn't looking. But of course; to an Elf, daily nourishment would be little more than a luxury, and Legolas doubtlessly realized the wisdom in saving all available food.
Once again, the silence began to weigh on Naomi. In Lothlorien, mealtimes had been noisy, rambunctious affairs in the hot, cramped servants' quarters. Naomi had rarely participated in the conversation herself, but for her food would always be associated with the hustle and bustle of roughly eighty humans all trying to eat at the same time. She broke the quiet. "Where are we going?"
Naomi thought her question would go unanswered, but finally Legolas spoke. "We are looking for the Hobbits Merry and Pippin; I believe you saw them being captured by Orcs." Naomi nodded. "Once we find them, I do not know. Our duty was to follow Frodo. Now that he has gone…" the Elf shrugged.
His tone was solemn, and Naomi sensed that this was a sensitive area, but the voice, returning once again, obviously didn't care for such niceties. Find out about Frodo, the voice whispered. When she momentarily hesitated, there came another crack in one of her fingers. Now!
Much against her will, Naomi was about to form a question when Legolas suddenly said, "What was that?" His head was craned towards Naomi.
Immediately, Aragorn looked around. "What is it? The Orcs?"
Slowly, Legolas shook his head. "No, it was more of a snapping sound…like a bone." Nodding at Naomi, he added, "It came from her direction."
Abruptly, Naomi felt the probing stares of Elf and Man being turned in her direction. She meant to stand up, then inspect the area where she was sitting, but she was stopped short when the bolts of pain began to shoot through the hand she used to push herself up.
Giving a small cry, she fell back to the ground, scrutinized her hand, and noticed that two of her fingers were sticking out in distinctly unnatural angles. With a jolt, she remembered the times her fingers had cracked; once the night before, and the second time just a few moments ago. They must have broken, but how had she not realized it?
Her time for reflection was lost as Legolas reached across to her with catlike speed and grabbed her hand. "Your fingers are broken."
"So I'd gathered," Naomi snapped. Perhaps her anger was unwarranted, but she had just discovered that far beyond just causing her pain, the voice could apparently render her limbs useless on a whim; she was in no mood to be charitable.
Aragorn rolled his eyes. "Let me see." Naomi transferred her hand from Legolas to Aragorn, and the man inspected them. "These aren't snap breaks."
He was speaking to Legolas, correctly assuming that Naomi had no idea what he was talking about. Nonetheless, Naomi was surprised when Legolas was the one to offer her an explanation. "Snap breaks are when the bone is turned in the wrong direction, or if someone steps on the bone. But your fingers…" he took her hand from Aragorn, "these are stress breaks."
Now Aragorn took up the explanation. "This is when too much force is exerted on the bone, and it simply snaps from the pressure."
Legolas stared her in the eye, and Naomi couldn't keep herself from shifting uncomfortably. Did his eyes have to be quite so penetrating? It was as if her mind were being stripped away, layer by layer.
At long last, the Elf spoke. "With all due respect, Naomi, the force that takes is quite a bit more than you could ever wield. Who broke your fingers?"
Naomi looked down at the ground. If only she could tell him the truth…But the voice cut that thought off almost instantaneously. No! But, obviously, you're incapable of holding up to my punishment. The voice cackled insanely. Not only a human, but also a weak one at that? My, my, but if Janthea could only see this!
Naomi shook her head in an attempt to clear her thinking, but Legolas took it as an answer to his question. "Naomi, whoever it was, they can't hurt you here. You'll never see them again. You needn't be afraid."
The irony was such that it almost made Naomi weep. In a desperate effort to discover her tormentor, Legolas had managed to strike upon the one thing that irked her most; the fact that no matter where she was, the voice would be too. After all, how do you fight something inside your own head?
She heard Legolas sigh. "Fine. If you won't tell us, there's nothing we can do."
Naomi kept her head bent down, afraid that she would weep, or still worse, break down and confess everything if she had to meet his stare. They hadn't even wanted to take her along; if she broke down and started to ramble about a voice in her head, it was hardly likely to enhance their opinion of her. No, it would be far better to keep any such digressions to herself, where they could do the least harm. And besides, she had already seen the pain the voice could inflict when it wanted her to do something. Who knew what would happen to her if she tried to reveal its presence?
"But at least let me set your fingers." Legolas again. Naomi couldn't yet bring herself to talk, but she gave her hand to him. Nothing would be gained by losing the use of two of her fingers for life.
His fingers were surprisingly gentle; she had taken him for the type of man who would unintentionally take out his anger on others, but she was clearly wrong. He ran his fingers up and down hers several times, pressing and releasing at seemingly random points. When at last he set the joint, it was nowhere near as painful as Naomi had expected; indeed, the only way she even knew that he had done so was the telltale scrape of bone sliding over bone.
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Di'thang is Elvish for slave. I think. I don't know if it's Sindarin or Quenya. So shoot me.
All Elvish translations have been taken from If you notice any glaring errors (or if you speak Elvish—this would be excellent!) please, let me know.
Every time you read and don't review, and fanfic author falls over dead. We don't want that, now do we?