N/A: Omg I'm really sorry about the delay, but once again college and life and everything got in the way. I'm not really happy about this chapter, it kinda feels like a filler but I couldn't really write it any other way.
Well, i hope you'll like it anyway.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. Everything else belongs to Tolkien. All hail Tolkien.
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"She lazily gazed at the elf in front of her. He had looked so miserable when walking in the room that one would think he was walking to his own execution. She wondered if it could be hers.
She wondered if he would ever say whatever he had to.
She wondered if she had enough room in her to care. ( Grief and sorrow claimed a lot of space. )
Maybe if she just ignored him, he would go away.
"You are from the Avari Kingdom, right?"
She nodded slowly, carefully, swallowing down the bitter lump in her throat and holding in the tears threatening to spill.
"I-I am afraid I come bearing grieving news, then." She watched him fidget uncomfortably, eyes fixed on the wall behind her, "The fire, it spread too fast, burned a large part of the forest and..."
"And?"
Her voice was weak and cracked from her sickly state and the whirlwind of emotions raging on her chest, almost too low to hear, but the blonde elf snapped his gaze back to her, surprise clear in his blue eyes. It was the first time she spoke since she had awoken.
"... and King Arheldîr's lands were devastated as well. I'm sorry."
The world began to crumble, Arda trembled and cracked open before her to swallow the sun and moon and stars and reality. Light faded and silence screamed and shrieked.
She stared at the newly opened abyss and it stared back at her with mad hungry eyes and she fell. She fell and fell and fell. She fell through the darkness and toward the dark. It was bottomless and endless.
"And what has become of the King and his family?"
Falling, falling, falling.
"Presumed dead. I'm really sorry, my lady."
She reached the end and it broke her.
It broke her in a million pieces, sharp and ugly and scattered all around the floor. The elf should not come closer, lest he end up hurt.
She was a million sharp, misfitted pieces piled together.
Everyone was dead.
"What is your name, my lady? Your face is familiar but I cannot recall from where."
Familiar, yes, she knew where. Or rather when. She could recall a young blonde little prince trailing behind the Great King Thranduil inside her father's Throne Room. She had been even younger than him but she remembered.
The forest remembered.
"I used to be Nínim, daughter of Arheldîr, Crown Princess of the Moonlit Woods."
The world forgets but The Woods remember.
And if the Woods are gone, she would remember in their place.
The world forgets but she would remember.
"The Princess! What are the odds! But I grieve with you, my princess, for your kin was kind to us all and we held your family dear to our heart. But we shan't forget that they are in Lord Mandos' hall now, in a better place than they had ever been."
"I thank you for your kindness, my prince."
And if her voice was detached and flat he did not comment on it. He knew better than that.
He looked at her and saw a survivor.
She knew better.
She looked at herself and saw a million sharp pieces who did not fit.
She saw a ghost of what once was, of days that would soon fade away from history.
But it was fine.
The world forgets but she would remember.
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( Once upon a time there was a King. He was fair and just and noble and everyone loved him. He was married to a beautiful and lovely and gentle Queen who was also loved by everyone.
Everything was perfect.
Everybody was happy in their lovely kingdom.
The King and the Queen had a child.
A little pretty baby princess who was loved by everyone.
As soon as she was born everyone thought she would be a perfect ruler like her parents.
But then an evil sorcerer came.
He was evil and bitter and hated all pretty things.
And he sent his minions all around the world to make chaos and destroy all that was good and pretty.
So the King and the Queen, fearing the Evil Sorcerer, prohibited the Princess to ever leave their borders.
And everything was perfect in their lovely kingdom until it wasn't anymore.
Because, you see, a happy ending is just a matter of perspective. )
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In many ages to come, after a hundred of thousands of years, after the time of the elves is long over, after the existence of all magical creatures is but fairytales, and Arda has changed many times, one brave man will say that God is dead. ( he'll say a whole lot of other brave things too and go a bit crazy, but this is not his story )
( God is dead. )
This one phrase will not be uttered until much, much later and it will mean much, much more than those three words. It will be debated and despised for decades, it will inspire many young souls and enrage many old priests.
( God is dead )
But in that particular September morning, with the sky covered with grey-ish clouds and the wind howling and blowing away the first fallen leaves, this rather philosophical sentence was stubbornly repeating itself in the mind of one not remarkably brave she-elf.
Eru is dead and the Valar have forsaken us.
It was a bitter and depressing thought for such an hour of such a morning.
September,24th had started as an ordinary day, the kind of day that does not drag itself to end but does not hurry away either, the kind of day that you indulge yourself in sleeping in because whatever the day has in store for you can surely wait, the kind of day that fades away in the long string of days in a lifetime.
But even if September 24th had started as such a plain day, it would not end so ordinary.
Actually, a most important discovery was to happen in September 24th because some elves would refuse to do what they're told and others would not know when to mind their own damn business.
In fact, September 24th started out as a mostly indifferent day but things were about to change and set out a chain of events so dark that would be best left forgotten. ( but as someone once said over a mug of steaming coffee in the morning after a bad dream, the nightmares are the ones we remember best. )
But as it is, the fore-mentioned she-elf was having a depressing contemplative moment in her chamber, thinking over old resentments and feeling remarkably bitter.
( Eru is dead and the Valar have forgotten us. )
Had she not been so rudely interrupted, she would have expanded that thought in a solid argument or speech. But alas, her door was indeed thrown open to reveal a rather enraged elf.
"I just can't believe him!" Olochen marched inside without any ceremony, "I'm done!"
"Why," the elleth did not rise from her bed, only turning her head to glare at the intruder instead and speak in an overly sweet tone, "do come in, mellon nin."
"Spare me your sarcasm, Raunín. I'm in no mood for it."
The elf in question was tempted to bark another remark but thought better of it, settling for a sigh and sit up straighter, steeling herself for what seemed to be a long and difficult rant from her friend. "Do tell me then, what has put you in such a sour mood?"
"That so-called wise elf! I'll tell you, he is but a bloody-"
"Now, now. There is no need for swearing."
" Fine." Olochen glared at the elleth before resuming his heated argument. "He is an arrogant-"
"Olochen, my friend, I haven't the slightest idea as to why you dislike Lord Elrond so strongly." Raunín crossed her legs and made herself more comfortable, "You'll have to explain yourself beyond a string of curses, I'm afraid."
"I'll tell you from the beginning, then." the distraught elf captain sighed and pulled a chair from the desk. "It started with a very bad idea..."
( it actually started with someone calling his name while he carved a piece of wood in the shape of a wolf, but as it always happens with such small moments, it blurred away with the rest of the day and the captain now had no way of remembering it )
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"September 20th, 11:43 pm
"I'm bored."
"Well, Daeron," Olochen leaned back in his chair and looked vaguely amused at the elf seated in front of him, " you are always bored. So, really, there's nothing new there."
"That's not true." The elf, Daeron, pouted and tried to glare at his captain. He was a tall red-haired warrior who had voluntered to accompany the small party to Imladris two weeks ago; but he was also very young, and as all young creatures had too much energy and not enough patience. Daeron had imagined that The Mission ( it was always captalized in his mind ) would be full of action and battles and heroic deeds. Well, when it turned out to be a rather ordinary walk through woods and roads and with the most intersting event being a run-in with some idiotic orcs, it was needless to say the warrior had been thoroughly disappointed.
Also, thoroughly bored.
"Stop pouting. It is unbecoming of a warrior. Or any mature elf for that matter."
"But Olochen, I'm bored!" Olochen rolled his eyes at the younger elf dramatic gesturing and took another swing of the wine.
"The kid's going crazy 'til the end of the week, I say." the elf at Olochen's right, Saeldur, snorted from behind his own ( but not his first ) bottle. He was the oldest of their five-elves party, one of the few born in the second age, and, despite his frequent dry remarks, adored to tell tales of a past which seemed to grow more and more epic every time he told them."The mission wasn't as exciting as you thought, eh kid?"
"I'm not a kid!" Daeron protested as Olochen and Alyan, the last elf of their group, snorted.
"Sure thing, kiddo," Alyan smirked and downed the rest of his bottle, "Isn't it past your bed time already?"
"You're all idiots." the young elf scowled and crossed his arms. "Idiots and unamusing."
"Ha! Heard that, Alyan?" Saeldur laughed and proceeded to open another casket of wine, "We ain't funny enough for the kid!"
"Damn! How am I going to live now?!"
"Now, cut it out, you two." Olochen mildly chastisised the two older ellyn, allowing silence to prevail on the table for a full minute before adding with a cheeky grin "You shouldn't pick on little kids."
Daeron cursed loudly, throwing his hands up in the air exhasperated as the other three fell in a fit of laughter. "Bloody hell, even you, Olochen?"
"Sorry, buddy, but you make it too easy!"
"Whatever. I'm still bored."
"Which brings us back to the start. You're always bored."
"You can hardly blame me, Alyan. You said it yourself often enough."
"And there lays the difference between you and me, Ginger. Often enough isn't always. I'm not the annoying one."
"No, you're the boring one."
"Prat."
"Idiot."
"Jerk."
"Oaf."
"Methinks we can safely assume you both are fools."
"Olochen, Saeldur is being mean again!"
"Bah. Stop whining, kid."
"Olochen, Saeldur is still being mean to me!"
"Well, you can do something about it yourself. I'm not your babysitter."
"Alyan, Olochen is being mean to me!"
The mentioned elf groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. Alyan wasn't as tall as his companions and only slightly older than Daeron, with whom he spent the entirety of the journey bickering and, even if he would never admit it, ended up becoming friends. The pair was an odd sight to behold, one tall with bright red-hair and the other shorter with silvery blond locks, always arguing about anything and everything but attached to the hip nonetheless.
"My friends," Daeron announced suddenly with a shit-eating grin, "I've got the most amazing idea."
"I'm scared. Is anybody else scared? I'm scared." Alyan vaguely wondered if he was drinking a tad bit too much, but as all drunken people, shrugged and grabbed another bottle.
Daeron pointedly ignored him, "We shall play a drinking game!"
Three pairs of eyes stared at the red-headed in disbelief.
"That's stupid. Go sleep, kid."
"Saeldur's right, Ginger. We can't."
"You lot are so not fun!" Daeron glared, "We are already drinking anyway, it would be only adding a little fun to our current situation!"
"I don't know, it could land us some trouble." Olochen furrowed his brow in concentration. He was trying to think of all the reasons they should not do it, but all the liquor he had consumed was now clouding his mind and dangerously wavering his resistence.
"Aww, you used to be fun, Olochen! Whatever happened to you?"
"Daeron, I know what you are doing. Stop. It's not going to work. Quit it.!"
"But I'm not doing anything!"
"Yes, you are. You're doing that... puppy-eyed... face... thing."
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"Is there a reason why you are telling me this oh, so interesting tale of your past evening?" Raunín yawned. She had been waiting for a rant about the meeting, not a recollection of her friends's drunken stupidity. Did she look like a bloody diary? " Because honestly, I can't see how this explains your mood now. And most important, how come you've been playing drinking games without me? "
"I'm getting there. Be patient. All in good time." Oloche glared at his friend but couldn't keep the fond smile out of his face, not when her indignant inquiry had brought back the memories of wintery nights, when the sea was crashing against the shore and the wind was howling outside, one of the rare ocasions when the temperature hit low enough for snowflakes to float down the sky and a thin white blanket to cover the fields. Memories of nights spent with liquor to fight off the cold and friends to fight off the melancholy of the season. Memories of laughter and home. "It was, you see, a night for us, brave warriors, only. No damsel allowed, sorry."
"Say it, you all knew I would win."
"Damn it, you got me."
"Besides, I am no damsel in distress like those stupid child tales. If anything, I'm the distress itself. I'm the goddamn damsel that was locked in the tower because I was trouble for the village and was now plotting my vengeance against my enemys while lounging in my throne made out of the shining armor of the foolish knights who tried to rescue me."
"And what of the dragon?"
"There's no dragon in this tale."
"There's always a dragon guarding the tower."
"Aren't you finishing your story?"
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"I have never ever had my sword stolen by a seagull!" Saeldur's slurred words sounded all jumbled together, a result of the last two hours they had spent drinking, but that didn't wipe off the satisfied smirk out of his face nor the boisterous laughter of the others as Olochen scowled and swallowed another shot.
" Oooh man! I wanna hear this! You gotta tell me about this!" Daeron laughed and pleaded with Saeldur. If one wanted a story, one should ask the elder.
" I second that!" Alyan frowned at his empty cup before slamming it against the table. "We shall call it 'The Seagull Incident'."
"Don't you dare, Saeldur." The captain tried to threaten despite the fit of giggles bubbling up inside him. That story was funny."I'm going to murder you and hide the body if you do, you know I will."
"I'd like to see you try, captain"
"I find your lack of respect disturbing."
"You find a lot of things disturbing, captain. Sir."
Olochen opened his mouth to reply, he had a whole speech ready for this moment. Saeldur needed to know who was in command there. He needed to understand the hierarchy. Or something along those lines. Olochen opened his mouth to reply because he had a whole speech ready for this moment but it was not be. The words were still in his throat when Daeron suddenly spoke up.
"I want that." His voice was flat and distant, glassy eyes fixed in his captain.
"What are you talking about now?" Olochen snapped, because how dare him interrupt him like that?
"The wolf," The young elf rose from his chair and pointed a small wolf carved out of wood halfway out of the captain's pocket. "I want it."
"Well, too bad. You can't have it."
"And why is that?" Daeron's face was contorted in a angry scowl. He felt a hot rage brewing deep in his chest. That stuck up elf, always thinking he's better than us.
"Because," Olochen stood up, matching the other's stance, his voice dangerously calm, "I said so."
"Well, that's not a real reason, is it?"
"I am your captain and I say it is." None of them respects me, none follow me.
"Well then why don't we decide this on the courtyard?" The young elf's hand flew to the hilt of his sword. It was time someone taught Olochen a lesson. Someone more capable of handling a mission. Someone younger. Someone like him. After all, he did deserve the position more than Olochen. "Captain."
"Don't be ridiculous. It's too dark outside."
"Do you fear losing, coward?"
Olochen lunged forward and knocked them both to the ground. His mind seemed felt fuzzy and volatile as he landed a punch straight to Daeron's nose. The elf had asked for it. He had been disrespectful and stupid and insubordinate. Unacceptable.
"Whatever is going on here?"
Perhaps if he had been paying more attention, Olochen would have heard Lord Elrond approaching the room. Perhaps if he had not been so drunk, he would have cared that Lord Elrond was approaching the room. But alas, some things are meant to happen.
"Well?"
Olochen rolled off Daeron and unsteadly got to his feet. He looked around the room, surveying the knocked off chairs, the broken casket of wine, the red liquid pooling all around the floor and for a second Olochen thinks he smells copper and sees himself on the floor, the red pool growing around him, but then someone clears their throat uncomfortably and the fire burns just a little brighter and it's gone. It's just another fallen chair drenching in wine. Just a trick of the light, a dream from the alcohol. Olochen shakes his head, shakes himself, shakes the vision out of his system and pretends he sees clearer now. He thinks of what to say, wrecks his mind in search of an answer but comes out empty handed. Whatever is going on there? He doesn't know. He is not sure why he fought Daeron, actually, he is not sure why no one stopped them.
"Well, did you lose your tongues? Or are you too intoxicated to form sentences?" Elrond sounded positively furious. Olochen couldn't quite blame him, they had wrecked the room and drunk a lot. But the elven lord didn't have to be this rude, did he?
"There was a bit of a... situation here." Olochen started speaking slowly, brows knitting in concentration, willing himself not to slur, not to stumble. "But it has been dealt with. Mostly."
"Mostly?" Elrond raised an eyebrow in disbelief and the captain winced at how angry the lord sounded. They were in for some deep trouble. "Then let me tell you something, Captain. This behavior will not be tolerated in this house. Should another situation arise, I will ask you to leave my lands and to not come back."
"Are you threatening us?" Saeldur spoke up from somewhere on his right. Olochen was vaguely aware that his companions, even Daeron, had positioned themselves around him in a defensive stance.
"No, I am merely advicing you"
And with that Elrond was gone from the room, leaving the four elves for themselves. "
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"So, let me see if I got this right," Raunín was now sprawled across her bed, chin in her hands. "You morons decided to play a drinking game that somehow evolved into a drunken brawling and now Lord Elrond is justifiably upset with you, which led to you being angry with him and barging in my room yelling profanities?"
"That is... actually, that is pretty much it, yes." Olochen had the decency to look mildly embarassed, now that the anger had left his body. "Althought, I would phrase it a bit differently. It sounds bad when you say it like that."
"Well, it is bad."
"Not that bad. Anyway, we're leaving tomorrow morning."
"Oh, I assume Lord Elrond did meet with you, even after you thoroughly embarasses yourself?"
"Now you're just being mean!" Olochen scowled at her, "Yes, he did. It's confidential, though. But it was damn awkward."
Raunín's laughter followed the captain all the way down the hall, and if he was smiling for no aparent reason, well, he would say he had his reasons.
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Everybody thinks everybody always has a choice. It is universaly accepted that you can always decide your own fate by making your decisions. You can weigh the pros and cons, analize every fact and possible outcome, and then choose what you think is best.
But sometimes, sometimes you don't really have a choice. Sometimes the universe throws you into a situation without giving you a say in the matter. Or sometimes there is no right choice, only bad and worse. Or sometimes you can't choose differently, not with good conscience.
Sometimes you have a choice but not really.
Therefore, in that very September 24th evening, when the twins burst into her room ( goddamn deja vu ), Raunín never had a choice, not really.
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"Shelter, you better keep the wolf back from the door
He wanders ever closer every night
And how he waits, baying for blood
I promised you everything would be fine"