A/N: Another short chapter, I'm afraid, but plenty of lovely descriptions! Enjoy!
Lothlorien shimmered in the dying embers of the setting sun, the long tawny arms of the blazing orb stretching one last time over the fantastically glittering trees, making them twinkle. The trees were straight and tall, with no lower branches, spreading a canopy of gorgeous silver leaves over the Fellowship and the Authors. Underneath their feet, the forest floor was half-frozen, ringing out harshly whenever their footsteps padded against the scrubbed ground. Luckily for the clumsy Madison, the path was well-kept and rather easy to follow, with the odd tree-root to trip her up and add some amusement to the weary friends. A doe, tan fur stretched over thin bones which shifted restlessly, laid her ears back and bleated at them once before bounding off. A brook rippled somewhere off to their left, creating a gentle white noise in the background. Still, Michael had an eerie feeling he was being watched - it wasn't an unusual feeling, seeing as he was born on the scummy streets of New York City, where someone was always watching you. But these eyes seemed colder, sharper - less menacing, but more calculating. The woods of Lorien were far more beautiful that the soft, lush forests of Imaldris, but it was colder, subtly harsher, and definitely more intellectual. Michael couldn't help but think that Isabella would love a place like this - his stomach turned queasily whenever he looked at the unconscious girl. Daphne had stubbornly refused to let Aragorn or Boromir take the child from her, and carried her all the way to Lothlorien. But Isabella hadn't moved or made a sound in several hours, and Daphne reported that her forehead was burning and her palms were sweating. Melody drew closer to Michael, and he lost coherent thought for the briefest flicker of an instant. She was looking around, pretty golden-brown eyes narrowing slightly as she evaluated the situation. For the first time, he noticed she had a scattering of freckles across her nose, and there was a miniscule lump in her pocket. He wondered what she carried.
The Hobbits were clustering to Aragorn automatically, Frodo looking as though he might fall over at any moment. Merry and Pippin were breathing too hard to talk, exhausted from the long hours spent jogging or walking. Sam looking as though someone had splattered a tomato in his face, and he was the one leaning closest to Aragorn. Gimli hefted his axe, looking around the woods significantly. "They say that a witch of unsurpassed power walks these woods," he said, fingering the smooth wooden handle of his axe. "They say she draws men in with her beauty, like flies to a spiderweb, and when they are at their most vulnerable -"
"Enough tales, Master Dwarf," Gandalf said sharply. "We are being watched, and I would prefer to make the right impression upon the Galadhrim, and not say that Lady Galadriel is a witch."
"Generally a good idea," Tolkien said, his first words in hours. He kept staring at Gandalf as though he expected him to disappear at any moment. Considering the circumstances, none of the Authors would have been a bit surprised if he had. Adavis suddenly paused, halting Shonji with a brief tug to his ear. The massive purple tiger growled low in his throat.
I am not a bell pull, Miss Adavis. If you wish me to stop, say so.
Adavis, of course, ignored him, and slid gracefully off his broad back. Shonji shook his coat, smoothing his fur with the rasp of his tongue. The beautiful elf maiden looked expectantly towards the woods. "I hear a step," she said dramatically.
"Of course you do," Melody grumbled. "And you'll hear my step connecting with your fat little patootie if you don't keep moving, sweetheart."
Adavis, of course, ignored her, and waited patiently until the first silver-haired elf stepped from the trees. It was eerie, the way the blended in perfectly with the woods - their armor was silver, painted intricately with scrawling trees and delicately embroidered leaves, and their bows were golden, to match the colors of the canopies. There was one who stood head and shoulders above the rest, broad-chested, strong-featured, with deep set gray eyes and a spear strapped to his back. A shield, bearing the careful insignia of a thick mallorn tree, was belted to his back, and he regarded them carefully, eyeing them up and down. When he spoke, it was in Elvish, clear and precise, a crystal brook flowing around craggy boulders. "Aragorn, you bring newcomers," he said idly, gray eyes half-closed and appearing lazy. "And why do you bring such evil into our lands?" he asked, fixing his gaze on Frodo.
"Marchwarden, we have wounded that need tending," Gandalf said, stepping into the gap with ease. "And we bring five Authors from a distant land to speak with Galadriel, along with the Bookkeeper." Haldir's lazy eyes sparked once, and a single eyebrow arched. That was the extent of his surprise.
"Very well, Mithrandir," he said. He gestured impatiently with his hand, moving it from its contented spot on his spear handle. "Come with me."
Adavis got back on Shonji, trying to make an impression on him, allowing her skirt to ride up slightly, exposing perhaps a scant half-inch of creamy leg. Haldir's gaze - as all males probably would when confronted with her - swept her body, and then, to everyone's surprise, looked away. He seemed more interested in the colossal purple tiger who was showing off by arching his neck and stretching the musles on his shoulders. As it is with all cats, Shonji was extremely vain. The Authors were led by Tolkien through the winding passageway, up one small hill and down another. The elves all moved silently, swiftly, without a single misstep, and Melody envied their long, flawless hair. The Galadhrim were all gawping at Adavis, Quilemna and Vanima, of course, all except for Haldir, who seemed slightly disinterested in them. She filed this away for later, but was interrupted when Madison fell flat on her face, nearly taking out one of the Galadhrim. Legolas righted her, trying to smother a laugh that was threatening to spill from his mouth. Madison really was truly clumsy. "Be careful, little one," he breathed in her ear. "The Galadhrim warriors are grim-faced today." He decided she already knew this, for she was eyeing them with a decidedly frightened air. He stifled another laugh. She frightened of everything, poor thing. As they crested the hill, all thoughts of Madison's clumsiness and fearfulness was driven from his mind when they saw the city of Lorien spread out like a tapestry before them.
The colors were strikingly vibrant - emerald green pastures were slashed by deepest cerulean rivers, twisting around silver boulders. The buildings were somehow built into the silver trees, some of them on top of the branches, others built below them, against the thick, sturdy trunk. Everything was bathed in a silvery glow, as though the moon had come to rest on the peaceful city. Beautiful fields, studded with gorgeous flowers of all brilliant shades, encircled the land. Horses picked up their fine, narrow noses and sniffed the air, as if welcoming the weary Fellowship and tired Authors to their beatific city. An aura veiled the city, the high, unearthly strains of music reaching their ears, as if the wind had twisted through the branches and made music purely from nature. Nothing was shadowed or darkened - everything was lit up in the hard, blazing fire of the sun which was sinking majestically behind its shrouds of sharply pink clouds and the last tinges of azure sky. The scents were light, fruity and delicious, as if they were biting into a crisp apple every time they took a breath. Elves paused in their work as they looked at the awestruck group, all of them astonished at the sheer beauty and fantastic sights of Lothlorien. Michael didn't see any elf unsmiling; they all looked peaceful and contented, their ageless faces carrying a skimming of joy in every movement. Slowly, the magic still tangible in the fabric of the approaching night, they followed the warriors down the path into the glorious city. All around them, elves smiled and greeted them in soft, gentle whispers of encouragement or welcome. It was one of those crowds in which everyone appears to be talking, but no one is opening their mouth. Surrounded by immortal, all powerful, flawless beings, the Fellowship and the Authors all felt hideously dowdy in comparison.
And then they saw them.
No matter how large your vocabulary is, there are no words to describe the beauty and dignity of Celeborn and Galadriel. She was perfect, her delicate looking hand resting lightly on her husband's fist, thick golden hair falling in a curtain to her waist, ripples of liquid heaven traveling down her shoulders. Her eyes were clear, glassy blue, as if hewn from the most sparkling crystal, and they looked at the exhausted Fellowship with sympathy. They were both covered in a silver aura, the very air around them humming with power as they descended the stairs one by one. None of the Authors were looking at Adavis, but they knew that she must appear even more beautiful and good-looking than Galadriel - none of them wanted to spoil the sight by looking at the serene, perfect face of their accompanying Mary Sues. Celeborn met Gandalf's eyes and both Galadriel and Celeborn bowed low. "Gandalf, Fellowship, Bookkeeper, Authors, it is an honor to be in your presence," Celeborn said. His voice was deep and immeasurably rich, smooth and wise sounding at the same time. Daphne felt her knees quake, and not from weariness. "But we do ill to keep our guests standing when they are so worn and weary. Come, bring your wounded, and we shall tend to them."
Daphne reluctantly allowed Isabella to be taken off her back, and the spiky-haired blonde stretched her shoulders, popping the ligaments. As several amazing looking elves hurried Isabella away, the strangest feeling came over her. It was as though a cold, wet finger was examining her thoughts, and she shivered unconsciously. And then, clear as day, a thought that was completely unrelated her her own thought process, ballooned up to her mind. Strength, Lady Daphne. You will do better to trust the ones you love, and take heed of their advice.
Michael was trying to fight down the butterflies that were erupting in his stomach, realizing that the healers were frowning over Isabella's prone body. If she was dead, Michael would never be able to live with himself. That would be the stains of two lives on his hands, two completely innocent lives that he had taken because of his own selfishness. An alien probe tickled the back of his mind, disrupting his thoughts of self-pity. Lord Michael, you must have faith. Pain and suffering will befall you before you get what you truly desire.
Madison stood on each foot, mouth still slightly open as she gaped at the beauty around her. All of a sudden she felt gawky and bumbling and stupid, realizing that her frizzy hair was a tangled mess, her glasses were askew, and her clothes stank of dirt and sweat and blood. She must look like a lump of chalk compared to a Michelangelo statue. All of a sudden, there was another, very distinct presence in her mind. Brave Lady Madison, you must have courage. You are needed to save the lives of many.
Melody fingered the smooth, slick green stone in her pocket. She still had it from all the way back in Imaldris. She was sort of surprised that it hadn't gotten lost in Moria, but rather pleased that it hadn't. But the thing that was annoying her most was the glittering lump of pyrite around Adavis's neck, threaded prettily on a strip of black leather. Her criminal mind suddenly began to work, wheels and cogs turning as The Itch began to tingle her fingertips. She was going to steal it, she realized, and little warm glow thickened her body. Suddenly, there was a thought in her mind that was not hers and completely unrelated to stealing stolen items. Temper, Lady Melody. If you allow your passion to get the better of you, a love shall be shattered.
And then, interrupting Tolkien's thoughts like a hammer to glass: What will you sacrifice for your story, Bookkeeper?
Without hesitation, he thought, Anything. Absolutely anything.
09
A/N: What do you think Michael meant when he said "The stains of two lives". Which other life is he talking about? Elf plushie doll of your choice (Elrond, Legolas, Haldir, etc.) to whoever gets the correct guess!