A/N: So for everyone who asked, this story is mostly movieverse. I didn't explicitly say so earlier because I think if you simply read as it is, it shouldn't really matter, and also because later I might take elements from the book as well.
Also to the guy that PM'd me that two page long message and was totally rude about telling me what an awful thing I was doing to Tolkien's work by mixing up dialogue and changing details about events and characters, I'd just like to say that this is, in fact, fanfiction and not published work to be taken seriously, and if I so desire, I can change and move around whatever I want. Also, how did you even write two pages of crap on this story, because there were only three chapters up and two pages on three chapters is a little bit ridiculous.
Ok. All clear, Mr. Rude Guy? Awesome.
That being said, I'm really sorry if I made anyone else upset with any variations from the script, events, characters, etc. It was never my intention to upset anyone. (Because apparently, people get upset over things like that.)
Four days passed without much incident after the Fellowship had gone. Each night Miraleth stayed longer and longer in her room trying to force herself to dream. Trying to force herself to See. Maybe there was still a way to protect Legolas, even while he was off running about playing hero.
"Eat something," Arwen pleaded at the side of her bed. She clutched at her hand. "Father is worried. Elrohir and Elladan are worried. I am worried, sister."
Miraleth scoffed and turned over in her bed so Arwen would not see her troubled face. "Don't be worried, I am fine. Just…tired." She lied.
"Tired? Tired of what? Not of being awake, all you've been doing is sleeping these past four days. You need no more sleep, Miraleth." Arwen pushed Miraleth's hair back from her forehead.
Miraleth remained quiet, her back still to Arwen.
"You've Seen nothing." Arwen whispered.
"Nothing of the Fellowship. Nothing of Legolas, or Aragorn," Miraleth admitted. It was quiet in the room again for a moment until she shuddered. "But I've Seen…awful things. Things that can't possibly be true. I'm sure they're only nightmares."
"What kinds of things?"
"Red sunrises. Men in Imladris, wearing cloaks and hoods, weaving in and out of the shadows between the trees. Assassins standing over my bed, murmuring in the tongue of Mordor." Miraleth shook her head. "Like I said, only nightmares."
"We are safe in Imladris. Father is here." Arwen soothed before standing to leave.
"Promise me Arwen. Promise me I am safe here. I have never felt dreams so real." Miraleth's lip trembled as she peered up at her sister.
For the first time in a long time, Miraleth looked every bit the youngest child of Elrond and Celebrian. Her covers were pulled up to her chin and her lips were trembling. Her already-pale knuckles were turning white where she clutched at the covers. Arwen paused in leaving. She often forgot how young Miraleth really was.
She reached over to Miraleth's vanity and picked up a cloak of Elrohir's that was draped across the bench. Arwen handed it to Miraleth, who took it and held it close to her. The dark fabric smelled of her brother—the woody freshness of the forest and the steel of his sword. It smelled of safety. It smelled of home.
"I promise." Arwen whispered.
"She's terrified, Ada. I know not if she is truly seeing what will come to pass, but she feels unsafe here." Arwen sat on the edge of a chair in her father's study, watching him pace back and forth before her. "Father, please. Let me take her away! We could ride to Lothlórien—!"
"No! I will not have you and your sister ride alone through Caradhras Pass." He snapped, his voice hard. "She is safest here, at home. We are all safe here. Have you no faith in my protection, daughter?"
"You always have my faith. I'm only worried for her."
Elrond stopped pacing in front of the nearest window and looked out over the forests of Imladris. "My own magic protects these lands." His voice lowered. "And I will be damned if I allow any harm to come to Miraleth, in Imladris or elsewhere."
A heavy footfall in Miraleth's doorway made her stir in her bed. "Elrohir," she murmured. "Is that you?" And then another set of footsteps, behind the first, but no response from either. "Elladan?"
And then there was the awful sound of a sword sliding out of its sheath, and Miraleth's room stank of death.
Arwen was attempting once more to convince Elrond to let her take Miraleth and run when he felt it. "Mirkwood may lie closer to Imladris than Lórien. What if I took her there? King Thranduil will welcome her like his own—"
"Arwen."
"Or I could even take her farther west, instead of east. To Mithlond. If anywhere is safe, the Gray Havens is—"
"Dina, Arwen!"
She was silent, and after a moment, her head snapped towards the doorway at the exact moment Elrond's did.
Miraleth tried once more to call out her brothers' names, but her voice would not come. Something felt wrong. There was evil in Imladris. Another heavy footstep echoed in her room, not fifteen feet away, but she did not have the courage to turn and see what monstrosity it was that had invaded her home.
Her breathing came harder and she could see her breath cloud in the air. The temperature had suddenly dropped, and she shivered.
The footsteps got closer. There were two sets, she could tell that with certainty now.
Where was her bow? Her daggers? She could not reach any of them without moving, but her body refused to listen to her and she lay still in her bed. Panic rose up inside of her and her heart quickened. Murmurs began to come from the direction of the footsteps—dark, terrible murmurs in the tongue of Mordor. She did not know and did not care to find out what they said. Please, she pleaded to no one. Please, please, please. But there was no one to hear her mind scream. Just as something in her snapped, she rolled over towards the monster to grab her daggers from under her bed—and stopped. The footsteps had paused, and a cloaked figure stood over her bed, his arms outstretched and a sword pointing down towards the bed, straight over her chest. Another cloaked figure stood beside the first, and his hands were outstretched towards her. They both murmured the same mantra in the Black Speech, over and over, haunting. The first figure rose his sword—he drove it down towards her chest—she screamed, waiting for the harsh pain to blossom—and an arrow sprouted from the figure's chest. He dropped the sword and let out a ghoulish shriek that could not have come from any Man or being she had met before.
"Miraleth!" Elrohir shouted and she flew out of bed and plastered herself against the wall as Elladan leased an arrow at the second figure. The arrow flew through the figure's neck and straight out the other side. Crimson sprayed from the wound, coating Miraleth's bed and her face with sticky blood as the figure fell, convulsing and screaming.
Another flash of black came running—no, gliding—through the door and just as it was about to bring a sword down on Elrohir's shoulder—Miraleth called out his name—its head was suddenly rolling across the floor. Elrond stood in her doorway, a long blade in each hand. Both were coated in blood. "They are everywhere! Elrohir, Elladan, take her and run! Take her to the Fellowship! Do not stop!"
"What? The Fellowship?" Miraleth barely had time to grab her bow before Elrohir threw his cloak around her yanked her out the door by her arm. Elladan, bow drawn and an arrow nocked, was right behind them as they ran down hallways and outside, stopping for no one. More ghastly shrieks sounded and the cloaked figures seemed to appear out of nowhere. Elrohir ran his sword through one as they ran, coating himself and Miraleth blood so thick it appeared black on their skin. They reached the stables, but they did not slow. Elladan swung Miraleth up behind him onto his horse as Arwen—when did she get there?—was shoving a bundle of things into Miraleth's arms.
"Arwen?" Panic was clear in Miraleth's voice.
"The Fellowship can keep you safe. Apparently safer than here," Arwen rushed out.
"I don't understand! The Fellowship is four days away!"
"Make it in less! Ride fast," Arwen commanded Elladan. "Do not stop!"
Elladan nodded before urging the horse into a gallop out of the stables. Miraleth cried for Arwen, but she was already behind them.
Nearly as soon as they were outside the gates a bear—a bear, one of the biggest Miraleth had ever seen—suddenly stood in front of them. Elladan's horse whinnied in protest and reared up, and nearly as quickly as the bear had appeared, three arrows sprouted from its chest, and it roared something terrible and fell. Elladan pulled the reins on the horse and it raced forward. Elrohir pulled up alongside them as they were leaving Imladris. "The animals are under some sort of spell! This is Saruman's doing!" He yelled over the wind.
"How did those things even get past the borders of Imladris?" Elladan all but roared. "They were not Men. They were not anything I have ever encountered before."
Elrohir shook his head. "The power of Saruman is vast."
After what seemed like hours but what perhaps only minutes, they were riding across the plains at the base of the Misty Mountains, out of Imladris and out of all Miraleth knew to be safe. She cast one look back at the forests of her home. Was her father alright? Was he alive? Was Arwen? Or had the intruders left Imladris the moment they realized she had?
"Elladan," she called up to him, leaning up to get closer to his ear. "They were saying that I have Seen Sauron and could not be allowed to live as long as I knew what lay in the depths of the Great Eye. But they were lying, I have not Seen anything."
Elladan took this in pondering silence and exchanged a glance with Elrohir, whose brow was furrowed. "Rest, Miraleth," he said and placed a hand over hers where they were locked around his waist. "It is a long ride to where the Fellowship will be."
And so she rested, her arms tight around Elladan's waist and her body warm from Elrohir's cloak. But there was no true rest on the back of a horse and even with Elladan's horsemanship and the excellence of the horse underneath them, Miraleth was jolted into consciousness at every bump. A couple times she would hear her brothers arguing with each other.
"Why would Father send her to the Fellowship?" Elrohir was nearly demanding to know. "Imladris is not safe, fine—so he sends her on the way to Mordor? To travel with the bearer of the One Ring? Where is the wisdom in this choice?"
Elladan was significantly more at ease now that the immediate danger had passed. "Father knows something we don't. We must trust him in this."
"Trust him to send our youngest sister to the doorstep of Sauron himself?" There was more than a twinge of annoyance in Elrohir's tone. "He and Saruman just tried to have her killed!"
"Calm, brother. She will be with Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas…they will keep her safe should anything try to harm her again…"
And she would drift back off into a restless sleep.
Restless, but not dreamless. She dreamed that she stood on the highest mountaintop in Middle-earth. A shadow had formed over the western lands of Mordor and was sweeping over the land like a wave—destruction in its purest form. The wave of shadow set fire to homes and tore down watch posts of the kingdoms of Men. With the shadow came the Nazgûl, and they and their dragon steeds feasted on the flesh of children whose families they had slayed. She dreamed of heads floating in pools of blood, with black hollows where their eyes had been eaten out by maggots, and she dreamed of screaming trees on fire and the sun ceasing to give light.
She had almost come to expect the nightmares now whenever she closed her eyes.
When she woke again, Elrohir and Elladan were slowing down from the breakneck gallop they had been riding at to a quick trot. The sky had lightened. It was just past midday. "How long have we been riding?" She asked, her voice thick with sleep.
"Over twelve hours," Elrohir replied and gestured to the top of the peak before them. Miraleth squinted against the midday sun. Nine figures ambled along. She could see Gandalf's staff and the golden shine of Legolas' hair.
By the time they had reached them, the Fellowship had seen them coming and had stopped. As soon as they were in hearing distance of each other, Gandalf was the first to stride forward, shock on his face. "Any particular reason Elrond has allowed the pride and joy of his life out of Imladris and into the vicinity of the One Ring of Sauron?" His voice was gruff, angry.
"Imladris is no longer safe for Miraleth," Elrohir said and demounted. His exhausted horse immediately wandered over to a small stream. "Mithrandir," He gestured away from the Fellowship, and Gandalf followed Elrohir to hear what all this was about. Elladan jumped down from his horse and swung Miraleth off, making sure she could stand alright before letting go of her.
"Miraleth," Legolas pushed past four confused Hobbits and took her by the arm. His brow furrowed when he took in the state she was in. She hadn't really thought about her appearance until now—she was in a white sleeping gown with Elrohir's dark cloak drawn tightly around her and her bow across her back. Her hair was loose, her feet bare, and she was covered in dried blood. "What's happened? You're covered in blood." He glanced at Elladan. "You're both covered in blood."
"It's not ours." Elladan muttered, his eyes roaming the hills around them. "Imladris was attacked. Miraleth has been marked for death."
"What?"
Aragorn looked up angrily from behind Legolas. "By whom?" He wandered over, along with the four hobbits and the Man, Boromir, and the Dwarf, Gimli, who was observing the entire spectacle with wide eyes.
"Servants of Saruman. They think she knows something."
"And does she?" Boromir asked.
Miraleth simmered, standing between Elladan and Legolas. "I do not. And I am standing right here!"
They ignored her. "Well, why bring her here?" Gimli threw his hands up. "What can we do about it? We are in no position to protect a little elleth."
"I'd watch your tongue, Dwarf." Miraleth hissed.
She was ignored once again, and Elladan took her by the hand to the stream where the horses drank. "Sit," He said gently and pointed to a rock. She sat and watched him untie a bundle from his horse. "Here. Stay put, don't wander off. Aragorn is watching, but I'd rather he not have to draw his sword on anything. I am going to speak to Gandalf with Elrohir and get this figured out." He handed the bundle to her and went off to where Elrohir and Gandalf were speaking in the distance. Miraleth stared at the bundle of fabric for a bit. Arwen had pushed it into her hands as they were escaping Rivendell. It had seemed like forever ago, even if it was only the night before. She pulled on the twine that held the bundle together and watched as it unrolled in her lap. Clothes—not her silken gowns and gossamer drapes, but good, sturdy riding clothes that would last longer during travel. And wrapped up inside the clothes—Miraleth nearly cried—were four of her daggers, including the one Legolas had given her, and two long blades in sheaths. Arwen's blades. There were a pair of riding boots there, too, and a small box of healing herbs Miraleth distinctly remembered leaving in Arwen's rooms one day.
She hoped Arwen was alright. Well, she brusquely thought as she gathered up the clothes and stood, unfastening Elrohir's cloak and leaving it on the rock, no point in wasting time on that now. Arwen would be fine—she was tough as she was beautiful. Miraleth glanced up at Aragorn and met his gaze. He nodded when she held up the clothes and gestured to an area just beyond the stream hidden from the eyes of the Fellowship, and she stepped carefully through the stream to go and rid herself of the nightshift she wore. Once she was certain she could no longer be seen, she slipped off the gown that had once been white but was now dyed red and dropped it into the stream. If it was still salvageable, she should have liked to keep it. She rinsed the dried blood from her body and from her hair, shivering each time the cool water of the stream touched her skin, and slipped into the warm, dry clothes Arwen had thrown into her arms. The clothes were her own, not Arwen's or a random set Arwen had come by while running to the stables, and Miraleth briefly wondered how Arwen had come by them.
She was just stepping out from behind the rock that had hidden her—and came face to face with Boromir. She jumped and her hand flew to one of the blades sheathed at her side.
"My apologies," he bowed his head. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"Um…" Miraleth relaxed, still uneasy, and shook her hand away from her blade. "Quite alright…" she mumbled and knelt to pick her nightshift out of the water. It was still stained with blood.
Boromir backed up a few feet and brightened once the dark moment of startling Miraleth had passed. "Aragorn just wanted to make sure you were alright."
"I'm fine," she cast him an uneasy glance. "Tell Aragorn he could have come and checked for himself next time. He knows better than to sneak up on me." This shamed Boromir into silence and he followed Miraleth like a stray dog with its tail between its legs back to the Fellowship. Miraleth gave Aragorn a meaningful stare as she passed him. "Sending the Man to go see if I was done changing…" she murmured and he shrugged and stammered apologetically. "Where are my brothers?" She asked, raising her voice.
"Still arguing with Gandalf." Gimli was the one to answer in his rough, gravelly tones, and he pointed to where the three figures stood in the distance. They were speaking with big, exaggerated arm gestures and it did almost seem as if they were arguing. Miraleth frowned and sat herself on a rock to begin tearing her stained nightshift into long strips. The soft material tore easily. Her handmaidens would have killed her if they had seen her doing this. Miraleth smiled bitterly at the thought.
The two red-haired Hobbits ran over and sat by her. "You're an Elf." One of them said enthusiastically.
"Yes." She smiled wryly.
"Gandalf and the other two. Can you hear what they're saying?" The same Hobbit leaned in and whispered.
She looked at the Hobbit. Intelligence and determination sparkled in his eyes. She chuckled. "No, Meriadoc Brandybuck, I cannot."
The Hobbit cursed to himself, and the other one furrowed his brow in curiosity. "Say," he began to Meriadoc. "Do you think she knows my name?"
Miraleth glanced at him. "Yes, Peregrin Took, I know your name too."
He clearly did not expect her to know, and he cast a confused look at his friend. "Oh. Well…in any case, I'm Pippin." He bowed clumsily, enthusiastically, with a grin on his face. "And this is Merry. I'd say the only one who calls me Peregrin Took is Gandalf, isn't that right Merry?"
"That sounds right, Pip." Merry nodded.
Pippin shrugged. "Oh well." He nodded to the nightshift she tore at. "What are you doing? You don't want to keep that? My mum would have a fit if she ever caught me tearing up my clothes."
Merry elbowed him. "Well she isn't your mum, Pip," He muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
Miraleth caught herself grinning at the Hobbits' antics. "I hardly want to sleep in a gown stained by the blood of those who tried to kill me. No, the fabric is for bandages now."
"Bandages for who?" Pippin asked, tripping over a rock.
Miraleth smiled. "Bandages for you, little hobbit," she teased. Her smile faded when Gandalf came striding back, his face clearly conflicted. He walked past her and straight to Aragorn, and the two began to speak in hushed tones. Elrohir and Elladan followed close behind and went to Miraleth, who still sat on the rock with her ruined, bloodstained gown in her lap, her face back to the sad, solemn expression now that she was reminded again why she was here.
After exchanging a glance with Elladan, Elrohir knelt in front of her. "You are going to stay with the Fellowhip," he said. "They will keep you safe."
"Safe?" She shook her head and her face fell. "I don't want to be safe. I want to be home."
Elladan shook his head and knelt beside Elrohir. He took his youngest sister's hand and ran his thumb over it. "We want you to be safe, Miraleth." But he could not help but feel that setting Miraleth on the path to Mordor was one of the least safe things they could possibly do for her. He remembered with a bitter smile that his and Elrohir's biggest worry had once been keeping the suitors away from her. "Sílo Anor bo men lín, muinthel. Melin le."
"Melin le," Miraleth echoed. Her eyes watered as Elladan stood. She paid little attention to the four Hobbits and the Dwarf that looked on in confusion. ("What are they saying? Legolas, come here and tell me what they're saying," the Dwarf demanded.)
After Elladan stood, Elrohir smiled at Miraleth, who gave a watery smile in return. Elrohir picked up his cloak from where she had left it on the rock and fastened it around her neck. "No…none of those tears now. Ce a mellyn, muinthel." His voice broke on the last word, but he kept up a smile all the same. "Harthon gerithach raid gelin a melthin. Na-den pedim ad, Miraleth."
Miraleth sniffled and grinned when Elrohir laughed at her. "Melin le," She said.
He nodded. "Melin le."
When he moved to stand, Miraleth grasped his hand. "You'll tell Father, won't you? And Arwen?"
He nodded again. "Of course."
She could only watch as Elrohir and Elladan each clasped Legolas on the shoulder ("Keep her safe, Legolas," Elrohir murmured. "Or you'll have us to answer to,") and nodded at Aragorn before mounting their horses. With one last look at Miraleth, they pulled on the reins, and were gone the way they had come.
After a moment of watching them ride away, she stood, her half-gone nightshift forgotten on the ground, and went to stand by Gandalf, who had also been watching them leave. He took a puff on his pipe and made a noise of acknowledgement when he noticed her. "Oh, I'm sorry, my dear. They really do just want to keep you safe."
"Yes, I've heard…" she murmured and crossed her arms.
"And the road to Mordor is safe?" Aragorn was unconvinced. He looked at Miraleth. "Your sister will never forgive me if I let anything happen to you."
"Perhaps this is not the safest place for her to be," Gandalf said. "But we must trust that Master Elrond had reason in sending Miraleth to us." He looked around the site they had stopped at. "Eh…we may as well stop here. It has been a trying day for all of us. My dear," he nodded at Miraleth and turned to settle himself upon a higher rock to look over the campsite.
Miraleth turned and wandered to the edge of the cliff they were stopped on. She sat there and watched her brothers ride away from her until they were but a speck in the distance.
Dina—Be silent
Sílo Anor bo men lín, muinthel. Melin le.—May the sun shine on your road, sister. I love you.
Ce a mellyn, muinthel.—You are with friends, sister.
Harthon gerithach raid gelin a melthin. Na-den pedim ad, Miraleth.—I hope you will have green and golden paths. Until we speak again, Miraleth.