"Make way! Make way!" voices tear the fabric of silence draping Lórien. Hooves trample its golden carpet. Blood drips through leathery armor cracks. Elsa clutches the bloodied maiden to her bosom. Limp. Eyes rolled back. Dress stained scarlet red. Ghastly steel blade still hangs from her vice-grip. Tethered by its pommel like the breath of life still tethered to her sputtering lips.
"Haldir!" Elsa screams. Her anguished cry flutters the birds from Mallorn branches. Slick with blood and sweat and tears, Anna slips from her grasp. Caught only when Haldir casts his bow aside.
"Bear her away!" Haldir orders, summoning the watchmen from their posts, "before her spirit fades-"
The sight of an arrow-studded body drifting away on a silken tarp burns a new torrent of pain into Elsa's skull. She falters. Dropping to her knees and clutching at Haldir's boot heels.
"Please," she chokes on her tears, rife sobbing hinders her every breath, "you must save her-"
Haldir looks away. Tangled red hair the same vibrance as the horsemaiden's blood spilled upon its sheets. He kneels and pulls Elsa's tremoring body to himself.
"You've made a mistake bringing her here," Haldir growls into her ears, "Crossing the Limlight at the first sign of shadow? What good were you hoping to accomplish?"
The words make a reappearance in Elsa's memory: I don't know how I'd live with myself if some harm befalls you.
"Forgive me," Elsa minces her words, desperate to slow the throbbing in her chest, "if you had to save someone you loved, you would've done the same."
"Forsake my duty?" Haldir snarls back, "We cannot contain this shadow that rises. You know our light is fading and this isn't our fight anymore."
The word surges a tide of emotion in her soul. Shame. Devotion. The unyielding burden of Anna's innocence. And yet she finds enough presence to argue back.
"The shadow will come whether we stay it or not," Elsa whimpers, "and it is up to people like Anna to hold back the tide. And our duty to help them."
"I'm dreaming."
Elsa starts towards the faintest of whimpers. Trembling hands nearly spill a water jug as she brings it to Anna's lips. She presses a hand to her forehead.
"It's you," Anna slurs, eyes half-lidded, "now I'm really dreaming."
Those eyes again. Brimming with life despite all the death she's been through.
"I'll look after you," Elsa whispers, daring to lean forward and press the softest of kisses upon Anna's forehead, "I'll keep you safe. I promise."
A shudder jerks at Elsa when she pulls her hand away. And the faint glisten in Anna's eyes clenches her chest.
"Don't go, please," Anna's voice sounds like begging in the tent's silence, "Stay with me."
She aches so tenderly for this girl. The kind of ache that stretches across worlds and tethers them together like an anchor to a ship. And yet, as close as they are, Elsa still feels that chain pulling her even closer. Deeper into the soft folds of her dress. She beckons to lay by Anna's side. Smoothening the freshly-brushed plaits of red hair she'd seen in her dreams for months past. Their fingers play hide-and-seek beneath the blanket, before they finally find one another. And Elsa whispers back.
"You fool."
I never left you.
Elsa dreams of horses and plains. A fiery-red sunset. Casting shadows against a single hut lying in the valley.
The sun glows like the brightest coal in a smith's forge and threatens to burn that hut to ashes.
She smells tea.
The empty blanket beside Elsa feels like a gaping chasm that yanks her from her sleep. She yelps and lurches out the balcony. Skidding down the Mallorn bark. And lo! Anna's right there. Slender frame sheathed in an unfamiliar Rohan shift. Red hair falls against her shoulders like a bolt of silk waiting to be unfurled. Eyes held aloft to the glittering golden canopy. Lips parted in wonder. Her sleep-weighted words drift back into her ears. I'm dreaming.
Elsa stares at the maiden and wonders if she herself is.
Her heart leaps to Anna. And then her feet. Before the smile on her face fades into a grimace at the colour of Anna's dress. Black.
Mourning.
Anna turns, shuddering lips in a half-smile. Glistening tears confirm her grief.
"I imagined I be dead, passed over the sea into the halls of my forefathers," Anna whispers, "And yet I feel the pain of his loss. The agony of my wounds. That foul breath in my scars. The ache after my mother and brother-"
The words prick at Elsa's heart and gnashes at her soul. Ugly, nasty wounds like the ones she unravelled from her bloodstained clothes. She strides forth and pulls the girl into a soft, gentle embrace, fearful of inflaming her bandages.
"And here you are. And you are real!" Anna weeps into her blonde crown, "Hold me tighter, will you? I am not wrought from straw."
Elsa doesn't. But she cradles the maiden's fair head. Helps her limp back to bed. Feeds her Lembas and changes her dressings. The wounds heal quickly under Elsa's skilled care - but she knows the silence after each breath Anna takes. Those wounds will take lifetimes to heal.
So she waits. And listens. Wipes each tear she sheds and calms her from every throbbing, screaming fit she has in her sleep.
"Wine," Anna pleads through sputtering lips, "please?"
Elsa soothes the shaking body nestled in her arms. A piece of her spirit passes into the maiden with each night like this. Sleep weighs on her eyelids. But the burden within her bosom exceeds them all.
"No - wine's for celebrating, not for forgetting," Elsa coos into her hair, "you must rest."
She sings an old Elven lullaby. Brushing those flaming-red locks until Anna's eyes flutter shut. Until she hears the last of her whispers float through her ears.
"You're too good to me."
A snore hits her ears. Elsa thinks.
Is this why they call it falling in love? Because of how much it hurts when one hits the ground?
The limp in her gait has gone. They've taken to strolling the woods in silence. And yet that pale-faced terror still refuses to lift from Anna. It takes all of her courage to suggest an idea.
"Perhaps you'd muster back your strength," Elsa looks her in the eyes, "if you'd mount your old Mare once more."
Anna halts in her tracks. Her black mourning clothes have been replaced by a white shift. There's a moment of apprehension in those blue eyes. Before her lips curl into a smirk.
"Actually, I-I can't wait-"
"I'm sure Estella misses you too."
"You've kept her well?"
"As well as Elves can - but, have you kept well?"
Anna locks her eyes on Elsa. A shudder courses through the blonde's arm as she senses those fingers trailing along her elbow. She goes numb at warmth flooding her senses.
"You've certainly kept me well," Anna drawls - slowly. Ensuring she catches every word. Thank you.
Elsa bites her lip. Ashamed at the colour in her cheeks. Are not such feelings reserved for the hot-blooded emotions that men have? And yet here you are-
The feelings simmer in her chest the entire ride from Caras Galadhon. Teetering on the verge of boiling when she sees that light in Anna's eyes dancing with each step Estella gallops. She ponders a question. The words stick in her throat when Anna sits astride in a trot. Her back held erect against the wind as it falls across her face. Fanning her hair in a river of auburn tresses. Not unlike the leaves of fall. Anna was born for the saddle.
"You're staring," the maiden quips.
There's that smile! She notices now, in the sunlight - how many freckles scatter the girl's cheeks. Her thoughts turn to stars in the night sky. Count the stars and give them names. Oh, how she'd long to count each freckle on her face and name each one like a mother names their child!
"I c-can't help it," Elsa's face burns, "you're beautiful."
Anna's eyes dip to Estella's mane, "You meant every word you wrote me then."
Elsa chuckles, "I saw no reason to deceive you."
They reach a clearing on the outskirts of Cerin Amroth. Anna dismounts. Allowing her feet to trail through the fallen leaves and her fingers to touch the roses carved into Estella's saddle. Elsa listens to the silence which had befallen the horsemaiden. Discerning each unspoken word. She hears it before it comes, but the sting jars her nonetheless.
"And yet why do I feel that all of this is a lie?" Anna says, looking down, "the letters. How I met you. All of this. Or is this some dream I'm meant to wake up from and forget?"
Elsa dismounts. Her feet land silently. And yet she resumes her fall when Anna continues.
"I can't stay here," Anna wipes at her eyes, "I'm not meant to be here. As much as you've looked after me. As much as I'm drawn to you. My duty lies beyond the River."
She feels the hurt in her shaking voice. A pain that transcends every wound she's healed her from. Every loss endured. There aren't any words in Sindarin which can soothe this pain. None in the common tongue or Rohirric or Quenya or any of the languages of old. She seals her lips shut. Before parting them against the hot breath that comes heavy against hers. No, there aren't any words for this feeling either.
The warmth rushing through her face.
The taste of Anna's lips, like honey and pain.
The sharp nails that dig into her waist and snag against her dress
She staggers back beneath the weight of her embrace and falls against a Mallorn trunk.
When Anna's fingers trail against her thigh, the Elven silk feels so utterly thin beneath her calloused touch. Like she's wearing nothing at all.
Before long, she isn't. Cloak and shift discarded amongst the leaves. Her bow forsaken against a tree like the duty she forsook crossing the Limlight in search of Anna. Modesty abandoned in the heat of their passion. Gentle whimpers interspersed with deep, throaty moans. Tears mingled with regretful sobs. A lifetime spent in the saddle gives Anna a natural balance as she mounts her against a tree root. Red hair falling in tendrils upon the rising and falling curve of her bosom.
"I'm a fool," Anna seethes against Elsa's dishevelled hair, "my family's dead and here I am making love to an Elf."
Elsa pushes harder. Lips pause at each cluster of freckles on her neck and shoulders. I will name this Meleth. This one Oltha. And this one Amarthan. Love. Dream. Destiny.
A cry pierces her ears. Pure white floods her sight before she can think of more names. But as her vision returns. And she sees those fingers interlaced within her own. Elsa braids one last word around her fingertips.
Rincuma.
Duty.
For the duty I have unto you.
The word keeps her face still as stone when she packs gifts for Anna to take back to Rohan. Elvish medicine for the horses. Lembas for her journey. A Galadhrim bow, and a Naith Blade for the shadow that looms over her lands. They leave Caras Galadhon unmounted. Dragging their feet along the trails. Prolonging each tender moment and word between them.
Anna's reduced to tears when they reach the Limlight. Tears that weather away Elsa's stony-face.
"Tell me why I have to leave!" Anna sobs, fingers curled around Elsa's arm, "I know this in my heart - but in hearing from your lips. My hope that your reason may ease my departure."
She kisses her. Anna's lips taste like tears and sorrow and longing.
"I swore it was my duty to look after you until you got well. And here you are, all well," Elsa whispers against her halting breaths, "You were meant for more than this, horsemaiden of Rohan."
"I was meant for you."
Oh, Elbereth.
They part without a farewell.
The sight of Anna riding across the River and into the dawn fog feels like a tapestry torn asunder beneath the weight of Middle Earth's impending shadow. And when that pale figure finally disappears, Elsa crumbles to her knees. Weeping into the earth. Perhaps more Mallorn trees will grow from her tears. Perhaps they'll salt the earth and kill all that lives there. Whatever bitter thought her mind conjures tastes more palatable than all the reasons why the gods have led Anna here only to rip them apart again and again. She cries until the strength deserts her. But with the sunrise, a reminiscence returns. And she leaps to her feet, bow in hand. Remembering her father's tales of ages past. One that gives meaning to her haste. It must still be there. It has to!
She feels Galadriel's piercing gaze long before setting foot in the glade. Nenya's presence glows upon her soul with terrifying, harrowing serenity. It's hollow sympathy for her ill-fated affections. And yet, the Lady's calmness sets a flicker of hope in her spirit.
"The mirror," Elsa averts her gaze, setting them down on her bare feet, "I wish to see it."
"Child…"
The whispers bolt through her head like an arrow.
You've made the right choice. Anna has made hers. What further reason do you seek?
Elsa's breath comes in starts and stops. She sucks in a lungful of air. But all it does is send a tear trickling down her cheek.
"I seek not reasons, but a salve to mend my broken heart."
Her tongue freezes. Before it lurches when Nenya comes into view. The Lady tips the water jug into a basin. And beckons Elsa to watch her fate from afar.
Her chest clenches when she comes across Anna's reflection in the still waters. And Bethiel. The roaring river Limlight, cold and harsh like that crack separating their two worlds. She sees Anna astride Estella, riding hard and fast away from the looming shadow. Elsa's heart grows heavy. The darkness grows fingers, before a foul beast emerges from its grasp. And the very core of Elsa's being shudders when she recognises his mantle.
The Witch-King of Angmar.
Darkness clouds her eyes. Before its fabric is rent by a fiery sunset descending upon the valley. She makes out the wooden hut a second before the sun falls. Setting grass and hut aflame. And in the midst of it all - Anna's body. Torn and bloodied like a ripped dress. Slumped against Estella's unmoving bulk.
"Anna's fate has been decided," the voice swamps her mind again, "now is the time to decide if you wish to partake in hers."
The mirror threatens to drag her in. She lashes out a boot, and kicks herself free of its visions. Landing on the ground with a thump.
"Decide?" Elsa screams, smoke rising from her cloak, "Are they not both horrible fates to suffer?"