Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of The Rings or The Hobbit, only my own characters.
Chapter 4: Once Upon A Dream
The air was thick with the stench of blood and burning flesh. The ground, once green and lush, was trampled and stained red. A city that should have been a beacon of hope, Minas Tirith, lay in partial ruin behind the battlefield, smoke curling from its broken walls. The sky, thick with dark clouds, seemed to press down on the land, suffocating, as if the very world itself was gasping its last breath.
And it was, for this battle that never should have been, would determine the fate of Middle-earth.
Aragorn, his silver crown glinting beneath the dim light, stood among the last remnants of his people. His sword, Andúril, was slick with blackened orc blood. His once-proud armor was dented and cracked, his body weary, but his eyes still burned with defiance, determined to fight until his last breath.
Around him, men and women fought desperately, their cries lost in the roar of the enemy. Women, once shielded from war, now wielded swords and spears with desperate ferocity. They had no choice. There were too few men left, and no one else left to fight for them.
The battle was already lost.
Gimli, the unyielding dwarf, had been the first to fall. He fought until the very end, until an axe cleaved through his chest, and his body crumpled to the mud. Legolas, his quiver empty, wielded his twin knives, his movements swift and deadly—until an arrow pierced his side, then another, and another. His eyes widened in shock before he fell, his body lying motionless among the bodies of the countless dead.
Arwen, his one true love, who had refused to leave Aragorn's side, had taken a sword to the side that was meant for her husband, the blade having killed her instantly, and her eyes, which had once been filled with such life and love for him, dimmed, blood pooling from her eyes.
His wife. His son. His friends.
His people.
Everyone he had loved, everyone he had fought so hard to protect, was gone.
One of the last of his men called out to Aragorn from below. "There are too many of them coming from the lands of the North! We are los–" An arrow flew into the man's forehead, cutting him off forever.
"Fall back!" Aragorn shouted, his voice hoarse from battle, slicing more orcs and trying to evacuate the remaining free peoples of Middle-earth.
But there was nowhere to go.
The Nazgûl shrieked above, their fell beasts diving into the fray, tearing through the remaining soldiers like a butcher's knife slicing through meat. Screams filled the battlefield, pained and full of despair.
And from the North, from the land swallowed by shadow, something even more terrible emerged.
No. He had been defeated.
He had seen it happen.
A Great Eye, wreathed in flame, emerged, its piercing gaze sweeping across the battlefield.
No.
Not just an eye. A figure—tall, robed in black and red, a crown of jagged iron sat upon its head.
The Necromancer.
Sauron.
The Witch King's burning gaze shifted towards the last mortal king of Middle-earth, the last remaining political power standing in the way of his conquest.
Orcs closed in on Aragorn. He swung his sword, piercing the flesh of any orc that dared to come near him, yelling for everyone he had lost–fighting for what he had once loved.
And then, Aragorn fell.
He barely had time to react as a massive orc blade swung toward him, cleaving through armor, and through flesh.
His head hit the ground before his body did, rolling down a hill of an untold number of bodies. And as his head fell away from his body, the last light of hope in the world died with him.
The orc army cheered in triumph, their war cry echoing over the cries of the falling soldiers who no longer had a leader. Gone was any hope to survive the battle.
As the last of the free people of Middle-earth were slaughtered, Sauron casually walked over the hoards of empty corpses littering the battlefield to where the now fallen king's body was, picking up the bloodied crown that lay battered on the top of the bodies of the fallen.
With an inhuman strength, he closed his fist around the metal, bending and breaking it into fine pieces until nothing was left of the King of Gondor's crown.
Smoke, fire, and ruin.
Sauron had finally won.
As the Nazgûl returned to their ruler, the figure of Sauron paused in his conquest, looking towards the West, his inhuman gaze zeroing in on one last remaining figure–
One who was not under his command.
His gaze locked onto this anomaly, seeing her face gape in horror of what she had just witnessed.
Ainima.
The name was not spoken, but it rang in her very bones, in her very soul.
I see you!
She burned from the inside, her very being tearing into thousands of pieces and shattering like glass.
The figure screamed—
And woke with a strangled gasp.
XXX
Phantom echoes of the battle still ringing in her ears. Katherine's chest rose and fell in rapid succession, her heart slamming against her ribs like a caged bird.
Her nightdress clung to her skin, damp with sweat, as she pushed herself upright. The fire had long since burned down to embers, the wooden house dim and quiet in the early morning hours.
The images refused to fade. They clung to her mind, unwilling to let go. Katherine was almost lost in the dream, and only when Brianne shifted slightly in the bed next to her, still asleep, did she finally come back to the present.
The young woman decided that she wouldn't be getting any more rest and slowly got out of the bed, taking care to be quiet so that she didn't wake the young growing teen next to her who needed her sleep. Quickly changing into a pale blue dress and slipping on her boots, Katherine quietly slipped out the door.
Stepping outside, the air felt different. The once-welcoming warmth of spring had been swallowed by a sky of thick, rolling clouds. The wind whispered through the trees, unsettled and restless. A storm brewed—not just in the skies, but within her. Not even the birds sang their morning songs, choosing to remain quiet in the trees.
Still, she forced herself into the motions of her daily routine, trying to shake the dream's lingering hold.
Calima, Anniina's prized mare, nickered softly as Katherine approached the stables, her tail whipping back and forth in a happy greeting, and her silver-white coat gleaming even in the dim light.
The young woman smiled at the horse, grabbing a brush and settling down next to the calm mare, brushing the silky white mane until it was soft and untangled.
Once she was done, Katherine absentmindedly stroked the horse's mane before reaching into her basket and offering an apple.
"There you go, girl," Katherine murmured.
Just as Calima crunched into the fruit, familiar footsteps sounded behind her.
"You had another nightmare," Jaakkima said.
Katherine turned to see him standing just outside the stable, already halfway through fastening the leather straps on his hunting gear. His dark eyes studied her with quiet concern.
She hesitated. She could tell him—he was one of the few people she trusted most in this world—but the words caught in her throat. She had always suffered from nightmares of drowning, a relic from her past, and Jaakkima knew of them. But this was something different.
"It wasn't like before," she admitted, brushing her fingers over Calima's mane, the horse still contently helping itself to another apple from her basket. "Not the drowning nightmare. This one was... vivid. It felt like a warning, or a sign."
Jaakkima's brow furrowed slightly as he adjusted the bridle on his own horse. "A warning of what?"
She shook her head. "I don't know."
A partial truth. She did know—at least, in part. But she wasn't ready to share it.
Jaakkima studied her for a moment longer before nodding. He never pushed her for answers.
It was something she appreciated about him.
He swung himself up onto his horse, adjusting the reins. Katherine, still uneasy, stepped closer, hands gently petting the muzzle of his stallion.
"Be careful," she murmured, looking directly into Jaakkima's eyes. "Something about today doesn't feel right."
"I always am."
"Please."
His gaze softened, before he nodded.
Katherine wasn't so sure, but she stepped back from his horse.
"Take care yourself."
With that, he kicked his horse forward and rode off toward the forest, disappearing into the mist-laden trees.
XXX
After Jaakkima disappeared into the forest, Katherine forced herself to shake off the unease curling in her stomach. She had a task to complete—Anniina had asked her to gather supplies for the house, and dwelling on the dream would do her no good.
The village bustled with early morning activity when she arrived. Vendors set up their stalls, children darted between the buildings, and the scent of fresh bread and drying herbs filled the air. Despite the lingering weight in her chest, the familiar energy of the village soothed her frayed nerves.
As she wove through the market, she spotted Tähti standing by a stall of dried flowers, her fingers absently tracing the petals. Next to her, Suvi smirked knowingly.
Katherine raised a brow as she approached. "Alright, what's going on here?"
Tähti's face turned a bright shade of red.
Suvi grinned. "Eetu finally asked her to go with him to the Kuutamo festival."
Katherine's eyes widened before she broke into a grin. "Oh, finally." She turned to Suvi. "I believe you owe me this time."
Tähti groaned, covering her face with her hands as Suvi tossed over a small bag of coins, Katherine playfully shaking the bag in triumph. "I knew you two would make a big deal out of it."
"We are making a big deal out of it," Suvi teased, elbowing her playfully. "You should have seen the way he was practically tripping over himself trying to ask."
Katherine laughed. "I don't know how you didn't see it before now—he's been looking at you like you're the morning sun ever since I met him."
Tähti let out an embarrassed groan, but Katherine could see the small, pleased smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
After a few more rounds of lighthearted teasing, Katherine left the two of them behind and made her way to Ronja's bakery. The warmth of the shop was a welcome comfort, and the smell of freshly baked bread wrapped around her like a familiar embrace.
Ronja greeted her with a broad smile as she placed a warm loaf into Katherine's hands. "You're in luck—I just pulled this one from the oven."
Katherine smiled in thanks but noticed the older woman's expression carried an extra lightness today. "You seem happier than usual. Any good news?"
Ronja beamed. "My granddaughter was just born. A healthy little girl."
Katherine's face lit up. "That's wonderful! Are you going to spend the festival with your family, then?"
Ronja nodded. "Of course. My son and his wife want me to be there for her first festival, even if she won't remember it."
Katherine chuckled. "Still, it'll be a lovely memory for you."
"Oh, I know." Ronja winked, placing a few extra scones into Katherine's basket and shooing her from the store.
After bidding Ronja farewell, she made her way toward the path leading home, stopping to admire one of the vendor's booths containing some crystals from Ered Luin. Her eye caught the shine from a crystal quartz stone, and she considered getting it for Brianne, who enjoyed gathering little trinkets on their outings.
As she went to inquire about the price, a shrill voice cut through the air like a butter knife cutting through butter. Katherine sighed, closing her eyes in exasperation.
"You bring ill will to this village!"
Matleena stood near a fruit stall, her wrinkled face contorted in anger. The old woman's sharp eyes bore into Katherine, and if looks could kill, Katherine would have been already six feet under by now.
The nearby villagers fell silent, casting uneasy glances between them.
Matleena took a step closer, her gnarled hands curling into fists. "There is darkness in you, girl. You walk with shadows at your heels. I see it."
Katherine stiffened, her hands tightening at her sides. It didn't matter what Katherine did–the elder woman always had a bone to pick with her.
She had long grown used to Matleena's distrust, the old woman always watching her with suspicion.
But today, there was something different in her voice—something more urgent, more accusing.
"Mark my words," she hissed, addressing the small crowd. "Ill omens follow her. And soon, we will all pay the price."
Katherine met her gaze, forcing her voice to remain steady. "I have done nothing to harm this village."
Matleena's lips pressed into a thin line. "Not yet."
"What is happening here?"
The crowd began to disperse as Eetu walked over, his sword sheathed on his belt, and his cloak fluttering around his long legs as he strode over to the scene.
Matleena opened her mouth, but Katherine beat her to the punch.
"Oh, you know, just the usual."
The older woman's face turned red, indignant.
Eetu looked between Katherine and Matleena before nodding and addressing the elder.
"Matleena, we have talked about this. It has been over a year, and Katherine has done no wrong to anyone in this village, much less to you," he said calmly.
"But she will–"
"You have no way of knowing such things before they happen. Why don't you go on your way and Katherine will go on hers? Or will you truly sour the merry mood everyone else is in for the festival tonight?"
Huffing, the old woman turned and stalked away, muttering to herself.
Katherine breathed out, relaxing a bit and running her fingers over her hair, checking to make sure her ears were covered. "Thank you, Eetu. I appreciate it."
The young man smiled down kindly at Katherine. "You are welcome, my friend, though I wish she would not judge you so."
"As do I. But I can't change the way I look. What does she expect me to do–rip off my own ears and roll around in the mud until I no longer look as pale as the snow she steps on?"
Eetu chuckled. "I would not doubt it!"
"Well, I can surely say that is not happening anytime soon."
The village slowly came back to life, people resuming their tasks, but the weight of Matleena's words lingered in the air.
Katherine started to walk back home, having briefly excused herself after noticing the time, but turned around after a few steps. "Eetu!"
He, who had also been starting to walk away, stopped at her shout.
"Congratulations on asking Tähti out on a date! You won me 17 copper pennies!"
XXX
Taking a slightly more scenic route home, Katherine focused on the path in front of her. On her left, she could hear the waves from the ocean lapping against the wet sands of the coastline, though she dared not to look directly at its source.
It was true that she had been having fewer nightmares as of late, but it didn't mean she wasn't still frightened at the sight of the water.
"Katherine!" A familiar voice called out to her from the docks, halting the young woman in her tracks.
She turned to see Arvö and Yrjö standing in their fishing boat, grinning up at her like mischievous boys up to no good.
Arvö leaned on the edge of the boat, cupping a hand around his mouth. "So, will you be going to the festival with me, or am I going to have to duel Yrjö for the honor?"
Yrjö laughed. "Careful, Arvö. I do have a date already."
Katherine scoffed, crossing her arms and focusing her attention on the boys instead of the water that surrounded them. "Oh, please. I wouldn't go with either of you." She paused. "I'd take one of the fish, thank you very much!"
Arvö clutched his chest dramatically. "You wound me, Katherine."
"Deeply," Yrjö added, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "To think we lost to marine life."
Katherine rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up. "I think you'll both survive."
With a final chuckle at their antics, she continued on her way home. And for the first time that day, the heaviness of her dream felt a little less suffocating.
XXX
Katherine adjusted her grip on the handle of her woven basket as she followed Brianne deeper into the forest, their path patches of light filtering through the thick canopy above when there were occasional breaks in the clouds. The air was rich with the scent of damp earth and pine, and birds flitted between the branches, calling to one another in the crisp morning air.
Brianne, ever the chatterbox, skipped ahead, her auburn curls, the same ones that she inherited from her father, bouncing with each step. "Oh, I can't wait for the Kuutamo festival! The food, the dancing—oh, and the lanterns! You must help me make one this year, Katherine. You didn't last year."
Katherine smiled softly. "I liked watching you make yours."
Brianne huffed. "But you should make one of your own! It's supposed to carry your hopes and dreams up into the sky."
Katherine didn't reply, but Brianne hardly noticed as she kept going.
"Oh! And Aimo said he might come with me this year."
Katherine raised an eyebrow, amused by the slight flush on Brianne's face. "Aimo?"
Brianne waved a hand, trying to act nonchalant. "Yes, Aimo. You know, shaggy brown hair, always quiet, but really kind? He's one of my friends."
Katherine smirked. "Mmm. Just a friend?"
Brianne's face turned redder. "Yes! I mean—well—he's nice! And he's always helping me with things. And—I don't know! He just—"
"You like him," Katherine teased, nudging her lightly.
Brianne groaned. "You're as bad as Tähti and Suvi."
Katherine chuckled, but the warmth of their conversation did little to ease the growing unease stirring in her chest. Unlike most days where the forest calmed her, today, upon stepping foot into the woods, she felt this deep sense of unease which unsettled her.
As Brianne continued to talk about the festival, Katherine felt a shift in the air, a familiar tension settling over her shoulders like a wet, heavy blanket.
The dream from this morning gnawed at the edge of her mind. It had been so vivid, so real.
The images—Aragorn's lifeless eyes, Legolas bleeding out, the Necromancer's gaze—refused to fade from her memory. She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead, trying to steady herself, but the sickening unease clung to her like a second skin.
It was just a dream.
Wasn't it?
She had dreamt before, though not nearly as much since she arrived in Middle-earth. But this?
This felt like a warning.
But surely, she was overthinking this.
Katherine was not seeking adventure. She wanted peace. The wars of Middle-earth—the battles of elves and men—were not hers to fight. She had told herself that she was merely an observer in a world not meant for her, an outsider who had found a home in a place untouched by the great evils of legend.
But what if that was no longer true?
She was still lost in thought when they came upon Pimeä Luola.
Normally, the two would simply pass by the ominous cave, continuing on their journey to find what they needed in the forest.
But on this day, Katherine felt the urge to stop, her gaze resting upon the dark abyss.
The cave loomed before them, half-hidden among the jagged rocks and gnarled roots of the forest floor. Even in the limited daylight, it exuded an unnatural darkness, an absence of light rather than simple shadow.
Brianne froze slightly ahead of her, turning back when she noticed that Katherine had not yet followed. "Katherine, no."
Katherine barely heard her. Something inside her was pulling her forward, a whisper at the edge of her consciousness.
Brianne grabbed her arm, halting her mid-step. "We're not supposed to go near there. You know the stories."
Katherine's gaze remained fixed on the cave, something in the rocks singing to her, begging her to come forth and enter.
"Katherine?"
"I have to go inside."
Brianne's grip tightened. "Katherine, please. What if something is in there? What if the stories are true?"
Katherine gently pried Brianne's fingers from her sleeve. "I'll be fine."
Brianne's eyes darted between Katherine and the cave, her fear plain on her face. But when Katherine stepped forward, Brianne let out a small, frustrated noise and followed after her. "I hate this," she muttered, shrieking slightly when she stepped on a dry branch that broke too loudly.
The air inside the cave was thick, heavy, wrong. The deeper they went, the quieter the world outside became until there was nothing but the sound of their breathing and their careful footsteps against the stone floor.
Darkness swallowed the path ahead, leaving the girls blind in the dark.
And yet—there was light.
Brianne gulped slightly, grabbing onto the brunette's arm as Katherine glanced down at the mysterious crystal pendant that hung from her neck.
A soft, pale white light radiated from it.
She still didn't know where the necklace came from. Other than the clothes on her back, it was the only thing that she was found with, and for some reason, she felt the need to keep it on her neck, as if deep down she knew there was a reason why this necklace was already resting upon her chest.
Tiny fragments of crystal embedded in the cave walls shimmered faintly from the light of the pendant, like distant stars in a midnight sky. They pulsed softly, as if they were alive.
Their light illuminated the space.
Brianne's breath hitched. "This writing…"
Strange carvings lined the walls, illuminated by the soft glow of the crystals and Katherine's necklace. She reached out, tracing her fingers over them, feeling the grooves beneath her fingertips. They depicted a battle long past—swords clashing, creatures of shadow and flame, warriors standing against a great darkness.
Of course, Katherine couldn't read the ancient script, but the pictures that accompanied the symbols helped a lot with the translation.
Wandering for several minutes, they finally made it to the back of the cave, where a stone pedestal sat alone. It looked like a boulder at first, rough and unassuming.
But upon it lay a sword.
Brianne stopped at the edge of the space.
"Katherine, I really think we should go back now."
Katherine approached, drawn to it as though some unseen force willed her forward. The blade, encased in an ornate scabbard, seemed untouched by time, a layer of dust covering the weapon.
"Katherine…" Brianne whispered, but her voice barely reached her ears.
Her hand moved before she could second-guess herself, her fingers closing around the hilt.
The moment she made contact, a vision consumed her, and Brianne's voice faded into the background.
Katherine was no longer in the cave.
She was in the midst of a battlefield, the sky dark with storm clouds, the earth trembling beneath the weight of war.
A warrior—no, an elven king—stood tall, his long black hair gleaming beneath his silver crown. In his grasp was the sword, its blade a brilliant, icy blue, cutting through shadows that twisted and snarled.
Before him stood a monstrous figure, the Dark Lord, towering as high as a mountain, wearing dark armor and wielding a fiery torch that could decimate entire cities with just one swipe.
Morgoth.
The name rang through Katherine's mind like an ancient echo, faintly recognizing it from her limited knowledge of The Silmarillion. She saw the dark lord's presence looming over the battlefield, an abyss of malice and destruction.
She felt the weight of destiny, the power coursing through the metal in the elven king's hand. The name of the blade echoed in her spirit.
Ringil.
Katherine gasped, her body trembling, her grip still firm on the hilt of the sword. The darkness that once weighed down the cave seemed to disperse, as if an unseen force had been pushed back.
Brianne's voice came through, shaking. "Katherine…what just happened?"
Katherine turned to her, the sheathed sword now in her hands, its weight lighter than she had expected.
"I don't know."