Rage - Chapter 1
April 25, 2007
It was midday, but the darkness that hung low over the lands was almost absolute. Black clouds blocked the sun. The rain that fell struck exposed skin with a sting like wind-blown sand. Trees and grasses writhed under the onslaught, leaves momentarily illuminated silver by the infrequent forks of lightning, only to be ripped from their branches by the howling winds. Animals had taken refuge in any available crevice or burrow. Every living thing was braced against the terrible storm.
The sound of pounding hooves echoed faintly in the darkness, confusing those animals near enough to hear it. What beast could possibly be out in the open, suffering the full effects of the storm? A few braved the elements and looked outside their shelters.
And as the beast passed, they squealed in fright and ran back into the relative safety of their shelters, not to emerge until long after full silence and peace had been restored.
The beast took no notice. It was a large black horse, completely bent to the will of its rider, its master. Pain shot up its legs with every step, causing breath to expel from its lungs in sharp gasps. The iron nails that secured its heavy shoes had been driven deep into its feet. The only relief, however minute, came in accepting upon its back the terrible being that was its master.
Khamûl drove the horse onward, oblivious to the animal’s pain. The storm that was, for the time being, keeping his path clear of enemies was of his master’s creation, the remnants of the great summoning that had dragged his temporary charge from wherever she had been before. The child was sitting in the saddle before him, her fear keeping her unconscious.
The horse snorted loudly as low branches whipped out at them. They had finally crossed into the realm of the enemy, and Khamûl knew he did not have much time before their presence was discovered.
Even in a storm as powerful as this, the sharp senses of the Elves did not waver.
A piercing crack echoed suddenly, and the horse uttered a shriek of fright and balked as an old tree gave way and crashed down onto the path before them. Khamûl pulled the beast back around, forcing it under control once more. The tree had been a massive one, but it proved only a slight difficulty. Khamûl drove the horse over the fallen trunk easily.
By the time he pulled the horse to a halt, they were deep in Elf territory, and the storm had finally started to abate. Khamûl could sense the Elves nearby, and knew they were suspicious of his presence. Swiftly, he lifted the child from the saddle and dropped her onto the ground at the foot of a tree. The child moaned and crossed her arms over her chest.
Khamûl sought for the attention of the creature within her again, and felt its rage once more. Before the summoning, his master had given him a shadowy view of what it would look like free of its host and fully grown. It would be a massive beast, monstrous in its strength and deadly in its malice. Its hide would become black and as thick as heavy armor, impervious to even the strongest Elf-arrows. A tail twice the length of the body was tipped with a blade like a spear, and possessing of such strength and flexibility that the creature could easily use it as such.
A surge of malice erupted from the child’s body. The creature seemed all the more unappreciative of Khamûl’s intrusion into its primitive thoughts. Khamûl pulled away, turning the horse around and spurring it back into a gallop. The Elves would soon arrive and discover the child. The last rolls of thunder echoed dully through the slowly clearing skies, but he took no notice of the weather.
Khamûl would stay nearby, bearing witness to the chaos the creature would cause. His master could now turn his efforts elsewhere. It alone could deal with the Elves in King Thranduil’s court.
But first, the creature had to escape from the confines of the child’s body.
* * * * * *
The last rolls of thunder echoed through the halls of the palace of King Thranduil. For a while, the noise had been overwhelming, halting all attempts at activity over the course of the storm. No Elf, not even Thranduil himself, could remember the weather being any worse. But finally, the storm had started to abate, and as the echoes of the thunder died away, the soft patter of feet could be heard echoing through the cavernous corridors.
The she-Elf Maida was hurrying towards the main hall, her footsteps slightly muffled by her soft slippers. Her hair was damp with rain, for she had been outside helping with damage assessment until now. The storm had felled several old trees, and two had come down at the cost of damage to the handsome palace that was her home. She was running to deliver the news to the Queen Amalindë.
As she entered the main hall, she quickly spotted Amalindë standing amidst a small crowd of Elves, greeting the long expected new arrivals. Maida gasped privately as she remembered that important guests from Lórien had been due to arrive today. She quickly approached, standing next to Amalindë as she examined the small group of soaking wet Elves that had just entered Thranduil’s palace.
First and foremost was the Lady Galadriel, to whom Amalindë had already handed her cloak. Standing with her were several Marchwardens—Haldir, Rumil, and Orophin were among the ones Maida could name—and two of Galadriel’s maids. All looked very much the worse for wear. Quickly, Maida untied her own cloak and handed it to one of the Marchwardens she could not name, but stood out among them due to his long dark hair.
“How did you manage to make it?” she asked softly as the Marchwarden accepted the cloak with a smile. “That storm was terrible.”
“Only by the grace of our Lady,” he replied. “But we come with grave news.”
Maida blinked in confusion, but her attention was distracted when Amalindë suddenly gripped her shoulder.
“Maida, where is Thranduil?” she asked, the tone of her voice grim.
“He is outside the north wing,” Maida replied. “That old oak tree fell on. . .”
“Go back for him,” Amalindë interrupted. “We have worse concerns than damage assessment now.”
Maida stared in bewilderment at Amalindë, wondering what was going on. However, before she could say anything more, loud footsteps echoed from the corridor she had just come through.
“There is no need,” came the strong voice of Thranduil as he appeared, regal even though he was dirty with mud and bits of bark. “Milady Galadriel, we were very concerned. How do you fare?”
“We are well,” Galadriel replied. “But there are worse problems now.” She paused, her imposing gaze trailing over the gathered before refocusing on Thranduil. “We sensed the presence of a Nazgul.”
Collective gasps sounded. Maida shivered, crossing her arms. She felt a hand settle on her shoulder, and turned to see Legolas standing behind her. He had been out with Thranduil overlooking the damage, and was as equally wet and muddy as his father. The look on his fair face was grim and solemn.
“We do not know which of the Nine it was,” Haldir continued. “But the threat of his presence was enough that we were forced to combat the storm. He passed in great haste.”
“Did you sense whether or not he is still in our land?” Thranduil asked.
“No,” Haldir replied, shaking his head. “The storm kept us from investigating further.”
Thranduil nodded.
“I will assemble a scouting party, and lead them myself,” he said.
“My Marchwardens will accompany you,” Galadriel said softly.
Thranduil bowed to Galadriel before departing, Haldir and the other Marchwardens following. The one she had handed her cloak to paused only long enough to return the garment to her. Legolas shared a long look with Maida before turning and following Thranduil. Maida watched him go, still very uneasy.
“Maida,” Amalindë said, and Maida turned. “Help me tend to our honored guests.”
While Amalindë saw to the needs of the Lady of Lórien, Maida did all she could to help her maids. At first, she felt rather shy around them, for she had met Elves from Lórien only a few times before. However, she was quick to see that they were very friendly and lighthearted. Though as visibly shaken by the presence of a Nazgul as Maida felt, once they were dry and warm they were both very eager to converse with her. Maida brought them some warm tea and sweetcakes, and chatted with them for a while. They had quickly introduced themselves as Aliana and Lilídae.
“You are related to King Thranduil, are you not?” Aliana asked.
“By marriage,” Maida replied. “My mother was Queen Amalindë’s sister.”
Maida could not remember a time in her life when her aunt and uncle had not been a part of it. And for the past several hundred years, they had been her primary guardians. Her father, who had once been a work-horse breeder and one of Thranduil’s best carpenters, had gone to the Grey Havens years ago to learn from the shipbuilder Cirdan. He had eventually decided to remain there, having been smitten by the call of the sea. Her mother had gone to be with him, but not before mutually agreeing with Amalindë to leave Maida under her and Thranduil’s care until she was old enough to decide for herself where she wanted to be.
But that time had come and gone long ago. Maida had not been able to bear leaving behind her forest home, not even for her parents. So she had remained in Mirkwood, and assisted Amalindë in her domestic duties wherever she could. This included playing hostess to the maids of Galadriel.
“Our Lady wishes this to be a casual visit,” Lilídae commented, sipping her tea. “She hopes to reforge some of the weakened bonds between Lórien and Mirkwood.”
“And we have been looking forward to her arrival for many weeks,” Maida replied with a smile. “If it was not for this storm, she would have had the whole court greeting her.” She paused. “I hope she was not offended by King Thranduil’s absence.”
“It is understandable, considering the circumstances.”
Maida quickly stood. Galadriel and Amalindë had just entered the room. Aliana and Lilídae moved to stand with her, and Galadriel smiled slightly at her maids.
“Lady Galadriel wishes to see the damage you mentioned earlier,” Amalindë said. “Could you show us?”
Maida led them through the winding corridors of the palace, privately hoping that Galadriel would use some of her power to help repair the damage. Two fallen trees had caused harm, but one—a very large old oak that she and Legolas had loved to climb in their youth—had torn a large hole in the roof of an unused bedchamber. When they arrived, water was still dripping into the room, though the sky above was rapidly clearing.
“Legolas and I counted about twenty trees around the palace that fell during the storm,” Maida reported as Amalindë and Galadriel stepped forward to examine the situation more closely.
“I have never seen a storm so strong before,” Amalindë said, frowning as she gazed up at the hole. “Lady Galadriel, do you think the storm and the presence of the Nazgul are somehow connected?”
Galadriel was silent for a long moment, her attention seemingly focused on the drops of water trickling from the ceiling. Finally, she sighed and shook her head.
“Even I cannot tell,” she admitted. “But I fear that times of darkness may be uncomfortably close. When a Nazgul rides, death will almost certainly follow.”
Maida felt a shiver run down her spine, and she bit her lip nervously. She did not like the thought of her uncle and cousin wandering the woods with a Nazgul close by.
“I hope they do not find anything,” she said softly. “I think this is enough for us to worry about.” She stepped forward and raised her hand, allowing several drops of water to fall on her palm.
“We are safe here,” Amalindë assured, offering Maida a comforting smile. “There is nothing that can breach these protected walls.”
“Except a tree,” Lilídae commented softly.
Everyone turned to gaze at the maid. Lilídae blinked and blushed slightly. But both Amalindë and Maida laughed. Galadriel smiled at their mirth.
“Except a tree,” Amalindë agreed.
* * * * * *
The familiar sounds of the forest were starting to return, now that the storm was safely ended. Legolas paused, listening to the soft songs of the birds and insects. This, more than anything, seemed to be proof that the Nazgul had left the area. No animal would dare make noise when one of the Nine was nearby.
Haldir was standing by his side, and Legolas heard him let out a soft sigh.
“One would wonder what the greater cause for concern is,” he whispered, Legolas turning his head to listen. “The fact that a Nazgul was here, or the fact that he was so quick to leave.”
Legolas could not think of an answer. Instead, he turned and led his party a little deeper into the forest, where the trees grew more thickly and decent light was harder to come by. Again, he could neither hear nor see anything out of the ordinary. But the damage caused by the storm was all around him. Several trees were almost bare of their leaves, and one that was nearby had its bark stripped away. One of the scouts stepped around it, staring in astonishment at the exposed surface.
“I’ve never seen. . .” he started.
“None of us have,” Haldir interrupted, shaking his head. He then blinked, for the scout had abruptly turned away. “What is it?”
“I hear something,” the scout replied. His sudden alertness had caused the others to pause as well. “Lord Haldir, Prince Legolas, I think it is coming from beyond those trees.”
Legolas stepped forward, straining to hear what was drawing the scout’s attention. After a moment, he started when the soft sound of a muffled sob reached him.
“Is that someone crying?” Legolas asked, glancing back at Haldir, who had clearly heard the sound as well.
Haldir did not reply, but his brow furrowed in suspicion. With a silent agreement, the two of them started forward, leading their scouting party towards the source of the sound. It became louder as they drew near, and soon Legolas could make out every gasp and sniffle.
“It sounds like a child,” Legolas commented.
Together, he and Haldir rounded an old tree and confronted the source of the crying. For a long moment, all they could do was stare in shock.
“It. . . is a child,” Legolas breathed.
The little girl was balled up at the base of the tree, her head buried in her arms. She was soaked to the bone and trembling violently, and there was evidence of the child having gotten sick at least once. When Legolas spoke, she raised her head, staring tearfully up at them. A moment later, she let out a pitiful cry and tried to press herself even closer against the tree.
“Go find my father,” Legolas commanded one of the scouts, who immediately turned and departed. He then stepped forward and crouched before the child. “I am not going to hurt you, little one.”
The child stared at him with wide-eyed terror, but did not respond to his words. Legolas studied her a little more closely, and realized just how many things about her were completely odd. Her clothing was of a make and fabric he had never seen before, as were her boots. And he could not even begin to guess what those small objects in her hair were.
“She is a child of men,” Haldir said.
“But what race of men?” Legolas asked. “I have never seen clothing like that before.” He took a small step forward, causing the child to gasp and whimper. “Do not be afraid. I will not hurt you.”
“She does not understand our language,” Haldir replied. He began speaking in Westron. “Can you understand me now?”
The child still did not react. Now completely baffled, Legolas shared a glance with Haldir. It was very clear that neither had the slightest idea what to do. If the child could not understand them, how could they comfort her?
A sudden idea struck Legolas. Very softly, he began singing a song he remembered from his youth. It was a pleasant tune about the beauty of spring, but one he had not really thought about until now. The others stared at him, but they were ignored. And after a moment, the child’s frightened gaze started to soften. Slowly, Legolas opened his arms, still continuing to sing. For a few minutes, the child only stared. Finally, she raised herself onto her hands and knees and crawled to him.
Legolas gathered the child into his arms, feeling her bury her face against his neck and cling to the front of his tunic, her tiny body still trembling. He then turned to the others, seeing the surprised and impressed looks on their faces. Haldir nodded approval.
“Well done, Prince Legolas,” he said.
Suddenly, the scout that Legolas had sent away reappeared, and a few moments later, so did Thranduil and his search party.
“Did you find something?” Thranduil asked, then froze as he saw the child. A look of astonishment appeared on his face.
Legolas gazed at those gathered around him, sharing their thoughts. First the storm, then a Nazgul, and now a strange child. Was it at all possible that they could be connected?
“Yes,” he said. “We found something.”
Rage - Chapter 2
April 25, 2007
It was well past sunset before the scouting parties returned. Maida was standing in the main hall, awaiting them as they appeared. She spotted Thranduil first, and was happy to see that he was unharmed. She approached, seeing Haldir and the other Marchwardens and scouts behind him. Legolas entered last. Maida started to greet them, but she was quickly stunned into silence.
“By Eru,” she breathed, staring at the trembling form in Legolas’s arms. “Is that. . .?”
“We found her in the forest,” Legolas replied. “She is a child of men.”
“Is she hurt?” Maida approached, examining the child’s pale face. There was an exhausted but fearful look in her eyes.
“We do not think so,” Legolas replied.
Carefully, Maida took the child into her arms, offering smiles to keep her calm. For a moment, the child was stiff and tense, but then she relaxed and gave a very tired sigh. Maida felt her tiny arms slide around her neck.
“Hush, little one,” she said soothingly. “You are safe here.”
“She does not understand us,” Thranduil said. “Nor does she seem to understand Westron.” He glanced around the hall, seemingly looking for Amalindë, who had not yet arrived. “She is of men, but not of any race we are familiar with.”
At that moment, Amalindë appeared, immediately walking towards her husband with a relieved look on her face. Thranduil met her halfway, and they spoke quietly together for a moment before the Queen of Mirkwood turned to see the child. She was expressionless for several long moments.
“Maida,” she finally said. “Take the child to the healer’s chambers and have her looked after.”
There was a serious tone to her voice, which confused Maida. But she obeyed, quietly carrying the child through the maze of dark, quiet corridors to the healer’s chambers. When she entered, she found the front room deserted.
“Réyis?” Maida called.
There was no answer. Maida sighed, hoping the old healer was not down in the wine rooms again. She carried the child into one of the small bedchambers adjacent the front room and set her down on the bed. The child drew her legs up to her chest and sat there, looking up at Maida balefully. Maida kneeled before her.
“What is your name?” she asked.
The child stared at her, clearly uncomprehending. Maida thought for a moment, trying to think of a way to communicate. Finally, she pointed at herself.
“Maida,” she said bluntly. “I am Maida.” She pointed at the child. “Who are you?”
The child blinked, relaxing slightly. Maida was relieved to see that she seemed to be understanding. She pointed at herself again.
“Maida,” she said. She pointed to the child. “And you?”
“Lucy,” the child replied.
Maida beamed.
“Lucy,” she echoed, nodding. “That is a very pretty name.” She paused. “It is very nice to meet you, Lucy.”
The child took a deep breath, and with a hopeful look in her eyes she started to speak. Now it was Maida’s turn to be confused. She could not understand a word the child spoke. She was gesturing as well, first covering her mouth and then clutching her chest. Maida shook her head, baffled. After a minute, the child silenced, tears flowing down her face.
“I apologize, Lucy,” Maida said, frowning and shaking her head. “I do not know what you are trying to say.”
Lucy was trembling again, her eyes so desperate for understanding that Maida’s heart pained for her. But she was at a loss for what to do.
“Ai, Valar,” she muttered. “What is there to be done?”
It was then that she realized just how dirty and wet Lucy was.
“Lucy, I need you to stay here,” Maida said, standing and holding up her hands in a gesture she hoped the child would understand. She grasped the sleeve of her own dress. “I am going to get you some fresh clothes.”
Lucy blinked, but did not move as Maida returned to the front room. Réyis kept spare clothing in a large wardrobe in the far corner, and she hoped there would be something in there to fit Lucy. She opened it and started digging through the disorganized clutter inside. Réyis was not known for being especially tidy, and this was proof of that. Maida knew that if Amalindë ever saw the state of this wardrobe, she would have him up through the night completely rearranging it. And after ten minutes of fruitless digging, she was sorely tempted to report on the old healer.
Finally though, Maida found a plain blue dress that seemed small enough to fit Lucy. Sighing in relief, she stood and headed back into the bedchamber. Lucy was curled up on the bed, awake but firmly sucking on one of her thumbs. Maida smiled at her.
“Here, Lucy,” she said, offering the dress. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Lucy slowly followed her into the small bathing room and allowed Maida to wash her face and hands with a damp cloth. But when she tried to help Lucy remove her clothing, the child became very shy, taking several steps back. Maida smiled softly.
“I will wait for you outside,” she said, handing the dress to her.
It was while she was waiting for the child to finish that Amalindë arrived. Maida moved to greet her.
“How is she?” Amalindë asked.
“She is well, I think,” Maida replied. “I do not believe she is injured.” She paused, looking towards the bathing room door. “Her name is Lucy. That is all I have been able to find out.”
There was silence for a moment. Maida looked back at her aunt, wondering what she was thinking. Amalindë seemed strangely solemn.
“What has been decided?” Maida asked.
“The appearance of the child is worrisome,” Amalindë replied. “There has been no evidence of any party of men in our lands for months. Someone has left her behind, but there was no evidence of her before the last patrol before the storm.” She paused. “The only explanation Thranduil and I could think of is that it was the Nazgul that brought her.”
Maida gasped, completely shocked.
“What would a Nazgul want with an innocent child?”
“I do not know.” Amalindë shook her head. “Thranduil thinks she may be a threat sent by the enemy. But I cannot bring myself to believe that. She does look like just an innocent child.”
Maida stared at Amalindë, unable to think of a reply. She too could not see anything at all threatening about Lucy.
At that moment, the bathing room door opened and Lucy appeared. Maida smiled encouragingly at her, seeing a very pretty little girl standing before them.
“Maida?” she asked tentatively, gazing worriedly at Amalindë.
“Do not be afraid,” Maida replied, offering her hand.
Lucy approached her, and Maida lifted her into her arms. The child gripped her tightly, and after a moment hid her face in the curve of her neck. Amalindë approached, slowly setting a hand on Lucy’s arm. Maida felt the child tense.
“If a Nazgul did bring her, we cannot be sure that she is safe,” Amalindë said with a sigh. “Maida, Thranduil and I know how perceptive you are. You can read the minds and hearts of men.” She smiled slightly. “Lord Elrond told us that he believes you possess the gift of foresight.”
Despite her mood, Maida smiled. Though her ability to gaze into the future was very limited, she had a fair sense of the present, and of the feelings and thoughts of men. Thranduil liked having her nearby when he dealt with men from the north, with which the Mirkwood Elves did a brisk trade. She could tell when they had other motives than what the Elf King preferred.
“Maida, I wish for you to try and see into Lucy’s mind,” Amalindë said. “Try and find out where she came from, and if she has anything to do with our enemies.”
“I will do what I can,” Maida said, slowly shifting Lucy so she could look into her eyes.
Lucy gazed back at her with watering eyes, and Maida smiled to comfort her even as she tried to gently intrude into her thoughts. For a moment, she could perceive only Lucy’s great fear and confusion. Then, she met a massively strong barrier, greater than what the child could possibly be capable of making alone. With a growing worry, Maida sought to puncture the barrier.
Suddenly, Maida sensed mental recoil. She felt a sudden thump against her breast that felt as though it had come from Lucy’s ribs. Lucy let out a horrible scream of agony and began to struggle violently. Maida could not hold on to her, and was forced to drop her onto the bed. Lucy curled up, clutching her chest as she sobbed hysterically. For a moment, Maida was breathless. Having to pull out of a mental connection so abruptly was equivalent to getting kicked in the gut. Amalindë gripped her shoulders.
“What happened?” she asked, fear in her voice. “Maida?”
“I do not know,” Maida replied, gently freeing herself from Amalindë and approaching the child. “Lucy. Lucy, I am so sorry.”
The child did not respond. When Maida approached her, she screamed and recoiled, tears streaming down her face. She felt Amalindë grab hold of her arm.
“Let us leave,” she said. “Come, Maida.”
Maida followed Amalindë to the front room and shut the bedchamber door behind her. As they listened, Lucy’s cries slowly diminished. Maida closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the door.
“What have I done?” she murmured, a tear of her own sliding slowly down her cheek. “How could I have hurt her?”
“Do not blame yourself, Maida,” Amalindë said gently. “It was I who asked you to do it. The fault is mine.” She hesitated. “What did you feel?”
“I felt her fear,” Maida replied, turning to face Amalindë. “But then I felt a barrier. A powerful one. And when I tried to break through, something recoiled from me.”
“Recoiled?” Amalindë asked, a confused look on her face.
“It was not Lucy,” Maida said quickly. “It felt like. . .like something else. Like Lucy was not the only one there.”
“Not the only one there?”
Maida and Amalindë turned. Thranduil was standing in the doorway, Legolas and Haldir behind him. He entered, glancing towards the door.
“What happened?”
Amalindë retold what had occurred. Maida was silent as the two conversed. Legolas moved to stand with her, listening for a moment before settling a hand on her shoulder.
“What is going to happen, Legolas?” Maida asked.
“I do not know,” Legolas replied.
“Maida,” Thranduil said suddenly. Maida turned. “Are you sure it felt like there were two inhabitants in her body?”
“That barrier was too strong for it to have come from her,” Maida replied. But then, she abruptly realized what she was saying. “But what could possibly be inside her that is of any threat to us?”
“Any number of things,” Thranduil replied. “A malevolent spirit, or a weapon of the enemy.”
Maida’s mind was racing. She could not bring herself to believe any ill of the child, but the barrier she had felt had been completely unnatural. She doubted the Lady Galadriel herself could have formed a barrier so strong. . .
“What about Lady Galadriel?” she asked. “She will be able to tell us exactly what is going on.”
“The Lady Galadriel has retired for the night,” Haldir replied.
Thranduil nodded at Maida, showing he approved of her idea, then turned to Haldir.
“Then the child will have to stay in there tonight,” he said. “I will have guards posted at the door.”
Maida heard Legolas clear his throat, and glanced up at him. He was beckoning her to follow him. She did so, and they left the room together in silence.
“She will be alright,” Legolas said reassuringly. “I am sure Lady Galadriel will know how to help her.”
Maida nodded, but did not reply. They parted a short while later, and she retreated to her bedchambers.
The night continued on relatively quietly. As Maida lay in her bed, she listened to the sound of activity in the palace diminish into silence. Despite all of her efforts, she could not stop thinking about how Lucy had screamed. Though she did not know how, she had hurt her. And now the poor child was lying in a cold bed, alone and absolutely terrified.
Maida rose from her bed, throwing a robe over her shoulders as she headed out into the corridor. She was not going to let Lucy spend the night alone. She would sit with her, and try to comfort her as best she could.
She met nobody else on her way to the healer’s chambers. The palace was quiet, most of its inhabitants having retired for the night. However, when she entered the healer’s front room, she found one of the Marchwardens standing guard at the child’s door. It was the dark-haired Elf she had given her cloak to. He greeted her with a smile and a slight bow.
“I had expected you would return, Lady Maida,” he said.
Maida studied the Marchwarden for a moment, then returned the smile as she approached.
“How is she?” she asked, gesturing to the door.
“I believe she is sleeping, though I have not checked,” the Marchwarden replied. “I assume that is what you are here to do?”
“Yes,” Maida replied, now slightly curious. This particular Marchwarden was nowhere near as stern and commanding as the others. He seemed genuinely pleasant and friendly. “And who are you, if I may ask?”
“Of course,” he said, bowing again. “Forgive my manners. I am Thendril.”
“And you are from Lórien?” Maida asked.
“Hard as it may be to believe,” he replied, clearly knowing that she had referred to the shade of his hair. “It comes from my father.”
Maida continued to smile as she reached for the door. Before opening it, though, she gazed around the front room again.
“Has Réyis not returned?” she asked.
“Réyis?” Thendril asked.
“The healer,” Maida replied. She shook her head. “Probably out drunk in the wine room. . .again.” She sighed. “I do not know why my aunt insists on keeping that old fool our primary healer.”
Without waiting for a response from Thendril, she opened the door and stepped into the small bedchamber. Lucy was curled up on the bed with her back to the door, shaking slightly. Maida was surprised to see she seemed to still be awake.
“Lucy,” she said gently, seeing the child stiffen. “Lucy, are you alright?”
Slowly, Maida approached the bed. Lucy turned and glanced at her, her face flushed red from crying. Maida tried to appear as gentle as possible.
“I will not hurt you,” Maida replied. “I swear.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, never taking her gaze away from her. “I am here to help you, Lucy.”
Lucy whimpered, but to Maida’s relief she did not try and move away. Carefully, she reached out and grasped the child’s tiny body, gathering her into an embrace. Maida could sense that she was still deeply afraid, but no longer possessed the strength to resist. From the doorway, Thendril chuckled.
“You have a way with children,” he commented.
“I just want her to feel better,” Maida replied. “I. . .”
She froze, because at that moment, she had felt the strange thump again where Lucy’s chest rested against her. Instantly, Lucy started to scream, scrambling backwards and falling off the bed. Maida leapt to her feet, Thendril rushing to her side as Lucy rolled around on the floor, gripping her chest.
“Lucy!” she cried, moving to her side. “Lucy, what is it?”
The child abruptly kicked out at her, causing Maida to stumble backwards to avoid being struck. With continued shrieks and cries of pain, Lucy scrambled to her feet and ran into the bathing room, slamming the door behind her. Before Maida and Thendril could follow, the lock clicked into place. All they could hear now was Lucy’s continued screaming, and the sounds of objects breaking.
“Lucy!” Maida shouted, banging her fist against the door. “Lucy, open the door!”
Lucy’s screams were taking on a new, terrible pitch. Maida gasped in horror as she listened to the horrid sounds. A louder crash echoed the screams, and a sudden impact against the door caused her to stumble backwards a few paces.
“Does Réyis have the keys to this door?” Thendril demanded, struggling fruitlessly to break the door open.
“Yes,” Maida replied.
“Then go find him,” he ordered. “I’ll keep trying to break this door down.”
Maida quickly turned and raced out of the room, almost colliding headlong into Amalindë as she turned into the corridor.
“What is going on?” Amalindë demanded.
“I do not know,” Maida replied breathlessly. “Lucy has locked herself in the bathing room. I am going to go find Réyis.”
“Then hurry!” Amalindë ordered, moving past her and entering the healer’s quarters.
Maida turned and ran down the corridor as fast as she could, hearing others start to rouse from sleep at the sounds of Lucy’s screams, which echoed even this far away. She was petrified for the child, and hoped against hope that Réyis was indeed in the wine room.
To her relief, she found the old healer when she reached the stairway to the lower level. Réyis was mercifully alert.
“I was helping one of the wine-tenders,” Réyis explained as they ran together back through the palace. “Cut up pretty badly on broken glass from a window that smashed during the storm. Thranduil told me he did not think the child needed my help, so I did not come to check on her.”
Maida would have replied, but her words were derailed when, abruptly, Lucy’s muffled screams silenced. She and Réyis exchanged a worried look, but did not lessen their pace. A few minutes later, they reached the door to the healer’s chambers. They entered the bedchamber just in time to see Thendril break the bathing room door open. Maida paused as Amalindë pushed passed Thendril and entered the room, gripping Réyis’s arm to hold him back. It would be unwise to crowd Lucy now and frighten her further.
“Lu. . .” Amalindë began to say, but then her mouth fell open. All color drained from her face, and her eyes grew wide with shock and horror.
“What is it, Milady?” Thendril asked, moving around the door.
Maida stared at them, completely confused. Confusion turned to fright when Thendril’s face blanched, his eyes as wide and horrified as those of Amalindë.
“What is it?” Maida asked, striding forward. “Thendril? Amalindë?”
Before she could reach them, Thendril had grabbed Amalindë’s shoulders and firmly pushed her out of the bathing room. Maida could see her aunt was in deep shock, but she could not understand why. Amalindë stumbled, but Maida grabbed her and held her steady. She was almost dragged down when Amalindë’s legs buckled, but she was able to brace her aunt as she sank to the floor. Her heart was fluttering with fear.
“Amalindë!” she cried. “Amalindë, what is wrong?”
“She is in shock,” Réyis said, handing a blanket to Maida. “Wrap her in this, and keep her warm.” He stood, striding over to Thendril, who was still standing in the bathing room. “What is wrong with the child?”
Maida watched the old healer as he stepped around Thendril, staring at whatever had shocked Amalindë so badly. His face quickly turned a pale shade of grey.
“By the Valar,” he muttered. “What happened to her?”
“What is it?” Maida demanded. “What is wrong with Lucy?”
But then, as Réyis gripped the door to steady himself, he opened it far enough for Maida to see the reflection of the room in a full-length mirror on the wall. Lucy was sprawled in the middle of the room, her face twisted in an expression of terrible pain and fear. Blood was splattered all around her.
Her chest was torn wide open.
April 25, 2007
It was midday, but the darkness that hung low over the lands was almost absolute. Black clouds blocked the sun. The rain that fell struck exposed skin with a sting like wind-blown sand. Trees and grasses writhed under the onslaught, leaves momentarily illuminated silver by the infrequent forks of lightning, only to be ripped from their branches by the howling winds. Animals had taken refuge in any available crevice or burrow. Every living thing was braced against the terrible storm.
The sound of pounding hooves echoed faintly in the darkness, confusing those animals near enough to hear it. What beast could possibly be out in the open, suffering the full effects of the storm? A few braved the elements and looked outside their shelters.
And as the beast passed, they squealed in fright and ran back into the relative safety of their shelters, not to emerge until long after full silence and peace had been restored.
The beast took no notice. It was a large black horse, completely bent to the will of its rider, its master. Pain shot up its legs with every step, causing breath to expel from its lungs in sharp gasps. The iron nails that secured its heavy shoes had been driven deep into its feet. The only relief, however minute, came in accepting upon its back the terrible being that was its master.
Khamûl drove the horse onward, oblivious to the animal’s pain. The storm that was, for the time being, keeping his path clear of enemies was of his master’s creation, the remnants of the great summoning that had dragged his temporary charge from wherever she had been before. The child was sitting in the saddle before him, her fear keeping her unconscious.
The horse snorted loudly as low branches whipped out at them. They had finally crossed into the realm of the enemy, and Khamûl knew he did not have much time before their presence was discovered.
Even in a storm as powerful as this, the sharp senses of the Elves did not waver.
A piercing crack echoed suddenly, and the horse uttered a shriek of fright and balked as an old tree gave way and crashed down onto the path before them. Khamûl pulled the beast back around, forcing it under control once more. The tree had been a massive one, but it proved only a slight difficulty. Khamûl drove the horse over the fallen trunk easily.
By the time he pulled the horse to a halt, they were deep in Elf territory, and the storm had finally started to abate. Khamûl could sense the Elves nearby, and knew they were suspicious of his presence. Swiftly, he lifted the child from the saddle and dropped her onto the ground at the foot of a tree. The child moaned and crossed her arms over her chest.
Khamûl sought for the attention of the creature within her again, and felt its rage once more. Before the summoning, his master had given him a shadowy view of what it would look like free of its host and fully grown. It would be a massive beast, monstrous in its strength and deadly in its malice. Its hide would become black and as thick as heavy armor, impervious to even the strongest Elf-arrows. A tail twice the length of the body was tipped with a blade like a spear, and possessing of such strength and flexibility that the creature could easily use it as such.
A surge of malice erupted from the child’s body. The creature seemed all the more unappreciative of Khamûl’s intrusion into its primitive thoughts. Khamûl pulled away, turning the horse around and spurring it back into a gallop. The Elves would soon arrive and discover the child. The last rolls of thunder echoed dully through the slowly clearing skies, but he took no notice of the weather.
Khamûl would stay nearby, bearing witness to the chaos the creature would cause. His master could now turn his efforts elsewhere. It alone could deal with the Elves in King Thranduil’s court.
But first, the creature had to escape from the confines of the child’s body.
* * * * * *
The last rolls of thunder echoed through the halls of the palace of King Thranduil. For a while, the noise had been overwhelming, halting all attempts at activity over the course of the storm. No Elf, not even Thranduil himself, could remember the weather being any worse. But finally, the storm had started to abate, and as the echoes of the thunder died away, the soft patter of feet could be heard echoing through the cavernous corridors.
The she-Elf Maida was hurrying towards the main hall, her footsteps slightly muffled by her soft slippers. Her hair was damp with rain, for she had been outside helping with damage assessment until now. The storm had felled several old trees, and two had come down at the cost of damage to the handsome palace that was her home. She was running to deliver the news to the Queen Amalindë.
As she entered the main hall, she quickly spotted Amalindë standing amidst a small crowd of Elves, greeting the long expected new arrivals. Maida gasped privately as she remembered that important guests from Lórien had been due to arrive today. She quickly approached, standing next to Amalindë as she examined the small group of soaking wet Elves that had just entered Thranduil’s palace.
First and foremost was the Lady Galadriel, to whom Amalindë had already handed her cloak. Standing with her were several Marchwardens—Haldir, Rumil, and Orophin were among the ones Maida could name—and two of Galadriel’s maids. All looked very much the worse for wear. Quickly, Maida untied her own cloak and handed it to one of the Marchwardens she could not name, but stood out among them due to his long dark hair.
“How did you manage to make it?” she asked softly as the Marchwarden accepted the cloak with a smile. “That storm was terrible.”
“Only by the grace of our Lady,” he replied. “But we come with grave news.”
Maida blinked in confusion, but her attention was distracted when Amalindë suddenly gripped her shoulder.
“Maida, where is Thranduil?” she asked, the tone of her voice grim.
“He is outside the north wing,” Maida replied. “That old oak tree fell on. . .”
“Go back for him,” Amalindë interrupted. “We have worse concerns than damage assessment now.”
Maida stared in bewilderment at Amalindë, wondering what was going on. However, before she could say anything more, loud footsteps echoed from the corridor she had just come through.
“There is no need,” came the strong voice of Thranduil as he appeared, regal even though he was dirty with mud and bits of bark. “Milady Galadriel, we were very concerned. How do you fare?”
“We are well,” Galadriel replied. “But there are worse problems now.” She paused, her imposing gaze trailing over the gathered before refocusing on Thranduil. “We sensed the presence of a Nazgul.”
Collective gasps sounded. Maida shivered, crossing her arms. She felt a hand settle on her shoulder, and turned to see Legolas standing behind her. He had been out with Thranduil overlooking the damage, and was as equally wet and muddy as his father. The look on his fair face was grim and solemn.
“We do not know which of the Nine it was,” Haldir continued. “But the threat of his presence was enough that we were forced to combat the storm. He passed in great haste.”
“Did you sense whether or not he is still in our land?” Thranduil asked.
“No,” Haldir replied, shaking his head. “The storm kept us from investigating further.”
Thranduil nodded.
“I will assemble a scouting party, and lead them myself,” he said.
“My Marchwardens will accompany you,” Galadriel said softly.
Thranduil bowed to Galadriel before departing, Haldir and the other Marchwardens following. The one she had handed her cloak to paused only long enough to return the garment to her. Legolas shared a long look with Maida before turning and following Thranduil. Maida watched him go, still very uneasy.
“Maida,” Amalindë said, and Maida turned. “Help me tend to our honored guests.”
While Amalindë saw to the needs of the Lady of Lórien, Maida did all she could to help her maids. At first, she felt rather shy around them, for she had met Elves from Lórien only a few times before. However, she was quick to see that they were very friendly and lighthearted. Though as visibly shaken by the presence of a Nazgul as Maida felt, once they were dry and warm they were both very eager to converse with her. Maida brought them some warm tea and sweetcakes, and chatted with them for a while. They had quickly introduced themselves as Aliana and Lilídae.
“You are related to King Thranduil, are you not?” Aliana asked.
“By marriage,” Maida replied. “My mother was Queen Amalindë’s sister.”
Maida could not remember a time in her life when her aunt and uncle had not been a part of it. And for the past several hundred years, they had been her primary guardians. Her father, who had once been a work-horse breeder and one of Thranduil’s best carpenters, had gone to the Grey Havens years ago to learn from the shipbuilder Cirdan. He had eventually decided to remain there, having been smitten by the call of the sea. Her mother had gone to be with him, but not before mutually agreeing with Amalindë to leave Maida under her and Thranduil’s care until she was old enough to decide for herself where she wanted to be.
But that time had come and gone long ago. Maida had not been able to bear leaving behind her forest home, not even for her parents. So she had remained in Mirkwood, and assisted Amalindë in her domestic duties wherever she could. This included playing hostess to the maids of Galadriel.
“Our Lady wishes this to be a casual visit,” Lilídae commented, sipping her tea. “She hopes to reforge some of the weakened bonds between Lórien and Mirkwood.”
“And we have been looking forward to her arrival for many weeks,” Maida replied with a smile. “If it was not for this storm, she would have had the whole court greeting her.” She paused. “I hope she was not offended by King Thranduil’s absence.”
“It is understandable, considering the circumstances.”
Maida quickly stood. Galadriel and Amalindë had just entered the room. Aliana and Lilídae moved to stand with her, and Galadriel smiled slightly at her maids.
“Lady Galadriel wishes to see the damage you mentioned earlier,” Amalindë said. “Could you show us?”
Maida led them through the winding corridors of the palace, privately hoping that Galadriel would use some of her power to help repair the damage. Two fallen trees had caused harm, but one—a very large old oak that she and Legolas had loved to climb in their youth—had torn a large hole in the roof of an unused bedchamber. When they arrived, water was still dripping into the room, though the sky above was rapidly clearing.
“Legolas and I counted about twenty trees around the palace that fell during the storm,” Maida reported as Amalindë and Galadriel stepped forward to examine the situation more closely.
“I have never seen a storm so strong before,” Amalindë said, frowning as she gazed up at the hole. “Lady Galadriel, do you think the storm and the presence of the Nazgul are somehow connected?”
Galadriel was silent for a long moment, her attention seemingly focused on the drops of water trickling from the ceiling. Finally, she sighed and shook her head.
“Even I cannot tell,” she admitted. “But I fear that times of darkness may be uncomfortably close. When a Nazgul rides, death will almost certainly follow.”
Maida felt a shiver run down her spine, and she bit her lip nervously. She did not like the thought of her uncle and cousin wandering the woods with a Nazgul close by.
“I hope they do not find anything,” she said softly. “I think this is enough for us to worry about.” She stepped forward and raised her hand, allowing several drops of water to fall on her palm.
“We are safe here,” Amalindë assured, offering Maida a comforting smile. “There is nothing that can breach these protected walls.”
“Except a tree,” Lilídae commented softly.
Everyone turned to gaze at the maid. Lilídae blinked and blushed slightly. But both Amalindë and Maida laughed. Galadriel smiled at their mirth.
“Except a tree,” Amalindë agreed.
* * * * * *
The familiar sounds of the forest were starting to return, now that the storm was safely ended. Legolas paused, listening to the soft songs of the birds and insects. This, more than anything, seemed to be proof that the Nazgul had left the area. No animal would dare make noise when one of the Nine was nearby.
Haldir was standing by his side, and Legolas heard him let out a soft sigh.
“One would wonder what the greater cause for concern is,” he whispered, Legolas turning his head to listen. “The fact that a Nazgul was here, or the fact that he was so quick to leave.”
Legolas could not think of an answer. Instead, he turned and led his party a little deeper into the forest, where the trees grew more thickly and decent light was harder to come by. Again, he could neither hear nor see anything out of the ordinary. But the damage caused by the storm was all around him. Several trees were almost bare of their leaves, and one that was nearby had its bark stripped away. One of the scouts stepped around it, staring in astonishment at the exposed surface.
“I’ve never seen. . .” he started.
“None of us have,” Haldir interrupted, shaking his head. He then blinked, for the scout had abruptly turned away. “What is it?”
“I hear something,” the scout replied. His sudden alertness had caused the others to pause as well. “Lord Haldir, Prince Legolas, I think it is coming from beyond those trees.”
Legolas stepped forward, straining to hear what was drawing the scout’s attention. After a moment, he started when the soft sound of a muffled sob reached him.
“Is that someone crying?” Legolas asked, glancing back at Haldir, who had clearly heard the sound as well.
Haldir did not reply, but his brow furrowed in suspicion. With a silent agreement, the two of them started forward, leading their scouting party towards the source of the sound. It became louder as they drew near, and soon Legolas could make out every gasp and sniffle.
“It sounds like a child,” Legolas commented.
Together, he and Haldir rounded an old tree and confronted the source of the crying. For a long moment, all they could do was stare in shock.
“It. . . is a child,” Legolas breathed.
The little girl was balled up at the base of the tree, her head buried in her arms. She was soaked to the bone and trembling violently, and there was evidence of the child having gotten sick at least once. When Legolas spoke, she raised her head, staring tearfully up at them. A moment later, she let out a pitiful cry and tried to press herself even closer against the tree.
“Go find my father,” Legolas commanded one of the scouts, who immediately turned and departed. He then stepped forward and crouched before the child. “I am not going to hurt you, little one.”
The child stared at him with wide-eyed terror, but did not respond to his words. Legolas studied her a little more closely, and realized just how many things about her were completely odd. Her clothing was of a make and fabric he had never seen before, as were her boots. And he could not even begin to guess what those small objects in her hair were.
“She is a child of men,” Haldir said.
“But what race of men?” Legolas asked. “I have never seen clothing like that before.” He took a small step forward, causing the child to gasp and whimper. “Do not be afraid. I will not hurt you.”
“She does not understand our language,” Haldir replied. He began speaking in Westron. “Can you understand me now?”
The child still did not react. Now completely baffled, Legolas shared a glance with Haldir. It was very clear that neither had the slightest idea what to do. If the child could not understand them, how could they comfort her?
A sudden idea struck Legolas. Very softly, he began singing a song he remembered from his youth. It was a pleasant tune about the beauty of spring, but one he had not really thought about until now. The others stared at him, but they were ignored. And after a moment, the child’s frightened gaze started to soften. Slowly, Legolas opened his arms, still continuing to sing. For a few minutes, the child only stared. Finally, she raised herself onto her hands and knees and crawled to him.
Legolas gathered the child into his arms, feeling her bury her face against his neck and cling to the front of his tunic, her tiny body still trembling. He then turned to the others, seeing the surprised and impressed looks on their faces. Haldir nodded approval.
“Well done, Prince Legolas,” he said.
Suddenly, the scout that Legolas had sent away reappeared, and a few moments later, so did Thranduil and his search party.
“Did you find something?” Thranduil asked, then froze as he saw the child. A look of astonishment appeared on his face.
Legolas gazed at those gathered around him, sharing their thoughts. First the storm, then a Nazgul, and now a strange child. Was it at all possible that they could be connected?
“Yes,” he said. “We found something.”
Rage - Chapter 2
April 25, 2007
It was well past sunset before the scouting parties returned. Maida was standing in the main hall, awaiting them as they appeared. She spotted Thranduil first, and was happy to see that he was unharmed. She approached, seeing Haldir and the other Marchwardens and scouts behind him. Legolas entered last. Maida started to greet them, but she was quickly stunned into silence.
“By Eru,” she breathed, staring at the trembling form in Legolas’s arms. “Is that. . .?”
“We found her in the forest,” Legolas replied. “She is a child of men.”
“Is she hurt?” Maida approached, examining the child’s pale face. There was an exhausted but fearful look in her eyes.
“We do not think so,” Legolas replied.
Carefully, Maida took the child into her arms, offering smiles to keep her calm. For a moment, the child was stiff and tense, but then she relaxed and gave a very tired sigh. Maida felt her tiny arms slide around her neck.
“Hush, little one,” she said soothingly. “You are safe here.”
“She does not understand us,” Thranduil said. “Nor does she seem to understand Westron.” He glanced around the hall, seemingly looking for Amalindë, who had not yet arrived. “She is of men, but not of any race we are familiar with.”
At that moment, Amalindë appeared, immediately walking towards her husband with a relieved look on her face. Thranduil met her halfway, and they spoke quietly together for a moment before the Queen of Mirkwood turned to see the child. She was expressionless for several long moments.
“Maida,” she finally said. “Take the child to the healer’s chambers and have her looked after.”
There was a serious tone to her voice, which confused Maida. But she obeyed, quietly carrying the child through the maze of dark, quiet corridors to the healer’s chambers. When she entered, she found the front room deserted.
“Réyis?” Maida called.
There was no answer. Maida sighed, hoping the old healer was not down in the wine rooms again. She carried the child into one of the small bedchambers adjacent the front room and set her down on the bed. The child drew her legs up to her chest and sat there, looking up at Maida balefully. Maida kneeled before her.
“What is your name?” she asked.
The child stared at her, clearly uncomprehending. Maida thought for a moment, trying to think of a way to communicate. Finally, she pointed at herself.
“Maida,” she said bluntly. “I am Maida.” She pointed at the child. “Who are you?”
The child blinked, relaxing slightly. Maida was relieved to see that she seemed to be understanding. She pointed at herself again.
“Maida,” she said. She pointed to the child. “And you?”
“Lucy,” the child replied.
Maida beamed.
“Lucy,” she echoed, nodding. “That is a very pretty name.” She paused. “It is very nice to meet you, Lucy.”
The child took a deep breath, and with a hopeful look in her eyes she started to speak. Now it was Maida’s turn to be confused. She could not understand a word the child spoke. She was gesturing as well, first covering her mouth and then clutching her chest. Maida shook her head, baffled. After a minute, the child silenced, tears flowing down her face.
“I apologize, Lucy,” Maida said, frowning and shaking her head. “I do not know what you are trying to say.”
Lucy was trembling again, her eyes so desperate for understanding that Maida’s heart pained for her. But she was at a loss for what to do.
“Ai, Valar,” she muttered. “What is there to be done?”
It was then that she realized just how dirty and wet Lucy was.
“Lucy, I need you to stay here,” Maida said, standing and holding up her hands in a gesture she hoped the child would understand. She grasped the sleeve of her own dress. “I am going to get you some fresh clothes.”
Lucy blinked, but did not move as Maida returned to the front room. Réyis kept spare clothing in a large wardrobe in the far corner, and she hoped there would be something in there to fit Lucy. She opened it and started digging through the disorganized clutter inside. Réyis was not known for being especially tidy, and this was proof of that. Maida knew that if Amalindë ever saw the state of this wardrobe, she would have him up through the night completely rearranging it. And after ten minutes of fruitless digging, she was sorely tempted to report on the old healer.
Finally though, Maida found a plain blue dress that seemed small enough to fit Lucy. Sighing in relief, she stood and headed back into the bedchamber. Lucy was curled up on the bed, awake but firmly sucking on one of her thumbs. Maida smiled at her.
“Here, Lucy,” she said, offering the dress. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Lucy slowly followed her into the small bathing room and allowed Maida to wash her face and hands with a damp cloth. But when she tried to help Lucy remove her clothing, the child became very shy, taking several steps back. Maida smiled softly.
“I will wait for you outside,” she said, handing the dress to her.
It was while she was waiting for the child to finish that Amalindë arrived. Maida moved to greet her.
“How is she?” Amalindë asked.
“She is well, I think,” Maida replied. “I do not believe she is injured.” She paused, looking towards the bathing room door. “Her name is Lucy. That is all I have been able to find out.”
There was silence for a moment. Maida looked back at her aunt, wondering what she was thinking. Amalindë seemed strangely solemn.
“What has been decided?” Maida asked.
“The appearance of the child is worrisome,” Amalindë replied. “There has been no evidence of any party of men in our lands for months. Someone has left her behind, but there was no evidence of her before the last patrol before the storm.” She paused. “The only explanation Thranduil and I could think of is that it was the Nazgul that brought her.”
Maida gasped, completely shocked.
“What would a Nazgul want with an innocent child?”
“I do not know.” Amalindë shook her head. “Thranduil thinks she may be a threat sent by the enemy. But I cannot bring myself to believe that. She does look like just an innocent child.”
Maida stared at Amalindë, unable to think of a reply. She too could not see anything at all threatening about Lucy.
At that moment, the bathing room door opened and Lucy appeared. Maida smiled encouragingly at her, seeing a very pretty little girl standing before them.
“Maida?” she asked tentatively, gazing worriedly at Amalindë.
“Do not be afraid,” Maida replied, offering her hand.
Lucy approached her, and Maida lifted her into her arms. The child gripped her tightly, and after a moment hid her face in the curve of her neck. Amalindë approached, slowly setting a hand on Lucy’s arm. Maida felt the child tense.
“If a Nazgul did bring her, we cannot be sure that she is safe,” Amalindë said with a sigh. “Maida, Thranduil and I know how perceptive you are. You can read the minds and hearts of men.” She smiled slightly. “Lord Elrond told us that he believes you possess the gift of foresight.”
Despite her mood, Maida smiled. Though her ability to gaze into the future was very limited, she had a fair sense of the present, and of the feelings and thoughts of men. Thranduil liked having her nearby when he dealt with men from the north, with which the Mirkwood Elves did a brisk trade. She could tell when they had other motives than what the Elf King preferred.
“Maida, I wish for you to try and see into Lucy’s mind,” Amalindë said. “Try and find out where she came from, and if she has anything to do with our enemies.”
“I will do what I can,” Maida said, slowly shifting Lucy so she could look into her eyes.
Lucy gazed back at her with watering eyes, and Maida smiled to comfort her even as she tried to gently intrude into her thoughts. For a moment, she could perceive only Lucy’s great fear and confusion. Then, she met a massively strong barrier, greater than what the child could possibly be capable of making alone. With a growing worry, Maida sought to puncture the barrier.
Suddenly, Maida sensed mental recoil. She felt a sudden thump against her breast that felt as though it had come from Lucy’s ribs. Lucy let out a horrible scream of agony and began to struggle violently. Maida could not hold on to her, and was forced to drop her onto the bed. Lucy curled up, clutching her chest as she sobbed hysterically. For a moment, Maida was breathless. Having to pull out of a mental connection so abruptly was equivalent to getting kicked in the gut. Amalindë gripped her shoulders.
“What happened?” she asked, fear in her voice. “Maida?”
“I do not know,” Maida replied, gently freeing herself from Amalindë and approaching the child. “Lucy. Lucy, I am so sorry.”
The child did not respond. When Maida approached her, she screamed and recoiled, tears streaming down her face. She felt Amalindë grab hold of her arm.
“Let us leave,” she said. “Come, Maida.”
Maida followed Amalindë to the front room and shut the bedchamber door behind her. As they listened, Lucy’s cries slowly diminished. Maida closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the door.
“What have I done?” she murmured, a tear of her own sliding slowly down her cheek. “How could I have hurt her?”
“Do not blame yourself, Maida,” Amalindë said gently. “It was I who asked you to do it. The fault is mine.” She hesitated. “What did you feel?”
“I felt her fear,” Maida replied, turning to face Amalindë. “But then I felt a barrier. A powerful one. And when I tried to break through, something recoiled from me.”
“Recoiled?” Amalindë asked, a confused look on her face.
“It was not Lucy,” Maida said quickly. “It felt like. . .like something else. Like Lucy was not the only one there.”
“Not the only one there?”
Maida and Amalindë turned. Thranduil was standing in the doorway, Legolas and Haldir behind him. He entered, glancing towards the door.
“What happened?”
Amalindë retold what had occurred. Maida was silent as the two conversed. Legolas moved to stand with her, listening for a moment before settling a hand on her shoulder.
“What is going to happen, Legolas?” Maida asked.
“I do not know,” Legolas replied.
“Maida,” Thranduil said suddenly. Maida turned. “Are you sure it felt like there were two inhabitants in her body?”
“That barrier was too strong for it to have come from her,” Maida replied. But then, she abruptly realized what she was saying. “But what could possibly be inside her that is of any threat to us?”
“Any number of things,” Thranduil replied. “A malevolent spirit, or a weapon of the enemy.”
Maida’s mind was racing. She could not bring herself to believe any ill of the child, but the barrier she had felt had been completely unnatural. She doubted the Lady Galadriel herself could have formed a barrier so strong. . .
“What about Lady Galadriel?” she asked. “She will be able to tell us exactly what is going on.”
“The Lady Galadriel has retired for the night,” Haldir replied.
Thranduil nodded at Maida, showing he approved of her idea, then turned to Haldir.
“Then the child will have to stay in there tonight,” he said. “I will have guards posted at the door.”
Maida heard Legolas clear his throat, and glanced up at him. He was beckoning her to follow him. She did so, and they left the room together in silence.
“She will be alright,” Legolas said reassuringly. “I am sure Lady Galadriel will know how to help her.”
Maida nodded, but did not reply. They parted a short while later, and she retreated to her bedchambers.
The night continued on relatively quietly. As Maida lay in her bed, she listened to the sound of activity in the palace diminish into silence. Despite all of her efforts, she could not stop thinking about how Lucy had screamed. Though she did not know how, she had hurt her. And now the poor child was lying in a cold bed, alone and absolutely terrified.
Maida rose from her bed, throwing a robe over her shoulders as she headed out into the corridor. She was not going to let Lucy spend the night alone. She would sit with her, and try to comfort her as best she could.
She met nobody else on her way to the healer’s chambers. The palace was quiet, most of its inhabitants having retired for the night. However, when she entered the healer’s front room, she found one of the Marchwardens standing guard at the child’s door. It was the dark-haired Elf she had given her cloak to. He greeted her with a smile and a slight bow.
“I had expected you would return, Lady Maida,” he said.
Maida studied the Marchwarden for a moment, then returned the smile as she approached.
“How is she?” she asked, gesturing to the door.
“I believe she is sleeping, though I have not checked,” the Marchwarden replied. “I assume that is what you are here to do?”
“Yes,” Maida replied, now slightly curious. This particular Marchwarden was nowhere near as stern and commanding as the others. He seemed genuinely pleasant and friendly. “And who are you, if I may ask?”
“Of course,” he said, bowing again. “Forgive my manners. I am Thendril.”
“And you are from Lórien?” Maida asked.
“Hard as it may be to believe,” he replied, clearly knowing that she had referred to the shade of his hair. “It comes from my father.”
Maida continued to smile as she reached for the door. Before opening it, though, she gazed around the front room again.
“Has Réyis not returned?” she asked.
“Réyis?” Thendril asked.
“The healer,” Maida replied. She shook her head. “Probably out drunk in the wine room. . .again.” She sighed. “I do not know why my aunt insists on keeping that old fool our primary healer.”
Without waiting for a response from Thendril, she opened the door and stepped into the small bedchamber. Lucy was curled up on the bed with her back to the door, shaking slightly. Maida was surprised to see she seemed to still be awake.
“Lucy,” she said gently, seeing the child stiffen. “Lucy, are you alright?”
Slowly, Maida approached the bed. Lucy turned and glanced at her, her face flushed red from crying. Maida tried to appear as gentle as possible.
“I will not hurt you,” Maida replied. “I swear.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, never taking her gaze away from her. “I am here to help you, Lucy.”
Lucy whimpered, but to Maida’s relief she did not try and move away. Carefully, she reached out and grasped the child’s tiny body, gathering her into an embrace. Maida could sense that she was still deeply afraid, but no longer possessed the strength to resist. From the doorway, Thendril chuckled.
“You have a way with children,” he commented.
“I just want her to feel better,” Maida replied. “I. . .”
She froze, because at that moment, she had felt the strange thump again where Lucy’s chest rested against her. Instantly, Lucy started to scream, scrambling backwards and falling off the bed. Maida leapt to her feet, Thendril rushing to her side as Lucy rolled around on the floor, gripping her chest.
“Lucy!” she cried, moving to her side. “Lucy, what is it?”
The child abruptly kicked out at her, causing Maida to stumble backwards to avoid being struck. With continued shrieks and cries of pain, Lucy scrambled to her feet and ran into the bathing room, slamming the door behind her. Before Maida and Thendril could follow, the lock clicked into place. All they could hear now was Lucy’s continued screaming, and the sounds of objects breaking.
“Lucy!” Maida shouted, banging her fist against the door. “Lucy, open the door!”
Lucy’s screams were taking on a new, terrible pitch. Maida gasped in horror as she listened to the horrid sounds. A louder crash echoed the screams, and a sudden impact against the door caused her to stumble backwards a few paces.
“Does Réyis have the keys to this door?” Thendril demanded, struggling fruitlessly to break the door open.
“Yes,” Maida replied.
“Then go find him,” he ordered. “I’ll keep trying to break this door down.”
Maida quickly turned and raced out of the room, almost colliding headlong into Amalindë as she turned into the corridor.
“What is going on?” Amalindë demanded.
“I do not know,” Maida replied breathlessly. “Lucy has locked herself in the bathing room. I am going to go find Réyis.”
“Then hurry!” Amalindë ordered, moving past her and entering the healer’s quarters.
Maida turned and ran down the corridor as fast as she could, hearing others start to rouse from sleep at the sounds of Lucy’s screams, which echoed even this far away. She was petrified for the child, and hoped against hope that Réyis was indeed in the wine room.
To her relief, she found the old healer when she reached the stairway to the lower level. Réyis was mercifully alert.
“I was helping one of the wine-tenders,” Réyis explained as they ran together back through the palace. “Cut up pretty badly on broken glass from a window that smashed during the storm. Thranduil told me he did not think the child needed my help, so I did not come to check on her.”
Maida would have replied, but her words were derailed when, abruptly, Lucy’s muffled screams silenced. She and Réyis exchanged a worried look, but did not lessen their pace. A few minutes later, they reached the door to the healer’s chambers. They entered the bedchamber just in time to see Thendril break the bathing room door open. Maida paused as Amalindë pushed passed Thendril and entered the room, gripping Réyis’s arm to hold him back. It would be unwise to crowd Lucy now and frighten her further.
“Lu. . .” Amalindë began to say, but then her mouth fell open. All color drained from her face, and her eyes grew wide with shock and horror.
“What is it, Milady?” Thendril asked, moving around the door.
Maida stared at them, completely confused. Confusion turned to fright when Thendril’s face blanched, his eyes as wide and horrified as those of Amalindë.
“What is it?” Maida asked, striding forward. “Thendril? Amalindë?”
Before she could reach them, Thendril had grabbed Amalindë’s shoulders and firmly pushed her out of the bathing room. Maida could see her aunt was in deep shock, but she could not understand why. Amalindë stumbled, but Maida grabbed her and held her steady. She was almost dragged down when Amalindë’s legs buckled, but she was able to brace her aunt as she sank to the floor. Her heart was fluttering with fear.
“Amalindë!” she cried. “Amalindë, what is wrong?”
“She is in shock,” Réyis said, handing a blanket to Maida. “Wrap her in this, and keep her warm.” He stood, striding over to Thendril, who was still standing in the bathing room. “What is wrong with the child?”
Maida watched the old healer as he stepped around Thendril, staring at whatever had shocked Amalindë so badly. His face quickly turned a pale shade of grey.
“By the Valar,” he muttered. “What happened to her?”
“What is it?” Maida demanded. “What is wrong with Lucy?”
But then, as Réyis gripped the door to steady himself, he opened it far enough for Maida to see the reflection of the room in a full-length mirror on the wall. Lucy was sprawled in the middle of the room, her face twisted in an expression of terrible pain and fear. Blood was splattered all around her.
Her chest was torn wide open.
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