A Sister by all bar Blood

Not-so-peaceful Sleep

The soft singing voices of the elves filled the forest.

"A lament for Gandalf," Legolas declared solemnly.

"What do they say about him?" Merry had asked wistfully, but Legolas could not tell him, the grief was still too near.

Eliza felt exhausted and she knew her brother must be too. She implored him to take a break, but he did not share the collective trust of the elves. He demanded to watch over her while she rested, and though she felt it was unnecessary, she had seen the extent of his fear and uneasiness earlier and thought it best not to push him.

She lay on the soft forest floor between the roots of a great tree in the glade. The air was warm so Eliza lay with her cloak beneath her. She stroked the blades of grass and smiled gently, her eyelids growing heavy.

Eliza knew all the fellowship needed rest for they were plagued by loss and the uncertainty of their future. She prayed that they would find hope here. She pondered how even the very soil here smelt alive; in fact everything thrived. Surely their strength would renew too...

Just as Eliza was drifting to sleep she heard Aragorn approach Boromir, who sat protectively watching over his sister; his weapons still within easy reach.

"Take some rest," Aragorn said to Boromir, "These borders are well protected."

"I will find no rest here," replied Boromir; uneasiness and worry evident in his voice. "I heard her voice inside my head," he whispered, referring to Galadriel and her power to enter others' minds. "She spoke of my father... and the fall of Gondor. She said to me, 'Even now, there is hope left.' But I cannot see it... It is long since we had any hope."

Aragorn sat down listening to Boromir as he continued, "My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing. And now our... our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right and I — I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored."

Something in Eliza's stomach wrenched and she stirred a little from her half-sleep. It was painful to hear her brother, the hero of Gondor, speak with such doubt about their home, their city - their people. He was clearly troubled and if their father's rule was failing...

But Boromir's tone lifted again as when he went on, "Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver. Its banners caught high in the morning breeze. Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?"

"I have seen the White City," Aragorn replied wistfully, nodding, "long ago."

Proud once more Boromir concluded, "One day, our paths will lead us there. And the tower guard shall take up the call: 'The Lords of Gondor have returned!'"

Frames and thoughts of her home, the White City, danced through Eliza's mind as she settled down again with a soft smile. This time she drifted soundly to sleep.

Hours passed before Eliza heard a soft creak behind her. She stirred ever so slightly. A weak smile slowly spread across her lips as she felt warm woollen covers around her and a soft mattress beneath her. She lie facing down on her bed and dreamily gazed up to the white stone wall beside her. Then she heard another faint noise. A footstep? She drowsily tilted her head, raising her ear to listen.

Suddenly a rough and callused hand clamped down over her mouth and Eliza started in complete shock. Her eyes shot open in fear and confusion. The large figure loomed over her from behind and she struggled feverishly in its grasp. The covers were thrown back and Eliza's thin nightdress was torn from her back in the process, sending her into a renewed state of sheer panic. Every hair on her body stood on end in the sudden chilly air. Adrenaline coursed through her limbs she lashed out with her feet; her hands trembled wildly. She willed herself to calm down so that she might be able to defend herself... but that was when it fell down upon her. A cold, hard, heavy sheet of chainmail. It immediately burned fiercely into her flesh like a thousand stabbing, twisting arrows.