The Last Dreamwalker

A Party?

"A party?" Lessien gasped, exasperated.

"More or less. To celebrate a safe return to Edoras and honor the fallen soldiers that lay at Helm's Deep. I believe it is quite appropriate. It is tradition after all," Gandalf explained calmly.

He smoked his pipe as they casually rode along, huffing and puffing. Elves weren't very keen to the habit but Lessien was an exception. She smoked beside her mentor, though it was considered a nasty habit for women to have.

"Oh by the Valar, what wicked have I done to you to deserve this?" Lessien muttered to the heavens, blowing out smoke as she spoke.

"This will be good for you, Lessien. The poison in your arm is getting worse and with all of the stress that is rushing around that head of yours it is not going to get better anytime soon. I advise that you forget yourself tonight. Just be a young woman! Pretend as if you are just a young maiden from Rohan, no strings attached," the White Wizard encouraged relentlessly.

Lessien set aside her pipe, her voice growing hostile quickly. "That's the problem! I am not a young maiden from Rohan's Westfold, I am a fully-grown Ranger that belongs nowhere. I am the last Dreamwalker and men's last hope for salvation. Pretending isn't going to change any of that," Lessien claimed bitterly.

She was sure that this party wasn't going to help her in any way. It was only going to eat up precious time. Her precious time.

His precious time.

She looked to Legolas's face desperately again and added, "I need every spare minute to think of a plan. Don't you agree?"

"Look at me, child," Gandalf commanded and as soon as she obeyed, he continued on. "If not for yourself you do this for them. Your time is short with your loved ones. Whether you survive this war is doubtful and even if you are trying to cut all emotional connections, they still love you. It will break their hearts when-" he trailed off.

Lessien glanced at the hobbits, her father, Legolas, and Gimli. They just wanted to see her happy. She knew this now. She remembered the night before while they had camped.

"Lessien, I'm sorry. You know that, don't you?"

"Do I? That isn't really the question, the question is why would you do that? The visions Saruman gave me were horrible." Lessien's voice cracked very dramatically and she paused to compose herself. She spoked to Aragorn about how the day had unfolded and Aragorn had yelled at her in front of all of her comades."The White Traitor told me that you aren't safe. That all of you could die. That you would die. That he-" she just stopped trying to explain and looked down.

She carefully resewed Legolas's quiver's strap back on. The needle went over, under, back through, under the bridge into a knot, and then again.

Just like Gwyndolyn had taught her many years ago. The only difference now was the even spacing of the stitches and the carefulness of the strokes.

"I did it because I was getting angry." Aragorn explained his outburst earlier that afternoon.

Lessien did not move, her head bent down so her hair curtained her face as she sewed.

Knowing she was still listening, he continued on, "I'm worried about you, Lessien."

She could hear the anxiety in his voice, sensing that he wrung his hands as he spoke.

"You haven't been the same since that night where we had that dance in camp. You always look worn and beaten. Now, you have that thing on your hand. You seem so angry. I know there is a war going on but this just isn't normal behaviour.