A Rather Chaotic Revision of The Fellowship

~One~

Lost.

That was what it had been. Doomed to wait forever, in this foggy hall. Other spirits, younger ones, fluttered anxiously about in their hopes. Every so often, one would leave, be led out by that tall form eternally keeping watch. It was always the same figure, tall and dead as night. But crowning him like a wreath, there would always be a glimmer of faint gold; a memory of the warmth now denied to them.

Or so it had thought.

Yet in the midst of all that mundane, it had felt something. Its slumbering fëa stirred in the distant drummings of the lands of death; something had inexplicably bothered it. It squirmed in ancient, slow discomfort as that sensation returned a second time, and made to retreat back into the glum stillness. But its efforts were in vain.

It swallowed down as that sense returned to haunt it. Something about this was scaring it. The feeling brought back . . . something.

Three elflings ran and somersaulted gracefully down a grassy green slope, cackling and whooping in the warmth of the summer heat.

No. It had no inkling of this. It had no memory of that.

He laughed wildly, watching the tall redhead topple headfirst into the lake, but then something hit him from behind, and he sprawled in right after; all the while swathed in that familiar feeling.

It trembled and surged, as a long-standing habit forcing down the visions. These visions held no significance to it.

Watching in awe, he could only gape as the figure with pure light embedded in his crown stepped up to the pavilion. Grinning, he felt a glimmer of--was it pride?

The sensation was constant now, soaring and rocketing, guided by a steady thump. What was happening?

It's panicking morphed rapidly into comfusion, then naive curiosity. With this the vision returned, and its mind raced in terror.

He staggered, thick pools of crimson gathering in puddles beneath his arms and legs. His breath, short enough as it was, emerged in weak, failing gasps. Moving constantly forward, he did not falter from his course . . . he had to get to his brothers. He wasn't sure why, but he just had to . . .

No. Its mind raced and plunged as he forced the onslaught of visions, flying fast through his mind's eye. It could not quell them, it was useless in the fight.

"You? Why would I need your help?" He hissed. But the fair king looming before him didn't bat an eye.

"I've already told you, Moryo--"

"Don't call me that!" he snarled. "You have no business, cousin, messing in my life."

"Moryo--"

He had already stormed from the room. Cheeks flaring with crimson, Carnistir had left Nargothrond for the last time.

Carnistir? Moryo? It found itself panicking once more. It knew those names. No. It was not going to think about that. It had passed beyond that. Why dwell on the visions when you could just as easily forget?

Flaring and rocketing, that feeling pulsed with a new power; accompanied by something else. It frowned--no, it could not frown. It had no body. None of these feelings had power over it. But that thing was still there, bursting with familiarity, beating upon its mental shields. It, confused, glanced around the halls. But it was not in the halls anymore. It could not see. The world, dark enough, had withered away, just like--