The Last Dreamwalker

The Impossible Fight

Lessien sat on her bed, her bear feet on the ground. She hadn't undressed. She had been too preoccupied with thinking and worrying. Now she barely could move, just staring absentmindedly at nothing.

Everyone had decided on marching out on the fields tomorrow.

That meant pressure for Lessien. She just prayed Frodo could destroy the Ring in time. If he didn't, Lessien wasn't sure if she could carry out the task she had been given. No matter what happened, she would give it her all in the end.

She was going to die tomorrow.

She shook her head and put it in her hands, rubbing her eyes with her palms.

How had she gotten here?

The hour was late. Outside, the night threw a shadow over the land. On her balcony, there were still bloodstains from the assassination attempt that seemed to have occurred so long ago.

Hardly anyone stirred.

All of the soldiers that were to leave the day afterward were sleeping. Their exhaustion outweighed their nervous thoughts. All of the servants had been dismissed from any of their tasks and slept soundly as well.

Lessien knew it was useless to try to sleep. It wouldn't come. Meditation in her Dreamworld would only worry her further. She would feel the urge to practice, which she had no energy for. She decided to get up and walk around for a moment.

She went to her balcony and looked over the city.

The wind lifted her hair up a little. She observed the sleeping city and envied the people's peace.

Lessien found herself looking at her arm.

She turned over her hand and traced the white brand. It looked chalky compared to her blackened appendage. It appeared as though she had stuck it into the remains of the fireplace and had decorated it with the black soot. The intense discoloration ended at her elbow and there on up it was grey, lighter and lighter as it progressed.

Lessien pulled her tunic neck to the side in order to witness the poison's progress in her body. The grey had claimed her shoulder entirely and now white wisps whirled about her collarbone, as though teasing her before it would reach her heart.

She grimaced and put her tunic back in place, partially covering her deformity.

Then, it hit. It was always excruciating. She expected for her to be used to it or accustomed to the pain by now.

The poison was spreading.

"Ah!" Lessien cried out but covered her mouth and bit her lips, muffling her off-putting screams.

The cold was so extreme in her one arm that it sent agony throughout her body. The intense temperature of cold made the sensation seem like burning flame.

Evil whispers flooded her mind. The wicked tongue was rough in Lessien's head. Her hands went to clutching her ears in an attempt to drown the voices out. Her vision was blinded by fire.

Among the flaming colours, Lessien's father stood, holding the Palantir, his eyes full of greed and the fear he always carried because of his ancestors' mistakes. He worried it was in his blood.

The cursed artifact overcame her beloved father and now Lessien's vision focused on what Aragorn beheld in the Palantir.

Arwen lied there, fair as always, as she gazed into the distance. No doubt she was at home in Rivendell and hadn't left with her kin on the ships to the Undying Lands.

Lessien gasped audibly but she wondered why she was surprised.

If one gave the Dark Lord the means, he could learn all things of one's life. He could gain knowledge of who was so cared for by an individual or what they wished for and what they feared.