𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐬 ➵︎ [ 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘧 ]

66| a broken spirit

"Daeriel, have you ever heard of 'ósanwe'?"

My frown only deepened at the mention of the foreign word, and I shook my head in reply.

"What is it?"

"It is the exchange of...information, if you will—perception, emotion, memory—from one mind to another."

"What?"

"It should not be too unfamiliar of a concept. Turn your mind back to Lady Galadriel."

My brows raised as I suddenly remembered her silky smooth and yet stern and unrelenting voice resounding within my mind, despite her not saying a word to me.

I nodded as my mind processed this new information.

"Of course..." I murmured. "How...how does it work?"

"Ósanwe is based upon the connection between the fëar—the spirits—of two beings." Elrond explained. "Thus, only Incarnates* with strong minds and souls dominant over their hröar are able to use such an ability."

The older elf leaned back in his seat.

"Obviously, those of the Maia have a much stronger spiritual connection than us Incarnates, including Gandalf, Saruman and—"

"—and Sauron." I finished, the grave realisation sinking in.

Did I ever have a chance?

Elrond nodded, his expression grim.

"Yes. I believe that Sauron was able to access and gain control over your fëa by somehow twisting this ability to his own malicious desires, to entrap and torment your soul rather than simply just connecting with it."

My gaze fell to the floor as I remembered the skull-crushing pain that seemed to tunnel into my brain. And yet, the minutes of excruciating agony was far from the worst. Entrap and torment was certainly one way to put an endless eternity of inescapable terror, a neverending nightmare that tortured my mind, my body and my soul as I watched everyone I had grown to love die again and again, helpless.

And her smile, her sadistic, bone-chilling smile...I would never be able to close my eyes without seeing those cruel, cold eyes. I would never forget them, as hard as I tried.

I didn't realise I was clenching my fists until I felt Elrond's hands take mine.

"Daeriel."

As reality set back in, I glanced down to see bloody crescents decorating my palm.

"I'm sorry, my lord," I whispered, "I'm not sure if I can do this—I mean, a-am I to just wait until Sauron finds another opportunity to ravage my mind?"

Elrond sighed, and despite his usual stern expression, I knew it hurt him to see me like this.

"That is the reason why I have come: to teach you how you can use your own fëa to protect yourself."

Immediately, my gaze shot up to meet Elrond's, my brows knitting together.

"My fëa? Against Sauron's?"

Disbelief dripped from my tone, and only after I blurted this out did I realise that I still needed  to watch my tone.

"I'm sorry, but..." I shook my head, "my...spirituality is...it's nothing compared to the likes of Sauron or Galadriel or you. I am not a millenia-year old royal—I'm just...just an ordinary elf."

However, Elrond shook his head.

"Do not underestimate yourself, Daeriel. For the past centuries of our time together, I have already seen the potential budding within you."