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[A/N] ~ Things are a little bit intense in the first part of this chapter. If you're triggered by blood or survivor's guilt please skip to the end of the italics. All you'll miss is a little bit of character background.
She was covered in blood. Elf blood, Man blood, her sisters' blood, orc blood, her own blood. No matter how many times she scrubbed her hands and face raw in a puddle that was more mud than water there was still blood staining her hands, even when they were cleaned. With a rattling breath she inspected her shaking hands again before thrusting them back into the puddle, splashing brown water everywhere.
She failed. She failed her father, she failed her sisters, she failed herself. She was a failure. She should have done better, done more, done something to keep them all alive. A flash of light and a roar of thunder as she scratched and clawed and rubbed at her hands as the memories resurfaced in a tidal wave. Blood. Screaming. The One Ring. The victorious cry of the enemy. Swords. Hunting horns. Sulfur. The broken sword that killed Sauron. The roar of bears. Fear. Arrows. The Prince of Gondor. Pain. Death.
Soon the violent rubbing turned into hitting, and before Sazrat realized what she was doing she was beating the water fruitlessly, spitting curses at it as if being violent enough would bring her family back. Again and again she pounded against her innocent victim until a dagger materialized in her hand, and she was stabbing the stranger again and again, watching in grim delight as the life faded from his eyes. Even after he was dead she kept attacking him, finally finding an outlet for her anger and hurt.
Eventually she stopped, leaving his body in the deluge in the middle of the alleyway as she retrieved the soggy loaf he had kicked out of her hands. She slid down the wall and sat opposite him as she hungrily shoved the meager meal in her mouth, almost biting her own bloody fingers off in her haste and not caring about the blood that soaked into the bread she ate. The cry of the guards made her head shoot up like an animal in a hunter's sights. Not waiting to be caught, Sazrat scrambled to her feet and ran, leaving the half eaten loaf beside the body to soak up even more blood and rainwater.
The roar of rain turned into the roar of fire as she ran, flames and wooden houses springing up around her where stone walls once were. Fire surrounded her, licking her skin and scorching her clothes. The towns people were screaming as they tried to escape in their small fishing boats with what little they had. There was a blazing gust of wind as the dragon swooped low again, fanning his inferno to even more destructive heights. The bell tower loomed above her. When she took a step she was there, the ground beneath her giving way to air as she dangled from the broken bell tower, her fingers slowly slipping as she inched closer and closer to a fatal fall. A hand wrapped around her wrist pulled her up and over the edge, beginning to slip when her weight became too much to pull.
"Keep running, Sazrat!"
The hand was dragging her along at a ragged, stumbling sprint, keeping her from turning around to save their sister.
"Do not look back," her sister order, even as they listened to the eldest of the sibling scream at bloodcurdling pitches and suddenly fall silent.
There was only three of them now, the second oldest and the two youngest. The older one dragged both younger ones behind her by the wrists, never letting them stop. Sazrat was desperate to have something she could for her sisters as she heard the youngest one, Mazara, take a quivering breath. But Vikar would not let them stop. Not for anything. Not even for their sisters.
Then Vikar was gone, left far behind days ago when she fell to elvish weapons. Sazrat and Mazara had never stopped running, their breathing heavy and their muscles aching. The hunting horn echoed yet again behind them, closer now. They could see the outline of the forest just ahead, like a beacon in the dark of the night.
"Hurry, Mazara! We're almost there!" Sazrat encouraged her little sister, trying to push her to move faster. There was far too much blood running down Mazara's leg from the golden arrow jutting out of it, but they had no time to stop and try to stauch the bleeding. It was a nightmare they couldn't escape, no matter how many times they begged themselves to wake up to the life they had only a week before.
"Sazrat, I can't....I can't keep going," Mazara panted, wincing as they stumbled and the youngest sister sunk to the ground, gingerly holding her wounded leg.
"Sister, we can't stop here!" Sazrat insisted.
"Just a little farther and we can hide in the forest."
Grabbing her by the arm Sazrat pulled her up off the ground and forward into a labored run. They didn't make ten paces before Mazara fell again.
"Zara!" Sazrat cried, kneeling on the cold ground beside her.
"My leg... it hurts too much. I can't run anymore."
"Then I'll carry you if I must, but we have to keep going!"
As if to punctuate her plea the hunting horn sounded behind them, closer than before and followed by the baying of hounds. Mazara grabbed Sazrat by the arm with a iron grip Sazrat knew to be the last of her strength.
"Leave me. Hide in the forest. They'll slow when they find me."
"No! No, I won't leave you!"
"Please, Sister! As long as one of us survives to find the Ring we may yet resurrect our Master. I'll only slow you down."
"I will not just leave you here! I can't lose you too! Please..." she begged, letting her head fall so she could hide her tears.
Mazara cupped Sazrat's face with one hand and tipped it back up.
"It's alright," she whispered, forcing a smile for her big sister who had been trying so hard.
With a broken sob Sazrat embraced her sister, faintly inhaling the familiar scent of sulfur and smoke with closed eyes. If she tried hard enough, she could pretend they had all the time in the world.
"Let me go, Saz," Mazara finally said quietly, loosening her hold in an attempt to make Sazrat let go.
"Please."
With a rattling sigh Sazrat relented, pushing away and standing reluctantly. They could hear the baying of hounds through the deluge that surrounded them. The hunters would find them any moment. Hot tears and cold raindrops trickled down both their faces.
"Go," Mazara urged her.
Sazrat took a hesitant step back as the sound of hoof beats became louder and louder behind her little sister.
"Go now!"
With a cry of anguish she turned and ran, barreling blindly deeper into the forest as tears mingled with raindrops blurred her vision. The pained roar of a bear and the triumphant shouts of her hunters made her stop in her path, pausing for only a moment to look the way she came.
"As long as one of us survives to find the Ring we may yet revive our Master. Go!"
With Mazara's words echoing on the thunder above her, Sazrat plunged deeper into the lucious forest. Her labored breathes came out as sobs that racked her tired body. Branches whipped her face and arms as she stumbled aimlessly through the underbrush. Her foot caught on a root and the ground rushed up to meet her. She collided with a grunt.
Her fingers curled, digging into the mud and rain-soaked moss as a wail escaped her throat. She pushed herself back on her back on her knees and turned her face to the sky, letting the droplets of water attack her again and again as lightning danced across the sky above. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her, fingernails digging into her skin as she rocked back and forth, the rain washing the dirt and blood off of her battered body. She allowed the water to fall into her mouth and choke her as it trickled down her throat, causing hers sobs to turn into coughs. Doubling over herself she rested her forehead against the muddy ground until the cold liquid cleared from her throat. She wanted to die. She had failed everyone she loved. They had all foolishly trusted her to continue what they had begun together as a family and there was nothing she could do now, nothing more than a hunted beast. Another hybrid between a wail and scream tore her throat.
"What did I do?!" she screamed at no one in particular.
"How did I earn this punishment?!"
Her fury boiling to the surface she turned to the sky above, pushing herself to her feet as she blinked back the rain that fell in her eyes.
"Why did you take them and spare me?! Why?!"
She stooped and grabbed a fistful of mud, throwing it in the air with all the strength she could manage. When that didn't satisfy her rage she threw herself against the nearest tree, kicking and beating on it as she howled.
"Damn you! Damn you omnipotent cowards! May you rot in the very hell you created for all eternity!"
She fell to her knees once more, pounding her fist against her ground as she sobbed and screamed and spat every curse she knew. But when she ran out of profanities and curses to describe her pain, her grieving became nothing but one word screamed at the black, thundering sky under her throat was raw and her voice was gone.
"WHY?!"
Sazrat's eyes opened with a gasp as lightning lit up the night sky with an echoing roar, pouring rain down on Imladris without signs of stopping. She wasn't sure how long she laid there, eyes wide open and staring at nothing in the darkest of the room, cloak tangled around her legs like a net. She must have been thrashing around in her sleep. As the images from of her nightmare began filling the silence she pushed herself upright and grabbed the cloak. She brought it to her chest, burying her face in its soft folds. All those memories she had locked away slowly rose to the surface, ghosts haunting the darkness of the room, their voices whispering on the stormy winds as she clung to the cloak like a babe to a blanket. Names rolled off her lips one by one in a hoarse whisper. Adbagh, Vikar, Krathril, Mazara... As each time-blurred face came to mind she buried her face deeper in the black furs and rocked back and forth. She betrayed them. She betrayed her sisters. The sisters that had died for her, that had used their final breaths to tell her to live. She spat on their graves and turned a blind eye to everything they sacrificed themselves for.
Elsinore watched the rain fall on the other side of the glass, dejected as she held her cloak tightly. She would find no sleep here, where the epitome of her nightmares walked the halls and governed the household. With a shuddering sigh as she climbed out of bed with her treasure, wrapping it tightly around her shoulders as she slipped out her room to wander the hallways of Rivendell. There was a soft blue light to the once golden hallways of day, like the comforting embrace of a mother whose child feared the dark. It was strange, finding comfort in a place that nearly killed her by it's sheer existence. She felt vulnerable without the daggers that had kept her constant company for decades. The few times she slept she held one close the way a girl would sleep with her favorite doll. Now she had nothing to protect her, not that weapons of steel and iron would shield her from the ghosts that followed her through the hallways as she silently explored the forbidden place.
There was something eerily familiar about this specific room as she entered. Something about the statue that stood motionless, hands outstretched to present something she could not yet see on a blue cloth, beckoned her closer like a dark secret. The statue held the shards and hilt of a shattered sword bathed in silvery light, aligned to appear that she only needed to push them back together to fix the weapon. The weapon she recognized too easily.
With a gasp Sazrat shrunk back instinctively from the shards of Narsil, the sword that slayed Sauron three thousand years ago. She flinched when her back collided with a cold wall, hands flying to trace over the surface she pressed herself against. Upon turning she was faced with a painting that was all too familiar. The Dark Lord, in all his dreaded glory, stood over the man who would have slain him in only moments if they hadn't been frozen in time. Isildur brandish a painted reflection of the broken sword behind her, the weapon shining like a beacon of hope. Even now she could still hear the battlecries, the clashing of swords, the screams of dying men, the roar of blood crazed bears. She could still remember how quickly the thrill of eminent victory dissolved into horror and grief.
Tentative, Elsinore ran her right hand over the extraordinarily detailed art, pausing when she traced over the ring on her master's hand. Her gaze flitted for a moment to the ring she wore herself, barely peeking out from under bandages someone had blessed her with during her coma. Her fingers moved to brush over the five giant black bears that stood behind the Dark Lord, their eyes red as burning coals. Drawing away from the mural she brushed a hand through the fur of her cloak in thought. What would they think of her now? Would they have followed in her footsteps? Would they have shunned her? Would she have had to kill them herself? Would their sisterhood have become torn, some following her while the others stayed? Desperate to escape her own thoughts she pressed on, leaving the room of ghosts far behind her with the intent of never returning to it.
Almost an hour had past before Elsinore's wandering took her to an enclosed balcony, lined with sofas that sat basking in the silvery light of the moon. The rain had cleared during her aimless walk, and now through rain dappled glass she could see the rolling forest surrounding Imladris. With a small sigh she lowered herself onto one of the sofas, resting her head in one hand and bracing her elbow on the armrest. She curled her legs up on the seat beside her, laying the cloak across her feet. The cascading waterfalls across the valley shimmered like liquid mythril in the starlight that kissed the treetops of the forest, dancing and faintly roaring in simple delight of its own existence. Flecks of soft golden light dotted the landscape where those who took refuge in the serenity of Rivendell could not bring themselves to sleep or such a heavenly night, much as she did not seek rest herself. Her ears took up the sound of silken voices, raised in the most serene and ethereal song she had ever heard in her thirty-five hundred years. It was beautiful, alive. Peaceful.
Elsinore realized in that moment how tired she was. Not from lack of sleep, but lack of rest. When did she last spend more than two nights in the same place outside of Mordor? How long had it been since she last took a chance to pause and admire the world just for the sake of admiring it? But even as she was sitting there a heavy weight still loomed over her. It almost felt like a dream in and of itself, defying Sauron at last. For sixty years she had waited and waited for the opportunity. But now that she had taken it, she didn't know what to do.
She knew she would have to suffer another possibly long wait before she could finish what she started. She would have to play her cards carefully to get close enough to Frodo to take the Ring. Then she would have to be prepared for her escape, meaning finding weapons and appropriate attire. And she wasn't free of the Dark Lord. She never would. For now, she had claimed only a glimpse of freedom from his tyrannical control. She was chained to Sauron until her dying day. But even if she was forced to wear the chain, she would break it and drag the links behind her.
But tonight, there was no need to worry about such things. Tonight, she could allow herself find some small semblance of peace in the valley of Imladris. So with the distant songs of the elves and the pattering of the storm's gentle return to lull her to sleep, Elsinore found a small measure of peace in the house of Elrond.