"In the end, we'll all become stories." Margaret Atwood

The man clad in armor was falling away into a dark endless pit that rippled like water. His blue eyes, so familiar to her, widened in fear and shock. In all the years Lyra had known Aragorn, she had never once witnessed such base hopelessness in him, a betrayal of his namesake.

His blood, her blood pooled on his chest, growing darker and wider, spreading until it finally spilt, dripping into the obscurity below. His skin, usually tanned from hours spent under the sun, faded to a deathly white. She could see the life slipping away, see the pain grow even as it did.

Her arms, fixed firmly to her side, refused to move.

Help him, catch him, her mind screamed into the abyss over and over.

But still he fell faster and faster, all at once beyond her reach. The darkness was hungry- she could feel its sharp claws unfurl on his body, cutting through flesh as easily as bone. He was falling apart, being ripped to pieces.

And still she did nothing.

Lyra shot up from the nightmare in sudden blind panic. Her hands, fumbling and clammy, clutched at the silk sheets that tangled her legs and kept her pinned to the bed. With shaking hands, she threw them off and stumbled to the door before grasping the intricately designed handles and flinging them open.

She had hoped her dark thoughts would remain in the room behind her but they were more difficult to abandon. The fire in her hearth had gone out long ago and now, only pale embers remained.

Despite the cool autumn air that swirled around Rivendell, her skin burned, causing small rivulets of sweat to trail down her neck into the collar of her shirt.

She felt trapped. Suffocated. It was just a dream, she repeated the mantra in her head, just a dream. But really, she knew it was a lie. It was more; it meant more. She just didn't know what.

Her favorite season had arrived after a particularly harsh summer, but she found little joy in the orange leaves or the crispness of the air.

Disbelief and disappointment ran through her veins in equal measure. She had hoped the nightmares had disappeared for good. It had been more than three months since the dreams had left her in a trembling mess. More than three months since she had woken screaming, leaving the whole of Rivendell to believe she was being murdered in her bed.

It wasn't fair, she announced to the gale that ruffled her hair into a tightly knotted mess. There, she had said it. The wind howled back at her and she managed a weak glare in return.

The elven city was utterly tranquil and quiet in the dark. Moonlight reflected on the water outside, glittering like broken glass; even the waterfall had grown mute in the darkness as small clouds of mist rose from the ripples. Even though Rivendell was usually a peaceful place, these moments of complete isolation were a balm to her frayed nerves.

She had been in awe of this place, since the first time she had set foot inside. Elves were connected to nature in a surreal way, the softness of the grass, the color of flowers, the feel of water trickling through their fingers. But the darkness of night was something Lyra cherished. It was a time when the entire world seemed to hold still and take a deep breath, as if it were pausing and allowing her the time to catch up.

She wandered absentmindedly through the halls, gazing up at paintings with unseeing eyes, before finding herself in Lord Elrond's study. Running her fingers over the fragile parchment and breathing in the dusty air, she allowed herself a smile. As a child, it had been one of her favorite places, indoors at least.

Normally, Lyra preferred the lakes and forests, riding her horse and climbing trees, but she had countless fond memories here. As a child still unsure of her new home, Elrond would read to her, inspiring in her a love of adventure that only books seemed to provide. Arwen also was only too happy to spoil the young girl with stories of far off places, lands Lyra had begun to doubt she would ever see.

It had been over ten years since she had curled her body up to her adopted father's, clutching his robe with her tiny fingers, turned her large eyes up to him begging for just one more story. It was silly, she knew, that at twenty years of age, she craved the shelter of her father's arms. But she did.

Lyra groaned and stared up at the moon. Its sight always soothed her and tonight was no exception. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal, but for a ragged hitch and a slight shudder that still held to her shoulders.

"Lyra." A voice spoke behind her, causing her to spin around in slight panic, her thoughts still clouded with dark dreams. When Lord Elrond took another step forwards, she forced herself to relax and struggled to smile. Judging by the concerned crease on his forehead, it failed to convince him.

"I was just getting some fresh air." She attempted weakly. Even if the elf lord had not taken care of her for almost 10 years, he still could have spotted the lie. The elves may have taught her many things, but hiding her emotions was never one she had mastered as easily as riding a horse or wielding blades.

He frowned. "It has been many months since you have had nightmares." For some reason, the gentle reminder felt like a reprimand. She hung her head low and turned away, facing the open balcony once more. After a moment of silence, she felt him come to stand beside her. Although he too gazed above at the moon, she could feel his attention fixed on her.

"Nightmares are nothing to be ashamed of." The gentle rebuke was tinged with the power of his authority.

"I know." She struggled to find words and finally settled for a shrug, "I just thought I was done with them."

"I doubt you ever will be completely. Do not fear them so." His voice reverberated inside her mind, as it often tended to do when she landed herself in trouble. In the beginning, even as a child, Lyra had felt completely inadequate next to him and Arwen. As a half elf, she possessed similar features. Her eyes, wide and green, were framed by hair that was wavy and more than a little unruly. She had pale porcelain skin but if she felt embarrassed, would easily tinge to a light pink. Her fingers, though slender, held callouses that spoke of her training. She was shorter than most elves, with a slightly sturdier build. Though her moments remained fluid most of the time, she would stumble, often with her nose in a book.

She never saw Lord Elrond stumble. Still, it had not taken long until she saw beyond his often stern exterior to the wisdom and affection he held for her. And that had swiftly had turned to a fatherly love that she knew was just as strong as it was for Arwen or the twins.

"I'm not scared." She said, even though he knew better. They both did.

At her discomfort, he probed further, "You have done well Lyra and come far."

His words were true, she knew but another part of her constantly felt like a fraud. She lived among the elves, considered them family and had in turn, been treated as such. Still, as much as she loved her home, she never truly felt as though she fit. It wasn't the fact that she stumbled when they never did or that they always seemed to glimpse things a second before her. It was the fact that she lived in one the most beautiful places in Middle Earth and still she wondered what was beyond the borders. Elves were not supposed to feel restless as she often did. Elladan and Elrohir often dryly remarked it must be the half human side to her.

"Tell me what troubles you child." His command was soft but one that left no room for arguments.

"I feel as though a shadow hangs over my head these days. I can't explain it."

"You feel the evil spreading. I have also felt it." She saw his jaw tighten and his features darken.

"It's not the same. There's an impatience to it. I feel as though there is something I must do. I just can't figure out what." She grimaced and pushed her long hair from her face with a grunt of annoyance. "I doubt I will be satisfied until I figure it out." She confessed. For a moment, she thought she glimpsed a shred of fear in her father's eyes but it must have only been the reflection of deep water below because he blinked and it was gone.

"This is your home and your purpose is here." He said with a kind of finality as though he was speaking more to himself than to her.

"Perhaps if I helped with the scouting more-" She tried, glancing up at him from the corner of her eye, attempting to gauge a reaction.

Now more than ever, orcs had found their way close to Rivendell's borders. It was only last year, after much begging on her part, that Elrond had given Lyra permission to participate. Even now, she could tell how much it pained him to accept her participation in skirmishes.

He sighed, something he often did when she was near. "You know I don't like you to go off too far alone."

"I won't go far- just to the river and back." She promised, fixing him with large eyes of supplication. He laughed at her attempt of coercion.

"Those may have worked when you were a child-"

"So you admit I am grown?" She asked, a spark of victory in her eyes.

He chuckled at that. "Twenty is hardly grown. You are still so young. Although I suppose in my eyes, you always will be." He kissed the top of her head and she breathed in the familiar comforting scent of him, of family.

"Don't wander too far tomorrow." He cautioned before trailing silently from the room, leaving her feeling much lighter than before.

As soon as the faintest rays of light found their way into the sky, Lyra had practically flown out of bed. She knew sleep would not claim her again and had lain awake rereading many scrolls, some in Lord Elrond's own hand. Eager to be off, she had quickly shrugged into her leggings and soft boots. The fabric was worn and stained with small specks of blood but Lyra refused to replace it as much as Arwen had pleaded. Her daggers hung over her back, a comforting weight. Lastly came her curved sword that hung at her side. Sneaking from her room, she closed the door behind her and hurried down the hallway, naturally silent steps ensuring she would not rouse anyone from sleep.

As it turned out, she needn't have bothered. She rounded a corner and ran headfirst into Elrond's twin sons. Both males had long dark hair and sharp eyes and stood towering over her. Their almost feminine features betrayed their skill with swords and though they both possessed slender builds, she knew what massive strength that hid.

Nonetheless, she scowled at them. "What are you two doing up?"

"For your information, we just arrived home." Taking a closer look, she realized they told the truth. Their pants were splattered in mud and something darker. Orc blood, she surmised with a grunt of distaste. Elrohir stood barefooted and seeing Elladan's boots that were caked with mud, she understood why.

"Rough night?" She asked innocently, giving them both one last disappointing look over.

"Laugh all you like but while you were sleeping to your heart's content, we were protecting the borders." She rolled her eyes, recognizing another one of Elrohir's gallant moods.

She swept them both a low bow. "How it puts us women's hearts at ease to know two such fine warriors stand amidst the rain and mud-" She was unable to finish as Elrohir grabbed her wrist and pulled, bending down. He proudly paraded around the balcony with her atop his shoulder while she, squealing and slapping at his back, demanding to be put down. Elladan shook his head at them both, a good-natured smile upon his lips.

"What's going on here?" Elrohir froze at the voice, his muscles going taut under her hand.

"Who is it?" Lyra whispered, turning her neck this way and that, unable to see. "Turn around." She poked at his back. With a sigh, he attempted to deposit her to her feet. Not ready, she grabbed the back of his shirt and gave a small yelp, her instincts causing her to hold faster to him, sending them both to the ground in a jumble of arms and legs.

Pushing her hair from her face, she looked up to see Lord Elrond staring down at them with one eyebrow raised in a clearly disapproving way. Arwen, who held one hand up to her mouth in an attempt to silence her delight, stood beside her father.

"Good morning." Lyra said seriously, stumbling to her feet and slapping the back of her brother's head, who was unable to keep his laughter muffled.

"Is this how a protector of Rivendell acts?" Elrond's eyes swept over them all and she, as well as the twins, cringed.

"We were only playing father." Elrohir answered, somewhat sheepishly.

"I wasn't speaking of you." He fixed his son with a rather pointed gaze.

"I shall attempt to be more dignified in the future." She promised, balancing on the balls of her feet.

"See that you do." He answered but there was no heat and much amusement behind his eyes.

"What's this about protecting Rivendell?" Elladan piped in.

"Lyra will be charged with patrolling the north side today." Arwen added, smiling at her sister, sensing her enthusiasm. Lyra grinned back crookedly and held back a blush.

"Perhaps we should accompany her." Elrohir suggested, already pulling his boot back on.

"You two just got back." She protested with a frown.

"Enough." Elrond commanded. "Lyra is correct- in this case at least." She tried not to frown at that. "She has been training hard and we should trust her. Besides, she is only going to the river. Isn't that correct?"

"Of course." She replied, fighting her urge to glare at the twins.

"Then, we shall see you at dinner." He nodded at her, permitting her dismissal. With a grin that stretched across her face, she set off for the stables. After a moment's hesitation, she heard the twins follow, their footsteps lazy and unhurried.

By the time they caught up with her, she had begun to saddle her stallion Hisime. The warhorse was sparkling grey with a large black spot that encompassed one eye. Arwen often said that the horse looked as though he had just been in a fight. Now, as his enormous head rubbed again her arm and his eyes lolled shut, he looked downright lazy.

But in battle, when the scent of blood hit his nostrils, he was anything but. Years ago, when she was first learning to ride, she had approached the tall steed with much apprehension, for although she loved horses, one step from the stallion would crush her. It had been the twins who taught her to ride, who had soothed her fears and stood nearby while she made friends with the beast. Now, there was no a hint of fear while Lyra gave him a kiss on his silky muzzle. She visited him at the stables almost everyday, feeding him more apples and sugar cubes that she ought to.

"You will be careful won't you?" Elladan asked, leaning across the stall door, his tall frame completely relaxed.

"Of course I will." She snorted, rolling her eyes at their concern, torn somewhere between being touched and annoyed.

"At least Hisime will be able to outrun anything chasing you should you need to return home." Elrohir added.

The stallion's ears laid flat against his head and he stomped his hoof at the elf who eyed him warily.

"I remembered when you used to like me." He muttered under his breath but loud enough for all to hear.

"Good boy." Lyra praised the horse who leaned into her touch, much to Elrohir's exasperation. She swung herself into the saddle with practiced grace and speed and smirked when Hisime began to dance underneath her, his muscles quivering and straining to remain still.

At the twins' doubtful faces, her ire began to rise. "Don't you two have any faith in my abilities?"

"You know we do." They exchanged mirrored looks before shrugging. "We trained you ourselves after all."

"Good, then you'll know who to blame when I take all the good kills." She stuck her tongue out at them childishly before urging Hisime onward. It turned out he was as eager to be off as she. In seconds, they had flown out the gates of Rivendell and towards the wild.

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