I must admit, Lady Galadriel had voiced her worry about the persisting rumors, but I ignored her. You must forgive me again, hiril vuin. And for my next sin as well...
I met the true enemy... or at least I believe I did.

::::::::::

L U M O R N E L

::::::::::

Dever came out of seemingly nowhere. And saved my life.

Jeanna's short bow skidded away, the arrow that was aimed for my heart clattered feet away from me. Dever, as the guard punched the air wildly, unsheathed a dagger and went to strike Jeanna with the pommel.

But he froze mid-swing.

What is he doing?

Dever lowered his hand as Jeanna struggled under him and waved his hand hesitantly above her face. She didn't react.

He stood, brows creased and Jeanna scrambled away until she hit the bars of a cell. Lantern light flicked across her face, gleaming over wide, wide eyes. She yanked out a knife, standing in a slight crouch, and held the weapon out before her wardingly.

Dever silently stood before her, slowly reaching out a hand. Jeanna's eyes didn't follow it, whereas moments before she'd been tracking my every move.

She's blind.

"Valar," I breathed. I did that. I did that—

Jeanna, at the sound of my voice, raised her hand to throw the dagger. Dever caught her wrist, unarmed her, and used its pommel to send her into blissful oblivion. But as her head lulled to the side, a tear rolled down her cheek.

I looked away.

Dever's boots clomped on the floor.

The cell door squeaked open, Dever holding it open, Jeanna's keys dangling in one hand.

"Come on," he said, motioning towards the exit with his head. "Let's go."

"What—I—" Emotion welled up in my throat, making it unbearably hard to swallow. Diran lay burned and in pain. Jeanna blind.

"If we do not leave now we will be caught." He paused, but I continued gazing at the destruction and pain I wrought in a cloudy haze.

"You will learn to control it in time. You did once, you can do it again."

I gulped, nodding, and tucked the pain down deep, instead letting my physical injuries take over. The agony hit me like a blow, smarting and twisting, but I managed to stumble out of the cell room and into the jail's torch-lit front room, sheathing my knife. But... should I follow him?

He did save me... and...

"Where are my things?" I asked Dever as he returned the keys to the clerk's desk, said clerk unconscious just inside the cell-room. "I won't leave without them."

Did they already sell my bow?

"They're hidden in the forest—we'll gather them as we're leaving."

He stole a sheet of parchment from a drawer, dipped a discarded quill in ink, and scribbled a note. Finished, he returned the quill, shaking the paper dry and then he folded it into his tunic.

He didn't seem to carry the weight of fear—only a sense of urgency. Strong, resilient; I sensed many bitter winters were tucked under his belt, making his face unreadable and emotions rare to appear. As I watched, he unsheathed a knife and met my vivid green eyes with his own, taking in my appearance in one sweep.

"Cover your hair and walk as a guard. No one here knows of your identity, so as long as you look like them, you'll be them."

I nodded and tied back my hair, covering my head with the hood of my cloak. Satisfied with my appearance, Dever led the way to the exit, stepping out first to clear the way.

The night was cold, cold enough Dever pulled a scarf over his mouth and nose, lifting his hood and tightening his heavy cloak. The waning moon cast pale, silvery light over the frosted ground, transporting us to an ethereal world that mirrored our own. No birds chirped in the winter night, only the gusting wind crashed through the pine trees

Where are we going, I thought, casting quick glances across the base. The silhouette of a guard lurking on a corner shifted and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

I bit my tongue, forcing myself to remain quiet but—

"Where are we going?" My voice was almost lost to the wind, almost lost to the danger of echoes, but Dever's eyes narrowed as they slid to me. He didn't answer.

Warmth rushed to my freezing cheeks and I fell a step behind. Right, stay quiet.

We weaved between structures that loomed like short giants, waiting to pounce in a moment of quiet when the wind didn't howl.

Soon enough, when I lost all feeling in my nose and fingers, the lurking mountain forest appeared behind a crude horse stable. The bitter cold seemed even too much for the horses, for they did not nicker or neigh. But they would be perfect for getting far away from here fast.

Dever, however, did not seem to agree. He only strode past the stables, stopping only to check for stray wanderers. The trees consumed us, spindly branches breaking apart Elbereth's light. With the stars uncovered by clouds, I felt their energy all the more. Felt it vibrate deep within me.

Stay within, I pleaded. Stay within—

"Who goes there?"

I froze, the air in my lungs stilling.

Dever, however, didn't miss a beat as he rose a hand to the treetops in greeting.

"Renar and Frieda. We go by Heiran's command to see a message sent to Erech."

"Erech?" The man's voice said, and I sensed the person's eyebrows raising. "That is a long ways away."

There. I sensed the person shifting forward, and picked him out in the high tree, his heavily clothed arm gripping another branch in support. A thick hood shadowed the man's face and a load of arrows shone behind his silhouetted shoulder. He was bathed in darkness, yet I could just barely make out his features. A long, white scar seemed to cleave his face in half.

Dever shrugged. "The further away from you and that face of yours, the better."

The man above laughed. "I could say the same about you, Renar."

"But then you'd be lying, Jaiden," Dever said with a laugh, fully forgetting that we should be leaving and not chatting.

The forest, however quite, seemed alive. The night's darkness confused the senses, branches appeared as arms, the wind as a whispering voice. The crack of a limb was the step of a man. The enemy was behind us, no right above us, and all it took was one person to stumble in on Jeanna and Diran and the alarm would be raised. We needed to leave and now. Not chatting with the enemy.

I glanced at Dever. Was that his plan. Was he not truly trying to help me? Was he lying when he said he knew me?

I backed away a step, my elven feet light enough to not alert Dever and his friend. But—

Legolas's bow. My journal.

I gritted my teeth, planted my feet.

"Fare thee well, my friend," Jaiden said dramatically, bowing to us up in the treetops. Moonlight bounced off his wide smile. He turned his gaze to me and bowed once more. "You I bid the same, O Quiet One."

I started, unnerved he was paying attention to me, and quickly averted my eyes.

Dever paused, considering something. "If... if you ever need help or hope, call for Dever at the soap shop in Fairn."

Above, Jaiden slowly nodded, his brows furrowing before speaking. "Movement was spotted northward a league away, not but twenty minutes gone. Be careful, my friend."

"You as well."

Dever glanced at me, his green eyes near luminescent in the moonlight, and I knew we were moving on. Finally.

A few steps forward, however, Dever stopped, speaking over his shoulder. "Best not to mention our passing... and best to pretend you didn't know me as a friend."

I gaped, then swiveled around to see Jaiden nod, his lips pressed together. His eyes met mine. And widened in shock.

Hurriedly, I twisted around, jogging to catching up with Dever. I pushed Jaiden's recognition aside, I'd worry about that later. For now my shoulder, my back, they burned, but I bit my tongue hard enough to bleed and did my best to shove the pain aside.

"Why," I hissed. "Why did you tell him that? You all but told him we were the ones to maim Jeanna and Diran and construct a prison break!"

Dever didn't slow his pace, instead seemed to quicken his speed, carefully weaving around fallen twigs. "He no longer trusts the pantheon he had followed and doubts the salvation Alagosson offers. I wouldn't be surprised if he rebelled against the hierarchy he is in. Or if he ends up at the Western Hope."

I spluttered. "You... you trust him? The enemy?"

"Did you not listen to me?" He growled. "He isn't the enemy."

"Then what is he?" I asked, incredulous, throwing my hands up in the air, completely confused as to whose side he's on. "You shouldn't have trusted him. You shouldn't trust anyone."

Dever stopped. His steely eyes locked with mine. "And do you trust me?"

"I..." I bit my tongue. "No."

"Then why do I bother taking you to the Western Hope? If you can't trust, then what's the point?"

Dever hoisted his pack higher on his shoulder. "What's the point of bringing the prophecy written to where she belongs if she can't trust those who need her?"

I stopped in my tracks and Dever crouched down next to a tree, thrusting his arm in between the chaotic roots.

"What?"

Dever glanced at me, slight confused alarm in his eyes, but then shook his head. He withdrew a bow and a pack from the trees' guts. He stood, pushing them into my arms and continued walking.

"You're the prophecy-written. Savior of Middle-Earth."

"What?" I breathed.

Dever kept walking, picking his way through the forested mountains by the light of the moon.

Somewhere deep inside me, my power trilled. Sang of the truth.

But...

"Everyone hates me. How can that possibly be true?" I said, stumbling to catch up.

The mountains seemed to soak up the silence Dever left in his wake, for he didn't answer.

Jeanna and Diran had scowled at me when they discovered my identity, cowered in fear. From what I had read in my journal, everyone in the towns had the same reaction. I was a plague that nobody wanted to catch. Yet...

"Do you hate me?"

Again, silence.Then—

"I used to—" Dever twisted around in a flurry, green eyes flashing above the cloth that covered his nose, his body tensing and bunching up.

"We need to remain quiet," He said, voice deep and dangerous.

He twisted back around, walking even faster. I pressed my lips together but stayed silent. I knew when to stay quiet, especially around those who wanted it themselves.

I reached into my pack, feeling for my journal. Once locating it, I place my bag on my back—

I hissed, nearly doubling over, the wounds on my back screaming, the adrenaline running through my veins finally starting to subside. That's right, I'm injured. I eyed Dever's pack as if I could see right through it. Did he have clean bandages?

More importantly, were we ever going to stop? The moon stretched ever onward and I itched to write today and yesterday's accounts down. But Dever didn't seem intent on making camp, if even for ten minutes.

I sighed, holding up the bow I knew so well, searching for the name I knew was etched there.

Biting my lip, I glanced again to my supposed savior. Deceptive enemy or candid ally? Did he truly work for the Western Hope, a spy of some sort? Was I to ride on that hope or flee in case he is a danger? I didn't know.

But my bandages were dirty and my wounds stung and burned like Mordor's fires. And did I really want to miss my chance to get to Legolas?

::::::::::

The brilliant moon had moved three hand spaces in the sky when Dever finally slowed to a cautious crawl. He held out his hand to me, palm out, demanding I slow. His eyes tracked something on the ground, throughout the sparse grasses. The farther we moved, the less the grass appeared and the more rocks said hello. 

I searched the ground for whatever he saw, the signs of another life form, but my eyes had not been trained in a tracker's language—or if they had, the knowledge didn't come to me.

A bird, in the dead of night, whistled happily, its voice like that of a summer breeze.

Dever instantly relaxed—

Two dark figures dropped from the trees. Tall and lean, lithe as a graceful dancer. The wintry night breeze howled, ripping through my hair and down to my bones, but I narrowed my eyes. Inched my hand towards the dagger at my side.

Dever grinned, placing a freezing fist above his heart and bowing at the waist. What.

The two figures, although heavily armed, did not reach for any weapons—except to put a disarming smile on their faces—

And that's when their long, flowing dark hair and pointed, delicate ears registered.

Elves.

And by the looks of it, the two ellyn seemed to be related...

Twins?

Yes, as one ellon opened his mouth to crack a joke, I saw no facial structural difference between the two. Only scars, demeanor, and clothing told them apart.

"And the lovely elleth is..." one ellon said, a charming smile on his lips, snapping me out of my thoughts. I got the distinct feeling they already knew.

I hesitated, glancing at his brother, then at Dever who had his face carefully devoid of emotion.

I focused my attention on the ellon nearest to me, who had spoken. Although his tone was all joking and flirtatious, his shoulders were tense, his eyes guarded.

My own shoulders, already tense, straightened, my chin lifting. "Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine."

His eyes sparkled. "Stubborn. Nice—"

The other ellon took a step forward, placing a strong, calloused hand on the other's shoulder. "What my brother means to say is his name is Elrohir. As for me, I am Elladan, son of Elrond."

His eyes told me I should know of Elrond, but nothing in my memory sparked.

Elrohir snorted. "You make it sound like you are his child and I am not."

"No, no you are far too reckless to be a son of Elrond."

"Ah—then that makes you fatherless as well."

Elladan laughed. "Indeed, however, I am more responsible than you."

Elrohir shrugged, a smile on his lips—but he swiveled on me.

"Alright, out with it."

I thought that maybe Elladan would scold his brother for his brashness, but he only held me with the same stone stare as his brother, pinning me to the pine-covered ground.

I bit my cheek. "Lumornel."

"You mean Gwaraith?" Elladan said carefully.

My shoulders shrugged in answer. "I'm called that. But I think my name must be Lumornel, no, no I know—"

I stopped, hesitant about revealing too much but...

I slipped my bracelet off my wrist—which Dever had returned—and pointed out the bead with the name darker and bolder than the rest. Lumornel.

Elrohir raised a poised brow, but Elladan didn't so much as show a sign of disbelief.

"Do you know of the prophecy written?"

"I was told..." I glanced at Dever. "...that I am the... prophecy-written... but I'm not sure if I believe it."

"And why don't you?" Elrohir asks.

"Because... it seems as if everyone either hates me or fears me. Saviors aren't feared."

"And you don't know why you are feared, I am correct?"

I glanced at my booted feet, then back to Elladan. "Yes."

Now, that brow of Elrohir's was no longer arched mockingly but furrowed. Elladan's open face turned to Dever, who only nodded.

Slowly, almost carefully, Elladan asked another question, his gray eyes searching my face.

"Do you know Legolas Thranduilion?"

I jerked, my eyes widening. "Yes—!"

Then suddenly I was shaking my head, pulling up my bow hurriedly. "I mean no, no I don't know him. But I think I must have."

I held out Legolas' bow, noticing how Elrohir held out a wickedly sharp knife. I shifted my body away from him, although keeping an eye on him and pointing out the inscription on the beautiful bow.

"I think this bow was his and—I must have known him—he can help me, I think, regain my memories and—" I snapped my gaze right to Elladan's calming yet intense eyes. "Do you know him?"

Energy hummed and rose within me excitedly, thrumming through my veins. Elladan didn't answer, seeming to sort through his thoughts.

So I turned to Elrohir, whose eyes had widened in shock and I sensed was more likely to answer, staring at my hands. I looked down, seeing them softly glowing from under my skin, creeping up my wrists, highlighting my veins. I clenched them tighter, wishing to hide them but—

"Do you know Legolas? Please," I said, practically begging, turning to Dever then Elladan. "Please take me to him."

"You have no memory of him?"

"No," I breathed, holding Elladan's gaze like my life depended on it. Which it might. Willing him to not be afraid of me, my light. "No, I promise."

"How far back does your memory go?" Elladan's voice took on another controlled quality, his eyes searching me like one might do to someone injured. His eyes snagging on the glow emanating from my hands, illuminating a small bubble of the forest.

"Currently... two months, I think." I pulled on my pack, which contained my journal, trying to ignore my light, hoping beyond hope it wouldn't scare them off. "Might be less now, I haven't checked in my journal—I write down my daily accounts so I can look back and know what I've lost memory on."

His eyes flickered to my bag, then to my face. "May I look through it?"

Again, I hesitated. He and his brother and Dever didn't go running from my light, from me. And... my journal held my words, and therefore held my soul. But...

"We don't have time." I turned to Dever. "Don't we need to keep moving through the forest?"

Dever held my gaze for a silent moment, dipping once to my alight hands then back to my face. "No. You are going with them."

"What?! But... but what about... why?!"

I glanced nervously at the brothers, who remained strong and silent.

In answer, Dever's green eyes slid to Elladan and Elrohir.

Elladan shifted, drawing my attention to him.

"Because," Elladan said, "we are taking you to Legolas."