Now I Lay Me Down To Die by Belladonna Poisoning

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Story notes: It's my first LotR fic posted. ANY comments are welcome. Constructive criticism is good. If you hate it, please at least tell me why. If you actually like it, please feed my ego. Grazie!
As long as I have been able to remember, I have wanted to die.




My first memory is of my mother praying over me. I had fallen from our talan, and hit the ground hard. She prayed to every god she could think of–she begged Ilúvatar to intercede. She pleaded with Elbereth to heal me. She prayed to Manwë and Nienna and Ulmo and every Vala she could, but I was dying. Finally, she called upon the last of the Valar.

"Please, Mandos, Lord of the Dead, do not take him from me. Do not take him. Please, please, he is so young, it cannot be his time. Do not take him before his time." Here, her voice hitched, as she struggled not to sob. "And–if it is–it is his time, please, be gentle. Take him with you gently."

I cannot remember her face then, only her voice, ragged as she begged for my life. And, when she had no words left, she fell silent, maybe unconscious, maybe merely asleep. I did not see her.

All I could see was the Lord of the Dead bending over me, tucking me into bed more securely. His eyes were huge and dark and wise, and they glowed in the shadows his hood cast over his face. "Shh, little one. Your mother spoke truth; it is not yet your time." He kissed me forehead, and he was gone.




I loved him, and all I wanted was to go away with him, to the Halls of the Dead. When my father shouted and cursed and struck my mother, when he hit me and ridiculed me and starved me, when my mother finally fled him to bear his sons in safety, I prayed for Mandos to take me away. Away from everything. In my dreams, he did.

The first night my father raped me, I slit my wrists. I remember watching the blood flow from the gashes down my arms in curiosity. I hadn't realized I had so much blood. It stained the moss brownish red, and it reminded me terribly of the blood that had stained the sheets red, red with the last of my innocence.

He came, and placed the knife I had used out of my reach. Then he lifted me and embraced me gently. You would think, living where he does, that he would be cold, but he isn't. His arms are warm and soft, and all I wanted was to stay there forever. His eyes, too, were warm, dark with compassion and understanding of what had happened to me. But there was no judgement in his steady stare, no condemnation because I had been too startled to run, too frightened to fight. Only love.

I cried into his robe, until there were no tears left. He dried my cheeks, and began to put me down. "No!" I protested. "Take me with you."

He smiled, in the shadows that hid his face. "Your mother invoked my name, and prayed that I not take you before your time. I will come for you as often as you call, little one, but I cannot take you home with me until it is your time." Once more he kissed my forehead, and I fell asleep. When I woke, all that remained of his visit was the blood on the moss and two faded lines on my arms.




I was a strange child, after that, always afraid of sunlight and friends and happiness. I kept to the shadows, because he lived in shadow. I always wore sleeves that draped to the middle of my hand, to hide the scars I paid for his presence. I never regretted the blood I spilled to call him to my side. I did not care about life. It was only an obstacle in my never-ending search for death.

They took me away from my father. The Lord and Lady took me in, and my brothers as well. My mother sailed West. I bid her farewell, but I never wept for her. She left me with my father, knowing full well what he could do to me.

Lord Celeborn trained me as a warrior, and I learned well, faster than he thought I would. I hoped that my time would come in battle, and the sooner I could fight, the sooner I could face an enemy who could end my life.

Strangely enough, what began as part of my quest for death extended it for centuries. I had not calculated how incompetent my enemies were. Orcs! They could no more defeat me than swarm of butterflies. And my pride would not allow me to fall to a lesser warrior than myself.

My brothers joined me in the guard a few years after I became Marchwarden. It was painful, to see their fresh-faced innocence, when the only thing that could please me was to slice long gashes in my arms, so that I could rest in Mandos' arms for one night more. But they were made of light and laughter, my brothers. I loved them as best I can, and they did not ask for more. I was ever a child of shadow and sorrow, and no careless joy in the beauty of our world could touch me while I dwelt there.

The Lady was always worried for my sake, always watching me and her mirror. She knew about the scars on my arms, because she found me once, lying in bloodstained grass after I called to Mandos. She asked me why.

How could I explain to her that all beauty was lost to me, save the dark brilliance of Mandos' eyes, and all comfort wasted upon me, save the warmth of his embrace? How could I tell her that my father crushed my innocence and my love of life, and left nothing but a desperate need for the touch of the Lord of Death? And how could I show her that what I sought was not truly to end life, but to begin death, the only place left that held any joy for me?

I told her that I was in no danger, and we never spoke of it again. But she watched me, after that. She tried to make me love life again.

I picked flowers and herbs and scattered them across the ground, until the floors of my talan smelt of mint and lavender. She asked me not to kill the flowers; she did not understand.

The flowers would have wilted, turned brown and faded, had I left them on their stems. I strew them across my floor and crushed them beneath my feet and inhaled their sweet scent, and their transient lives I offered up to my love. The flowers grew anew, just as I revived from every attempt to die.

Life so easily slips away; why love it for itself? Instead love what sweet gift may be found within it: the scent of the flowers and my love of death.




I grew wiser with the years, and cleverer as well. I had learnt that the easiest way to slit my wrists was in a stream, where the blood flowed away in near invisibility, to nourish the fish. I slept cradled in Mandos' arms, and woke dry on the bank, with two new scars, the price of my transitory peace.

I had learnt to hide my nightmares from my brothers, and to sacrifice my flowers away from the kind but uncomprehending eyes of the Lady. I had learnt to gracefully excuse myself from gatherings when my father's eyes rested upon me, and which streams were vacant in the dark hours of the night. I took what peace I could where I could find it, and never again asked Mandos to take me away. I trusted that he would when it was my time. Rumil and Orophin grew closer over the years, and I found some little happiness in their love for each other. They could not understand, of course, why I would smile and vanish at night. They thought, I suppose, that I went to meet a lover.

I did, in a way. His was the only love I sought or needed, and it was given freely. My mother's desperate prayer had bound me to him for all eternity, and every time he sent me back into life I loved him more, for the peace he granted me.

Some would say that my love was destructive, that it hurt me far more than it could help. But they do not understand. What can two more scars mean in exchange for a night to feel loved and safe?




Legolas asked me once why I never sought a lover. He could see better than most my heart, for his love was also doomed to destroy him. I tried to explain, and perhaps he did understand in the end. I did not need a lover. All I needed was Mandos' soft, loving gaze and the knowledge that I would be with him for all eternity. Sometimes, I bitterly envied Miriel. She had been allowed to choose her time to join my love, and she had been allowed to choose eternity in his halls. I was forced to wait.




The battle of Helm's Deep was long in coming for me. When Galadriel asked for a volunteer to lead our archers, I stood immediately. She took me aside afterward, to tell me what she had seen in her mirror.

I already knew. It was at last my time to die.

I bid my brothers farewell, and they knew that I would die when I kissed them good-bye. They had loved me well, still do love me I suppose. It is more than a child of sorrow can ask to be loved by such light and joy as they are.

I was glad that my death would serve some purpose, killing the Uruk-hai who wished to destroy all that was good in the world. I did not really care about the world, but Legolas was as good a friend as I had, and Aragorn was his entire world. I would have grieved if either had died.

In all honesty, I was not expecting the blow that took me. It fell upon me from behind, and I was more shocked that it was over than anything else. Legolas flew to my side, slaying the orcs as swiftly as he could, and bent over me to hear my last words.

"Do not mourn me, my friend. I go to meet my love in shadow, and I shall be there to greet you when you pass...."

He nodded solemnly, and left me to kill the orcs pressing around us. As I watched him, I felt the presence of my love, and turned to look. I never realized that my body remained immobile as I rose to face the Lord of the Dead.

"I promised you I would bear you home when your time had come. So come with me, my love, and let my peace enfold you."

I stepped into his arms, and was content.




Legolas faces Galadriel quietly. He has faced all the agony his life holds for him, and he is ready to depart. One question holds him back. "My lady, did Haldir have a lover who died?"

She laughs softly, a little bitterly. "Legolas, little prince, his lover was death. All his life, he sought only death's embrace."

He bows respectfully, and departs.

Unlike Galadriel, he can grasp why Haldir would wish for death. When life has no more beauty, the peace of death is an attractive alternative.

He has watched his love marry another, and he has bid farewell to all he loved. He smiles as he dies, and bows to Mandos.

"Are you ready?" asks the Lord of Death.

"I am, my lord." As he is taken away, he makes one request. "May I see Haldir when we arrive?"

Mandos chuckles softly. "You have all of eternity, little one."
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