"It is said that your life flashes before
your eyes just before you die.
That is true, it's called Life."

― Terry Pratchett, The Last Continent

34. Weaver of Fate

Dead elves were a remarkably boring company. None of them ever replied when Nellas tried to strike a conversation, and it did not take long until she gave up. Instead she had spent the past days in silence, but that was alright. She had been dreaming; pleasant, fluffy dreams she couldn't quite recall (other than that they were lovely).

Sitting straighter in the boat, despite the ache in her wound, Nellas regarded their surroundings. She saw dark, stagnant water between tufts of grass and moss, a few black swans, and in the distance the towering mountains against the evening sky. They appeared to be a little bit closer than the last time she looked, but not much.

She felt better today, and her head was clearer than in a long time.

"Where are we?" she asked.

Boromir's answer was a deepening frown.

"When will we come to your city?" she tried.

He sighed morosely. "When I have found the way out of this accursed swamp." Then his gaze landed on her, and he brightened. "You look good." Reaching out, he checked her forehead.

She leaned against his hand. "Thank you."

"Less warm too. How are you feeling?"

"Fine." She smiled.

Reflectively he returned the smile, but it waned much too soon. "What good does that do, if we starve to death anyway? We have hardly any lembas left, and it must be two days since I caught those frogs." His stomach made a gurgling sound, reminding him of all the meals it had missed.

"You could ask someone for directions," she suggested.

He laughed mirthlessly. "Great idea. I suppose the dead could help."

"No, they cannot. They refuse to reply." She looked around, and her gaze fell on a black swan. Hello there. Can you lead us to the river?

I might. Its beady eye gleamed calculatingly. If I do, then what's in it for me?

Don't you want to help someone in need?

No.

Be that way then. If you help us, we will feed you.

Prove it. Give me a taste. It glided closer, producing tiny ripples in the murky water.

"Can I have a lembas crumb?"

Boromir bit his lip, glancing at their meagre supply. Then he nodded. "Of course. You need to eat to get well, and I am not very hungry anyway."

She accepted the small piece. "Thank you, but it is not for me." She tossed it at the swan who quickly gobbled it up.

"Are you mad!" Boromir rose so hastily the boat almost toppled over, feebly trying to reach the bird. "What have you done?"

"What is it with men and asking for directions?" She shook her head. "Take your paddle and follow that swan."

ʕll ಠ _ ಠ llʔ   q( ಠ _ ಠ )p

"I can see the river!" Boromir laughed in disbelief. Then he unexpectedly took Nellas' hand and kissed it. "I am sorry I distrusted you."

She grinned, glad to hear his laughter again.

"We are not far from my home now," he continued. "But there are still many hours until sunrise, and the river grows very wide further downstream. It might be safest to take a short break at Cair Andros, a fortified island just below the fens. We could get real beds to sleep in, and perhaps even a warm meal!"

After paying the black bird with some of their last lembas, Boromir paddled on with renewed vigor and speed. Soon they finally left the marshlands behind and entered the wide, swiftly flowing channel of the Anduin.

Ahead of them the island he had mentioned could be seen as a jagged, black shadow, and he set their course straight towards it. Nellas didn't really care where he took her; she was just happy that he was happy, and that the worry lines had finally disappeared from his forehead.

She thought about the kiss he had given her. What would it take to make him kiss her elsewhere? Such as on the lips. Nobody had ever kissed her there, and she would like him to be the first.

What would it feel like? Soft, probably, and wet. And– But what was that smell? Wrinkling her nose, Nellas sniffed the air. It stank of blood, rotten meat and sweat.

The boat suddenly bumped into something – or someone, rather – who growled a curse in a heavily accented voice.

"Damn!" hissed Boromir. He pressed his paddle against the dark figure, using it as leverage to propel the boat away. "The enemy is wading out to Cair Andros! I have to warn them." He quickly took his horn and put it to his lips, but before he could produce any sound a curved sword came swooping down on it. The beautiful object split in halves and fell into the river with a sad plop.

Then a swarm of stocky creatures crawled into their boat from all directions. The vessel keeled and lurched, tumbling this way and that while Boromir and Nellas feebly tried to push down the invaders, but instead their movements made the boat tip over. Nellas found herself chest deep in icy cold water.

"Damn," swore Boromir again, and drew his sword.

ʕll * _ * llʔ  ʕ( ò _ ó )ʔ

The next morning, Kat looked out at an inky, gray sky with no sun in sight. It would be a bleak day.

Gandalf had been up all night, anxiously walking to and fro between the window and his bed, and after a simple breakfast (which Pippin grumbled a bit about) they left Kat alone again.

This day she was not tired, and Gandalf's worry was contagious, which meant she spent the long hours in a restless anticipation. Just like him she kept returning to the window, but couldn't stand staying there for long. The sky was too frightening. It had looked like normal bad weather at first, a storm perhaps, but soon she realized it was something else, something unnatural; a creeping darkness expanding from Mordor like it intended to swallow the whole world. She tried not to think about how it would feel to be under it, if it came all the way to Minas Tirith.

Without neither sun, nor clocks, it was hard to measure time, but she thought it had become evening when she was suddenly struck by a deep horror, making every hair on her body stand on end.

From her own reaction she knew what must have come, and a glance out the window confirmed it: nazgûl – five of them! No wonder she felt them so strongly. The black wraiths were straddling winged beasts, and like the one Legolas had once shot they were impossibly black; blacker even than the creeping darkness from Mordor.

A terrible screech pierced Kat's head; it felt like the penetrating sound spread through every cell of her body. She lost control over her muscles and fell down limply on the windowsill, bumping her head against the unyielding stone.

Everything became dark.

/\_,,_.,
( x _ x )

It was dark. Had she fainted? She must have hit her head harder than she thought... Then Kat realized it was dark because she had instinctively closed her eyes. Opening them, she blinked owlishly in the white, strangely artificial light. Everything looked hazy and she found herself unable to focus. Who turned the lights on?

She tried to lift her head but nothing happened, and instead she noticed there was a tube down her throat.

Now all impressions hit her at once: the chafing of the tube, the beeping of a medical monitor, the smell of disinfectants, the rough sheets, a multitude of aches in a body that had become a woman's one.

No! I didn't choose this! Beside her, the monitor beeped quicker. I'm not done yet... I haven't saved Gollum.

Someone entered the room, but Kat couldn't turn her head to see who it was.

Please! Mr Pretty Voice, can you hear me? Take me back.

"Annika, can you come in here? I think this patient's waking up." It was a female voice, and it spoke a language Kat hadn't heard for a very long time.

Further away another woman replied. "Are you sure? She's been out for months. Isn't it just a tic, or perhaps a new seizure?"

A face moved into Kat's sphere of vision, but she couldn't see them clearly. "Hello? Are you awake? Blink your eyes if you can hear me."

Kat was about to obey when an overwhelming tiredness hit her. Her eyes slowly fell closed, and she immediately drifted off to sleep.

ʕ( – _ – ):

A jumble of fuzzy shapes surrounded Kat. Slowly they cleared to become a white marble room, dominated by a huge loom where a stunning woman was busy weaving. Her ageless face reminded Kat of an elf, but she even outshone Galadriel's beauty, and her skin was deeply tanned under a mass of black curls.

The woman noticed Kat, and her large, brown eyes widened. "Thy fëa should not be here."

"My what?"

"Fëa. Thy soul. For a reason unbeknownst to me, it hath returned to my husband's Halls."

Kat looked around. True enough, there was that weird sense that this place was both a house and a forest, and the smell of fresh bread was prominent. Was this woman Mr Pretty Voice's wife? She certainly looked the part; handsome men always chose equally attractive wives.

But if this was the Halls of Mandos – had Kat died again?

"Thou art not dead," said the woman, as if she had heard Kat's thought. Maybe she had.

"Perhaps it happened when she hit her head?" A serious looking man was seated beside the loom, holding a stack of papers in his lap and a pen in his ink-stained hand.

"Nay. I reckon the wraiths affected her thusly." She sounded worried. "This is unexpected."

The man flipped through his pages. They were filled with writing; a neat cursive that Kat associated with old grannies.

"She will not encounter that many Nazgûl again," he said. "If we can just send her fëa back we should be fine."

"You know the future?" Kat tried to read over his shoulder. For some reason his writing was in English, though he had spoken Swedish like everyone else here.

Or... had he?

When the man replied, she noticed his lips moving unsynchronized with the sound, just like in a dubbed movie. Did the Halls automatically translate for them?

"No, I only know the previous version of the pattern, the one which was taken down from the loom," he replied. "But if this unfolds according to the plan, there should be a similar result, though with Sméagol surviving. You see, there are many events that must be, or everything will have to come apart again."

"You planned this? Putting me in a cat's body, and sending me to a strange world–"

"No, no... Of course not! Námo and Vairë orchestrate everything." He nodded at the woman. "I just record what happens."

Mystified over his puzzling words, Kat regarded the man more closely. He wore a dark tweed suit in a strange, rather ill-fitting cut, and looked to be around her own age. Judging by his clothes, he was not from Middle-earth. "Who are you anyway?"

"How impolite of me. I'm called Ronald." He took her hand and shook it.

"Katharina, Kat, for short. You don't look like a Vala?"

"No, I'm just a human. Same as you, my fëa traveled here from another time, and Námo gave me those three choices. But I didn't think I would stand being a cat for that long, so I chose to remain here. Besides, I had experienced enough warfare to last me a lifetime."

"Huh. He never told me I would become a cat if I accepted, or I might have refused too!"

"Well, I guess it was wise of him to withhold that detail then." He smiled apologetically. "Do you regret going?"

Kat formed a mental image of Legolas' handsome face. "Well, no, but still... Oh, alright. I guess I'm kind of glad I accepted."

"Love can make a person do almost anything, can it not?" He gave her a knowing look.

Jeez, did everyone know about her feelings now? 

To hide her embarrassment, Kat pretended to be very interested in the loom, but when she saw the half-finished work her interest soon was caught for real.

The tapestry had been woven with impossibly thin gossamer threads, like dyed spider silk, and the complex pattern was among the strangest sights Kat had yet seen. A multitude of colors and figures flickered and changed, almost as if the fabric had a life of its own. Wherever she looked, a detail came loose and sailed up before her: a tower; a falling wizard; a black globe; a white city; a thin, bent creature; a horn in halves; a hobbit's curly head; a lidless eye. Through all of it shone the golden One Ring – it was everywhere, and everywhen.

Dizzily shaking her head, Kat turned away. Looking at the tapestry was a bit like shopping clothes online, where you could use those little magnifying glasses to view the details of a garment – but when doing so, you also lost the larger perspective. It was impossible for her to see in Vairë's pattern what would happen. How could Ronald read it? Or did the woman explain while she worked?

Vairë came over to her. "I have called my husband hither, so he can send thee back to thy quest."

Kat suddenly realized what an opportunity this was. "Oh. Before I go... Tell me, am I doing good? Am I still on the right track? And will I manage on my own?" The questions quickly poured out of her.

"Aye to all three." The woman smiled kindly.

Another person entered the room, and Kat again heard that sonorous voice which made her heart beat faster just by how lovely it was.

"Well met again, however briefly."

"Oh! Hello, sir."

"Farewell, Miss Katharina."

"Wait! I have more questions. Such as why is it so important I'm sent there as a ca–"

But the white room, the loom and the smell of fresh bread had already dissolved, and Kat was back in her tiny body at a cold windowsill in Minas Tirith.

"Miaow!" she swore.

A/N:
Hope you enjoyed some soul travelling. I'm curious to hear what you make of it. :)

Image Credits:

Vairë, painting by Meraclitus on DeviantArt (www.deviantart.com/meraclitus)