World On Fire

This story has been posted before under a different penname (Sophia) and a different title ("Going Under"). The penname covered myself and my writing partner. When she decided to drop out of the fan fic thing, I started editing what had been done already before moving on with the story. I'm almost done editing and have a lot of material already written for future chapters. Just wanted to put this up top incase anyone comes across this and says 'hey that looks familiar' and then calls me a damn dirty plagiarist. I'm not.

Title: World on Fire

Pairing: Legolas/OFC

Summary: Morrigan has spent eternity in the service of the Goddess and the defense of the Holy Isle of Avalon. Sacrifice and duty are all she's known since the beginning of time. But when evil rises again in Middle Earth, she may find her ultimate fate is quite different from all she's ever known.

Warning: This story is rated NC-17 sexual situations and Adult Content.

NOTE: This is a work of fan fiction done with the utmost respect for Tolkein and his work, though I'm sure if he, wherever he is in the universe, knows of its existence, he is probably cursing vehemently or at least rolling his eyes. Also, while this fic isn't a crossover, it does borrow *ideas* (not plot or characters) from Marian Zimmer Bradley's book, "The Mists of Avalon", the movie based on the book, and a smattering of celtic paganism... don't ask where the idea came from... I couldn't tell ya. It is mostly movieverse but some info and details are gleaned from the novels and The Encyclopedia of Arda.


Prologue: Your Time Will Come Soon

The very air was heavy. With what, the young man standing on the banks of Lake Ar-Feiniel could neither say nor understand. He gazed out into the lake, almost completely obscured by thick mists and wondered exactly what his companion had in store for him. The mists swirled and swayed on a wind he couldn’t feel blowing. He turned to the wizard at his side whose gaze never left the waters. It was as if he were waiting for something.

“Patience, my boy,” Gandalf told the young wanderer.

Aragorn let out a muted sigh. The wizard always spoke to him of patience yet never told him anything that could curb his curiosity. He looked back out to the lake. There seemed to be a shadow on the water that wasn’t there before. He stepped closer, his feet moving to where the water met the shore. Whatever it was, it seemed to be moving closer. His hand moved slowly but deliberately to the hilt of his sword, unsure of who or what was coming toward them. He looked to Gandalf whose expression hadn’t changed, though he could swear he saw the smallest hint of a smile. The peculiar quirk to the wizard’s lips stayed his hand but not his racing thoughts. What had the old man gotten him into this time?

The shadow drew closer until finally it began to take form. Just as Aragorn could say with some certainty that the shadow was a boat moving through the mist, the veil lifted, as if by magic, and he glimpsed his very first sight of an Ireth. At the time, he didn’t know who or what the woman was that stood in the small boat; beautiful, golden, and graceful. He was about to find out; that and so much more.

The woman smiled her face ageless and almost child-like. “Gandalf!”

“Greetings, my lady,” the wizard replied, walking down the sand to stand beside Aragorn. The boat ran ashore, and Aragorn moved to help the lady down from her perch. He noted the two men who sat in the back of the intricately carved vessel. They made no move to exit the boat nor did they speak. Each held an ore and had a unique dagger at their waist.

The young lady thanked Aragorn and immediately embraced Gandalf. “It has been far too long since Avalon has had the honor of your presence, my friend,” she said, that same innocent smile never leaving her face.

Avalon? Aragorn’s mind cried. He’d thought it was a myth of the ancient world. Would he see faeries? Was this lady before him one of their kind? Did they look like everyone else?

“I’m afraid my young friend may need an explanation soon,” Gandalf said to the lady with mirth in his eyes.

“And soon he shall have one,” she smiled, the look that passed between the two appearing far too calculating for Aragorn’s liking. She turned back to him, a tender look in her eyes that warmed him to his very soul. Her small gestures- even the way her lips formed words and her brow gave expression- seemed to flow into each other like the gentle swells that lapped at the lake shore. Before her next words would remove all doubt, Aragorn knew this was no mere mortal woman. “My name is Siobhan. I am one of the five Ladies of Avalon- an Ireth. Your questions will be answered once we reach the isle.”

“We are going to Avalon?” Aragorn asked, shocked at the prospect. He had heard many tales of the Isle of Avalon. Most were contradictions of each other. Many he could conclusively disregard based solely upon meeting Siobhan. They all agreed on one detail, however. Outsiders could never find their way through the mists and those who tried were lost forever.

“Fear not, young man,” Siobhan grinned. “I will guide you through the mists.”

“You can read thoughts, my lady?”

Her only response was a gentle shrug.

Within moments the trio were in boat making their way into the mists. Gandalf and Aragorn sat towards the front while Siobhan stood in back of them. Aragorn wanted to bid her sit- she could tip the boat and they’d never find it again in the mists. One look from Gandalf told him, it was a foolish thought.

The two silent men behind her rowed steadily, taking them deeper into the dense fog. A chill of fear crept up his spine as they were enveloped so completely by the mist that he could hardly see his hand before his face. For reasons he could not yet name, he trusted the stranger behind him. Yet his fear of the unknown would not be denied no matter how he tried to push it aside.

“It’s alright, Aragorn,” Gandalf said, sensing his companion’s unease. “Siobhan is one of very few who can lead us safely through this wretched fog.”

“It is not the lady’s abilities I doubt,” Aragorn replied honestly. “It is what our destination holds that unnerves me.”

In response, Gandalf only smiled that inscrutable smile Aragorn had become all too familiar with throughout their travels. It mattered not. Moments later, Aragorn felt the boat shift just slightly. Looking up at Siobhan, he saw her adjust the sleeve of her cloak before raising her arms above her head. The gesture was obviously meaningful- slow, poised, arms spread wide, palms up, eyes closed. Then, as gracefully as she had raised them, she turned her palms downward and lowered them to her side as if she were pushing something down. Her eyes opened, a small smile playing on her lovely face and Aragorn turned, watching in awe as the mists of Avalon parted.

The sight that awaited them on the other side of the great Ar-Feiniel was one Aragorn would carry with him throughout his long years. From the center of the isle rose a magnificent mountain dominating the entire landscape. Its base dissolved into rolling hills and pastures stretching to the banks of the lake. It was all green and lush with trees and flowers of colors he’d never seen the likes of before. Carved into the face of the mountain was a dwelling, which from the distance, Aragorn could not tell the nature of. Though it had been hidden behind gray clouds on the other side of the lake, the sun shone brightly as though Ilúvatar, himself, decreed such a place could never be marred by an overcast sky. Even the beauty of Rivendell couldn’t compare.

Siobhan’s face was taken up with a smile that could only be construed as relieved contentment. It was as though the short time she’d spent coming to collect the wizard and his friend had been more time than she’d ever want to spend away from this paradise hidden behind the mists. “Welcome to Avalon.”

~*~*~*~*~

After the boats ran ashore and Gandalf, Siobhan, and Aragorn were safe on land, their escorts promptly shoved off back into the mists. Aragorn wondered momentarily if the peculiar men lived their lives in the labyrinth of fog that lay on the Ar-Feiniel, emerging only to shepherd through the mists the chosen few who were fortunate enough to experience the sight he was seeing at that moment.

“Come, my sisters are expecting us,” Siobhan smiled, reveling in the wonder and enchantment that played on the young man’s face. She always took great pleasure in seeing a newcomer’s reaction to her home.

As they approached the gleaming steps of the dwelling, Aragorn’s mind once again touched on the flawed stories he had heard over the years. This place, he was convinced, was the fabled Temple of Avalon. There were many legends about the island he now stood upon, most ignoring the fact that it was the center of the ancient religion of the Goddess, a deity long forgotten by most mortals and of whom he’d only rarely heard mention by elves. Yet on their brief journey from the shore to the steps of the temple, he’d seen women and she-elves alike, tending to gardens and carrying baskets of fruit and flowers and herbs to and from the temple. Each had a mark high on their foreheads- the shape of a crescent moon, its points facing upward. “Priestesses,” Siobhan had told him without further explanation.

Throughout all this Aragorn still did not know why the wizard had brought him to this place. Something inside told him to be wary of that which he didn’t understand but the sheer beauty of the place was far too enchanting. In that same place inside his mind, he knew that this very enchantment should worry him as well, but there was nothing to be done. He was too far-gone to care.

At the top of the steps they were met by three women, each as striking in their beauty as Siobhan, though in very different ways. Aragorn assumed these were the sisters Siobhan had spoken of: The Ladies of Avalon. Hadn’t Siobhan said there were five? Gandalf embraced each one as the old friends they apparently were, though none looked much older than Aragorn himself. Then he was introduced.

Nessa. She was taller than Siobhan yet possessed a separate but equal grace. Where Siobhan seemed to have the gait of a flowing stream, Nessa seemed to have the bearings of the gentle breeze that had wrapped around them when they landed on the isle. Her hair was wild in its curls and a shade of brown that shone almost golden in the sunlight.

Macayle. She was pure fire. Her hair was black as night and her skin pale as marble. But her eyes burned so bright he could almost feel the flames licking at his skin. Her countenance was restrained but only in so much as a wild animal in a cage would be.

Damara. Aragorn felt as though she were last for a reason. Clearly she was the eldest, if age were even a factor for these… what had Siobhan called herself? An Ireth? If not then her importance could easily be measured in the vaults of wisdom so clearly locked behind her knowing eyes. It was as if one could see all the earth inside those eyes if he looked long enough. Her red curls were tamer than Nessa’s but no less stunning. A man could easily lose himself looking upon the beauty of the Ladies of Avalon. Aragorn suspected many had already.

“You’re young friend sees much with untested eyes, Gandalf,” Damara said with an impressed smile. “Your assessments of us are closer to the truth than you think, Lord Aragorn.”

“You can read thoughts, my lady,” Aragorn replied, glancing at Siobhan who hid a small laugh behind her hand.

“Somewhat,” Damara nodded. “We are each of us emissaries of the Goddess. We are as old as Middle Earth, itself, and each possess the power of one of the four basic elements- Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, as bestowed upon us by the Goddess when she created us.”

Aragorn didn’t know what to say or what to do with the knowledge he’d just received. He knew nothing of the religion of the Goddess other than its existence- and even that, he hadn’t been certain of before this moment. Yet he felt an overpowering urge to kneel before these women and swear his allegiance. Still, somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered- who was the fifth?

“There will be time for questions later. First, you both must be hungry. Please come-”

“Cailean! Come back here!”

Before Aragorn knew what was happening, he felt something collide with the back of his knees. Whirling around, he saw it was a young girl, now lying flat on her back and groaning in mild pain. “Are you all right, little one?” he said kneeling down to inspect her. He didn’t notice the four Ladies behind him roll their eyes. To his surprise the girl started laughing.

“Well, that’s what you get,” said a voice standing above him. He looked up to see a young woman, petite and lovely as the four beauties he’d already been mesmerized by, but unique. For one thing, she wore what looked to be animal skin britches rather than brightly colored, flowing gowns and robes worn by the Ireth. Also, unlike the Ireth, she bore the same crescent moon of the priestesses he’d seen earlier, so he assumed she was one of their order. “Now back to your studies,” the young woman continued, bending down to help up the little girl who was now of the verge of hysterics. “Is this funny, Cailean? I’ll give you something to laugh about,” she said, reaching out and tickling the girl mercilessly.

Cailean squirmed free and set back running down the steps of the temple. Smiling broadly, the unknown woman turned her attention from the rambunctious youth to the company that had assembled at the top of the stairs. “Gandalf!” she cried out, bounding up the rest of the steps and into the wizard’s arms.

“My lady, it’s been a long time,” Gandalf smiled warmly. Aragorn noticed a level friendliness in the wizard’s greeting that hadn’t been as strong with any of the four he’d already met.

“Is the little urchin giving you trouble again?” asked Macayle, a small smile on her lips.

“No. She’s just more anxious to be trained with a sword than with a book. Therefore, she’s giving Nessa trouble.”

“Never was a truer word spoken,” Nessa laughed. “Thank you for at least trying to return her.”

“It is a disturbing turn of events when, with all the resources of the Goddess herself, we cannot get that child to sit still and learn her lessons,” the lady laughed. Aragorn was of the opinion that he’d never seen anyone who laughed more easily than the woman before him. “So, is anyone going to introduce me to our guest?”

Gandalf chuckled, straightening on his staff. “My apologies. I’d like you to meet my young friend, Aragorn. Aragorn, this is the lady, Morrigan.”

Morrigan? That was a name Aragorn did recognize- from myths and tales about a warrior woman that dated back to the Elder days. In the lands of man ‘Morrigan’ was said to be a witch- an evil sorceress that could sway the tide of battle to her whims. He could not believe the lady before him was any such sorceress and he wondered what parents would name their child after such a creature. “My lady,” he managed to finally greet her.

“Well, well,” Morrigan smiled, “So this is the last chief of the Dúnedain.”

Aragorn cringed inwardly. He had hoped this would not be another journey of self discovery Gandalf had orchestrated to encourage him to embrace the destiny he never wanted. It was a foolish hope, he now realized.

“Don’t worry,” Morrigan spoke to him directly. “You’re not here to learn to be a king. That is choice that is farther down your path than I have the time or patience to be concerned with. Gandalf has brought you here to learn to be a warrior. And I am to be your tutor.”

If he wasn’t so shocked by that statement, Aragorn would have taken offense. He was an excellent fighter. He had been holding his own on the Elven training fields of Rivendell since he was a lad and no man or creature had bested him since he’d left Elrond’s sanctuary. What shocked him was that Gandalf had brought him to heaven on earth to be schooled in war by a woman who looked no older than he, her name, notwithstanding.

“Curb your astonishment, Aragorn,” she spoke softly, as if she only cared that he hear her words. “I am the guardian of Avalon- the fifth sister, created by the Goddess to protect this place, my sisters, and, by extension, Middle Earth, for none can exist without the others. I have fought in many wars and I mean to make sure you are as prepared for what is to come as you can be. You will have a long life, young chieftain, and what I will teach you here will only be a small part of the education life has in store for you. But you will be very important to this world, no matter what you choose; no matter how you fight that very idea. The Elves have raised you well. Avalon is your next step.”

Aragorn stood speechless but intrigued. If she, too, was an Ireth, then she must be the same Morrigan of myth; legends that had clearly not done her justice. Before he could reply, a cry came from below them.

“Lady Morrigan!”

Much to Aragorn’s surprise, it was a male voice. He’d yet to see a single male apart from Gandalf since they arrived on land. Turning, he saw a young man taking the steps two at a time.

“Kael? What’s wrong?”

“Orcs, my lady, attacking the border villages,” Kael replied, out of breath. “The smoke signals have gone up.”

“Alright, I’ll meet you on the banks. Go gather the Novan,” Morrigan replied with calm intensity before turning to her sisters. “And why didn’t you see this?”

“The sight isn’t something we control, Morrigan,” Damara replied, almost insulted at the prospect. “You know that.”

Aragorn looked on as Morrigan strode inside the sanctuary mumbling something that sounded like “Then what good are you…” He couldn’t be sure though. Gone were the pleasantries and heady sense of peace and tranquility the island had offered only moments before. His own body had tensed at the declaration of orc attacks but so did everyone around him- the sisters who seemed to be unflappable seemed to be less ethereal now in their worry.

“They’re getting arrogant, attacking this close to the isle,” Gandalf spoke softly.

“Yes, let us hope their confidence is unfounded.” Damara smiled tightly, but there was no mistaking the ominous undertones in her voice. She straightened her already poised stature before speaking again. “Well, as I was saying before, you must be hungry.”

“My lady, what about the attack? I can help,” Aragorn asserted.

Damara smiled softly as Morrigan reappeared from the temple, carrying a pack and armed with one of the most exquisite swords Aragorn had ever laid eyes on. It looked Elvish in craft but its carvings were distinctly native to the island whose architecture and clothing bore similar markings. “Morrigan and her Novan warriors will handle this skirmish, young chieftain. Your time will come soon.”

He was about to object but once again, a silencing glance from Gandalf prevailed over his instincts. He watched as Morrigan made her way down the stairs towards the banks. In the distance, several boats appeared out the mists to take her and her party to the outer borders of their lands. She glanced back at him momentarily and what he saw in her eyes at that moment destroyed any trepidation he had about being guided by her in the art of war. Just like that, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, was ready to learn whatever Avalon had to teach him.