Hope - A Lord Of The Rings Chronicle

Almost Perfect

Hey Guys!

Before I let you read this, just note I have several Trigger Warnings:

~Death

~Suicide

~Depression

~Self-harm.

Please do not read this chapter if you are not able to handle any one of those aspects (there is nothing wrong with that) and let me know if you would like a brief summary instead.

-Ellie
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Galadriel moves closer to the basin.

"Even the wisest cannot tell." She began and I followed her inward "For the mirror shows many things..."

She raises the pitcher and begins to pour the water inside.

"Things that are...things that were...and some things..." the water finishes and she takes a few steps back "that have not yet come to pass."

If I was to be completely honest, it was the middle part of that sentence that bothered me the most. Coming here to Arda had given me the opportunity to forget my past, to try and live as respectable and joyous life as possible. Here I had true friends, true family (well, not that Smithie and Oscar and Caroline were not my family) but life here was different. I felt like I belonged. Particularly with....

‘Raina?’

I blinked, drifting my thoughts back away from Legolas to the task at hand. I nodded, and stepped forward in trepidation, part of my dress curled into my right fist by my side.

I place my hands over the edge of the stone basin, and peer inside. For a moment, nothing has changed, and I can still see the reflection of the tall Mellorn trees and the shimmering sun above, but then it begins to clear and I see an image form. It's of Legolas, Aragorn and Merry, all staring down at me while my back is leant against a trunk, anxiety reflected on their faces. It seems familiar, but I cant quite place it. The image does not give me time to ponder on it for long, before it changes to something unexpected, and I look away for fear of being overwhelmed. 

The image of is me. Well 12 year old me.

Lying in a hospital bed

Maybe a few days after my parents died.

Crying silently.

And although that isn't much. It's all I need to be sent back.

☆☆☆☆

I spent roughly about six months in hospital after my parents died, two weeks of those months in an ICU nit. For those of you that don't know what ICU is, it means Intensive care. Its one of the most serious places you could be in hospital. There, everything is done for you really. When I woke up I had an IV line in my right arm for fluids, medication and nutrition. I had thin tubes flowing through my nose which connected in my throat, that made me gag and almost throw up, but eventually you get used to the feeling. Apparently those were my feeding tubes. I was breathing on my own so I didn't have a Ventilator in anymore, whatever that was.

Those two weeks I spent in intensive care were the worst of my life. Apparently there had been more damage then I thought done, which Imfound out once I awoke after I passed out following the news of my parent's death. I had a severe head injury, several cuts and bruises, and a broken spine so I had to learn to walk again. Hence the reason why I spent so long in the Children's Hospital Sheffield. In Intensive Care i was heavily sedated throughout most of the day, so to be fair I didn't have much time to experience physical pain. However, in those cold and forlorn nights when the medicine wore off, the nurses were on night shift, and a disquieting silence rang out through the hospital, I wept. Fury, denial, Depression: i felt all of it. My parents were gone. They were really gone. And of course it was my fault.