A Dream Within Words

Chapter Seven: Something Special About You

Summary: A young and very imaginative Legolas soon discovers that dreams are not always formed at nighttime, and that even they can seem unbelievably real and just as dangerous than what they are assumed to be.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone associated with Lord of the Rings, nor with the Golden Compass. I get no profit from making this fan fiction. This is purely fan made. Also, the characters that I have created (meaning the brothers) are mine (duh), and I take great pride in them. If you so desire to borrow them, feel free to ask. - Large quotes by themselves in italics are words taken from the book, simply used for the dream like sequence. Everything else will be improved (to the best of my abilities). Italics with ' shall be thoughts.

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Time was ever fleeting. Days were mere moments remembered simply on whims and months were ever falling away-being filtered by mornings and evenings -and simply longer memories or significant snippets of recollection that, like days, passed through the mind like a dream. As Days turned into Months and Months turned into years and time continued onward, these recollective thoughts merely stretched onward and onward until some other memory took it's place. Thinking about time was a long, and time consuming process, near never ending until the person losing themselves within the drift of the mind needed to pull themselves out, less they drown. Now, while months could feel like days and days could feel like seconds and years could feel like months, there was one thing that the being- a visual dismissal of time itself- knew.

A couple of years, she said.

It had not been a couple of years. It hadn't even been a couple of months! A mere couple of days and he still couldn't seem to find her. Her room had been used in the few days that had passed. No one had yelled out her name in aggression as she tore through the halls in a whirlwind of chaos and child like enthusiasm. There were no clothes in the closet that had once housed her few dresses and, at one point, a fox kit. Her shoes weren't thrown precariously around the room, one often in the corner and the other on top of the night stand. There was no indication that anyone had been in that room within the span of a few days. It had been entirely cleaned out with no sense of identity or of who had once belonged to the room, ignoring of course the faded stains of marker on the wall. If it hadn't been for the lack of dust that would have otherwise collected on the floor and various small bits of furniture through the very bleak and plain room, the room would have otherwise been deemed 'unoccupied' for a very large amount of time.

As it was, a few days had only been passed since it had been cleaned out, and the one who had occupied it was nowhere to be found. By anyone, for that matter. The few people that the elf had been brave enough to ask, posing a simple, seemingly innocent question gained him no information. Then again, not that he would dare mention this to anyone, he doubted two people counted when on his journey for information. It was an interesting predicament that weighed heavily on the elf who sat by the murky bank of the canal basin where Lyra had gotten into battles with the 'Gyptians that lived there and where the two mortals showed the rather pristine and 'right and proper' elf all the joys of mud wrestling. Or...attempted to, until the elf climbed atop a nearby shack to escape the stinking clay and filthy water.

A couple of years, she said.

His father had mentioned to him the passage of time. How human traders came and went and then new ones came and went. The cycle that continued to run through the blood of men and cutting them off before they could possibly come to a solution that they might have been striving to achieve. 'Mortals barely amount to much. It's when they amount to something that one should be worried, for that something is heavy, and dangerous, and often dark.' It wasn't unreasonable, the reason the young elf had been kept from the race. It was easier for a human to harm an elf than it was for them to help. To get close would mean pain, something the Elven-King did not wish his son to know. The stories he had told of mortals hadn't been cruel or all too dark...but they hadn't been warm and welcoming. For Legolas, he knew in order to find a way back home, he needed to rely on someone. Befriend or even believe in someone. Listen to them and accept their words as truths.

A couple of years, she said.

Time may be fast moving, but even he knew that two years did not pass in a mere couple of days. Why, then, was she gone? Pulling his legs up to his chest to keep it feet from daring closer to the waters edge, the elf wrapped his arms around his legs and gently placed his chin on his knees, eyes staring ahead at the water yet unseeing. Perhaps she had been taken by the Gobblers. As horrifying as the thought was, it felt less painful than being betrayed. Her and Roger could be reunited and bust out of whatever problem came at them with full force before returning to the elf. Hopefully with proclamations that they knew how to return him home.

What would have been a gentle sigh that would have escaped his lips stopped immediately. Footfalls- no matter how silent and sneaky they might have been trying to be- caught his ears and he tensed. His right arm slowly dropped down to his side, sliding down to the dirt ground below him, hands searching about the ground about him. The substance beneath him filtered through his fingers like sand, filling the elf with anxiety. The footfalls were loud on his ears, coming closer and closer until finally they stopped, not too far behind him. The soft crunch of dirt underneath a heavy boot and an even heavier body indicating a grind, side to side. Then, the tell-tale signs of the boot leaving the ground, the footfall coming in slowly.

The foot fell and lifted again in that slow, measured pace, and Legolas turned to his right and ran. A few steps in he turned to glance back to the perpetrator, tanned face holding a look of shock. The elf would have laughed had he not turned and ran into a wall of solid flesh, causing him to be thrown to the ground with a wince. He scrambled back, taking a look at the figure ahead of him.

"Lookit 'ere. En't you the special one?"

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"Lyra, dear, don't tap your foot."

A soft, gentle, and warm look was passed her way, stopping whatever loud and gruesome guttural noise was about to explode out of her mouth. Lips had been parted, ready to give such an animalistic sound, almost eager to be so childish and unpleasant. The slouch that her body had been ready for didn't come either. Instead she continued to sit in the white wicker chair with the soft and comfortable, flower patterned pillow.

"Yes, Mrs. Coulter," came her response, her black shoes stopped their incessant noise on the cobble stone below her, one foot stepping on top of the other in an attempt to still them. It was her second day with Mrs. Coulter and first day out about the town that she would only momentarily call home. She was, after all, going to be going to he North.

With a gentle sigh, the young girl set about casting her eyes around the outdoor cafe they were at. It was beautiful. White lace table clothes with fine china and pretty little pink flowers floating in a round and squat vase of water, intermingling among the floating candles placed there. It was a lovely place. The sun was shining down on the cafe, a gentle breeze passing through, ruffling the trees and table cloths. Her finger slowly and gently began to tap on the table, next to the shining silver of her fork, her finely manicured nails gleaming in the sun. The morning had been exciting and extravagant. Mrs. Coulter had the grand idea of taking her to a salon to get her nails done, hair polished, and body feeling rejuvenated. Nothing felt better than being pampered, and boy did it feel splendid.

Her hair shone like spun gold in the sun and her toe nails had little white flowers on the big toe. Her nails were so rounded and pretty and they felt so nice that she often found herself running her fingers over her nails as if to verify to herself that yes, indeed, they can actually be clean and not feel caked in mud, dirt, clay and various other substances that she didn't even think she could name. It was nice to be pampered, and it seemed the day wasn't lacking in new experiences. With a nice little lunch at the shop, they two were shop-ward bound to get new outfits and cute little sundresses.

With an order in mind, the young girl allowed her mind to wander, eyes catching various forms of people (supposedly with various high standings like Mrs. Coulter herself). A flash would catch her eye. A glimmer of jewelry or the shine of a woman tossing her head and, like a moth to the flame, Lyra would look to it. Those weren't the only things that garnered her attention, however. A loud laugh, a youth darting to and fro among the crowd of well to do people. At this time of rest and relaxation, guilt welled up within the girl. Starting at the edges of her person before worming its way closer to her heart.

She had, once again, forgotten about Roger. Not only that, but now she had 'mysteriously vanished' without a word to anyone and thus, seemed as if she herself were captured. Of course, that mere idea was entirely absurd. Her? Captured? If anyone had dared to speak aloud such a silly factor, she would have thrown mud in their face and called them a Tomnoddy. As it stood there was no mud to be thrown and she wasn't all too certain what a Tomnoddy was, yet all the same her message was clear. Glancing down at the table she noticed that the menu Mrs. Coulter had been looking at was now placed down and the woman was staring with concern at the girl, the monkey on her shoulder looking unreadably towards her as well. Bringing her hand down, Lyra moved it to her lap instead, running her fingers through Pantalaimon's minx fur and attempting to look as positively excited as she should have felt.

"Is something the matter, Lyra? You look a bit..." pursing her lips in thought, the bright eyed woman looked over Lyra once more before speaking. "Lackluster." The girl certainly wasn't showing the shine of youth and exploration that she normally did. Not that Mrs. Coulter was too worried. Children generally got home sick, and the college had been her home for some time. It might take a little while to adjust. All the girl needed was distraction.

The woman had no idea just how right she was. Although what she needed a distraction from was beyond her current ability to identify and know.

" 'm fine, Mrs. Coulter...jus' thinkin' 'bout the College and stuff." The young woman missed the gentle frown that marred apple red lips. It was beyond Mrs. Coulter capacity to know the heart of Lyra's problems, just as it was beyond Lyra's capacity to learn perfect grammar and how 'stuff' wasn't a relatable term in the dictionary. Or in any vocabulary.

"What about it?" She asked with interest, smiling as a waitress in a shining bright white apron and cheerful smile placed down their waters, lemons placed perfectly on the side along with tea cups and plates, small flowers dotting the ceramic ware, matching those within the vase's to almost perfection.

"Just 'bout Roger and Mrs. Lonsdale and everyone," came Lyra's response, pristine fingers eagerly grabbing the glass and bringing it to her polished lips (something which she had been rather excited with, watching as a gentle shade was put on her lips, just like Mrs. Coulter, although certainly not in a color so daring and bold) eagerly. With a smack of her lips she put the glass down, bouncing once excitedly in her seat and ignoring the warning and irritated growl of her daemon.

Mrs. Coulter nodded, smiling fondly at the other girl. "I understand, although that's the life of a traveler. You get to know people and then you're...whisked off to some other location, encountering newer people." Her tone was fond as she spoke, a glimmer coming to her eyes before it all together vanished and her usual look of love and care came into her eyes.

Lyra nodded excitedly, bouncing up and down in excitement. "Can you tell me 'bout the North? Oh please, oh please, oh please?" She probably would have continued onward with a few more lines of 'oh please' had it not been for the irritated nip at her fingers, causing her to stop all together (and keep her fingers away from her dearest friend). Although he shared in her excitement, the emotion welling within his small body, this was supposed to be a nice and easy lunch.

Before the woman could say anything, the waitress came back, asking about whether or not they were ready and what type of delectable treats they would like to purchase. Order were place and the woman left again before the elder woman turned her attention on the enigmatic creature before her. "Of course, dear. But first, I would like to hear about your time at the college. What your learned, of your friends or of people you had met. I do hope you had friends your age from around there." She took a sip of tea at this, keeping her eyes focused on the girl continuously.

If there was ever a time that Lyra could sound most professional and articulate, it was speaking about Jordan College. Or the people around it. The canal wars she had gotten into. Her friends, her 'enemies', and those she had felt closely connected to. She raved about Roger, showing off her experiences of bravado and pointing out more often then not how she was constantly the leader and bravely ventured through places no man, woman, child, or dog would ever go before. "We met Le-Len, veeeeery recently. He's...er...not from 'round there, though. Visitin' fer a bit," she explained, not noticing how Mrs. Coulter's posture straightened a bit more than the perfect posture she had already displayed.

"Oh?"

"Mhmm! He's a bit...proper, though. Nothin' like what I seen at the college. More proper, though. I'd reckon he..." she trailed off gently, eyes widening. Guilt rushed in, overtaking her. She had forgotten about him! Through the excitement of being here and the confusion of the night she left, she had completely forgotten about him and even telling him about where she was going. She didn't even leave a note for him to tell him of where she was going! So much had happened in the span of just two short days that she had forgotten about helping him get back home!

"Lyra, are you okay?" Worry clouded over the woman's face as the young girl slowly led off of her comment, eyes staring with a look almost like that of horror. A pity. The ebony haired woman was hoping, dearly, that this little girl could tell her about the mysterious child who had come into contact with her darling dæmon and had been able to retain such a contact that was forbidden. The unwritten rule that everyone abided by. Well...almost everyone.

For the time being, her attentions were focused on the girl who was so filled with remorse that it was almost seeping out of her in waves. "Dear, what's the matter?" she asked again, putting down her tea cup and reaching her smooth, delicate hand across to hold the hand of the other girls, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

"I didn't tell Len. He's got no idea that I'm here and en't taken by Gobblers." She looked up at this, determination etched all over her features. Lips were curved into a stubborn, unmoving pout and eyebrows knitting together in a childish yet strong expression of resilience. "I gotta go tell 'em."

"Why don't you send him a letter?" asked Mrs. Coulter, arching an eyebrow in amusement at the alternative. The look that overcame the girl had the woman smiling in response, perfectly whitened teeth standing out brightly in comparison to her bright lipstick. "You could invite him over as well. I'm hoping to be hosting a dinner party soon. Wouldn't wish for you to stay alone among some generally older and...slower individuals. It would be lovely to have a friend with you, wouldn't you agree?"

Besides the shock that overlay on her features, Lyra was quite obviously ecstatic by this suggestion and thus, as the woman had planned, conversation flowed excitedly, the two exchanging suggestions about this party and who could possibly be there or what they could possibly have for food. Chocolates was a very highly suggested food item for one of the participants.

Unbeknownst to one, however, the dinner party wouldn't happen for a few months at best.

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A/N: Thank you to all who have reviewed and have added this to your watchers list! I am very happy that so many of you like this story and will be keeping up with it. This chapter was exceptionally hard for me to write (and...once again...didn't have a second read over because I just wanted to get this out for all you lovely folk). Writers block is the worst. Music certainly helped get me through this, though. For those interested, the types of music I listened to were pretty melodious pieces. Zed from Cirque du Soleil is a huge inspiration for me. I also recently discovered the artists AdrianvonZiegler and BrunuhVille on Youtube. Go check them out. Also, if you would like to recommend music that helps you write or you feel fits my writing or story, please tell me! I'm into all sorts of genre's and it helps me get into the zone.

R & R, please! Whether it's to suggest a song or say 'I like the story'. It helps let me know people are interested which makes me feel capable of writing and know I'm not writing horribly!