Disclaimer: yadda yadda blah… so it is obvious I am not Tolkien~ it is obvious however, that I am too tired to write a significant disclaimer…but please enjoy the story. In case it looks familiar I released it a while ago but in an unmanageable chunk that no one really wanted to read, so I am changing the format to make it more enjoyable for my readers.
Part I ~ The Song of Candria and Legolas
Chapter One
Midsummer's Eve came with a rolling warm wind from the south. All the air seemed to glow with the light pollen of the mellyrn trees, sunlight mixing in the floating specks of gold. There was a peace in the land of Lorien, a quiet stillness that was slightly shaken by even the smallest sigh. Time had slowed as Arien reined her vessel of fire to a wistful stroll across her sea of blue. The elves in that time did not busy themselves with anything, save wondering at the beauty of the land. Those among them gifted in the art of music wrote many lusty ballads to remember that blessed summer, for the shadows were arising yet again in the north, and when evil would come, wreathed in his mantle of destruction, the wisest of the elves could say not.
It had been in the land of Lorien, since the coming of Galadriel and Celeborn, that those who dared enter with evil hearts were quickly brought to death by the sentinels and magic of their realm. The archers of that wood were lithe and could pass easily from shadow to branch, hardly disturbing the slumber of the leaves upon the ground. Among the great hunters, none were as powerful, nor as greatly feared, as Candria. Her bow was made of the ebony flesh of the Lebethron tree, which grew only in the land of Gondor. It was strung with the heartstring of a dragon, braided with the tail hairs of her beloved horse, Moreaui. Of her lineage, none knew but Galadriel, and to keep her happiness, the Lady of the Light did not betray her parentage to anyone. There had only been one law placed upon Candria that all were commanded to obey- that no being, elf or man, should ever touch her hands directly. Candria did not ask the meaning of this law, and no elf, out of respect for Galadriel and fear of Candria, ever challenged it. Candria simply wore elbow-length gloves of supple leather everywhere she went, never daring to remove them save in her private chambers.
Galadriel knew that Candria was the child of Luthien of the house of Elu Thingol and Queen Melian, and Orome of the Valar, kept in secret and given unto Celeborn and Galadriel's care. Candria, the Half-Valar wielded power too great for even Galadriel to comprehend, but Candria content in her happiness of being a simple elf-maiden was spared the truth of her magnificent parentage. Galadriel knew that the time was approaching when Candria's past would be revealed unto all, but that time was yet still far off and Galadriel was glad to delay the burden of responsibility and truth.
Candria had always known that there was something very different flowing in her veins than in her elfin counterparts. The laws of Galadriel and Celeborn were the first in a long series of happenstances that frightened Candria and yet enthralled her. Even with her gloves covering her skin, she found that the brush of her smallest finger brought unnatural power over whomever or whatever she touched. This power feared Galadriel the most, for Candria's Valar father and Half-Valar mother had passed unto her powers that the elf-queen could not understand. Candria was also gifted with sight and hearing that not even the finest of the Eldar elf- lords had possessed. Her hunting skills were unsurpassed, and her skill upon horseback none of the elves could rival. Her presence was not enchanting, like that of her mother, but rather an aura of awareness. All those who approached her were filled with wonderment, and for fleeting moments, shared her clear minded sight.
For all of her skills she was not of great beauty. Her hair was not that of the Lorien elves. Instead of the cascades of golden tresses her kinsman shared, she alone had mahogany locks that traced their way down her back in spindly loops and loose curls. Her face was not fair and bright, but rather earthen and ruddy. Her eyes were a striking blue, almost a clear white, but with a wisp of the sky set in the middle that gave them an eerie glow. Her small chin downplayed her slightly curved lips, which perched on her face like two strokes of a painter's brush. About her neck she wore the only gift of her mother's, a small jewel, wreathed in a crown of silver and bearing a dancing flame in its center.
The day had passed with the slow setting of the sun, quickly followed by Tiliron and his ever-rising chariot, the moon. Candria sat alone in one of the great mellyrn trees, wondering if Tiliron would ever find contentment in the night sky. The love of Tiliron for Arien had always been Candria's favorite childhood love story. She imagined Tiliron, pining for his lover that he could never touch, always able to see her, but never approach her; drawn onwards by the need of his soul to be always in her light. Candria wondered if Arien loved Tiliron as well, or if her desire to rebuke him was the parent of her fiery mantle that prevented his advances.
As Tiliron drove his vessel towards the light of Arien, Candria mused that love as his was everlasting, immortal love running from age to age. She had never desired love; it was an emotion that was not indigenous to her heart. There was no room for love in the realms of her thoughts; the only love she felt was for Arda, the land. While she hummed to herself the song of Arien, she heard far off the soft tread of feet upon the forest ground.
