Fair as the Twilight
by moredread
Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all of the characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This fanfic was written for entertainment purposes only, and I'm not being paid for it.
Her visits have been coming gradually further apart, and some forty years have passed since she last followed the white stones to Rivendell. Her arrival now is unexpected, the way she likes it. She wants to catch her family off guard, not for any unkind reason, but because she knows she is a good surprise.
She slips through the gate, letting her companions take her horse away. She smiles and begins her customary race, hoping to reach the main house before her presence is announced.
She wins, but that is not unusual. The guard at the gate knows better than to send the message immediately.
Her father sits in his favorite room, playing a complicated game of cards with Lord Glorfindel. She climbs up, sits on the windowsill, and laughs at his surprise and delight. Her father kisses her gently on the forehead, and she throws her arms around his neck and savors the very smell of him.
"Father," she says at last, "I am sorry I did not come sooner. I do not realize how much I miss you until I am with you, and then it is hard for me to tear myself away."
She feels guilty for not coming back to him more often.
"Daughter," he says, "Rivendell is much emptier without you."
"This time I will stay longer," she promises him.
Glorfindel has fetched her brothers. They greet her with demure kisses, and then they catch her hands and drag her to a comfortable chair. They lean against the back of it, grinning down at her. Their faces are identical, their hair black and silken, their grey eyes dark.
"You've missed so much," Elrohir tells her. "Elladan and I returned home only yesterday."
"Where were you?" she asks, smiling at them.
"Here and there," Elrohir tells her, "doing great deeds and defending the innocent and helpless."
"Nothing unusual then?" she asks, arching her eyebrows at him.
"Nothing unusual," he agrees.
"How was your journey?" asks Elladan.
"A simple matter. There was no trouble," she says. "Grandfather and Grandmother sent warriors with me. The warriors told me they craved good, crisp Rivendell apples, so even now they are probably eating us out of house and home."
"Probably," Elladan and Elrohir say in unison, and then, as always, they smile at their unexpected synchronization.
"It's so good to see you," she whispers.
"You must be tired," remarks her father. He has not resumed his game, but has been watching her contentedly instead. "Are you hungry? Would you like to me to find you something to eat?"
"Something Grandfather's warriors have not yet devoured?" she asks.
He nods.
"Yes, I would like that," she says. "But first I would like to go for a walk. I have missed the trees in this valley."
"All the mellyrn must begin to look the same," interjects Elladan.
"Maybe." She laughs. "But I could never tell our grandparents that. They are very fond of their gold-leafed trees."
She rises, graceful as a dancer, her mantle of blue and silver swirling gently above her bare feet. "I am so glad to be home," she tells them. "I have so many things to tell you."
"So do we," says Elrohir mysteriously, and she notices her father frown slightly at his words.
She thinks no more of it for a time. Excusing herself, she slips through the halls of her father's house, and not the creak of wood nor the whisper of her clothing betrays her presence. When she steps outside, the cool air of the evening flows around her, and she sighs shakily, her heart so full of joy she feels it might burst.
As she walks among the birches, she steadies her emotions. She is always glad to return to her family, but her mother's absence will eventually cause her pain, and she will have to flee once more. She only wishes her father were not so clearly delighted to see her again. He is sometimes so devoid of guile, so open to injury, that she can hardly bear it.
She shakes her head slightly, deciding not to dwell on the matter. She is suddenly very conscious of time, and of the way it constantly pushes forward. All is transient. She cannot cling to anything. Each breath she breathes, she will never breathe again. A moment of pure happiness can never be relived.
She is lost in thought, yet she hears the sound of singing, and recognizes the tune as that belonging to The Lay of Lúthien. She feels a pang of sadness, which she dismisses, and she lifts her head, searching for the singer, for she does not recognize his voice.
A man stands amid the trees, like one dazed, his eyes fixed on her. She blinks as a wash of soft wind runs over her face and through her hair, and when she opens her eyes, he is still standing there, and her heart hurts.
"Tinúviel, Tinúviel!" he cries. His tone is oddly desperate, as though he fears this vision of her will disappear in an instant.
She looks at him, at his awed expression, at his bright grey eyes. In that instant, she knows and names her doom.
She smiles at him.
A moment slides silently into the next, and is lost forever.