Baralim: A Dagnir's Tale

by Wolfete

A crossover tale of an unexpected tempestuous relationship between Glorfindel, Seneschal of Imladris , and Aurdae, the Lady of Summer that withstood the passing of Ages, of sundering fates, the advent and aftermath of war, and the uncertainty of the future. Tolkien's world is much more varied and darker than the original tale and secrets long lost are told...

2. Chapter One

Title: Bara-lim A Dagnir's Tale

By: Wolfete

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. All identifiable characters, places, events and concepts belong to their respectable creators. This includes, but is not limited to any publicly recognizable material that is the exclusive property of Tolkien Enterprises and/or New Line Cinema,Joss Whedon and/or Mutant Enemy Productions, and any material or concepts that are borrowed from other works on this site or others as after dozens and even hundreds of read stories one tends to subconsciously use such material. All other characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Neither this fiction site, nor the author has received any payment for this story. However all rights are reserved by the author only, including the right to reproduce this story, or portions thereof, in any form. This includes transmitting it in any form or by any means, electronical or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author.

Rating: T

Warnings: This fan fiction is not meant to be read by children, teens under the age of fifteen without parental consent, overly dramatic teens and adults, people who cannot discern reality, who may have a nervous disposition, and those who are overly sensitive to any of the following- This story contains imaginary blood and gore, explicit descriptions of medieval torture, mild scenes of a sexual nature, mild language, imitatable acts, graphic violence, smoking, drinking, cursing, racist situations, politics, criminal activities, anger management techniques, hints of sexual perversion, child abuse, spousal battering, incest, descriptions of animals scavenging on bodies found in wild places, and other unsavory doings, as well as corruption in local governments and the courts.

A/N: It has been a little over a year since this was updated and I have made some significant changes to the plot line. So please reread each chapter. As always this is a Work in Progress.

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Book One: A Weaving of Threads

Part One: A Road to Rivendell

Chapter One: Sunlight on the Barrow-downs

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Not So long she lived

Will thy tomb report of thee;

But So long she grieved:

Thus must we date thy memory.

Others by days, by months, by years,

Measure their ages, thou by tears

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Enderi 3, 3018

Great Tomb, Northern Barrow-downs

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Consciousness was slowly returning to her, something to which she had not consented. She would have remained in the comforting darkness, a very painless darkness forever. However, as she came to herself again, it was to a cold murmur, that rose and fell. Buffy frowned inwardly, knowing something was wrong with that. The voice seemed far away and immeasurably dreary, sometimes high in the air and thin, sometimes a low moan from the ground. Out of the formless stream of sad sound, strings of words shaped themselves: grim, hard words that chilled the Slayer-blood.

" Cold be hand and heart and bone,

and cold be sleep under stone:

Nevermore to wake on stony bed,

Never, till Sun fails and Moon is dead…."

As her mind grew sharper, so did her eyes. Turning her head slightly, a pale greenish light illuminated four other small figures all clad in white. Three of them lay on cold stone, circlets around their brows, and gold chains around their waists. The fourth was scrambling forward with a sword. Buffy could not see what he had struck, but something shrieked and the light went out. The darkness seemed to press upon her mind again, and the chill stole strength from her vision, until only a small desperate voice sounded in the dark.

" …! Tom Bombadil!" The voice spoke in a language that she did not understand, except for that single name. Yet, it rose into a full and lively sound. After a few moments there was a deep silence, her Slayer-senses could hear five heartbeats and then suddenly a voice from far away took up the lively song. A loud rumble of stones rolling and falling heralded rays of streaming light. Real light, the plain light of day that flowed through a low door-like opening that appeared at the end of the chamber.

A strange man stood framed against the sunlight. An old battered hat with a tall crown and long blue feather stuck in the band was perched on his head, a blue coat and yellow boots finished out his clothing. Buffy lay in confusion as the man removed his hat and came into the darkened chamber singing words that she could not understand.

Suddenly there was a cry and part of the chamber on the other side of her collapsed. Then there was a long trailing shriek that faded away into an unguessable distance and then silence. She still could not move from the cold stone slab at her back, and the strange man and the other creature ignored her. They spoke and then carried out the other three that lay beyond her. Buffy tried to follow, but muscles refused to respond. The sunlight lay on her face for long moments, warming her. Slowly the pain from the stab wound intensified and she could feel the blood seeping into the white linen that she wore. Closing her eyes against this strange world her mind raced…. Where am I?…. Am I dead?…

A presence stood over her, drawing her back to the chamber. The strange man was staring down at her, a hand rubbing a long brown beard. His blue eyes pierced through her mind and soul. She could feel his mind touch her own, the Slayer part flashed in her eyes and she growled, and "Who are you? Where am I?"

His red face wrinkled in laughter, "All is well Dagnir. My name is Tom and you have returned to Arda."

"Returned? What do you mean returned?"

"The Valar always did have a sense of humor. Nevertheless, no memory can soon be mended. I know the tune for you."

"Mend me! I don't think so. What are you?"

"You are young and I am old. Eldest, that is what I am. Be forewarned: I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless. I was there when the Powers split the worlds and the Blessings were released. I knew the First Evil and the First Slayer, and you are the last of a now Splintered Line."

"Oh please, not with the cryptic again! Why can't the Powers ever give me a straight answer?"

"Sun and shadow! I'll give you answers, if you behave yourself."

"Behave myself? I can't move and I have a misguided leprechaun speaking riddles."

Tom shook his head, "A quick wit, Dagnir. However we have no time for it," his voice turned into a tiny song.

"Sleep now my warrior lass!

Sleep and hear me lulling!

Warm now be heart and limb!

The cold stone is fallen;

Fear no dark dreams! Heed no cold words!

Night under night has flown, sun and shadow rest!"

Weariness pressed against her mind and she sank into a semi-conscience; even as Tom grunted as he lifted her.

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Frodo watched as Tom stamped out of the barrow carrying the girl that had lain beyond his friends. He laid her on the grass a short distance from where the hobbits had been laid. Frodo drew close as Tom knelt next to the girl, hand laid above a spreading stain of blood. His eyes were closed and face stern as he sang in a low voice. Frodo could not catch the words, but the paleness faded from her limbs.

"Master Bombadil, who is she?"

Tom's eyes opened, "Aurdae, a child of sun and shadow. She called herself Dagnir, but she was born Buffy-Anne, of the House of Summers. Such names have power and she is not ready for what is coming."

"How did she come to be here? She is of the Big Folk, but she is not from these parts."

Tom sighed wearily, "Here or there. Youngest and darkest. Dagnir must go with you, trust her as you trust Gandalf. She can go where others cannot. Bear what few can bear. Do you understand?"

Frodo was quiet as he watched the woman breath softly and then turned to Tom, " Yes and no, but she can come with us until I met with Gandalf. He will know what to do."

"That he will. Yet, for now she is mine to care for. Her wound is beyond my skill to mend fully."

"Will she die?"

"Neither mortal nor immortal. Her death will come when the Valar release her from her duty. For now a snippet of song and a warm touch will hold her until I return with supplies to tend the wound." Tom said as he rose. "Let her rest for now, while I attend to one last task."

Tom returned once more to the barrow, and there was a sound of much thumping and stamping. Then he came out once more bearing in his arms a great load of treasure: things of gold, silver, copper, and bronze; many beads and chains and jeweled ornaments. He turned and climbed past the stone lintel to the top of the green barrow, laying the treasure out in the sunshine. For a long moment he stood in the wind and looked down upon the three hobbits, which had been laid on their backs upon the grass at the west side of the mound. Then raising his right hand he said in a clear and commanding voice,

" Wake now my merry lads!

Wake and hear me calling!

Warm now be heart and limb!

The cold stone is fallen;

Dark door is standing wide; dead hand is broken.

Night under night is flown, and the Gate is open!"

As his words finished, the hobbits stirred, stretching arms and rubbing eyes. Merry was the first to spring up in amazement at the sight of Tom above them on the barrow-top. Then he looked down at himself, in the thin white rags, belted with pale gold.

"What in the name of wonder?" began Merry, as the golden circlet slipped over one eye. Then he stopped, and a shadow came to his eyes. Releasing a shuddering breath, he closed them. "Of course, I remember!" he said.

"The men of Carn Dum came on us at night, and we were worsted. Ah! The spear in my heart!" He clutched at his breast and trembled. " No! No!" he whispered and opened his eyes. "What am I saying? I have been dreaming."

Then he looked at Frodo, "Where did you get to?"

"I thought that I was lost," Frodo said, "but I do not want to speak of it. Let us think of what we are to do now! We must go on."

"Dressed up like this, sir? Where are my clothes? Sam said as he flung his circlet and belt off; looking helplessly around as if expecting his clothes to be lying somewhere at hand.

"You won't find your clothes again," said Tom, bounding down the mound with a laugh. He danced joyfully around them, a hand touching one shoulder then another driving the dread from their hearts.

"What do you mean?" asked Pippin, looking at him, half puzzled and half amused. "Why not?"

However, Tom shook his head growing serious again. " You have found yourselves again, out of the deep water. Clothes are but a little loss, if you escape from drowning. Be glad, my merry friends, and let the warm sunlight heat now heart and limb!"

"What of the girl?" Pippin asked as he looked at her. "She still sleeps."

"Aye, Sun and shadow walks in her dreams. The sunlight will warm her, then she shall awake. Now come friends cast off theses cold rags! Run on the grass, while Tom goes a-hunting!" He sprang away, whistling and calling. As the four hobbits watched him go away southwards along the green hollow, he began to cry for the ponies.

" Hey! Now! Come hoy now!

Whither do you wander?

Up, down, near or far, here, there or yonder?

Sharp-ears, Wise-nose, Swish-tail and Bumpkin,

White-socks my little lad, and old Fatty Lumpkin!"

His voice floated back across the wind, even after he disappeared into the hills.

For a long time the hobbits sat basking in the sun until the morning air grew warm. Merry and Pippin soon where running about in the grass at some game or another, while Sam settle next to Frodo. Frodo watched his friends for a long time until Sam broke the silence. " Who is the lady?"

"Aurdae or Dagnir, is what the Elves call her, but Tom said her name is Buffy-Anne, of the House of Summers."

"Such a strange name. What then do we call her?"

"Tom used Dagnir, so perhaps we should too."

"Is she dangerous?"

"Like the hearth-fire or a sharp knife, but not to us. Tom had little to say about her except that I could trust her as I do Gandalf, and Tom has not lead us astray."

"Did he say if she was one of the Big Folk? She could almost be a hobbit with that height, but she looks more like a Man."

"He spoke in riddles, perhaps he can answer you better?"

"Perhaps."

The hobbits settled back into silence, basking in the sunlight. While Buffy lay in restless dreams….

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Buffy's first impressions were of whispering voices and of staring up at a sky full of stars. As her mind took this in her body rolled to the side and she found herself within a spacious ring made of thrones. Eleven of them were occupied by tall, beings that were surrounded by light. She could barely stand the aura of goodness and power that flowed off them to take in the details of face or clothing. Suddenly another of the beings was at her side. She could barely sense anything more than power coming off of him. He was tall, with sable hair plaited into two three-stranded braids and the rest lay sweeping down his back. He wore a knee-length grey broadcloth tunic over a cambric shirt with long sleeves. His breeches were of black éolienne and knee-high brodequin graced his feet. A long black cloak with a broach made of silvered iron and a single ruby held it pinned below his neck. His face was grim and he did not look at her. She did not exist as a person in that moment.

Suddenly a voice came from the throne in front of her, "My brother Námo, Welcome." She looked up into fathomless eyes and quailed at the being's implacably silent regard. For long moments there was silence and then it spoke again. "What is this thou hast brought before our assembly. It is not of Arda, but of Time before Time."

"Elder King, I bring Nehtar. She came before the gates of my hall and through the route reserved for those fea that reside within. A firima in form, but with the remnant of a Maia entwined within her fea. She danced and played within my garden becoming strange and wild amongst those paths gathering flowers and chasing golden bees and butterflies, becoming comrades with those who she has never met or loved. They hid her from those maiar that serve within the Halls of Mandos. For how long I do not know, but I saw a flash of her when she danced. It took five maiar to subdue her and bring her before me. She is bewildered and has lost her way. She is beyond my power. I bring her to you as I bring all other fea before the Máhanaxar for judgment."

The Elder King was silent for a moment and then he spoke. "What Will brought her to your halls must be known. She is out of place, beyond where she was set and now we must call the Speakers that reside with her circle."

Suddenly the world seemed to waver as there came a music thinner and more pure than any she had heard before, full of longing as if pipes of silver uttered crystal notes and threadlike harmonies, then it changed into depths of gloom piercing through the darkness and flame that surround the Spheres and beyond the circles of all worlds. As the music faded away a tear of bright light appeared before the assembled thrones and two beings stepped from the light. Both had bronze-colored skin with blue eyes and blue markings down their arms and chest. The male was slightly shorter than the female and his hair was golden and metallic in appearance, while the female's was obsidian sheen. There was anger in their faces and a sneer upon their lips as they viewed the Elder King before them. In unison they spoke as if their thought and word were one.

"You try our patience. You have called us before you, lower being. Why have you brought us here?"

The Elder King returned distain with distain, "One of your Champions has wandered far and now is here."

The Oracles turned as one to look where the Elder King's eyes had strayed to take in the form of their Slayer. The male's anger seemed to grow even fiercer as he took in the sight of her. "One of ours or one of yours does not matter to the youngest and darkest of the One's creation. She is rebellious and twists the paths of fate to her own whims. Her time has ended and she is dead, now she must only atone." Even as he spoke he raised his fist and seemed to twist it within the air.

A heavy, sharp pain clutched her chest and mind and Buffy began screaming and some dim part of her, aware of what was being done to her feared she would never stop. Her body convulsed under the Oracles power snapping bones and twisting sinew until there was a great wrenching within her and Buffy faded into darkness. How long the darkness lasted she did not know, but when she became aware again Námo was holding and rocking her gently. What words he sang she could not understand, but she sighed softly against the grim gentleness. After several long moments he stopped and helped her to stand, holding her upright. In those moments she realized her arms and legs were bound with small silvery bands and a heavy cord of chain linked wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and then attached to a heavy belt of metal links at her waist. Buffy moved slightly testing the chain and found that the links did not bend at her strength. Namo squeezed her shoulder warningly and she stopped her movement and looked up. Before her was the same scene as before but now crouched at Namo's feet was the dark skinned First Slayer. White paint and dreadlocks had not changed but her aura had. The predator was leashed and she was calm….

"What is going on?" Buffy demanded of anybody that would answer her.

No one spoke to answer her, instead the First Slayer rose and stood facing her. "I am….. I was once as these before you are, but I fell turning my back to the light. I became Morgoth's greatest servant. His Dark Hunter. It was I the first born feared, which made them tremble. I took them and made thralls of them. Until I was taken, entwined, and remade into a shadow of what I once was. Now I am part of each slayer who is awoken. I live, breath, and die as they do. Yet something has changed. You are as I once was and our entwinement has made me….you….us into truly one." The First Slayer slowly turned to the Elder King and the Oracles. "We are one and cannot be unmade. I am no longer the one known as Buffy, nor Huine, nor Nehtar. I have no name. No speech. I live in the action of death, the blood cry, the penetrating wound. I am destruction. Absolute ... alone." The First Slayer slowly stepped backward into Buffy. Its flesh melting into her own until she and it were one once more.

"Lesser being! Betrayer! Traitor to the Light is what you are!" The Male Oracle turned to the Elder King. "Send it to the Void! She is not a Champion. The human that awoke with Huine within her has corrupted her."

The Elder King replied sharply, "You were given no power to pass judgment on any creature. In your arrogance you have wrot more harm than good. She died with the circles of your world and instead of going to her rest found a path between the heavens to come here. It is we who will judge and you who will witness what will come to pass, unless you wish to take her with you?"

The female Oracle spoke, "To what end? To nullify her noble death? To leave her atonement unfulfilled? Her fate has ever been in shadow. Her being here now in this place is unknown to us, but it is the Will of the One. Sun and shade is her path and it will be long before her fate is ended. Death is her gift and death will never be gifted to her. All will soon be made clear. For every door that closes, another opens."

"Then you would have us judge her here in the Máhanaxar, rather than return her to her rest." asked a female voice from the left.

"She is here. You found her, thus you keep her until she finds herself within our domain or elsewhere." replied the female Oracle.

As Buffy listened to them decide her fate she grew angry. Who did they think they were? What right did they have? The sudden anger made her feel stronger and she decided she would not go to her end without speaking against them. She shook her self from Namo's grip stepping forward, "What right do you have in judging me? I will not play your games! Glory wanted to play games and she learned not to play them with me! I will not stand here and be judged by neither you nor any other for my deeds!"

She was the Slayer and she did not beg on her knees for mercy from a more powerful foe. She fought until she died or won. The Elder King and the others that sat within the thrones seemed to grow sterner and the Elder King said in an even sadder voice. "We shall see about that. I think we have heard enough. Let judgment commence."

At those words it seemed as if a great weight fell upon her shoulders drawing a startled gasp from her as she attempted to resist against it. Buffy had no conscious memory of falling to the ground as the enthroned Powers forced her to relive every moment of her life. She laid there, her eyes open but unseeing. To Buffy her mind flooded with images from her past, images of startling detail, as if she were there, living them all over again. Every memory was carefully sifted, layers of falsehood and self-delusion stripped away, leaving only unvarnished truth — cold and unforgiving. There was no cradling arms, nor sympathetic sorrow. Only truth. Scenes from childhood until the awakening of her slayer blood passed before her eyes. She was a child again weeping at the terrors and failures that the truth brought her. Peeling away all the illusions and delusions she had used to cover up and cover over those aspects of herself she no longer wished to acknowledge as belonging to her. She never heard her screams or inconsolable sobs, or her words imploring for mercy. She never knew how long it lasted, never knew the patience with which the Powers examined her every thought and motive, never knew that this was not the punishment, that it was only the judging. That it had to be done without love or hate to release the truth.

Finally the onslaught of memories stopped and she lay in the circle gasping for breath. There was a deep pain in her abdomen, and her hand instantly went to it. There was blood there on her shirt and hand. She was bleeding. Why was she bleeding? She looked up and found herself still within the circle of thrones… Máhanaxar… Still or again? Twelve thrones were now occupied and a whisper of names came across her mind as she stared at the Powers….. Valar that resided in each seat. Manwe, the Elder King…..Ulmo, Lord of Waters…Aule, the Smith…..Orome, the Huntsman… Namo, Judge of the Dead….Irmo, Master of Dreams…Tulkas, Champion of the Valar….Varda, Queen of the Stars…Yavanna, Queen of the Earth…Nienna, Lady of Mercy…..Este, The Gentle…Vaire, the Weaver…..Vana, the Everyoung….Nessa, the Dancer…. Buffy trembled at their gaze and waited….

"It is again Aurdae. Once and twice you have passed into the Halls of Mandos and caused havoc among the Fea that reside there. The last time a doom was laid upon you: Tears and Years unnumbered would be given to you to walk within the sun and shadow of the world. The Valar would fence your fea from exiting the circles of this world until all that the One wishes of you is fulfilled and a final judgment can be laid upon you. This is not that final judgment. You were summoned between the circles of this world and your own and now you have been returned. It is time to remember the thralldom and command that was laid upon thee; to care for the poor and hungry. To protect the weary and sick. It is the corrupt you may claim. The evil, who thou shall seek. With every breath thou shall hunt them down. Each day you will spill their blood till it rains down from the skies. Know this in thralldom there is no freedom, either in hröa or in fëa. Your will is not your own and you live on the sufferance of others. And if you ever seek to escape your thralldom you will be hunted down mercilessly and brought back to even greater shame. What you sow within the Circles of Arda thou shall reap. The first judgment is unfinished and will once again flow forward, but you will also see what your choices have wrot."

The great weight returned and again her mind flooded with images from her past, images of startling detail, as if she were there, living them all over again. Every memory was carefully sifted, layers of falsehood and self-delusion stripped away, leaving only unvarnished truth — cold and unforgiving. There was no cradling arms, nor sympathetic sorrow. Only truth and choices made. Then suddenly Buffy stood upon the steps of a massive tower watching as an old man in gray robes rode up to the edge of the steps before dismounting in a hurried rush. Another stood on the steps dressed in similar robes, but of white. His voice was good-natured but it hid some slippery tone that made her hackles rise.

"Smoke rises from the mountain of Doom. The hour grows late, and Gandalf the Grey rides to Isengard seeking my council. For that is why you have come, is it not, my old friend?"

Gandalf bowed slightly naming the other, "Saruman."

The name broke the scene turning it to darkness and the sound of a ring bouncing on stone. Looking down she saw a plain golden ring at her feet. Suddenly a woman's voice seared across her senses, "Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it. It began with the forging of the great rings. Three were given to the Elves, immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Seven to the Dwarf lords, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls. And nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of Men who above all else, desire power. For within these rings, was bound the strength and will to govern each race. But they were all of them deceived, for another ring was made. In the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged in secret a master Ring, to control all others. And into this Ring, he poured his cruelty, his malice and his will to dominate all life. "One Ring to rule them all." One by one, free lands in Middle-Earth fell to the power of the Ring. But there were some who resisted. A last alliance of Men and Elves marched against the armies of Mordor and on the slopes of Mount Doom, they fought for the freedom of Middle-Earth."

A great army marched across a stony plain, men in winged helms and other taller beings in finely linked mail, so delicate that it seemed unlikely that it could protect them, stood in ordered ranks. The splendor of their banners marking out the great princes and lord had gathered. Buffy found herself standing at one of the beings sides. Long dark hair, flashing eyes turned toward her. " Dagnir, Uuma ma'ten' rashwe, ta tuluva a'lle!"

Confusion crossed over her face and some memory in her rose up, " Elrond…."

"You should not be here Dagnir. This is not your battle."

For months the enemy had been engaged. The Alliance had pushed back Mordor's hordes, their aeipathy was only matched by their stubborn pride. King Amidir refused to place the command of the Sylvan nation under the White Council's control. Oropher and he had divided themselves upon the northern flank of the army. Elrond was in charge of the Nordorian archers and pike men, he had cautioned her to remain behind in camp… to remain safe. Nowhere in this world would be safe if the Elves fell here and her own visions had shown her their death…Glorfindel had tried to stop her…tried to reason with her, but here she was.

Unsought words flowed from her lips, "I could not let you face them alone. They come…."

A boiling horde of creatures rushed headlong toward them. Orcs…. Distorted creatures that were the descendants of Elves taken by Morgoth. Memories of knowledge rose in her mind as she watched a battle that raged around her. Images that she seemed to know, her eyes lost Elrond in the battle… The orcs had driven a wedge through the army trapping her and Amdir's forces near the Marshes. The bog was a treacherous place to fight, but fight they did. The pale hair of the Sylvan's whirled around her…Their dying screams causing further disarray until something struck her from behind.

She lay in the blood-drenched mud as darkness overtook her again and the woman's voice sounded over the din of the battle, "Victory was near. But the power of the Ring could not be undone. It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, that Isildur, son of the king, took up his father's sword. He cut the one ring from its master's hand, and Sauron, the enemy of the free peoples of Middle-earth, was defeated. The Ring passed to Isildur, who had this one chance to destroy evil forever, but the hearts of men are easily corrupted. And the ring of power has a will of its own. It betrayed Isildur, to his death. And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend. Legend became myth. And for two and a half thousand years, the Ring passed out of all knowledge. Until, when chance came, it ensnared a new bearer. The Ring came to the creature Gollum, who took it deep into the tunnels of the Misty Mountains, and there it consumed him. The Ring brought to Gollum unnatural long life. For five hundred years, it poisoned his mind, and in the gloom of Gollum's cave, it waited. Darkness crept back into the forests of the world. Rumor grew of a shadow in the east; whispers of a nameless fear, and the Ring of Power perceived its time had now come. It abandoned Gollum. But something happened then that the Ring did not intend. It was picked up by the most unlikely creature imaginable…"

The voice faded once more and Aurdae's mind broke under the pain of her body and the remembering of events that were of another life. She did not feel herself being lifted and cradled like an infant, nor did she feel the warding being placed upon her mind. Its purpose was two-fold, to allow her mind to heal and remember and to keep her alive…

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The morning passed into mid-day, when Tom reappeared, hat first, over the brow of the hill, and behind him came in an obedient line seven ponies: their own five and two more.

The last was plainly old Fatty Lumpkin: he was larger, stronger, and fatter than their own ponies. However, the other strange pony was in every way his opposite, larger in the way of a horse, but delicately built. The horses only followed to the brow of the hill as Tom continued to the hobbits. Bowing low he scolded, "Here are your ponies, now! They've more sense than you wandering hobbits have- more sense in their noses. For they sniff danger ahead which you walk right into; and if they run to save themselves, they run the right way."

Abashed the four hobbits hung their heads. Tom patted each of their shoulders, then continued. "They forgive your foolishness, thus you must forgive them all. For though their hearts are faithful, to face fear of barrow-wrights is not what they were made for."

Turning back to the waiting ponies he called to them.

"Hey! Now! Come hoy now!

Whither to you stand!

All is forgiven, come now!

Sharp-ears, Wise-nose, Swish-tail, and Bumpkin,

White-socks, little lad!"

The ponies came trotting gaily toward the hobbits each going to their rider. Even as Sharp-ears nosed Frodo as if making sure he was well, Tom continued to speak. "See, here they are, bringing all their burdens."

"Where does that other animal and Fatty Lumpkin come from?" Asked Frodo.

"Morloth knows no master, while Lumpkin is mine." Said Tom, " My four-legged friend; though I seldom ride him, and he wanders often far, free upon the hillsides. When your ponies stayed with me, they got to know my Lumpkin; they smelt him in the night and quickly ran to meet him. I thought he'd look for them and with his words of wisdom take all their fear away. By now, my jolly Lumpkin, old Tom's going to ride. He's coming with you, just to set you on the road; so he needs a pony. For you cannot easily talk to hobbits that are riding, when you're on your own legs trying to trot beside them."

Grinning widely Frodo spoke, "Thank you. How far will you go?"

"Not beyond the borders of my country. I've got things to do, my making and my singing, my talking and my walking, and my watching of the country. Tom can't be always near to open windows and willow-cracks. Tom has his house to mind and Goldberry is waiting."

"Do we go now than?" Sam asked softly.

"It's still fairly early by the sun and breakfast should come first."

Sam and Merry set to pulling provisions from saddle bags, while Pippin and Frodo followed Tom to the lady who still lay in the grass asleep. Tom took a canteen from his side, handing it to Frodo he knelt next to her singing lightly.

"Wake now my warrior lass!

Wake and here me calling!

Warm now is heart and limb!

The sun is shining;

Time is flowing past; noon is nearing!

Night under night flown, sun and shadow awaken!"

Buffy awoke with a gasp, eyes darting across the hobbits and was aware of was an all-encompassing pain that radiated out from her abdomen. For a moment, hazy memory of her injuries and dark dreams made her bolt upright, only to have her breath driven from her as starbursts filled her vision and she doubled over, arms crossing over her stomach protectively as she tumbled to her side. Half remembered dreams brought a soothing language of tumbling syllables and whispering leaves from her lips. "Iarwain, I echor coen vrui. Anvrui, I goth innas lathra ha!"

Tom hushed her, using his voice in such a way that the hobbits heard the Common Tongue and Buffy heard Sindarin.

"Peace Child!

Wither comes you fear!

The shadow has passed. All is at peace!"

She fell into waking dream beneath words and hands that uncurled her. Tom was gentle as he tore the linen chaise. Buffy seemed to warm at his touch, the pain washing away as he fingered the torn skin around the puncture. "It is a grievous hurt and a heavy blow. I can tend it with what little skill I bear, but your body must do the healing."

Turning to Pippin, he spoke lightly, "Bring me clean the healing supplies that Sam has packed away."

Nodding Pippin went away. While Frodo came closer, "What can you do?"

"Clean, dress, and bandage the wound. Ease her spirit, and wait until she awakes from this trance. What she awakes to: hope, forgetfulness, or despair; if despair then she will die without healing from another source. A watch must be placed upon her until you reach Gandalf."

As Tom finished speaking Pippin returned with a bulging sack, "Sam says that this is everything. What can I do?"

"Be still and silent." Tom said as he took out several clothes and took wet them with the flask that Frodo held. He washed the crimson stain from around the wound; dried blood and specks of dirt flowed away until only the white of rib bone and inflamed tissue could be seen in the deep wound. Gulping Pippin watched as Tom paused over it, startling when he spoke.

"The sword pierced her through, nicking her liver and scraping across a rib. It has begun to mend."

"It looks bad Master Bombadil."

"Peace, Pippin Took. The bluntness of a Hobbit is not needed now. She will heal." Tom reached into a pouch at his hip and withdrew a small jar. Opening it, he smeared the pale green paste into the wound.

"Comfrey, and goldenseal to stop the bleeding and promote healing."

Buffy whimpered through the trance trying to move away from the renewed pain. One hand held her still as he filled the wound, then he wiped the remaining paste on one of the clothes.

"Pippin move to the other side of her," Tom commanded as he sat Buffy up. Pippin did so helping to hold her up as Tom tended to the wound on her back. The entrance wound was mostly healed, but he still packed it full of the paste. Sitting back on his heels, he sang slowly over her, strange and soft words. The inflamed wounds seemed to revive under the hobbits eyes, fleshed pinkened and the grey tinge of her skin softened to a healthy colour.

After a time the song ended, Tom took up a knife and cut away the rest of the chainse from around her waist. Then taking a square of muslin seeped in thistle honey extract he pressed it into each wound, winding bandaging tightly around her upper abdomen. Then he gently leaned her against him, "Pippin, go to the saddle bags that Lumpkin bears and fetch the bundle of clothes that are inside. Goldberry knew my needs better than I could guess."

Pippin rushed off again while Frodo watched quietly as Tom begin to remove the soiled chainse. "Should we be taking such liberties?"

"Do not be abashed dear hobbit. Nothing old Tom has ever seen. Such modesty serves its purpose, but she needs clean, warm clothes and not the burial dress of a fallen mortal. Turn your head if you must, or help me." Tom scolded as Pippin returned.

"I will help. Frodo didn't grow up in a house hold of sisters. Been helping my younger sisters' bathe and dress since they were born."

For all of Pippin's mischief he was true to his word as he helped Tom dress Buffy. A soft breechclout was pulled over her hips and a pair of brown leather suede braes. Afterwards a light under shirt and long tunic replaced the upper half of the gown. When this was done, Tom tied a pair of calf-high boots on her feet. When he was done, he laid her back into the grass and tucked a long cloak around her.

Tom paused for a long moment, brushing a wisp of hair away from her face. Then he turned rose,

"Come now, my merry hobbits.

The sun is nooning and dew is drying.

Spread the table and lay the food."

His song lightened the mood as Merry and Sam came with the food. Spreading a cloth on the grass, Sam laid out six places of bread and cheese. The four hobbits breakfasted off the remainder of the provisions. It was not a large meal, but they felt much better for it. Silence reined as they ate, but the inquisitiveness of hobbits can never be silenced for long. Sam broke it with a quiet question, "Who is Dagnir?"

Tom's piercing gaze looked over them and then he spoke, "Who is a hard question Master Samwise. Who she is, is something personal and unanswerable. While what would be closer to the right question. She is of mortal-kind; human in form, but in spirit a Star-child; a mix of sun and shadow entwined."

"Then she is of the Big Folk. How did she come to be with us in the barrow?"

"The tale is not mine to bear, yet these questions I have already answered for Master Frodo. Knowledge in itself is well and good, but only a fool cries fill me to all and sundry. Walk carefully into that knowledge, too much of it can do more harm than good." Tom said quietly as he rose.

"I still feel we must know. Gandalf told Frodo to be careful and secret, but this girl shows up in a wright's barrow. Could she not be a trap?"

"Aye Aurdae is a trap for the unwary. A trap for those who prey on the Sun and Star-children. She hunts the hunters. Trust in this fact, but be weary to her as well, for the shadow that lies within her has no mercy on evil."

"Then she is not dangerous to us?"

"Anything can be dangerous, but worry not she is more likely to threaten then harm. Your paths are joined for now and nothing can change that until the Valar decide her time is ended. The story of her beginnings is mentioned in Elven lore, but it is only a fragment of a truth received third hand by a generation of man that escaped the darkened East. It is said that Melkor found the sleeping places of the Second-born before the rising of the sun. He took many them deep within his stronghold of Utumno, and they awoke into darkness and thralldom. They bore no names or language. Their only life was working Melkor's forges slowly draining their life from them. It was there after countless years that Aurdae came amongst them. It is said that she had not been born or awakened among them. However, she did fight for them leading a rebellion that allowed many of the thralls to escape. In the chaos that followed she disappeared once more from history. She has always been a herald to change amongst the Three Kindred's of Arda. Now let this ease hobbit questions and hurry your meal along."

Tom turned away from the hobbits leaving them to their meal, while he went to stand over Buffy. His eyes glanced over the pale features until with a sigh he knelt and placed a hand on her forehead,

"Awaken Aurdae, Lady of Sun and shadow.

Awake, the blood is washed away and death is stayed!"

Buffy's eyes brightened, awakening from the trance she looked up at Tom and spoke in clear Sindarin. "I'm really tired of waking with you standing over me."

A laugh lilted Tom's voice, "Aye, and I tire of wit and questions. Yet, you bubble over with them in your mind. The only answers for your how's, whys, and what's are to say the Valar have a sense of humor and answers will come in time. For now you must rise and listen…."

While Tom and Dagnir conversed, Frodo was able to keep up with the conversation because of his knowledge of Sindarin. How she could know the language of Elves and not man drew more questions in his mind than her sudden appearance in the Barrow. Yet Tom said she was to be trusted. He listened as Tom told her that she must go with the hobbits, her responses where angry and tearful. Rage dripped from her sarcastic remarks, but he heard the despair in her tone. Such sorrow was hard for a hobbit to understand. Tom's tone was anything, but soothing as he spoke firmly.

"Open your eyes. Do not shut out the light, and find refuge within your despair. Long have you labored and longer still will you do so. The days of your awakening in this place is far passed. You may remember nothing or only in faded wisps, but this time there is a task that must be done."

"Tasks….. it has always been about saving the day. Saving others until all I have given all and nothing is left. What are these dreams? Why do I know you? Why am I not dead?"

"There are no comforting answers to you what's and whys. A veil has been placed across your eyes and old memories lie just beyond it. Do you remember your first words to me after I took you from the crypt?"

Buffy sat still caught by his question and unbidden her lips spoke the same words again, "Iarwain, I echor coen vrui. Anvrui, I goth innas lathra ha!"

Tom stared at her intently a sharp gleam in his eye as he spoke," Do you remember what you meant?" He paused for a moment watching her expression that was caught between knowing and confusion, "the Ring has been found. The ending of Sauron did not come as it should have. Now it wanders among a company of Hobbits. The one bearing it must be protected against all dangers. I cannot go beyond my greenings, but you can."

"I can." Buffy whispered. "It does call so loudly at times, I remember its calling." She sighed softly speaking as if in dream, "For months the enemy had been engaged. We had pushed back Mordor's hordes, Yet the stubbornness of an Elf is matched only by that of a dwarf. Years of arguments and ground gained span by span until the battle on the Dagorlad plain. It was a dreary and wearisome place. The plain was made up of dry ground and patches of strangemoore. It was a dangerous field to make war upon, but King Amidir and Oropher had their pride…."

Dream and deep memory floated in her eyes and a deep darkness moved beneath that glassy well. Whether she truly remembered or it was the memory of the Slayer Tom did not know. The Slayer aspect of her personality had always been beyond his keen, beyond what he had control over. With no power over her he had to appeal to something else….. To the instinct to protect that which was weaker. "Pride that caused the Fading of the Elven Realms, yet there is still hope. Do see those Hobbits there?" Tom nodded toward where the Hobbits ate. "They hold a weapon to defeat the Shadow that rises in the East. Yet, they cannot make it to safety without your help. You must not close your eyes to their plight, their journey is yours as well. Go with them and you may finally find the peace that you seek. Will you aid them?"

Buffy sat for a long time staring at the Hobbits. Pain and weariness warred in her mind and decisions swept through her mind….. Her next words were lost to Frodo and he watched as the conversation continued softly.

After some time the conversation ceased and Tom went up the mound, and began to look through the treasures. Most of the treasures he made into a pile that glistened and sparkled on the grass. For a time he stared at the glistening pile of gem and metal; then he called out, "Dagnir tol sir!"

Buffy was weary with her entire situation, but it seemed that the Powers that Be had decided that they were not done with her. No rest for the wicked, or the Slayer! As she reached Tom's side he spoke.

" Lie there!

Free to all finders, birds, beasts!

Free to Elves or Men,

And all kindly creatures."

The treasures glowed brightly for a moment then faded as the spell took. Tom then spoke to her, "The makers and owners of these things are not here, and their day is long past. The makers cannot claim them again until the world is mended. Choose what weapons call to you. They bear no wrights curse. Perhaps memory will mend with such steel in your hand."

"Weapons are a girl's friend," Buffy whispered as she her hand seemed, on its own, to draw toward a long, delicate blade of damasked steel. Her fingers gently traced the line of flower and vine down the blade and to the blue stones on the hilt. For a moment, it seemed that blue eyes stared into hers then were gone. Shaking the strange memory away she picked up the sword and it's sheathe.

After she stood up Tom reached forward choosing for himself from the pile a brooch set with blue stones, many-shaded like flax-flowers or blue butterflies. Buffy felt memory stir him and she thought she heard distant voices, but Tom shook himself and said to no one in particular, "Here is a pretty toy for Tom and his lady! Fair was she who long ago wore this on her shoulder, and Goldberry shall wear it now. We shall not forget them, the vanished folk, old kings, children, and maidens who walked the earth when the world was younger."

Tom bent again choosing four daggers; long, leaf-shaped, and keen. Of marvelous workmanship, damasked with serpent-forms in red and gold. They gleamed as he drew each from its black sheathe, wrought of some strange metal, light and strong, and set with fiery stones. Whether by virtue of the sheaths or spell, the blades seemed untouched by time.

Taking them and Buffy down the mound, Tom came back to the hobbits handing the each a dagger.

"Old knives are long enough as swords for hobbit-people. Sharp blades are good to have, if Shire-folk go walking, east, south, or far away into darkness and danger. These blades were forged many long years ago by Men of Westernesse: they were foes of the Dark Lord, but they were overcome by the evil king of Carn Dum in the Land of Angmar." As Tom spoke, a vision seemed to shimmer around them. A great expanse of years rolled behind them, and across the shadow plain strode shapes of Men, tall and grim with bright swords. " Few now remember them, yet still some go wandering, sons of forgotten kings walking in loneliness, guarding from evil things folk that are heedless."

The hobbits did not understand his words, but as the vision faded, one last grim shadow came to stand before them with a star on his brow. Buffy shivered as it too faded, she whispered in from some forgotten memory. "We must hurry."

Tom answered the whisper, "Aye. Best to pack the ponies and ride for Bree."

"I don't know how to ride!" Buffy stammered.

"It's easy and much faster than walking when you are wounded." Tom said.

The hobbits hurried to pack away their breakfast and lading their ponies. Their new weapons hung on leather belts under their jackets, feeling very awkward. Fighting had not before occurred to any of them as one of the adventures in which their flight would land them. As far as Frodo remembered Bilbo had avoided using his small sword on goblins—and then he remembered the spiders of Mirkwood and tightened his belt.

Meanwhile Buffy stood alone watching the hobbits. Her attention was soon drawn away from them when Tom led a dark black horse to her. "This is Morloth, dark flower. She is masterless, but consents to carry you."

Buffy backed up a step, "Hold on a minute! Cars and Buffy don't mix. So I'm not sure driving a horse is a good idea."

Tom laughed slightly, knowing that in her memories she had little experience and she was in no fit state for lessons. He watched her bit her lip, "You have nothing to fear. She can do her own driving as you put it. All you must do is stay on."

The hobbits laughed amongst themselves as Tom handed her the reins. Buffy grumbled at first not sure how to mount until suddenly Morloth snorted and stamped her hoof. The mare jerked the reins from Buffy's slack hand and brushed her shoulder as she walked forward. Buffy backed away unsure of what to do. Morloth snorted again and huffed impatiently.

"Good horsey. Easy horsey." Buffy whispered as she backed away again. The mare shook her head and knelt presenting her back for Buffy to climb on. For a dumbfounded moment Buffy froze.

"Don't fret. She wants you to mount." Tom said. "Goldberry, knew what was needed when she placed this saddle on Morloth. The high pommel and canticle will keep you in place if you grow weary. The straps can go about your waist and across your hips to further secure you. Rest easy and know that this beauty will not allow you to fall."

"I hope the Powers that Be are enjoying their joke! Leprechauns and half-pints. Now a horse, I'm just having the perfect day." Buffy grumbled as she mounted. The mare carefully stood allowing for her rider to find a natural balance. Buffy clutched at the high pommel of the saddle, trying not to flinch as the insouciant horse shifted under her. Tom gently patted her leg encouragingly. "No need to pule like a sullen child. This mare was born amongst the herds of the Teleri in the Grey Havens. Elven herds roam from there to the Penni city of Dorwinion, watched over by the Wandering Companies. She will protect you on this short journey and the ride will be gentle."

Buffy could only cling to the high pommel as the horse with a mind of its own turned her nose toward the trail and slowly trotted down the hill. "Hey wait! Where are we going?"

Tom's laughter followed her as he and the hobbits lead their ponies down the hill; and then mounting they quickly trotted after her down the valley. As they caught up, Lumpkin took the lead, while Morloth slowed to allow the hobbits to pass until she was the last in the trail of ponies. For some time they rode with no conversation until Frodo broke the silence with his worry.

"Well, here we are again. I suppose we haven't lost more than two days by my short cut through the Old Forest! But perhaps the delay will prove useful—it may have put the riders off our trail."

The hobbits looked nervously at him. The shadow of fear of the Black Riders came suddenly over them again. Ever since they had entered the Old Forest they had chiefly thought of getting back on the East-West Road; only now when it lay before them did they remember the danger which pursued them, and was more than likely lying in wait upon the road. They looked anxiously around them. She did not understand his words, but Buffy could taste their fear, it brought the Slayer into the fore. That part of her instincts flared searching for any danger.

"Do you think," asked Pippin hesitantly, "do you think we may be pursued tonight?"

"Not tonight," Tom replied. "No, not tonight. Nor perhaps the next day. Not perhaps days to come. But do not trust my guess; for I cannot tell for certain. Out east, my knowledge fails. Tonight I would rest at the Prancing Pony. The keeper, Barliman Butterbur is a worthy man. He knows Tom Bombadil, and Toms name will help you. Say that Tom sent us, and he will treat you kindly. There you can rest until morning and get what news you can."

They continued while Tom sought to beguile them to their destinies, distracting and instructing and confounding them with his capering and song and mixture of joy and nonsense that was in truth sense beyond understanding. While the Slayer watched around them guarding her charges….

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Only the sounds of rushing water could be heard within the valley. No voices lifted in song… No birds chirped…. A deep solemn silence barely awakening a lingering sense of nostalgia lay amongst the rushing water. There was movement within the valley, it seemed as if a great host of Elves, dwarves, and humans were stripping the grounds of fallen leaves and sticks. Only one sat in his study twirling a golden leaf between his thumb and fore finger. Iavas was fading and this was the last day of the Enderi Festival, a day of long memory dated not by days, nor months, nor years, but by tears.

Numberless tears stood behind him and he had seen the last of his true kin dead and faded into that memory. Even his own shield brothers, friends, and those whom he had trained were but a whisper upon the wind. Yet, for all those memories only one was in his thoughts this day, one who had fallen before seeing the end of the Alliance….

Every day for an Age she had visited his dreams. He could not have her. No matter how much some part of him might wish otherwise. He was of the Eldar and she was an Edain or at least something of mortal-kind. No matter her origins she was lost. Now only a faint memory that haunted his dreams. This….. obsession was pointless and brought him nothing but despair. He did not need more despair.

Yet, nightly his dreams turned to one with golden tresses and flashing eyes. They had grown from youth to adult together or rather he had stayed unchanged within the blossoming of adulthood while her new body that the Valar had rehoused her into grew into strength and knowledge. Glorfindel's still remembered her tiny form, all knees and elbows like a gangly colt. Whether the Valar had planned the meeting or if it was only a joke of Mandos he did not know….

The sky had turned from a misty gray to a dark and heavy gale, laden with torrents of rain and rumbling thunder that forked and crackled across the aether. The wind had picked up driving the great sails forward from off the Straight Road and into the Great Sea. The swan ship was a massive seaworthy artwork; from bow to stern she was eighty and one half ells with three quarter decks and four full decks, a fore-mast, main-mast and mizzen-mast, and canvas made of hemp. The water rippled on either side of the white breast beneath the curving neck of the bowsprit. Its beak shone like burnished gold, and its eyes glinted like jet set in yellow stones; its huge white wings were half lifted.

Between the backend of those wings stood the forecastle that led to the inner decks, but before it lay a lowered portion of deck where a double-skinned pavilion had been erected. The outer layer was a silvered oilskin to keep the water and wind from disturbing the occupant. Inside the pavilion was partitioned into two separate areas. The area closest to the entrance was small and held two low benches and a wooden table with a single lamp on it. Further within the second area was a circle of low méridienne that were made of wood and covered with thick rugs and an assortment of pillows and cushions. At the center of the circle stood a table with an open firepot setting at its center. On one of the méridienne a youth in body, barely past its puberty, huddled. His knees were drawn up, with arms wrapped around them. At every crack of thunder he shrank further into his knees that were already wet with tears. There in that storm he slowly come to himself remembering words spoken in whispers and a scroll thrust into his hands. The scroll bore the symbol of Manwe within its white wax seal.

He shuddered whether with cold or fear he did not know. Elves had carried him here directly from the Gardens of Lorien and to the ship. Through the journey they spoke of few things, answering none of his questions only meeting them with a gentle silence. On the docks of Avallonë two maiar awaited him, they had taken the form of Elves or Men that were of great age. None of them had spoken to him, but allowed the Telerian sailors to take him from his escort and lead him upon the ship. The Telerian mariners never left the ship, all had made this same journey many times, being the only people who were allowed to sail back and forth between Middle-earth and the Lonely Island – never setting foot on the Isle themselves – where many of those who had returned to the West after the War of Wrath still dwelt. But it was forbidden for them to go any further than Tol Eressëa – unless they wanted to remain in Valinor. They had taken him to a cabin on the second deck that had a portal to see out of. Time flew swiftly for him and everyone left him alone for the first few days after sailing forth from the haven.

Whether it was from being recently rehoused or from the rolling tide he grew seasick and could not stand the confinement of the cabin, so the sailors erected the pavilion for him with strict instructions that he was to stay out from under foot. The Teleri sailors gave the rolling of the ship, or the endless ocean no notice, the sea was their blood and the wind their bone. Thus he had spent the last senight within the confines of the pavilion, his time spent sleeping and getting use to the roll of the ship. But this storm was impossible to get use to….. At each crack of thunder he whimpered and cringed further into the cushions that surrounded him. He did not see the cloth of the pavilion entrance be swept aside, nor the presence of one of the embodied maiar come within two steps of him until a pair of hands took hold of him and drew him against grey cloth of a chest. Crooning softly until he calmed down. ""Shh, little one. All is well. You are safe."

Olórin held him close shushing him until the storm of tears passed. Finally when Glorfindel was calm enough to look up once more he found the wizened maiar holding him as if he were a child. Sniffling tearfully Glorfindel pressed himself further into the embrace. "Why am I here? I want to go home."

The Maia smiled warmly, "Home is where ever your heart is at peace. Yet every child must leave their home in order to grow. And grow you must in strength and wisdom to complete the tasks you are to be given. Lord Manwe wrote it out in the scroll you were given. When we reach the Havens all will be clear. First thou must ready yourself to meet your companion."

"My companion?"

"Aye. She was brought aboard during the same time you were, but she was in no state to be awakened from the slumber that Irmo induced in her. There are things you must know of her before you meet. They are of dark deeds and of things that the Valar rarely speak of. You will be the first to know her past and I ask you to always keep the darkest deeds to yourself. Her name in the beginning was Nehtar. She was a maia in service to Oromë until she was lured into the service of Melkor. How or why she did so is unknown to me, but she served him until Oromë captured her and she stood in judgment before Manwe. Nehtar's punishment was a fate more bitter and in some ways crueler than any other. She was Unmade and diminished, then sent between the Circles of the Worlds until she was given to another to serve. There in that place she was entwined with a selde of the fira, what was created was something new and different. They chained the selde to the floor of a cave, and imbued her with Nehtar's heart, soul and spirit. The selde now had a greater strength, speed, reflexes, agility, and a predator instinct. She became close to what an elf possesses, her lifespan is long and few have died a natural death. This new creature and her line became Dagnir or Slayers. Each Slayer has been so entwined until Nehtar no longer can exist alone. The final Slayer is now aboard this ship; in her world she was named Buffy Anne Summers, but the Valar have renamed her Aurdae. Aurdae is to be in your charge, teach and train her as if she were one of your House."

"Mine to train and care for? Why?"

"Your fates are bound together for a time. She is the last Slayer and must learn to live within this place. Come now it is time to meet her."

Olórin gently placed Glorfindel on his feet and took his hand leading him from the pavillion and into the lower decks of the ship. First down a shallow ladder into the long galley that took up the first quarter deck then down three more steps into a narrow passage that held two great cabins on either side of the forecastles second quarter deck. Going to the port door Olórin opened the door and stepped inside. The cabin was spacious with two wide, square berth filling each corner with a sailcloth dividing the berths from the rest of the cabin. The area closest to the door held a small table and chairs in which the brown cloaked Aiwendil sat with small bowl of stew and buttered bread before him. He nodded to them as Olórin led Glorfindel to the berth on the right. Olórin stopped and motioned for him to sit on the edge of the bed. Within the berth there was a lump of blankets and golden tresses. Glorfindel reach out to brush away a lock of hair revealing a tiny narrow face that was relaxed in sleep. He stared at the child for a long time taking in the soft breaths and restfully heartbeat. The child before him looked like an elfling of twenty. She was fair like the Vanyar, but her complextion was more sun-kissed than any elf.

Olórin interrupted his observations, "Lord Namo decided that it would be best if she was given the form of an elven child. She would be less of a threat and would not age as rapidly. However she was released before becoming accustom to this new body, the necessary connections between hröa and fëa were not completed. Thus she will need someone to help her learn them. Aurdae's memories will return as her body grows and strengthens. The future is not set in stone, but her years and tasks will be long. Will you fulfill this task no matter how difficult it becomes or what must be done?"

Glorfindel nodded….

His mind lifted itself back from the memory and his promise. The twirling leaf between his fore finger and thumb suddenly reminded him strongly of the wooded chest in the drawer of the desk. Laying the leaf down beside the completed boat Glorfindel opened the largest drawer on the right side of his desk. Pushing aside several sheaves of parchment he sprang a hidden catch that opened the false bottom of the drawer. For a moment his hand hovered over a cherry-wood box carved with Vása, the heart of fire and Rána, the Wayward into the lid of the chest. Steeling himself Glorfindel lifted the chest from the drawer and laid it in his lap. Opening it carefully he laid the lid aside, and peered into the depths of the box. Some of the items were centuries old and were brittle to the touch, but one small doe-skin back had been replaced just a few seasons before. Before he could open the bag a knock sounded at the door of his chambers and the door was swung inward before he could bid them enter.

In the doorway stood the Hir of Imladris, Elrond was dressed in formal robes and mithril circlet on his brow. His expression was stern as he took in the scene before him. Sighing he stepped into the room and latched the door behind him. "It must end here, Glorfindel," Elrond said, "else the price of your sorrow will drive you to grief."

"My sorrow is my own. How I deal with it is my own business as well." He said as he stood and turned away from Elrond.

Elrond stared at the broad back of his Captain of the Guard. He had known Glorfindel for almost two ages of Arda, had shared sorrow, triumph, and joy with him, but on the topic of Aurdae they had always clashed. Elrond searched for what to say to this stubborn elf-lord. "You do not deal with your sorrow. During this time every year you act if you are fading, rejecting all sustenance and comfort until the fëa drifts free of the hröa and answers the call to Mandos. Three days now you have confined yourself to these chambers lost in memory and I say no more! I did not know her as well as you did, but I remember her one rule, 'Do not die.' It was something we as Eldar could understand. Yet, when we could not find her among the living or the slain you said we could weep for the dead once we had done what we could for the living. Glorfindel, you never did weep for her. I know that she and you were as close a sibling or shield-mates. Even though she was so young, you understood each other. In the old days, it was glorious to watch you side by side. I know you do not wish to talk of her….. That each Enderi Festival, you lock yourself within a grim shell and build the same leaf boat and float it from the upper falls as everyone else. It is time to release the memory of her. She has gone beyond the circles of this world and will never return. Aurdae did not die to spite you. It just happened…." Elrond said softly.

Glorfindel allowed the box to fall from his hand and turned swiftly to face Elrond, anger lacing his voice. "Spite or not she was a fool! I tried to talk sense into her and she still chose to leave the encampment that day…. To stand, fight, and die! She chose it! She once told me that death was her gift. Elrond she wanted to die… Why did she want to die?"

Elrond shook his head, "I do not know. Her death grieved all of us that day and to not find her body was even more worrisome. There has been questions in our hearts for an Age of Man. Mellon it is time to lay aside those questions and weep for her. It is time to let her go….."

"I cannot. Not yet. Would you council me to leave her to Eluréd and Elurín's fate? Some part of me says she still lives. There is a bond between us that cannot be sundered save by death; and it constantly leads my heart to hers, along paths of light and hope and love, when all else in the world withers and fails."

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All Translations are approximate.

Aurdae- sunshadow (Sindarin)

Dagnir- slayer (Sindarin)

"Dagnir, Uuma ma'ten' rashwe, ta tuluva a'lle!"- " Slayer, Don't look for trouble it will come to you!" (Sindarin)

"Dagnir tol sir!"- Slayer comes here!" (Sindarin)

"Iarwain, I echor coen vrui. Anvrui, I goth innas lathra ha!"- "The ring calls loudly. Too loudly, the enemy will hear it!" (Sindarin)

Nehtar- Slayer (quenya)

hröa – body

fëa- soul

Places:

Máhanaxar- the Ring of Doom outside the golden western gates of the city of the Valar. Here the Powers gathered to hold their great councils, bathed in the light of the Two Trees while those Trees still stood, and here some of the most momentous decisions of Eä's history were made.

Carn Dum- the capital of Angmar

People:

King Amidir- a Sindarin Elf of Doriath, who later became the King of Lórien.

King Oropher- a Sindarin Elf of Doriath who became the King of the Silvan Elves of Greenwood the Great (Mirkwood) during the Second Age; he was killed during the Battle of Dagorlad.