The forging of Galadhya was scarce felt by any who lived in Middle Earth or Valinor save the possessors of the Three, and through them the shudder of wholesome fire, like the taste of honeysuckle on a summer's day, crisped keenly. The Rings on their fingers gleamed brightly for the naming of the Ring of Forest, and their hearts lifted though they knew not why. The Shadow which had been encroaching upon their lands and their hearts was no longer creeping close, and even seemed to be retreating.
Elrond looked to the sky above, reaching up for a distant wind with Vilya glinting bright on his hand in the light of the noonday sun, and Glorfindel watched in silence as the Lord of Rivendell contemplated the new life flooding Vilya's tenure, the unsullied new flame kindled in the heart of the Three's conjoined power. Below, Estel jested with his elven brothers, his sweet childhood long a thing of the past. Now he was a fully grown man, just twenty years of age, and though Elrond had finally revealed the truth of his lineage to his foster son, the human boy had become a noble man quite worthy of the title by his own merit. The two elf-lords watched the brothers in their play with quiet amusement masking their worry.
"Mellon nin, what has happened?" Glorfindel asked softly, placing a hand on Elrond's outstretched arm. "Something troubles you- Nay, do not deny it! It is plain on your face."
Elrond sighed deeply and turned away from the windows, bathing himself in the musky scent of old, wise books that permeated his great library. Glorfindel followed yet remained silent, knowing that Elrond would divulge his misgivings should he deem it wise. The polished stone and wood clicked against the heels of their light boots, and slowly the tides stilled and the raging uncertainty of the world dimmed somewhat. Akin to one soft breeze in the midst of a gale, Elrond felt some inkling of the deep sorrow of the Noldor removed forever from him, and he nearly gasped aloud.
"The darkness is falling back somehow." He wondered breathlessly, and Glorfindel beside him stood in awe. "Some catalyst has been plunged into the fading power of the Three, weakening the One's dominion over them, and I begin to know hope once more."
Glorfindel's keen glance gleamed bright and wise as he came to stand by his friend's side, and together they marveled at the new light coursing through Vilya's sapphire. Faint though it was, there now glowed an unusual brilliance in the heart of the blue stone akin to the light of a flickering fire, at once comforting and useful. Then the dimmest notes of a gently sorrowing melody drifted in through the open window, curling round elven ear-tips. Slowly, the two elves found themselves listening to the unintelligible words rising and falling in whispers on the air, the song's white grief rollicking and beautiful despite how quiet it was.
For the remainder of the day the song rang in soft murmurs around the halls of Rivendell, and far away in Lothlorien the Lady Galadriel gazed in awe at Nenya's white flame on her fingers, the soft voice filling her heart with a sort of burning relief from the slow sorrow she had felt since departing Valinor. Celeborn at her side strained his ears, so curious did he find the mysterious melody to be. And in Mirkwood, a blonde prince and his father sat spellbound by the sweetness ringing near inaudibly in the halls of their home. For as the day withered into night the song grew more potent and the tune changed from one of fading sadness to one of sparkling confidence and undying faith, a bright White hope undimmed by all the Black despair on Arda. And soon all the Elves in both Valinor and Middle Earth hearkened unto that voice.
By the time the moon rose the song had long faded into the echoing wind, and with widened eyes the Lady of the Golden Wood turned to her husband, an expression of deepest joy upon her fair face, the type of joy which is born from melancholy untold to gleam bright on the brow. Around her Lothlorien shimmered in gold and silver, the elves star-struck on their talans, Celeborn coming up to loop his hands over his wife's.
"It was hope." She murmured softly to him. "That song was one of light within darkness. What I would give to meet the singer who held all of those who cleave to the good in this world so enthralled."
Over the Misty Mountains, in her humble home built amidst the ruins of Eregion's glory, Narwen stood, Galadhya on a silver chain about her neck, and shouldered her pack. The embers of her forge were silent and cold, yet she carried her fire with her, and the light of her hope set in metal at the base of her satchel. The twin daggers belted at her hips had been sharpened until they could cut through bone and rock alike. She only hoped she would not have to use them in the coming years.
With a last soft smile at the lush land about her – for Eregion had bloomed while she dwelled there, and the company that the stones gifted by the land and sea had slowly healed her of her inability to smile – she walked away from her home, treading on overgrown paths to keep her solitude intact. For sixteen years she had spoken to no elf, man, or dwarf, though she had seen some from afar, and now the first of her tasks was complete. The second and more arduous of the two attempted insofar was at hand.
The wild beauty of Eregion yielded into barren flats of dull grass and stunted trees, and through this terrain Narwen hiked. She slept wrapped in blankets on the cold ground, and ate crusted bread and dried fruits for her meals, drinking only the pure spring water kept stored in her canteen. For many days she traveled thus, the Misty Mountains kept firmly on her right, her destination firmly ensconced in her mind, and while Galadhya whispered soothing peace and healing about her the fouler creatures of Middle Earth were afraid and stayed away.
Finally, upon the morn of one bright fall day, she came again to Rivendell. At the gates stood two elves, dark-haired and solemn, each with swords belted about their waists, clad in silver and gold armor. She sighed a weary groan, and approached them, lowering her hood to reveal her face. They started at the sight of her, dark eyes flicking to the points of her ears and roaming back over the bones of her face with a certain incomprehension. She would have gone pink had she not known what the two guards were staring at.
Elves had a reputation for being creatures of immense beauty, no matter who they were, yet she seemed to directly defy such a characterization. Her nose and chin were narrow, her lips thin and pale, and her violet eyes, while large and rimmed with long eyelashes, burned in her face with unnatural intensity. She was not ugly – for few living creatures truly are ugly, unless they are also evil – but she was not beautiful either. Her hair was thick and dark, but it had none of the prized wave which the elves so loved. Her figure was slender, but she seemed to have no curves beneath the burnished ruby tunic she wore over her loose, dark brown pants. Yet in spite of all this, a fire seemed to smolder within her, and it was this that held the gaze.
"May I enter Imladris?" she asked them quietly, and they flushed together, realizing that they had been caught looking at her in puzzlement. The one on the left bowed to her.
"Of course, my lady." He said, his tone glowing with embarrassment. She turned her eerie gaze upon him, but spoke to them both, her voice as rough as ever, though now a kind of sweetness had seeped through the crackling stone.
"Do not be ashamed of your confusion." She forgave softly. "I realize that my face is harsher cut than many others, yet it was not so before the destruction of Eregion. Then I was an elf like any other."
The guards gaped at her in a mixture of horror and pity, and the one on the right came up to her with little sense of the confusions he'd once felt.
"My deepest condolences, my lady." He offered gently. "Have you lived alone there all this time?"
Narwen felt a sort of emotional warmth surround her, and the slightest hint of a smile came to her face. For a moment, the guards stared, for in that brief span of time the hardness vanished from her face and she nearly glowed with the sweet fire of beauty present in all young elleths. But then the smile fell from her lips and the harshness was back.
"Oh, no." she said, her tone good-natured. "I have lived there alone for many years, but after Celebrimbor's death I left and wandered the far northern glaciers for a good many centuries. But as of late I have remembered my dear friend better by dwelling there."
The guard raised his eyebrows, but sorrow was still present on his fair face.
"You were Celebrimbor's friend? The Ringsmith?" he asked. Narwen nodded, her gaze growing misty with grief.
"Aye." She whispered. "I loved him like my own brother despite his misdeeds. He only tried to do right by his people, yet his father's cursed oath…"
The guards looked at each other, and with a nod from his fellow, the one on the right came forward and pulled off his helmet, a sort of dark sorrow in his gaze. He offered Narwen his arm.
"I am Elladan Elrondion, my lady." He introduced himself, his tone gentle with compassion. "I will escort you to my father, if you so wish it."
Narwen smiled sadly, and though this expression did not illuminate her pale face with radiant loveliness as her last smile had, she seemed softer then.
"Thank you." She replied. "I would speak with your father again before the tide turns. My name is Narwen."
Elladan shot a quick glance at his brother, then left with the slight elleth tucked neatly under his wing. She was nearly as tall as he was, he noticed with a smile, but her frame was as wispy as a willow-leaf. Only her arms had muscle, and there alone she seemed solid and powerful. And now that he was seeing her as a survivor of the waste of Eregion, he could see hints of the beauty that she had once possessed.
"If I may ask, my lady…" he began, and flinched inwardly when her purple gaze turned unblinkingly upon him. "…Why do you dwell alone? Many of those who lived in Eregion fled to Valinor or Imladris after Sauron's treachery."
Narwen's work-worn fingers twitched visibly, the tips of her ears flicking in something akin to momentary panic before a stubborn set came to twist her jaw. Her eyes narrowed into thin slits of glinting amethyst.
"Don't question me so. It is not your place." She rebuked sharply, and Elladan winced at the comment, cursing his curiosity. He should've known better. He dipped his head contritely.
"I am sorry, Lady Narwen." He apologized. "I forgot myself."
The she-elf at his side shook her head, the thick bunch of dark hair tied at the nape of her neck bouncing erratically.
"It is no bother, my lord." She said graciously. The reflection of the moon overhead flashed in her wan cheeks. "And please, don't call me Lady. I am just Narwen."
Elladan smiled then and the pair went up the steps to Elrond's house, their footsteps light.
"Then you must call me Elladan." He replied easily, weaving through the airy passages of his father's home until he came upon the door to Elrond's book-lined study and knocked. "And you must call my brother Elrohir – preferably without him realizing that you know his name from this conversation."
Narwen's dark eyebrows arched upwards, a quirk at the corner of her lips.
"Ah, what do we have here?" she asked slowly. "I did not take you for a mischievous elfling."
Elladan put his hand over his heart and gasped, but he was smiling, and Narwen knew he was amused.
"Ai, how you wound me, Narwen." He protested. Narwen could feel the quirk of her mouth deepening into a smile, and she may have laughed had the door not opened then, revealing Elrond's stern countenance. The elf-lord seemed surprised to find his son there, and even more surprised to see the violet-eyed elleth at his side.
"Elladan?" He asked. "Aren't you on guard duty?"
Narwen felt the tall elf next to her tense slightly, and when he replied his voice was somewhat rigid.
"Elrohir is currently guarding the gate, and I will return to him momentarily." He replied calmly. "However, the lady Narwen wished to speak to you, and after hearing that she came from Eregion…"
Elrond's eyebrow rose, but he nodded in understanding and stood aside to let the she-elf enter his study, his gaze fixed upon her.
"Thank you, Elladan." He said quietly to his son. "Did she tell you why she wanted to speak to me?"
The younger elf shook his head slowly.
"Nay, she did not." He murmured. "Only that she wanted to speak with you 'before the tide turns.' She seems agitated."
Elrond frowned but let his son depart without another word, and between the shafts of the setting sunlight illuminating his study he thought that he saw a flash of white fire upon Narwen's brow. She was facing the window, watching the sunset with a gentle sort of appreciation, the golden rays turning the violet of her gaze to warm brown. For a long moment the pair stood in silence, both waiting for the words which crept out slowly, like molasses.
"It was not supposed to be such a grim tale." Narwen said finally, her tone soft. "Middle Earth was never intended to be abandoned by the Valar and Elves alike."
Elrond's eyes narrowed, but he listened nonetheless. The last person who had attempted to turn the elves from their chosen sorrows had posed as a friend at first and later betrayed them in the forging of the One Ring. So he would listen to the elleth – but he may not heed her words.
"Oh?" he said softly, his tone dangerously skeptical, and without warning Narwen whirled round, the violet light of her stare glowing.
"I understand your distrust, my lord, but do not fear me yet. Few on Middle Earth know my true name – and I think that you are one of them." She said, her voice a whisper. "For my blood was twined into the making of the One, and now I am powerless against the very being whom I once called my right-hand. Only the Wise know of my existence now."
And suddenly the elf-lord understood, the rush of terrified joy surging through the room like the wild thrashing of Osse's seas. He froze, staring openly at the hardened woman before him.
"Ai Valar…" he whispered. "I heard tell of your intent, but when Sauron rose to power it was assumed that you were slain – cast down in ruin – and the effort to reclaim Middle Earth deserted!"
The dust motes alight in the gleaming sun seemed like diamonds of fire glinting about Narwen's slender form, and she smiled her wry, broken smile, the one which drew no cheer to her face.
"You are correct." She replied quietly. "I am but a shade of myself. While the One Ring is still made, I cannot raise my hand against the darkness. Already Sauron knows that I will rebel against him, and he will stifle my power whenever I strike at his heart. But he cannot prevent me from giving my aid to you and your kin."
Elrond simply looked at the eternally youthful lass before him, and then he knew.
"You were the singer." He accused simply. "Not two months ago, when I felt hope once again kindled in my soul by a lay in ancient Quenya."
Narwen inclined her head, the sharp line of her jaw tense with sadness and worry. She sighed, the crackling pop of a campfire frizzing her voice.
"Yes." She murmured and it seemed that even the books were listening. "That was my voice, and that was the flame of my power which you felt reignite…"
Here she gestured vaguely at Elrond's right hand, silently indicating where Vilya glowed upon the elf's slender finger. His expression cleared, the lines of care and stress worn into his brow disappearing with the revelation of such a fact. A bird chirped its fluttering song on a branch outside the window.
"You would aid us despite the pain it may cause you?" he asked quietly. Narwen sighed, rolling her shoulders, and opened her mouth.
"Four Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the White King in fair golden home,
In the Land of Mirëndor, where the Shadows died,
One Ring to guide them all, One Ring to lead them,
One Ring to heal them all and from all darkness free them!
In the Land of Mirëndor, where the Shadows died."
Then she fell utterly silent and, looking up at a stunned Elrond, allowed herself to soften. She reached out, placed a hand on his shoulder, and let the burn of her warm soul crack the chipping, melting ice cloaking the elf-lord's otherwise composed expression. For a moment there was a heavy quiet, like the thick cloak of snow upon a mountaintop, the
"That was the verse Iluvatar sang in my dreams." She told him then, her voice as rough as ever. "And so it must be. Will you accept my aid, in whatever form it comes?"
Elrond dipped his head in acknowledgement of her words for a long moment, saying nothing, then sighed deeply.
"Your assistance will be welcomed, my lady." He said gravely. "But I must ask that you forewarn those who make up the White Council of your plans before implementing them. We would neither wish to jeopardize you, nor for you to jeopardize us by mutual ignorance."
Narwen's thin lips pressed together tightly, but she made no other sign of her displeasure. Finally, she relaxed, a slight chuckle drifting sourly from between her cream teeth.
"I suppose I will not begrudge you a warning." She said. "But do not expect me to align with all of your wishes. And know this; there will be times when I act when you think I should not. And there will be times when I do nothing whilst you struggle. Yet ultimately my goal is to make Arda safe for both elves and men."
Elrond's wise, dark gaze narrowed, but reluctantly he accepted the odd she-elf's tattered pledge of her allegiance.
"Then you will gain my confidence." He replied calmly. "Forgive me if it is slow to fully come, however."
With a smoldering violet stare akin to the molten glory of Oroduin, Narwen considered the statement for a long, tense moment. Then with an elusive glint of pleasure in her eye, she bowed and left Elrond to ponder over her presence.
Thoughts?