A/N: You guys. You guys, I am so sorry. I think it's been like a month since I updated. But a few weeks ago I left my laptop charger at a friend's place and didn't get it back until today, and on top of that I've got this killer computer virus I have yet to completely get rid of.
I have some more excuses as well but I don't think you all want to read through them, they're basically all saying the same thing.
Anyways. Onward.
Miraleth had volunteered to guide the Fellowship away from Celeborn's and Galadriel's archway. The Fellowship were to stay not in the platforms in the trees, but under tent-like pavilions in the center of Caras Galadhon, as guests only passing through so often did.
Walking down the steps to join the Fellowship, Miraleth had passed her grandmother, and she met her cool blue gaze for a split second—a split second that seemed to last an eternity. She knows, something in Miraleth's mind whispered. Galadriel knew with all certainty that Miraleth had overheard her moment of darkness with Frodo. Of course she did. The Lady of Light knew everything that went on in her woods. And as she and Miraleth shared that long, awful glance, Miraleth saw something dangerous in the depths of Galadriel's eyes. A warning.
Knowledge is dangerous. Celeborn's words echoed in her mind. Especially, Miraleth found herself thinking, knowledge that was not yours to know.
Miraleth had only swallowed and murmured a quiet "my lady," before hurrying down the steps to lead Aragorn and the rest of his companions from the Lord and Lady, relaxing only when they were far enough away to where they could no longer see them.
"Pippin," she called over her shoulder when he began to stray across the courtyard.
"Hmm?"
She turned, her brow furrowed, when she did not hear his footsteps returning to her. "Pippin!" She snapped, and he jumped back from the silver basin of water. She held her arm out and placed a hand on his back when he rushed back over to her.
"It was calling my name," Pippin said, mystified.
"Yes, I'm sure it was," Miraleth murmured. "Do not look into the Mirror, Pippin," she warned him quietly. "For it does not give without taking, do you understand?"
He nodded, sneaking one last look over his shoulder at the silver basin that had seemed to murmur his name. Peregrin Took. "Well why does it do that?" He asked as she led him away towards where Aragorn was showing Sam and Frodo where they would sleep.
Miraleth only shook her head once. "Such is the way of old magic."
She gently pushed him to where Merry was sitting next to Aragorn at the base of a mellorn, smoking a pipe. Miraleth left to find Legolas—Haldir had taken him to get him some clean clothes—but as she passed Frodo, he did not smile at her like he normally did. He did not even seem to notice her. He just gazed, melancholy, at the floor.
She wandered over to him and sat next to him on the root of the tree. "Where's Sam?" Frodo didn't reply. Miraleth frowned and leaned over to look at his eyes. "Frodo…?"
He drew a breath but his eyes remained on the ground. "Galadriel was in my head. She spoke to me. But…her words were not as light as the words that came from her lips. And I saw her eyes. They were…terrible. Beautiful, but terrible…"
Miraleth was silent for a moment as her countenance dimmed. She stood from the root and held her hand out to Frodo. "Tula. Walk with me, if you would be so kind."
He stared at her hand for a moment before taking it and getting to his feet. The two began a slow walk down the silver path through Caras Galadhon. When Miraleth finally drew breath to speak, her voice was soft. "The Lady Galadriel is perhaps the most powerful of the elves that remain in Middle-Earth. She is beautiful and wise, and she was once very kind."
"She is still kind," Frodo said, but his voice was uncertain.
"Yes," Miraleth agreed. "She is still kind. She is still my family, and I love her very much." She looked down at her bare feet. "But the years of bearing her own Ring of Power have taken their toll on her, and darkness is beginning to take hold deep in her heart. She begins to struggle with temptation."
Frodo stopped in his tracks and looked at Miraleth, his expression stricken. "There are more Rings of Power!" He exclaimed.
She eyed him carefully. He did not know, or perhaps did not remember Aragorn's words for him all those days ago in Bree. "There were nineteen others forged before Sauron revealed the One Ring."
"Do they…do they still exist? Are they as evil as the One?" As Frodo spoke, he could hear the gold band weighing down on the chain around his neck. It had been getting heavier and heavier. "And Galadriel has one! How?"
Miraleth shook her head and clicked her tongue to calm him. "There were three that went to my kin. They are still among us, but when Sauron revealed the One Ring and his intentions to rule the others, the elves hid them deep in their forests, and they remained untainted by his corruption. But even in goodness, they are still Rings of Power, and the magic of them still offers darkness after ages of use, and Galadriel has worn hers since it was forged."
"Who has the other two?"
"My father wears one. Vilya. You remember it; he used it to heal you." Frodo only looked mildly surprised. Miraleth guessed after the past couple months, there wasn't much that could have surprised the poor hobbit, but she drew a breath and hoped he had braced himself for her next words. "And…Gandalf had the last." Her voice softened to a whisper as she tried to keep her words from shaking.
Frodo did sadden, but if he was surprised he did not show it. "But there was no darkness in their hearts," he said.
"No," Miraleth shook her head. "Those Rings were passed down to them from former masters. They have not borne them as long as Galadriel has borne hers."
Frodo swallowed. "And the others. There are sixteen others."
"Seven that went to the Dwarves," Miraleth continued quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of the elves around them to the dark matters she was speaking of. "Four were lost in the fires of dragons that attacked them for the treasure they hoarded in their mines. Sauron took the other three when the dwarves did not bend to his control as he had planned."
Frodo glanced up at her in surprise. The Dwarves, in all their greed and stubborn tendencies, had fought Sauron's control. The hobbit found himself thinking of Gimli's stubborn nature in a new light.
"And the last nine went to Men," Miraleth said, drawing his attention back to her.
"And where are they?"
Miraleth peered at the young hobbit. "You know where they are, Frodo."
It showed on his face when the realization dawned on him. He remembered Aragorn's words the night they had first met, when he had saved the hobbits from the black riders. They were once Men.
"The Nazgûl," Frodo breathed.
Miraleth nodded once, slowly. "Yes." She half-smiled. "And you'd do well to listen better to Aragorn, little hobbit," she advised before stopping before a staircase. She looked above her into the treetops for a moment. "Legolas is here. Thank you for escorting me all this way." She smiled at Frodo. When he nodded distractedly and turned to walk back towards the Fellowhip, Miraleth shook her head and she reached for his shoulder to turn him back towards her for a moment. "Do not despair so. Hope for the best. It does still remain, you know. Hope."
He nodded again after a moment, and once again turned to walk back towards the pavilions in the distance. Miraleth watched him as he left before starting up the silver staircase against the side of the mellorn behind her. She slowed when she heard laughter, and peeked the left side of her face into the doorway of the platform. Miraleth had not wanted to walk in on—
"I am decent, Miraleth." Legolas' teasing voice made her flush, and she frowned as she stepped through the doorway, a hand brushing the wooden doorframe as she passed through it.
"Don't make fun of me," she flushed further.
"Ah, but the blush upon your cheeks is too lovely a sight not to take every chance to see it." Haldir grinned.
Miraleth raised her chin, determined not to look at Haldir and have him crack her pout into a smile, and she strode over to where Legolas sat in front of a mirror braiding his blonde hair back. He had changed out of the green and brown dress of Mirkwood and wore the silver garb of Lórien. She swatted his hands away from his hair and took the silken strands of gold with gentle, slender fingers so she could braid them herself. Her braids had always been better than his.
"Gwennig," Haldir was still grinning. Miraleth huffed out a sigh at his endearment for her. "I can see your smile showing through that pout."
She shook her head, finishing one of Legolas' braids. "I'm not pouting."
"Miraleth."
Her determined gaze met Legolas' in the mirror and it was only mere moments before the corners of her lips turned up.
Haldir laughed in triumph and turned to the table next to him to pour a goblet of wine. "Come," he offered it out to Miraleth, who was finishing the other braid. "Have a drink with us."
"On what occasion?" Miraleth asked, but reached over to take the silver goblet from Haldir.
"Celebration."
"Mourning."
Miraleth paused in taking a sip and looked between the two elves, who had spoken at the same time.
"Celebration," Haldir spoke through the silence. "For seeing friends after so many years, and meeting new ones. I have heard much of Aragorn Elessar from Elrohir and Elladan, Miraleth." He looked to Legolas, his smile fading. "Alas…"
"Mourning," Legolas said, his voice soft. "For the great Mithrandir."
After sharing a glance, the three silently drank to both.
"Well," Legolas cut into the solemn silence. "I should get back to the rest." Miraleth watched him place his still half-full wine goblet onto the vanity in front of him before standing and touching her arm. "Miraleth?"
She stirred where she stood and smiled feebly at him. "I'll be there in a moment."
Legolas gazed at her for a long while, his eyes questioning her and hers staring stubbornly back, before inclining his head. "Very well." He reached over, and he and Haldir grasped forearms before Legolas turned to leave.
Once Legolas was gone, the two elves were left in silence. Haldir reached over and poured Miraleth another goblet of wine. Miraleth watched him as he did so, remapping the lines and contours of his strong, gentle face with her eyes. She had missed him, no matter how often Arwen all but pulled the concept out of her head and banished it from conversation. "How have you fared, Haldir?"
After lowering himself into a chair, Haldir sighed and poured himself another goblet as well. "Lórien has not changed half as much as Imladris has, gwennig. It is I who should be asking you that."
"I think Lórien has changed very much," Miraleth quietly voiced, still watching him. "Much more than Imladris has."
He glanced at her, pausing in sipping his wine. "She sailed six years ago."
Miraleth started, shock clear in the gray of her eyes. Miraleth racked her mind. She had not known—had not even heard.
"Yes." Haldir snorted. "I was not quite enough for her in the end." He polished off his wine in one long gulp, and Miraleth started forward to snatch it from him.
"You will not rise out of sadness that way, I promise you." She scolded, taking the bottle as well.
"And who's to stop me?" He asked aloofly, his trademark mocking smirk on his lips. "You, gwenning?"
She stared at him. "You seem to forget, I always have before," she said quietly. "Although alcohol was never your vice."
"No, I suppose not," Haldir agreed after a moment.
"No reason to start now."
"No…I suppose not." His voice was soft, remorseful.
Without speaking, Miraleth took his hands in hers, running her thumbs over the smooth planes of his palm and feeling the barriers of his mind lower for her.
—"I would sail for Valinor."
"You would leave me."
"I would do what needs to be done for my wellbeing, Haldir."
A child with Haldir's eyes.
Haldir himself. Alone.
Countless hours of training and battle…distractions.
"I would do what needs to be done."—
Miraleth dropped his hands, her eyes clouded. Haldir watched as they cleared again and at once became dark with sorrow for him. She parted her lips to speak. "There was…a child."
"Our child." His voice was nearly inaudible.
She met his eyes. "It did not survive."
"…No."
"Naethen," Miraleth murmured. Strange as the thought was, she knew how much Haldir had wanted children—strong boys to replace him as Marchwarden and beautiful girls to protect and shelter in the woods of Lothlórien.
And just like that, Haldir shut himself off, putting the normal cool, aloof expression back onto his face. He shook his head and turned the corners of his lips up. "Don't be. I'll be fine." He slipped his hands out of hers and busied himself with putting the wine away properly.
Miraleth smiled to herself. "Yes. Yes, you will be, Haldir."
Haldir glanced over his shoulder at her. "Enough with your sad eyes, gwennig. Smile, it suits you much better—there, see how lovely that is?" He smiled teasingly at her. "And how is Imladris in these times?
"No better or worse than it was last time you visited," Miraleth wandered about the small room, half-wondering whose flet it was.
"I suppose no change is better than unfortunate change," Haldir mused.
"Yes, I suppose that's true." Miraleth agreed, picking up a small, empty vase and examining it.
"And are you and Legolas madly in love yet?"
"Sorry?" Miraleth all but jumped, dropping the vase, which shattered on the wooden floor. She cursed when the porcelain pieces reached her feet and glanced at Haldir, brow furrowed and her face flushing furiously. "I—no. Why do you ask that?"
Haldir laughed and leaned down to help her pick up the shards of porcelain. "So the way you two look at each other when you think no one is looking is purely…platonic?"
"Well it must be; it's not anything else." Miraleth gave Haldir a strange glance.
"And that lovely blush on your cheeks now is also unrelated?"
"Yes." She stubbornly set her jaw and stood, unceremoniously dumping the porcelain pieces on the nearest table and busying herself with pouring the rest of the bottled wine into a pitcher—for Aragorn, he would surely appreciate it.
"Do not be angry with me, gwennig, I am only asking harmless questions." Haldir laughed. "Although, those glances you two share surely can't be harmless."
"No? And why's that?"
"Because they're too secret."
Miraleth stared at him for a bit before shaking her head. "You're unbelievable." But her pale cheeks still flushed even further.
Haldir smiled. "So I've heard. Run back to your friends. They're waiting for you."
She raised her chin stubbornly. "I will, thank you," she said stiffly and started for the doorway. She turned for a second to glance at him, though. "I'm going to see them off tomorrow."
"I'll be there."
"Hannon le."
The corners of his lips turned up. "Anything for you, gwennig."
Legolas was waiting for her when she reached the ground, and he offered her his arm when she reached his side.
She stared at it, and then at him. Did he look at her a certain way when she wasn't looking? Did she? She knew when they wanted to talk without speaking that they shared those long looks, but they were hardly secret, as Haldir had suggested. Or romantic. Purely platonic, Haldir's voice echoed in her head. It was all purely platonic.
"Miraleth?"
She shook herself out of her thoughts and took Legolas' arm, like she had a thousand times before.
"Are you…alright?" He asked, worry creeping into his tone.
She glanced at him. "Yes, I'm fine. Here," she shoved the pitcher of wine she still held into his hands. "For Aragorn."
He took the pitcher without paying it any attention and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers, studying her face. "Are you sure you're alright?"
She shook her head. "You should not worry about me so much." Even if she loved it when he did. "It's yourself you should be worried about…there aren't many more places that offer respite between here and Mordor."
Legolas smiled. "I think we'll be alright. We knew what we were agreeing to when we left Imladris."
Something whispered in the back of Miraleth's mind at that. But did you? Did you really know? There are things that have not yet come to pass that cannot be foreseen or avoided…
Terrible things.
The naked creature was hulking and massive, and towered over Saruman. It growled, its horrible, flat face dark with anger. Hair hung limp over its shoulders, and it stared straight ahead, aching to kill something with its bare hands. Fangs jutted out from its mouth and its eyes were alight with something its inferior orc-kin did not have: intelligence.
Saruman circled around it, observing his handiwork. "And now…perfected. My fighting Uruk-hai."
And then suddenly there was not just one, but hundreds, and Saruman stood before them. "Hunt them down! Do not stop until they are found! You do not know pain, you do not know fear. You will taste man-flesh!"
Miraleth awoke in a cold, clammy sweat, breathing hard. She tumbled out of her bed and rushed out to the cool night air, not bothering to put anything over her night shift. Clinging to the railing of the staircase outside her flet, her eyes roamed Caras Galadhon, reassuring herself that she was safe—they were all safe. There were no orcs, not here.
Except, the monsters in her dream had not been mere orcs.
Uruk-hai.
Swallowing, she started a swift descent down the stairs and soon found herself in the center of Caras Galadhon, where the Fellowship slept. Starting towards one of the tents, she stepped over hobbits until she was at Aragorn's side. She shook him. "Aragorn," she whispered. He swatted her away and turned over. She swatted him back—twice as hard, across the arm. He gasped in surprised pain and sat up. "Aragorn!"
His eyes focused on her troubled face after a moment, and his breathing calmed. "What? It's the middle of the night."
"I saw something," she said, her lips trembling. "Saruman, and his…creatures."
"Orcs." Aragorn mumbled sleepily.
"No, not orcs," she shook her head and clutched at his arm when he began to lay back down. "Uruk-hai. Stronger and faster than orcs, and smarter. He sent out hundreds to hunt down the Fellowship."
This piqued Aragorn's interest, and he sat up again. "When did this happen?"
It was easy to distinguish the past, present, and future in the things Miraleth saw. Images of the past were more faded, more gray, than the vivid colors that made up images of things that were yet to come. This dream had been somewhere in the middle, though. "Just earlier today. Six hours, maybe."
"Come with me," Aragorn hissed out, the way he always did when something was urgent, and took her by the arm.
Normally, Miraleth would be horrified at the thought of waking the Lord and Lady of Lórien in the middle of the night on a whim, but this was quite an important whim. These Uruk-hai were nothing she had ever seen before and something she had only heard about in nightmare stories as a child—just one was the size of two orcs put together and all heavily corded muscle. Practically made for killing.
"And you're sure, child? Positive without a doubt?" Celeborn's voice was solemn as ever. Miraleth sat in a chair in the Lord and Lady's flet, Celeborn standing before her and Aragorn beside her. Galadriel had gone to look into her Mirror to try and See something of these Uruk-hai.
"Yes, I'm sure," Miraleth answered for the hundredth time. "And they are hunting the Fellowship. They do not know pain, fear, or exhaustion, and will not stop. This I have Seen."
Celeborn exhaled through his nose and was it silent until Galadriel appeared in the doorway. She nodded. "The child speaks true."
Celeborn was not as surprised as Miraleth had thought he would be, and he only bowed his head wearily. He and his wife exchanged a glance before Galadriel looked at Aragorn. "Aragorn," she said. A dismissal. Aragorn nodded and left, his footsteps swift.
Galadriel crossed the room to stand by her husband before turning and regarding Miraleth with sad eyes. "Your Sight is very strong, Miraleth. Even I had to seek out what came willingly to you."
"My lady," Miraleth murmured, bowing her head in thanks.
"And…that is why your father will understand."
Miraleth was silent. She frowned.
"Danger awaits the Fellowship around every corner," Galadriel continued. "And without Gandalf, they have no way of seeing it." If they are careful enough, Miraleth thought, it does not matter. She was just about to tell Galadriel that Aragorn had enough caution for each member when the Lady of Light suddenly opened her mouth and said, "You will join them once more upon their departure in the morning."
Alarm bells began to ring in Miraleth's head. "My lady, my father—!"
"Trusts my judgment," Galadriel interrupted. "And he will understand."
"But—!" She began frantically.
"But nothing. A Fellowship without eyes stumbles blindly and without direction. You will be their eyes, child."
Miraleth shook her head, panic rising in her chest. Her father—her brothers would die. Elrond had sent her out with the Fellowship with the intentions of her ending up safely in Lórien. He had never intended for her to actually be with the Fellowship until Mordor. He would never agree to such risk, and Elrohir and Elladan certainly would not. "No, no, no, I'm very sorry, my lady, but—"
"But nothing." There was an edge in Galadriel's voice that Miraleth did not wish to push.
She turned to Celeborn, who had remained quiet throughout the tense exchange. "My lord—!"
He looked away. "It is the wisest choice, child."
Miraleth shook her head, her voice fading to a whisper. "You would set me on the path to death," she accused. When neither Galadriel nor Celeborn replied, she jumped to her feet and tore out of the flet as if she had been burned.
Gwennig—little maiden
Naethen—I'm sorry
Hannon le—Thank you
P.S. I love each and every one of you who reviewed and I will love you even more if you do it again.
