A/N Guy I owe you a big apology. I owed you this chapter yesterday. You were amazing leaving me wonderful reviews and corrections and I dropped the ball. I read through the chapter before I posted and just wasn't happy with it. I think I've written it four times and finally I just have to leave it. I did this same thing with chapter 3, I just can't get to a point where I feel satisfied with it. I am sorry it's so late! I will do better posting this week!
Also, I had a couple requests and though I normally don't do this, I felt I owed it. I have posted a few links on my profile that I have based a few ideas from this story on including Lyra and Thorin's tattoo. I also keep a playlist of the song I post. I usually listen to them on repeat while I'm editing chapters. I will continue to update the playlist as the story progresses. Much love!
Lyra had just finished towel drying her hair when there was a knock at the door to the room she was staying in. Having started her morning with her fifth bath in as many days, she was beginning to enjoy the luxury of a warm place to sleep as opposed to her dirty sleeping bag. Although she was comfortable in the sweeping gowns she was provided, this day's being a soft amethyst color with a leather bodice, she was growing concerned as to where her belongings were. Elbereth, the healer, had taken her pack to see that her things we washed, but that was nearing a week ago on the day of their arrival.
"Lady Lyra," Elrond said from the other side of the door and she opened it for him. "Good morning," he said bowing his head and she returned the gesture, "will you have a walk with me?" The elven Lord hadn't been seen in several days, keeping private company with Gandalf who was also making himself scarce and Lyra was more than relieved to see him.
"Of course, Lord Elrond," she said as she exited the room and he began leading the way to the high levels of the haven. "You and Gandalf have been secretive lately," she observed.
"Secretive? Perhaps, but unconsciously so," he replied, his hands clasped behind his back. "You've presented a mystery to us that we've been discussing."
"My arrival in Middle Earth?"
"Your arrival, yes, but magic is often strange. What I was referring to was the kiss of Iluvatar that rests on you." Lyra stopped in her tracks and looked at him quizzically. Elrond was grinning. "Come now, I will explain," he said extending an arm to her. She took it and followed him up a spiral set of staircases that led to the highest tower in Rivendell.
The circular shaped tower overlooked the entirety of the city. In the early hours of dawn, it was breathtaking. The city shone with a golden light, the gardens below casting emerald hues onto the turrets below. The many waterfalls gave the air a crisp freshness that purged her lungs.
In the center of the room was a round table of white stone with six high-backed chairs of carved wood surrounding it. To Lyra's surprise, sitting on the table, was the ebony Singing Bell that Goldenberry had given to her.
"You must forgive me," Elrond said picking the bowl up and holding it in one large, long-fingered hand. "When he servants were washing your things, they discovered this. Recognizing the uncommon runes, they brought it directly to me."
"It was a gift, from…a friend," Lyra said warily.
"There's no need for secrets, here, Lyra," Elrond said and set the bowl down on the table before pulling out the chair in front of it for her to sit in. "I mean to return it to you." Lyra sat and found her hands reaching for the bowl and wand without a second thought.
"I take it you know more about these than Gandalf?" she asked as Elrond moved behind her. He returned with a glass of wine in a chalice and a silver pitcher of water.
"I do," he said and directed her to drink. She complied. "When Iluvatar created The Holy Ones, the Ainur, he did so with the power of song. These immortal creations then lifted their own voices in harmony and from them, all life sprang forth like a mighty symphony of voices." As Elrond spoke, Lyra could almost see the bursts of light in her mind and hear the voices that sang. "The harmony was eternal as it predates time itself. The song continues still, ever echoing across the mighty seas and buried in the foundations of the earth.
"Through the Music of Ainur, Iluvatar created a Vision. It is believed that from that moment, Iluvatar saw all the ages of Middle Earth; every seed that would sprout, every mountain that would crumble, every star that would grow dim and every life that was to be born. He saw all of this, and was pleased. He was unable to impart his omniscience to the Ainur, but he shared glimpses of this Vision, entrusting his wisest and most powerful lieutenants with keeping this Vision and seeing that it stayed its course.
"The greatest of these, the Valar and the Maiar, descended to the earth and oversaw the creation of Iluvatar's children, Elf-Kind and Men. The Ainur that descended in the beginning are bound to the earth until its end. They remain, agents of the Music, servants of the Vision, always calling, their voices rising in chorus, beckoning, always influencing like the gale that guides a ship. This, I believe, to the be reason you are here."
"You think the Ainur called me here?" Lyra asked feeling overwhelmed. It was as though she'd spent months blindly putting together a jigsaw puzzle and now as the final pieces were being put into place, she was stunned by the picture that was created.
"Yes," he said shortly. "We have spoken much these last days, the details of your journey came together, and it took our combined wisdom to solve the mystery, but here we have it." Elrond was standing next to her now and took the silver pitcher and poured the clear water into the Resting Bell.
"By 'we', you mean you and Gandalf?" Elrond set the pitcher down, his eyes focused across the room. Lyra followed his gaze and moved quickly to her feet as she saw two white-clad figures in the doorway. The first was the glorious presence of Galadriel, her soft smile beaming at Lyra. The second, a lithe figure with hollowed cheeks and a white pointed beard with a staff in hand could only be Saruman, the white wizard.
"Among other things, it has been a most illuminating meeting of the White Counsel," Saruman said leading the way to the table. His voice was thick and sharp, like molasses pouring over broken glass.
"It is good to see you again," Galadriel said lowering her eyes for a moment. Lyra gave a clumsy curtsey, unsure of the protocol, which seemed to amuse Galadriel who sat in the chair next to her.
"This meeting is long overdue," Gandalf said entering behind them and sitting across from Saruman and to Lyra's left. Elrond took his place at the far side of the table between the two wizards and Lyra couldn't help feeling incredibly small an inadequate to be seated among such elite.
"We have seen your journey through the portal of the Maiar, the Blue Wizards, although…eccentric, have accomplished a very great thing," Elrond stated, folding his hands on the table. "Their meeting you, was no coincidence, though I suspect they weren't aware of that at the time."
"What did you mean by 'Iluvatar's Kiss'?" Lyra inquired feeling her voice was quite frail in the presence of the given company.
"Iluvatar remains outside of the realm of Middle Earth, his being far too powerful," Saruman stated, his eyes giving her chills, "In history, we know of only twice when Eru has interceded. The first, when the first men were awoken from the earth during the Time of the Trees. The second time, the Valar called upon him to intervene when the shores were overrun by Ar-Pharazon, the disgrace of the Numenor. Iluvatar buried his armies and called to the Undying Lands, removing them from this realm and into his own eternal presence."
"These moments in history, when no other explanation can be offered, we call the Kiss of Iluvatar," Galadriel finished. Her voice a welcome interruption from Saruman's. "Your coming is a great crescendo in the chorus of creation. Iluvatar has seen all but the Vision has been disrupted. The Ainur have called and their call has been answered with one who can set things right."
"Me?" Four sets of eyes nodded slowly.
"You are more than capable, my dear," Gandalf encouraged. "You would not be here if you weren't. I don't believe in coincidence nor to I believe in mistakes when great wisdom is behind it. Your foresight is exactly what's needed."
"But I don't have foresight," Lyra admitted but they didn't look fazed. "I know of things that can happen, but that's because of what I've ready, not because of anything I've done."
"There are many kinds of foresight," Elrond said. "Some see visions, some dream, others intuitively know. You have been given this…" he said indicating the bowl.
"I don't even know how to use it."
"That brings us to the next point of our meeting," Elrond conducted and Galadriel handed the small stone wand to Lyra.
"The inscription around the outside," she said trailing a finger along the edge of the rune. "Few can read it, because it is not words…"
"…It's music," Lyra concluded and Galadriel looked at her with pride. "How do I play it?"
"That I fear only you can answer. We are the Maiar and the Children of Iluvatar, you, dear one, are the child of the Ainur, the keepers of song. Its power will only work for you."
"Yeah…no pressure." Lyra looked at the four faces who were watching her expectantly. Taking the wand in her right hand, she began trailing the side around the rim in a clockwise motion. At first there was only a scraping noise due to the friction, but when she lightened her touch, a deep humming began to reverberate. She paused, but at the feeling of urgency, she began again right away.
Almost immediately she noted that the different parts of the wand caused the bowl to make different notes. Closer to the tip, the chords were high and sharp, as she brushed nearer the handle the tones were low and made the water pulse with ripples.
As her pace quickened, experimenting with notes and combinations of sounds, a tune began to weave its way into her mind and the splatter of water from the center of the waves took on shape. Her fingers tickled and her heart felt light, her eyes were wide and something like static washed through her ears. The shapes in the water became clearer as she felt the drone burn in her chest, her voice humming along as though in a trance.
There was a garden in a courtyard. Dark ivy with glowing white flowers covered a stone fence and at the base was a bench where someone sat…a man…Thorin. He was wearing a black shirt with a high collar, his hands were resting in his lap as though he were waiting for someone. He looked up as a second figure appeared before him. Wearing the same purple dress she wore that day, Lyra saw herself standing in front of the dwarf. She sat next to him on the bench and they looked as though they were speaking in soft tones. In the image, Lyra's hand came to rest on Thorin's and he took her small hand in his while his other reached to brush her cheek. His mouth formed into a soft smile before he leaned toward her and their lips met. The kiss was chaste at first, testing, as though asking permission, but when her own smile formed, their faces still close together, they met for a second and more passionate time.
The wand dropped to the table as it slipped from Lyra's hand and all at once the water stilled. Her now empty hand flew to her mouth as she could swear she still felt the kiss she had yet to have.
"What did you see?" Saruman asked and it took Lyra a moment to look up from the water.
With a hand still over her lips, she replied, "nothing…I just saw…shadows…of Erebor." No one at the table believed her. Looking to her right, she made eye contact with Galadriel and the woman's glowing expression heightened as their thoughts became one.
"Practice," Gandalf said abruptly interrupting the cerebral exchange. "You will need to practice, yes, like any magic. First, let us find something to eat," Gandalf said rising. He could tell Lyra was growing uncomfortable. She had quite the morning. The others followed suit and stood to walk back down the secret staircase.
"One more thing," Saruman said stopping Lyra. "Gandalf mentioned you had a book. A book that taught you the things of the future. I should very much like to see it." Though his tone was polite and even, she could sense a sinister plot behind his eyes.
"I'm afraid I don't have it anymore," she said holding the Singing Bowl close. "I burnt it. In Bree. Before we began our journey." He starred hard at her for a painfully long moment trying to assess her honesty.
"For the best, I'm sure," he said guiding her downstairs, but even the power of the white wizard couldn't conceal his annoyance.
…
Lyra was lost in her thoughts as Gandalf walked her back to her room after their evening meal. She'd been quiet all through breakfast, she'd been absent for lunch, and had spoken only seven words during dinner, 'I'm fine. It's nothing, Pass the salt?'
The meeting with the White Counsel that morning had left her jarred. The power that had emitted from the four was daunting enough, but the use of the Singing Bowl was indescribable. Since being in Middle Earth, she'd experienced the feel of magic around her, but this time she'd felt the magic in her, it had flowed through her. Like an echo. She'd made the first sound and it had resonated in the bowl and bounced back at her, magnified to a roar.
As she'd hummed her thoughts had wandered to what that evening held and that's when the vision had appeared. Her own future-self sitting with Thorin. Speaking with him. Kissing him…But that was impossible. She hadn't spoken to him in days, not since their very public argument. It was only the first two days she'd avoided him, but in the several to follow the dwarf has scarcely been seen. He was either coming or going, never settling in one place especially after Lyra entered the room. He had helped draw up a map of where they'd camped near the trolls, and the elves had set out to pillage the remains of the cave to see if any other ancient weapons were to be found, but that was the last she'd heard of it.
What made matters worse was that the others were treating her differently. They were walking on eggshells and over zealously attending her; bringing her wine, bringing her food, asking for music or singing for her, making too many jokes and smiling awkwardly.
It wasn't that she was trying to be antisocial, but lately solitude was her only comfort. Since the reality of her adventure had set in she'd adamantly been looking forward to seeing Rivendell even knowing there was a possibility they wouldn't reach it. But since arriving, the elven city had felt more like a museum than a harbor.
Every inch of the cold sandstone walls were carved and etched with more attention to detail than artwork, the centurion figures looming in doorways more heavily armed than security guards, and angelic figures clad in silken dresses and embroidered tunics were like the Seraphim and Cherubim of Italian cysteines. It was beautiful; frighteningly so. It made her long for the days around the campfire with the dwarves, merrily swapping songs and stories and drinking ale that was too strong.
It seemed nothing could snap her from her thoughts until Gandalf spoke, "Saruman," and like a rush Lyra was suddenly very alert. "You told him you burned the book in Bree, was that the truth?"
"No," Lyra said stopping at the doorway. "I didn't burn it, but I don't have it with me either. I felt it was too dangerous to have with me. I left it with Brynmund in Tharbad." Gandalf smiled at her.
"You see," he said in a fatherly tone, "even without magic you are very wise." Lyra returned the smile, and for some reason let the emotion overtake her, and she hugged him. The security she felt in the wizard was constant. Despite the coldness she felt in Rivendell, she was warmed with the presence of her friend. Chuckling for a moment, he returned the gesture and held her tightly. "Try to get some rest, my dear, things always look better in the morning." She gave him a genuine smile as they parted and she slipped inside her room.
The Singing Bowl was placed carefully on the table and she moved toward it when something else caught her eye. Her backpack was on the bed and piled next to it were all of her clothes folded pristinely and smelling fresh. She carefully tucked them back into her bag and noticed something else. Behind her bag was a plane wooden box. Pulling it toward her, she lifted the lid.
The first thing she noticed was a long stemmed white gardenia. Its fragrance tickled her nose. Underneath she recognized a sword…her sword, but it had been re-forged. The steel was longer and the edge of the blade was sharper. Engraved into the strong end were dwarven runes and the tip was broader like a scimitar. The previously leather-bound hilt was wrapped in cool black metal in a knotwork pattern and the pommel had a solid ruby stone that when she held it up to the candlelight looked like it was on fire.
Swinging the blade from side to side, it hisses through the air and made her smile. It was a beautiful weapon. But who had…Thorin.
The white flower suddenly reminded her of the vision where she'd seen him sitting. Setting the weapon back in the box she ran from the room down the hall and to one of the guards who stood patrolling the balcony.
"Can you show me the garden where these flowers grow?" she asked and the guard looked at it for a moment and she followed him as he took her down to the lower levels.
"There My Lady," the male guard said pointing over a stone bridge. She said her thanks and, with butterflies in her stomach, crossed and passed by a trickling waterfall before stepping down a few more stairs. There, across the small platform, sat Thorin staring at his hands. Déjà vu was an understatement. But she needed to know…
"One hell of an apology," she called to him and he looked up, an unfamiliar expression on his face. "If that's what it was meant as…" Thorin saw Lyra standing in the archway framed in draping vines and the glowing white gardenias that bloomed. While they'd seen each other in the last week, even shared a few civil words, she hadn't met his eyes a single time. Whether in anger or embarrassment, he'd felt a pain of missing her mischievous glances, her hard stares, her eye rolls and winks. She stood now, adorned in gown, eyes locked on his and she looked anything but ridiculous.
He'd commandeered the elven forge and spent the last two days working to perfect the blade he'd started for her months ago in Bree. When the elves returned from their raid of the Troll Cave, he'd selected the ruby from the stockpile of gems. Having an eye for perfection, he picked the flawless stone to counterweigh the blade. Hoping the gesture would at least earn him an audience with her, he stuffed his pride and spoke what he needed to say.
"What I said to you was unforgivable and I'll make no excuses for it," he said standing to his feet to greet her. "But I will ask it…I ask that you forgive me."
"Well I don't know," she said walking toward him and sitting on the bench and he sat beside her. "Can you make a matching dagger?"
"If you like," he replied but knew she was teasing. "Perhaps an axe too. Maybe I could cut one of these trees down, fashion you a bow…" he started tugging on one of the vines making Lyra laugh and pull his arm back down.
"See now you're just bragging," she goaded and her hand found his at it rested in his lap. He paused, her delicate fingers lingering over his, and he covered her hand, gripping her palm tightly.
"What do the runes on the sword mean?"
"They read Duzkak Khan. The Heart Seeker. May your sword always strike true."
"I couldn't have picked a better name."
"Say you forgive me, I would have peace with you," he said almost pleadingly.
"I do forgive you, if you'll make me a promise," she said softly, locking eyes with him, her grip tightening on his hand.
"Name it."
"Don't ever make me feel ashamed of myself again."
"By Mahal, I swear to you, I'll never by intent dishonor you."
"I forgive you, sincerely. Thank you for the sword. Your skill is underrated. I've never seen such a beautiful blade," she complimented, very aware that their hands were still entwined.
"Any craftsman knows, the finest and loveliest creations come from inspiration," he stated.
"I didn't think you of all people would be inspired by Rivendell. It is an elven city," she laughed but was silenced as his hand moved from hers to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering on her face.
"That's not the beauty I spoke of. I don't care for these elvish statues, frail and delicate. I thought only of you…" his voice was deeper than usual. "Your face…it's been too many days since you've looked on me with those eyes."
She smiled, thinking there was no better feeling than his warm hand on her cheek. "If you're saying what I think you're saying, I missed you too…" It was now or never. She didn't know if she was going to hate herself for this or not… He leaned toward her, his mouth only a breath from hers. Her hand pressed against his chest, halting him.
"It's late," she said swallowing the lump in her throat. "Will you walk me to my room?" He searched her face and finding her expression soft but unyielding, he nodded and stood. She joined him and linked her arm through his as they silently took the return path toward her room.
"The others miss you," he said when they'd reached the door. "They won't speak of it to you. There's comfort and luxuries Mahal knows we can't provide you on the road. But they miss you. We miss you."
"You're going to make me cry again," she teased and dropped her eyes. "Before…" she turned to face him, "maybe we could continue that conversation another time?" Her stomach was threatening to leap through her throat and she knew Thorin understood her meaning. He lifted her hand to his mouth, placing a warm kiss on the back.
"I look forward to many a conversation with you," he flirted. The level of strength it took for her not to grab him right there was immense. She opened the door behind her and slipped inside without uttering another word.
Her hand flew to her stomach in effort to stop the butterflies. It had nearly killed her to push him away and almost every instinct in her to let him kiss her…to kiss him back. But she had to know… The Singing Bowl had shown her a vision of the future and it had played out exactly the way she'd seen it. Except the kiss. She'd been able to stop it. Which means things weren't set in stone. Should the Singing Bowl give her awful visions, she was able to affect change. That thought brought a smile to her face.
With Thorin's absence the room felt even colder than before. Barely giving it a second thought, she finished packing up her bag with her belongings and slung it over her shoulder. Taking her guitar and tucking the box with her sword in it under her arm, she grabbed one of the heavy fur pillows off the bed and threw the door open.
"Oh," she said startled to see Thorin still standing there. He looked as though he were lifting his hand to knock when she'd burst from the room. He smiled from ear to ear seeing she was packed and ready to rejoin the company.
The two were still laughing about it when they stepped onto the balcony where the others were still camping. They were gathered around the fire having finally disassembled a table. Their conversation stopped and twelve pairs of eyes gaped at them.
"What?" Lyra asked pushing her way into the group and setting her bag down next to Thorin's. "Beds are too damn soft. Kili, close your mouth. Bombur, pass me a bowl of the…awful smelling stew."
"Goo to have you back, Lass," Balin said smiling and the warmth of the group filled her. The laughter soon returned and when Lyra's stomach was full she pulled out her guitar.
I knew you were
You were gonna come to me
And here you are,
But you better choose carefully
'Cause I, I'm capable of anything
Of anything, and everything
Make me your Aphrodite
Make me your one and only
But don't, make me your enemy
Your enemy
Your enemy
So you wanna play with magic?
Boy, you should know what you're falling for
Baby, do you dare to do this?
'Cause I'm coming at you like a dark horse
Are you ready for, ready for
A perfect storm, perfect storm?
'Cause once you're mine, once you're mine
There's no going back! (Hey!)
Mark my words
This love will make you levitate
Like a bird, like a bird without a cage
We're down to earth,
If you choose to walk away
Don't walk away.
It's in the palm of your hand now baby
It's a yes or a no
No maybe, so just be sure
Before you give it up to me
Up to me, give it up to me
So you wanna play with magic?
Boy, you should know what you're falling for
Baby, do you dare to do this?
Cause I'm coming at you like a dark horse
Are you ready for, ready for
A perfect storm, perfect storm?
'Cause once you're mine, once you're mine
There's no going back!
So you wanna play with magic?
Boy, you should know what you're falling for
Baby, do you dare to do this?
Cause I'm coming at you like a dark horse
Are you ready for, ready for
A perfect storm, perfect storm?
'Cause once you're mine, once you're mine
There's no going back!
It seemed she was making up for lost time. Lyra hadn't taken her eyes off him the entire song.