Laer o Faen

Ten

Third Age of Middle Earth – 2840

Tirio an i gam Valion

Thranduil lounged, half reclined on the deeply padded chaise on the terrace of the apartments in Rivendell that had been made his. Not far to his side, the soft spray from one of the many waterfalls cast rainbows, like teardrops, into the late afternoon and the bubbling water that tumbled to the basin of the pool at the terrace's side sang sweetly to ears far distant in the restorative dreaming of his Elven reverie.

Lost in memory was his mind, his sight lingering in the beauty of the time between the present and his thoughts – thoughts of a gentler day, a long ago garden and the hand of the one with whom he shared it held in his own.

It had been an age… longer than an age since he had heard her sweet voice, felt the softness of her hands soothing the troubles of past, mitigating the violence and the pain, a beacon of light against the gathering Shadow.

...watch for the hand of the Valar…

A long, slow blink awakened him and with feline grace he unfolded from his resting posture to come to his feet, and stalked across to the railing that bordered the terrace. Running his fingertips against the carved leaves and floral motifs, he leaned upon the stone, looking deeper into the gardens of Rivendell.

They had walked there once, he and Celyndailiel together, and the memory of it – and the answering echo of the memory of walking in the gardens of Lindon with her hand upon his arm – brought the softness of a smile to his lips despite the troubles that stirred amid the recollections of his mind.

Pushing away from the terrace railing he made for the short stair down into the gardens, slowing his pace once his boots trod the softness of green grass, following the meandering pathways toward the bubbling song of water that drew him; called to him.

…the hand of the Valar…

The grass softened with sweet scented mosses that released their gentle fragrance as he stepped closer to the bottom of the narrow waterfall, cooler there, where the slanted reach of the late summer sunlight did not so easily reach. Both the perfume and the cooler humidity were welcome, a balm to waken the senses to delight in the sparkle and play of the tumbling water.

As a whisper, the movement of leaves to his right drew his eye away, he turned to see a trio of Elven ladies approaching the dell from another pathway through closely planted bushes and trees. He ceased his approach, and the forward most maiden pulled up short, took a moment seemingly to remember herself, and then gracefully swept in to a deep, respectful curtsey. Those others behind took cue from her and followed with their own.

"My Lord King," she said softly, "My father said that you had come to Imladris."

"Lady Arwen," Thranduil answered, for by her greeting, so did he know her, and reaching out he gently lifted her chin on the side of his hand, and by so doing signalled her to rise. As she did, he respectfully inclined his head to her in acknowledgement. "So like unto your mother."

"You know my mother, my Lord Thranduil?" she asked, sounding genuinely surprised, and with a twitch of her hand dismissed her ladies, who melted into back along the pathway by which they had approached.

"Indeed," he answered, "Your mother and the Silver Lady of Greenwood the Great were good friends, and spent much of their Maidenhood together… in one place or another." Then repeating himself he removed his gentle touch from beneath her chin. "You are very like her."

He turned then, trusting she would come to his side, walk with him and as she moved, offered his arm for her slender hand to rest upon. She accepted, laying her white hand delicately atop his robed sleeve.

"You speak kindly, my Lord," she told him, moving to lead him along meandering paths that followed the babble of the narrow waterway into which the white spray arranged itself.

"I speak truthfully, Lady Arwen," he corrected her. "Your father will no doubt tell you that he and I have seen far too much in our lifetime to indulge such otherwise baseless flattery."

"Very well," she replied softly, and then surprised him entirely as she went on, "Then I too shall speak directly."

He turned his head to look at her, raising an eyebrow as he sensed the Elven maiden had something on her mind.

"It was a dream I had," she told him, and he tipped his head in query and invitation to continue. "It has bothered me for many days, and until my father spoke of your arrival I had not clue nor inkling as to whom it referenced, only a deep sense of unease."

"You have somewhat of your father's gift?" he suggested softly, but his breathing grew shallow and a worry rose as a constricting band around his chest.

"Perhaps," she agreed, "But I have not spoken of this to my father, nor will I utter it more than once in your hearing, my Lord, for it is too harrowing for me to repeat often."

She brought him to a halt beneath a domed arbour, the arches of which were wound about with deep blue flowers amid dark green vines, and letting go of the light hold she had on his arm… instead trailed her hand through the leaves of the vines, setting their shimmering undersides trembling in the dwindling sunlight.

"There was a tall tree, the leaves of it were silvered, almost white. Beneath a white doe lay in repose. The ground around the deer began to run black with corruption, the grasses withered, and blood vines reached toward her." She half turned his way, but her eyes remained unfocussed as though she were seeing far away, or reliving her dream. "There were seven of them, twisted, cracked and as blackened as the ground upon which she lay – all except a single one of them as red as their name—"

"Arwen!"

She jumped, visibly shaken by the sudden awakening, and before Thranduil could move, mesmerised by her speaking of a too familiar nightmare, her father swept up the three low step to draw her into his embrace, enfolding her in his volumes of his robes.

"Lasto, i chen nín," he murmured softly, "Hidh ir ind lín. Hidh i fae lín. Hidh am le."

"Forgive me, Elrond," Thranduil began, but Elrond held up his hand, and shook his head.

"Her mother was often haunted by the same dream, and I myself have seen fragments of it – never the whole," he said, and as Arwen stirred in his arms, he released her and looking down at her instructed gently, "Go and see if your brothers are ready for dinner. We will meet you inside."

"Of course," she answered, then she took a breath, and turned to Thranduil. He inclined his head in a respectful bow, and she gave a light curtsey and excused herself. "My Lord."

Thranduil followed Elrond's gaze, for a moment watching Arwen as she made her way back to toward the house. Then Elrond gestured for them to take a different path and he moved to walk beside the other Elf.

"I sense this is not the first time you have heard tell of such a dream," Elrond ventured after a moment or two.

"Indeed it is not," he answered, for a moment looking down at his at the ground his feet would tread as though he feared to see the same blackening sickness of which Arwen had spoken… and which, "Celyn... many times awoke in fear of such a dream. Once so convinced of the reality of it that I had to walk with her in the gardens of Greenwood to convince her otherwise."

Elrond made a sound of thought, and Thranduil turned his head to look at the Elf Lord as they walked.

"And you?" Elrond asked at last.

"As you… fragments, if anything of it touched my mind." He shook his head and asked, "Do you believe it could have something to do with the maiden in my Halls. Your daughter said the dream had bothered her for days before my arrival here, but then when she knew I was here, she knew she should speak of it to me."

"It does seem… somewhat of a coincidence," Elrond answered hesitantly. "Tell me, when was the last time your queen suffered the vision?"

"Shortly before her… before I left for the war in the North," he answered, swallowing hard. "It began a series of restless and ill-omened visions." His voice softened then to an almost heartbreakingly soft regret, "I remember I grew quite… impatient with her… angered."

Elrond reached out and placed a comforting hand upon his arm, the action halting both their steps.

"Thranduil, you cannot blame yourself," he said.

"I should not have spoken to her as I did," he answered, shaking his head. Then with a sigh he asked, "Have you discovered anything of help?"

"At first I thought not," Elrond answered, "But now, knowing what Arwen has seen, I begin to wonder. Is this… has it always been a warning not to allow the sins of the past to smother the present beyond all recognition?"

"Meaning?" Thranduil asked.

"Meaning, my dear friend," Elrond with a chuckle that was not entirely without irony, "that while my research may have led me to err on the side of doubt that this maiden you entertain within your Halls could be Greenwood's queen returned to her rightful place, the few precedents we have for such a return to Middle Earth after death neither support nor contradict this possibility conclusively. Take Glorfindel, for example," Elrond glanced up toward the house, where he knew the Elf in question often sat before the hearth in the Hall of Fire. "He has returned exact in appearance as he was, and yet greatly blessed in his communion of Energies within Light and Life, where-as Luthien…"

"Returned as a mortal in order to remain forever with her beloved Beren," Thranduil finished, and he sighed. "But her appearance remained unaltered… unchanged before all the world."

"And yet," cautioned Elrond, "this vision, this dream that my daughter, and both of our ladies have shared, suggests… suggests mind you, some kind of warning – and my feeling is that is has to do with the very real danger that wherever she may be, her Light is not safe from the sins and sorrows of the past."

"A weighty matter for discussion just before dinner."

A deeply musical voice interrupted their conversation, and both turned to see the aforesaid Elf approach by way of a narrow stair from the lower terrace. His golden head reflected the rays of approaching evening, and his deep eyes appeared to Thranduil to hold concern for both he and Elrond.

"Forgive me," said the Elf. "I heard my name. It is good to see you, my Lord Thranduil."

"Glorfindel," Thranduil greeted him with a reserved warmth, and a respectful inclining of his head, "I had not thought to find you at Imladris."

"Alas, necessity has recently returned me to its safe repose," Glorfindel responded softly, "and to the welcome company of its Lord and Master, not to mention his sons." He turned a smile like sunrise Elrond's way, to add in a manner all but playful, "Elrohir and I were just discussing the finer points of horse husbandry after his recent scouting of Rohan."

"You encourage him too much," Elrond complained good-naturedly, and Glorfindel chuckled softly.

"Perhaps," he admitted softly after a moment, "but he is yet young, and already so weighted by the Shadows stalking Middle Earth."

"So it ever was," Thranduil murmured.

"Indeed so," Glorfindel agreed, turning to him with a serious expression on his face. "If I may, Lord Thranduil?"

By the manner of his asking, Thranduil knew that he was asking for permission to comment upon what he had overheard as he climbed the terrace steps.

"By all means," he answered, much in anticipation of hearing Glorfindel's thoughts.

"We must always bear in mind that the one constant in any within the world is the soul that inhabits a life. Presumably the one that has returned is known to some within your court? At least one that would know well the spirit of the one lost?" Glorfindel asked.

"She was reborn," he answered, his voice solemn, "Not re-embodied."

Glorfindel's eyebrows rose in surprise even as Thranduil saw he tried to school his expression, and for a moment a flush of worry rose in him, but then Glorfindel shook his head.

"Different, but I believe not entirely out of the question." He tipped his head to one side considering for a moment before he said, "A lesson… or perhaps a test embedded in this one's return. The Valar have their reasons for everything, my friend."

"But a test for her or for me?" Thranduil mused, as much to himself as to the others.

"For you?" Glorfindel asked, and at first Thranduil saw him frown in confusion and glance at Elrond, before he saw understanding dawn in the Elder Elf's face. Speaking almost with reverence he said, "I was never blessed to meet with the Silver Lady of Greenwood, yet I felt her loss keenly."

"We all did," Elrond said, and looked as though to speak on, except that Thranduil interrupted, feeling the too familiar chill returning to his troubled heart.

"And still do," he said. "Each day without her at my side, the struggle against the evil growing in Dol Guldur becomes ever emptier than despair."

"And that is why you do not trust the voice of your own heart to guide you in this?" Glorfindel asked, though truly Thranduil felt it was not a question requiring answer, and when he did not offer one, the golden haired Elf went on. "Under the circumstances your restraint is commendable, yet… err not too far upon the side of caution. There may be no other way to discover all the truth of this except in trust."

Thranduil saw Elrond glance up the remaining short stair toward the great hall of the Last Homely House, and following his gaze he noticed the subtle presence of the steward of the Lord of Imladris. Like his own steward, Lindir was timely and yet polite in summoning the gathered Lords to dinner.

"And yet," Elrond said, gesturing to Thranduil and Glofindel to ascend the steps with him, "the reoccurrence of this vision troubles me. The timing of it cannot be a coincidence, and the more I think on it, the more I cannot see it as anything other than some kind of warning."

As they reached the great hall, Thranduil could not help but wonder: of what?

Nieniriathlim found the Solar purely by accident.

The room was darkened, for finely crafted silken drapes lay closed all around the arches, shutting out the light of sun and stars alike, the former of which barely peeked between the heavy folds. Something – near akin to loneliness – drew her wandering steps to the threshold of the room and whispered in her heart for her to go within.

That first day, she dared little else than to let in the light.

Crossing the room; feeling the debris of ages rustling underfoot and brushed by the hem of her gown, she reached with an unsteady hand, and all but pregnant with anticipation, she grasped the delicately embroidered hangings and dragged the finely wrought cloths along their railings; pulling them aside. Motes of dust cascaded from within their near hallowed folds, lighting in the rays of the sun that filtered in through the uncovered archways.

Nieniriathlim suddenly felt as if the very room around her had taken a breath, and deep inside her, some thought, some memory – not of mind, but of her soul – stirred, as if from sleep and in its wake she stood, all but trembling and watched as fallen leaves were blown across the floor in the breezes she had let in.

She heard a footstep in the hall outside, and startled, doe-like, she slipped out to the now uncovered balcony, and pressed her back tight against the pillar there. Her heart pounded and her chest heaved, leaving her light-headed with the fear of being caught in trespass where she should not be, despite that Tauriel had informed her of the king's instructions that she was left free to explore the Halls as she willed.

When she returned the following day, the leaves were gone and the floor shone, it was so clean. Sweet water and other delicate morsels had been placed on a table by the balcony, and she could not help but spin around, searching for the ones watching, waiting to be caught.

No one came. Though she was certain of another presence, she never saw anyone, and after some time began a quiet exploration of the room. The furniture had been uncovered and polished, the cushions on the chaise cleaned, and the dust beaten from the drapes which, now she could see them clearly were finer even than she had at first through.

Lifting the edge one of the drapes so that she could see the image, she gazed on the scene of a woodland hunt: a deer the colour of a full moon, darted through a forest glade full of flowers opening in the first flush of spring as she passed. The trees and vines that bordered the glade were tall, and harboured life in many forms, all turned to watch the passage of the doe in flight, but her pursuer…

Blushing she dropped the edge of the drape, backing away from the image of the many tined Hart, the magnificence of which had stolen her breath, and looked around once more, absently picking up a crisp vegetable and nibbling on it as she did. The act of eating grounded her, calmed her, and she took in the rest of her surroundings. The room was warm and clean, everything uncovered and ready for use... all save one shape in the middle of the sunlit room that remained protected by a shrouding sheet.

It was the size of one of the tables, but angled, the higher edge of it furthest from the lighted archways. She felt drawn to it, but at the same time feared it greatly in one of those moments of conflict, like as came with her dreams, that rippled inside of her so badly that she fled from the room and spent the many hours sitting in the garden below, simply looking up at the balcony that she knew lay outside of the room.

The garden was some comfort to her unsettled feeling. It was delved within the crescent walls of sheltering mountain caverns, where clever husbandry ensured the life and health of the landscape within. After sitting to rest, and guided by the murmur of a song of water, she came to her feet and began to walk deeper into the garden.

She crossed the bridge that she had traversed when she had walked with the king, before he left, and this time turned away from Halls. Around her, slowly, as she walked the carefully tended and sculpted plants and flowerbeds, gave way to wilder growth – not unpleasing to the eye, but as though it had been long since Elven hands had laid caring touch to stem and leaf and bud.

A small grove appeared before her as she came from our of the shadow of the thicker bushes, a small, partial ring of low saplings, some no higher than her breast, that seemed somehow overburdened with leaves and bell-shaped flowers encircled an overshadowing and much taller tree. Some of the saplings were burdened with unopened buds whose weight bent the branches, some almost to the ground. One, in particular, at the centre of the arc drew her attention.

She approached it cautiously, as if it would bolt at the sight of her and were not deeply rooted in the loamy earth beneath her feet. Slowly she stretched out her hand, stroked her fingers over the soft, silver leaves, that fluttered at her touch, and, murmuring softly, she reached out with her senses and touched the life of the tree.

"Idh, mellon nín. U-nahtan le."

Many long moments she simple touched the tree; each individual leaf, each bud, sharing herself with the softness of the growing foliage; whispering her secrets, her fears, and confusions - her uncertainties. Holding nothing back, until with a start, her communion was interrupted by Tauriel's soft voice.

"My Lady, you should not be here," she said.

Nieniriathlim spun to face her. She had been so focussed on what she was doing she had not heard the Elven woman's approach.

"Forgive me," Tauriel spoke again, "I did not mean to startle you."

"Why?" she asked and frowned in confusion and concern, "You said that I might go where I will."

"I know," Tauriel nodded, "But only the King ventures so far this way. I had not expected you would—"

"Why?" she asked again.

"My lady?"

"Why would his majesty leave a place, so obvious in need, without tending?" she tipped her head to the side, looking toward Tauriel for answer, but the answer came from another direction entirely.

"There are many memories here," a new, and deeply rich voice – but one that she had heard before – sounded from a pathway not far off and behind her, "and they are old… and hard to bear."

As he spoke, an Elf with hair as white blonde as that of the king stepped onto the pathway. He was tall, not robed but clad in hunter's gear, though the tunic was fine cloth. His eyes were a deeper blue than the kings, but in appearance he was enough alike that he could have been none other than the son of King Thranduil himself.

Even as she recognised the prince, greeted him with the soft spoken, "Highness," and moved to dip a shallow curtsy in recognition of who he was, the garden tilted… shifted and an ache, that began in the innermost depth of her belly, spread to encompass all of her heart with a silent cry almost of anguish in a feeling to have missed so much.

It made no sense to her and yet it made perfect sense both at the same time, as her fingers remembered the downy, silken soft feel of a child's hair running through her fingers.

The tilted world upset her balance, and though it were graceful, her rising from the curtsy was uncertain enough to have the Prince speed his steps and catch her arm, even as Tauriel took a hold from the other side.

"Are you injured, my lady?" Tauriel's soft voice was laced with concern. And Nieniriathlim almost felt the Elven woman's eyes running over her, but she could only look on the sweet, soft countenance of the prince at her side, though she saw not – truly – the Elf he had become. She reached up, gently ran the very tips of her fingers down the side of his face, as memory stirred – that now familiar shifting in the pit of her stomach that left her lost and uncertain of when she was.

The prince froze at her touch though he offered no objection, not in fact until she spoke again, did he move his eyes from the intense study of her face, as if he too sought… something.

"I know you," she whispered, frowning, unable to catch from where she should know him. More than having seen him the day before she had been caught and made a part of the Court, almost a part of the royal household… she felt she knew his face, his Light.

"I think you are mistaken, My Lady," he answered, though… his tone seemed to her to hold uncertainty, and through it she detected that made him uncomfortable. "We have never met."

"…Legolas…"

Her voice was still a whisper, and the prince frowned, pulling from her touch and instead of answering her, he looked at the captain of the guard.

"Tauriel, i chiril thartoled," his voice held concern, but something else – something she could not place. "Togo he îdh, ad toltho nestadril. I adar nín ruith qui tôl ûgarth anín."

Nieniriathlim could not help but turn her head to watch the prince as he moved within the semi-circle of trees in the grove, even as Tauriel steered her gently away.

A roiling darkness blew like a wind across the narrow bridges and sharply angled turrets of the crumbling fortress; once bright – a haven – standing now at the heart of a billowing cloud of anguish that ran like poison through the life blood of the Sylvan realm.

He looked around him as he achieved the centre of the courtyard that ended in the broken and crumbled ruin of the eastern wall as though a mighty hand had somehow torn away that part of the ancient keep.

Beyond, the air wavered, as in a great, yet unseen, fire and beyond that, darkness, but… within the darkness, a shadow blacker than night shimmered between form and formless, yet the stench of its malice reached him as he came to a halt at the jagged edge of the wounded castle. It frightened even him.

"You sent for me, Master," the Pale Orc would not allow his fear to show. It was a weakness, and he was not weak – he was strong. The strongest.

The light… I warned you… awakens.

"I know, my master," he answered, a touch of resentment in his answer. "But we went to the place you told us and found nothing."

It is there…

"Nothing, Master… only and old Elf hunter and his mate!" He was insistent, staggered as he tried to withstand the heat of anger that blew across him, all but searing his flesh. "We found nothing else… no one else. We tore the place apart!"

It was there… Show me what you have seen!

The anger coalesced became like the hot blade of a knife that cut into his head; a burning tongue that feasted on his memories. He roared against the pain of it, fought to hold on to what he had seen. To no avail as the monstrous malevolence was too strong.

He staggered backwards, steadied himself against a jagged piece of fallen masonry as a single image, a face resolved itself into his mind.

Find her… kill her!

Lasto, i chen nín – Hear [me] my child

Hidh ir ind lín – rest your mind

Hidh i fae lín – rest your soul

Hidh am le – peace upon you

Idh, mellon nín. U-nahtan le – peace, my friend, I will not hurt you.

i chiril thartoled – the lady is over-wrought

Togo he îdh ad toltho nestadril – take her to rest and send for a healer [female]

I adar nín ruith qui tôl ûgarth anín – my father will be angry if something happens to her. [lit: my father will [have] anger if ill deed comes to her.]

The quotation at the head of the chapter is the Sindarin translation of the warning that Elwing gave to Thranduil so very long ago… Watch for the hand of the Valar