Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR characters, whose births are credited to J.R.R. Tolkien. I should also mention that I'm only writing from LOTR, not Tolkien's other works, I'm sorry to disappoint. I also apologize for any future offense taken at my inconsistent timekeeping in the story.
Just as Elrond said, the Fellowship departed that morning. This time was not like the last; there was no wasted chatter or movement. Grim looks decorated their faces. The only ones who remained untouched by bleak emotion were the ever-carefree hobbits Merry and Pippin. If only I had retained that optimism, then maybe my "stay" on Middle Earth could be more bearable.
They departed in silence, knowing for sure that this time, they might not come back at all.
Do you fear for him? I ask Arwen.
"I trust him to return to me."
I nod. I felt that way once, before this happened. I wonder if...that one feels betrayed. Has he moved on? Has he found someone else for eternity? My heart pounds and a lump appears in my throat. It usually happens when I think about home, and is usually accompanied by a deep bout of depression that leaves me gloomy for months.
I shake my head and roll my shoulders, easing the tensions from my body as I struggle to plan for the events ahead. It would do no good for me to wallow in self-loathing and worry in this dark time that I helped cause. It is my duty to repair. Following this righting of wrongs, I will be able to see my love again, my dear Michael.
I look to the sun, and see it rising to the height of noon. Has time passed so quickly already? I walk back the gardens and sit on a sun-warmed bench. I close my eyes and release a great sigh. And then I hum. Harmless songs, without an ounce of power. My body rocks from side to side and my voice rises great height and sinks great depths. I continue until I no longer feel the warmth of the sun, until I remember what it felt like to soar with freely over the lands. I smell the sea brine, I taste the snowy mountains, I feel the damp caves underground, and I remember.
But what am I doing? Why am I remembering? This is not time to give in to weakness. No, I must, I must remain focused. But, that is so difficult. A task so very difficult. Oh, I want to go home. I want to sing again, to dance, the fly without pain.
"Lady?" I hear a soft voice ask. I open my eyes and watch the elf who spoke. It is twilight already. The elf clears his throat. "Are you able to join us for song this night?"
I think for a moment. Tonight I feel the need to spend some time in self-reflection. Send my regards?
The elf nods. "Of course. Thank you, Lady." He bows and walks away. He's not one I encounter regularly, so he won't comment on the fact that I have been spending more time for myself of late.
I sigh and rise to my feet, and I drift towards another hidden space Elrond left for me, my meditation garden. An intersection of elements, a compass rose of sorts. It is the place where I can literally be at one with nature, as cliché as it sounds. I can intercept whispers on the wind, listen to gossiping brooks, feel tremors in the earth, and if needed, fire-scry. This is the place where I assume I will be spending most of my time in the upcoming days until Sauron's fall. From here I will monitor the progress of the Fellowship, and I will be responsible for keeping the elf lords informed of the Enemy's advancements. I close my eyes and let my spirit drift.
Cold wind blasts the mountains under an ominously dark sky. Normal sky does not look like that, there is an unnatural force at work. Barely visible against the white landscape is a staggering line of figures trudging slowly against the biting storm. One man is obviously an elf. He is light on his feet, dancing one the surface of the snow, acting as lookout for the group. They turn around and their mouths open and close. Parts of their conversation reach me.
"Voices on the wind!"
"Saruman's sorcery!"
"Let the Ring-bearer decide!"
Shout as they might, their human voices are inevitably drowned out by the howling tempest. Out of all the words I hear, one stands out the most.
"Moria!"
I jolt, my spirit suddenly springing back into my body. I gasp, my body completely unprepared for the backlash of my return. The Mines of Moria. A certain trap. Gandalf, wise wizard as he is, deferred to Frodo. Frodo does not know of the dangers of the dark, and they are sure to face death. After the dwarves sparked the Balrog's jealous protectiveness, I never had the chance to mediate the argument; I was still recovering from my Fall and had not discovered the balance needed to regulate my holy power to sustain me for an indefinite period of time in this sin-encrusted land. Though it has been many years, that demon has yet to be appeased. They have enough trouble to face without the Mines, and the Watcher.
This is important news that Elrond needs to hear. I find him as he usually is, poring over books in his study. Arwen is with him, reading over books of her own. I knock on a white pillar to announce my presence. Both faces look up. Arwen shuts her book and comes to grab my hand. Elrond simply sits up and folds his hands. "News?"
"Yes, of the Fellowship," Arwen says. She paused, thinking about Aragorn. "They are heading for the mines."
"What mines?" asks Elrond.
"Moria."
Elrond's expression is unreadable. "What is Gandalf thinking?" He hisses quietly, almost to himself.
"There was...a little conflict. He deferred to the Ring-bearer's decision." I say through Arwen. "Saruman is working sorcery against them. They could not survive against his elemental attack, so they decided on another route." I am calm, Arwen is slightly worried, and Elrond is contemplative.
"No one who entered Moria ever returned, he knows that. It is silent, it is dark, and though it may be hidden from the Eye, orcs breed great and many in caves like those." Then Elrond looks at me. "Can you cloak them from Sauron? Then our Fellowship will not be hindered by Sauron's minions."
"Even if I could, I could not keep them safe from the Balrog." Arwen says for me. "I do not have enough power to shield them from here, nor do I have the tongue to send help. I am too weak to fight him off while shielding the others, and still have enough strength to topple Sauron. The only other alternative to fighting the Balrog is to speak to him, but I have not the tongue nor conduit to speak, and he has not the language of hand signs."
"What you are saying then," says Elrond, "is that their journey into Moria is a lost cause?"
"Yes."
Elrond stands up and walks to the window. Arwen's hand tightens around mine, subtly, so her father will not notice.
"However," I emphasize, "If they pass through to the other side of Moria, they will reach Lothlórien. Once they go there, they will be out of the mountain and I will be able to visit them. Pass along messages, supplies, and the like."
Elrond turns. "Did you not say you did not have the strength to make the journey to Moria? How then, will you return from Lothlórien?"
"Lothlórien is another elf realm. It is purified, hardly touched by evil. Their archers aim straight and true, no orc has ever returned from there alive. I will be safe, I will be able to recuperate, just as I have done here in Rivendell. Both are ruled by an elf lord, both are elven strongholds, and both are sources of purity that degenerate my body at a slower pace than the rest of Middle Earth." I tell Elrond confidently.
"How will you communicate with them?" Elrond asks. "They are not taught in your hand-signs, and so far, only my daughter has been able to withstand your mind's touch."
"The Lady Galadriel is proficient in mind-speak, do you recall?" I say. "Arwen is of Galadriel's blood. There is a chance the only reason Arwen can withstand my touch is because of her. And if neither is possible, I Ido/I have other means of communication at my disposal."
Elrond looks at me fully, assessing my state of health, obviously. I stand up straighter, and form a tighter grip on Arwen's hand. I show him my conviction and determination, and I demonstrate my healthiness and recovery.
"When do you plan to go?" Elrond finally asks after his perusal.
"Not for a while," my conviction carries through Arwen's voice. "They must reach the gates first. A week. I will go in a week. After Moria they will need to rest."
"Very well." Elrond returns to his book. I know a dismissal when I hear one. His was clear, and obviously in frustration of the Fellowship's detour.
I squeeze his daughter's hand in reassurance, smile at her, then I leave. I have preparations to make and a world to watch. I doubt I will need to wait a week for our friends to come out of the mines, so I busy myself with charm-making.
The charm I gave Boromir was a simple peace charm, only the simplest of songs used to bind magic to it. To create powerful charms, I need to attach magic to a physical vessel, then weave it carefully with other charms. It needs to be strong enough to have any noticeable effect, yet weak enough to prevent others from detecting magic. Normally I would use blood as the vessel, but many of our opponents are sensitive to smells. This time, to disguise the power of the charm, I decide to use simple green leaves from the trees in my meditation garden. This way, it will be seen as a simple elven gift, and I will be able to fuse more magic in the charms.
Nine identical leaves I pick off of my favorite tree. I soak them with my power, invoking protection and luck. The leaves become edged with silver and their texture changes to metal. I finish off the charms by rubbing them with mud infused with elven blessings to camouflage my magic. Then I carefully meld needles on the backs of the charms so they can be pinned to the wearer's person.
Just as I straighten my back and wipe my brow, I feel a presence watching me from the door.
"How are preparations?" Arwen asks.
Completed, I mind-speak. Now all that is left is the wait.
I have to admit, I had a party when I was writing this chapter! After I got through the beginning, I wasn't hit by writer's block at all! I've even got stuff prepared for the next chapter...