Chapter Twenty-one

Mission. Reunion. Silverstar, the Blue Mage. The Departure.

While Arwen was preoccupied with Silvermoon, Emer slipped from her horse, halting until there was a good bit of distance between her and the others. She led the horse off into the trees, tying the reins loosely to a tree trunk. The horse would be able to free itself with little effort. Emer ran, legs flying, in the opposite direction. She ran on, and on, until she judged the distance to be far enough, and doubled back over her own footprints, heading west.

"Hoom," thrummed Graybough, stepping in front of the Elf, who toppled to the ground. "Where do you think you are going in such haste?"

Emer got to her feet, shaken. "I mean you no harm, Ent. I ask that you leave me be, let me go. I will bring only more ill tidings to Arwen, who has borne enough sorrow, and Silvermoon, who is kind, and you, who have found your mate at last."

Legolas flashed through her mind. She had loved him, for many years. He had never noticed, nor would he ever, now that Ayala Proudbow had won his heart. Legolas was loyal. She envied that in him most of all, his heart was true and unerring, and hers was dark and full of things unfathomable to her. It was why she must run, and never return, and in doing nothing so do no more evil.

~*~

Arwen and company trudged wearily on. The memory of her father's words sustained her, his return was like lifeblood, and she could go on, somehow.

Elrond could not right the tremendous wrong that had been done, but the balance had shifted somehow in their favor upon his return. How, or when, Arwen did not know, for now she held onto to the knowledge that he would soon be close at hand.

He would know what to do. She was afraid to rely on him, or anyone, afraid it would be for naught, that they would be snatched away, by death's jaws, or something worse.

The moon was waxing to full, riding low in the sky, full of promise. How Aragorn had loved to walk in the moonlight, like sustenance it had been to him.

Something amiss crept to the edge of her peripheral vision, and she halted.

"Where is Emer?" she asked Silvermoon, alarmed.

Silvermoon cursed under his breath, then said, "I shall look for her. Continue on this road. We must hide the stone."

Silvermoon turned around and began to hunt for Emer. It would have been difficult for a normal being, even an Elf, to track Emer, but Silvermoon turned to other signs; that of her aura. Eventually he found her and an Ent. Silvermoon bowed to the Ent.

"Greetings, noble one," he said, then turned to Emer. "Might I ask what you are doing? You have caused us much worry. No. Do not explain. I know what you shall say; 'I am evil and should not be in a company with such noble people.' By the words of my elders, nonsense. I know a Mage who has done much worse than you. In fact . . ." Silvermoon paused. "I believe we may meet him . . .eventually. He is a Ranger. Now come along, you two. We must catch up to Arwen."

Silvermoon took Emer's hand. "I shall not hear any sort of complaint, understood? You are coming with us."

~*~

Moving swiftly, the army of Elves was able to near Arwen's location, although she had covered a lot of ground already.

Elrond approached her alone at first, running up from behind.

"Daughter," he called, his voice thick with emotion. "We will travel with you the rest of the way. There is strength in our numbers." Elrond stopped. The coming of the thousands behind could already be heard. Arwen's eyes were lit with some cold inner fire. The pain there was unbearable to see.

"Where is the Mage, Silvermoon?" Elrond asked.

"Gone to fetch one who broke ranks with us. Emer Halfelven. I felt it best not to tarry, and hoped they would catch up with haste."

"Agreed. Let us carry on. I had hoped to avail the Mage's healing powers, some of our people are grievously wounded."

Arwen looked back, where the rest were now visible, coming up behind. She strode out among them, to see the wounded for herself, and laid her hands upon many, taking the pain from some. She placed two who could ride upon her horse and walked beside her father. Elrond took her hand.

"There is much to speak of, when we reach Lorien," he said softly. Agreement shone in her eyes. They carried on, the sounds of many footfalls echoing off the trees.

Arwen felt the heavy presence of grief all around, the air was close and still with it though all were in motion.

It was in her heart to lift their grief, to give it form, and expression, and she began to sing a lament that once had been sung by Varda. She lifted her voice, and in clear notes the song carried forth. All around her a great harmony began, thousands of voices rising as one to the heavens. Their grief they poured out, in a great choir of voices, and it was heard many, many leagues distant, so that word began to go out that Rivendell had fallen, but the Elves had not, and would not. They praised Iluvatar, and Ulmo of the deep oceans, and the song spoke of yearning so great that those distant ears who heard could not fail to be moved, and wept without shame.

For something wondrous and fair had gone out of the world, and such a thing cannot occur without marking it's passage. And so they stopped, hands joined, and sang in glorious harmony, a lament for what was lost.

Emer's voice joined the thousands of others as she grew near, though tears threatened to choke her, she sang with the rest. She should not have run, and nothing could have shown her this more clearly than the song being sung. Unity was what they needed now, more than anything else.

She was bitterly ashamed about what she almost done. Graybough had gone on ahead of her to meet Fimbrethil, leaving her at Silvermoon's side.

At last they entered the circle where the Elves stood, the lament rising and falling in the ancient tongue. Emer's eyes were bright with tears, and she closed them, adding her own grief in the notes she sang, and in the singing all were one.

When the singing suddenly died, one voice rang out, a soft tenor, yet piercing the whole company, in a language unknown to all. One Elf turned to the singer, his eyes wide, for it was Silvermoon's voice, who had not sung with the others. Then, almost like an echo, came another voice in harmony, weaving his notes with Silvermoon's. A Man suddenly appeared down the road and stopped before Elrond and the company, his voice still ringing, his eyes closed. The two singers abruptly stopped, yet the music seemed to continue.

"Greetings, friend," said Silvermoon.

'Greetings . . .' came the reply, but not through speech. The Elves of the company began to whisper, for the Man had not said a word, yet a different voice had certainly been heard.

"This is the Man I told you of, Emer. The one who has done worse than you. You see before you a Man who has paid for his crimes," said Silvermoon. "It is his right to tell you, if he wishes, what has been done and what has happened."

'Thank you, Silvermoon,' said the voice. Without another word, the Man weaved his way through the company, and found Emer, though his eyes were still closed. His face was smooth and young, with little wrinkles, yet those who looked at him had the sense of great age. He was tall, though not as tall as an Elf, but thinner than he appeared he should be, almost transparent. It was difficult for all around to identify his species, for he seemed to be a Mortal Man, but yet not so. He smiled, suddenly, and put his hand on Emer's cheek, lightly. Some of the pain she felt drained away. 'A beautiful High Elf should not suffer as you do. You are not at wrong, not yet, merely confused. I am a healer of the minds . . .I am the Blue Mage of Water. I heard my brother call to me, and came to heal you, and any who need my help.'

The Blue Mage suddenly opened his eyes, revealing them to be pale, yellow and pupiless. The eyes made many of the Elves shiver.

Emer took the Blue Mage's hand and kissed it. "Thank you," she whispered hoarsely. "There are many here far more in need than I was." Emer sensed the hand of destiny at work. "I would help you, if you will allow it, and ask to become your student, and learn the healing arts. Perhaps in this way I can repay the wrong I nearly did, and so keep myself on the path of light."

'The art of healing is very complicated,' the Blue Mage said. 'It takes many years to be able to learn. In that time, you must learn not to fall into another's emotions, for as a healer you must learn to heal minds as well . . .and you must realize when a creature cannot be healed.' The mind voice seemed to hold much pain in those last words. Suddenly a smile broke the sadness in the face. 'Worry not. I was punished as you see me for I am a Mage, and there are only nine Mages. Mind you, that does not make the lessons easier . . .maybe harder even, for some of the things obvious to a Mage is hidden to others, even to Elves. Do you still wish to continue?'

"I believe you confuse the child," said Silvermoon.

'Perhaps I do, Brother. I merely wish to make it clear. I shall accept you as a student gladly. When do you wish to begin?'

"As soon as may be, so that you may see whether I am fit to learn or not," Emer answered. Perhaps in learning, the inner rift would heal as well.

"When we reach Lorien, there will be time for such things. If you find me a fit student, I will stay with you, for healers will be in great demand in the times to come." She looked in Arwen's direction. "There are wounds great and small, within this company and throughout the Realm. I suppose ours will be a live of traveling, so that we go where we are most needed."

~*~

There was a lightening of heart and spirit as the Mage walked among them, healing, lifting away pain, and Arwen began to sing again, her chin lifted in defiance. Thousands of voice joined hers again, and she kept her hand on the hilt of the sword of Elendil. Let none threaten them, for together as they were, they were a formidable force indeed, and though Rivendell had been taken from them, no more would they allow, no matter how insurmountable the odds against them.

They picked up speed as healing occurred, and Lorien drew ever nearer.

~*~

However the healing did not help everyone in the party, and Zindel thought to himself, Can I really stop the Dark Lord? He ran into the woods as fast as he could.

Arwen yelled, "Where are you going?" and tried to run after him, but she couldn't keep up.

Graybough caught Zindel in a mighty fist. "Such haste, hoom, where are you running to? Arwen is calling, it bodes ill not to hear so fair a voice as hers. Zindel, what troubles you?"

Graybough strode on, still holding the Wizard, who dangled from his fist like a weed.

However, after some time, Zindel convinced Graybough to let him go, and he departed the company, and was never seen again.

~*~

Elrond watched as Arwen returned, downcast. "Zindel has left us."

Elrond nodded sadly. "Perhaps he will return to us. Soon we will reach Khazad-dum, then southeast, to Lorien. Soon, my daughter, we will see the golden Mallorn trees, and Lorien will once again be home to the people who treasure it above all else. It is good, do you not see? Good that we will be there, to guard Lorien from those who would destroy it."

Arwen was pale and did not answer. He wound his arm through hers as they walked on. He knew her heart was heavy, and he could do nothing to ease what pained her, lest he could bring Aragorn back from the land of the dead.

"I love you, Arwen. Glad I am to look upon you again, even in such circumstances. These days are sent to try our souls, my daughter. We must not crumple when it is our strength others depend on."

He drew a strand of hair from her face. "I will be here for you, my daughter, to help you in any way I can." Arwen leaned against him and they walked the way together for a while.

"I love you too, Father. It brings me joy, to be near you again. It seems long since I felt joy."

A misty sadness fell between them. "I know that you would ease my burden Father, but you cannot."

Arwen's voice cracked. "I miss him so. I can find no words to tell you how much. Perhaps I do not need to say these things to you, you who left all you love behind to stand beside us here. What of my brothers? And Cirdan? And the Lady Galadriel?"

Arwen could not deny the deep comfort the sound of her father's voice gave to her, and they shared something now they went beyond kinship: loss. These things can only be spoken in the language of the heart, and so they fell into the easy Elven speech, nearer to their hearts could only be song, the deepest expression of their kind when words would not suffice. Arwen would sing her grief to Elrond, but not here. When the moment came she would share it, passing the cup to him, and he in turn would tell her all that had passed in the same way.

As Elrond spoke of her brothers, Arwen smiled, but her face was drawn, the image of Aragorn Elessar in death always near, his face still as though carved in ivory, blanketed in peace. Arwen's son waited for them in Minas Tirith. She did not speak of him. There were still many things unsaid between them, and the road still stretched out long before them.