NOTES/DISCLAIMERS: Only those elements that are not recognizable belong to me; the rest are Tolkien's. Council of Elrond website referenced.
Pleas for Help
Míriel stared at the figure of Vanimë before her, not comprehending anything. She had seen the Noldo only moments before face down in the forest ground, her crimson blood pooled about her body, leaking slowly from the gash upon her head. Vanimë had not responded, had not even stirred as she was tenderly taken up and rushed grimly into the healing chambers. Had she woken along the way? The healer had mentioned blood donors; why had Míriel not volunteered? If the donors were found, the process took time—so who was this person? Was this person even real? The Silvan maiden chided herself reputedly. Events were occurring too fast for her mind.
"Many questions you have, young one, and all will be revealed in due time," the figure said.
Míriel furrowed her brow. This manner of speech was unlike Vanimë. The former Mistress of Mirkwood had excellent command of speech, that was not the issue, yet the prose and choice of words was not hers. As the maiden peered carefully at the figure of Vanimë, the Noldo took her hand in hers and led her on gently with a tug. The scenery of Eryn Galen faded, and at once was filled with trees of immense height. Their bark was silvery-gray, with golden leaves that fell lazily to the ground below. The shape of the leaves was familiar, and looking down at the brooch in her free hand, the shape and pattern was similar. Realization dawned upon the maiden.
"Mallorn trees, these are the mellyrn (plural mallorn)!" Míriel cried. "Is this not Lórien?"
Beside her the figure nodded, a small smile on her lips, but offered no other support. The maiden continued to be led along by her hand, drinking in the foliage surrounding her greedily. Though a bit aloof, she did not let the fact slip from her mind that she had only moments ago been in her forest home, kneeling on her knees in the dirt, lamenting Vanimë's death. Now she was being pulled along by her in another realm. Had Míriel somehow transgressed different worlds; was she now going to Mandos' Halls in Valinor? Had her grief been that passionate? These questions and many more lingered unvoiced for the present time. For now she would go where she was led.
From afar, the maiden spied a faintly shimmering glow. It was pale, even translucent, filling the rest of this new forest with ghostly silver light. From that general direction of this unearthly light, Míriel heard the soft trickle of water flowing, and realized that there was a waterfall which fed a small stream. There was a splash, and it appeared that someone, or something, was utilizing the waterfall. Vanimë tugged her hand a little, urging her to hurry, and the two women darted over the green lawn. The trees now were sparser as they approached the waterfall, and as they both came to a halt the Silvan maiden learned of the source of the intrusion. A tall lady stood in the water, the hem of her dress trailing precariously above the surface, held up by one hand, while with the other she held a beautiful silver vessel, collecting the falling water. Her hair was golden, and it fell unbraided down her back, cascading in waves. She stood positioned so that she saw the two approaching women, and a moment of silent greeting seemed to pass between Vanimë and this new third person. Míriel felt her hand suddenly released as Vanimë went to stand beside this golden-haired lady. An exuding sense of power and majesty emanated from her, and the maiden felt an overwhelming urge to bow. As she inclined her head, the lady's eyes pierced her own and a sudden fear filled her. This lady could read her soul, and it petrified her.
"Man le (who are you)?" she asked quietly.
The lady said nothing. She waited until her vessel was filled before moving slowly out from the waterfall. A basin stood on a hewn tree stump, and she let the water fall into it from her vessel. Vanimë remained where she was, letting the cool water soak into her clothing. She stood as if oblivious to this fact, her gray eyes trained solely on the maiden. Míriel saw a glint from the corner of her eye, and looking back, noticed an interesting ring on one of the lady's fingers. This was the source of the eerily strange light; could it also be the source of her power? As the maiden lifted her head, she saw a nod from Vanimë at the lady, and a small calculating smile graced her features. She motioned for the maiden and the other Noldo to sit, indicated smaller hewn stumps on either side of the basin. All three women sat promptly, Míriel eyeing the others nervously.
"Forgive us for bringing you here in this manner; there was no other way," the lady began, her voice deeper than was wont for women. "There is precious little time left for Mirkwood."
"So I am not dead…" Míriel whispered.
The golden-haired lady shook her head.
"You are Vanimë though, are you not?" the maiden asked, directing herself at the darker head.
For response, the Noldo wordlessly rose to her feet and came to stand directly in front of the Silvan elf. Gracefully she lowered herself to the ground until she was eye-level with Míriel. At first the maiden was taken aback with this intimate contact, but she calmed herself enough to stare at the face before her. There were all of Vanimë's features: her gray eyes, the long brunette hair, the noble brow, full plump lips, and aquiline nose. Yet there was something different about her this time. Her manner was not the same; there was softness about her, a fragility that was foreign. Her eyes shone in a more kindly manner, without the undertones of pain and hurt. Her nose was not aquiline, but straighter. And she had dimples at the corners of her mouth.
"You are…" Míriel said, lost for words.
"I am Vanimë's sister, Vanië. You are in the Golden Wood. This is Lady Galadriel. Much have we both heard about you, how renowned a singer you are, and how greatly Vanimë loves you. We heard your plea for help, and we wish to aid you greatly. But you must listen to us quickly, for you know very well that time is of the essence now more than ever. More than Mirkwood is at stake here; the very life of my dearest sister Vanimë may be lost as well. We shall help you."
Míriel was unsure in that moment of what to think, let alone respond to the ladies. Her first instinct was to be wary of the Lady of Light, for within her inherent Silvan upbringing and her company with King Thranduil, the latter especially of late, a small voice in the back of her mind told her that this golden-haired beauty was not to be trusted. There was something sinister and guarded brewing in Galadriel, Míriel thought. She was far too stoic and reserved for her trust. She had not introduced herself, as was the manner of the Elves in her home. Vanië had done so. She had not even explained why, or how, she had been brought here. All that the maiden recalled was one moment kneeling in her forest home, and the next being pulled away by Vanië—who at first she thought was Vanimë. Nothing made sense to her; everything was muddled. This Lady of Light, as she was known, only cast her into the depths of darkness and confusion, not giving her any enlightenment. And what of Vanië, what was her part in all this? Dare she trust any of them?
She was vaguely aware of both of the older women's eyes trained on her, one pair of azure, and the other pair a sea-gray she found both familiar and haunting. The ladies turned to each other, as if in silent communication, and Vanië laid a hand on Galadriel's arm before the Lady spoke:
"You may judge us however you like, yet I urge you to leave aside your fears and anxieties and listen to what we have to say and offer to you. Mirkwood has seen the return of its King, unless he mobilizes his army and finds a way to break the Dol Guldur front, the kingdom will fall. You have wondered how you may be of service in the face of this onslaught, that what could one as yourself do? Never underestimate your own resolve, for when there is sincerity and a pure desire to do good, there is always a way. I see and have seen this countless times throughout history."
Her manner of speech was slower than usual, but this time her tone was kinder, and she looked at the maiden softly, as if she knew more about her than she would admit. Her words brought some comfort, hope, and renewed strength to Míriel. The maiden herself felt earlier when the Lady was staring at her that her very soul had been laid bare before her, that all her deeds and thoughts were open to Galadriel. Were all the Noldo possessed with such abilities?
"This feud of old does not aid anyone except for the Dark Lord. Come, my dear; there are events you have not witnessed during your resting time. While my kinswoman does not agree that this is a wise choice, I feel you are ready. Not only do I feel so, but you must know what has happened in your time of absence from the conscious world." Vanië said, rising to her feet.
Vanië felt more comforting to Míriel, safer. She did not seem to carry the burdens and troubles of eons past on her shoulders as did Vanimë, but in her gray eyes the Silvan maiden noticed something she could not fathom. It was perhaps her air of fragility that the maiden found familiar. Conversely, something about Galadriel exposed the weaknesses of all, and Míriel felt her own vulnerabilities ascend to the surface. Nothing could be hidden from Galadriel.
"Do not be frightened, child, come closer," Vanië urged, standing beside the silver basin. It glittered from the stirring of the crystal water in contained, which caught the moon's light and reflected it off its broken surface. Trying hard not to focus on the staring eyes of Galadriel, the maiden advanced timidly until she stood opposite the dark-haired woman. Vanië smiled at her reassuringly, and Míriel took a deep breath before lowering her eyes to look into the basin.
At first nothing occurred. The maiden noted her own reflection in the pristine water; she saw the frightened expression on her face, the gaunt look in her eyes, and the pale sickly wanton hue of her skin. She had been asleep for a few days, her maid said, but to Míriel it felt like several years. The shock her body had received lessened greatly, but a portion of it remained still. She tried to recall the true moment of her waking, when Vanimë had called out to for help, and it was in that instant that the water beneath her in the silver basin changed. It began to churn suddenly, and a small whirlpool developed. The Silvan shot a furtive glance upwards at Vanië, who merely nodded very solemnly to her, saying, "Look into the Mirror, and your answers will be revealed."
She first saw herself being carried by the King into the healing chambers, where he wept pitifully at her side. She had a distant memory of Thranduil finding her on the forest floor, where she lay violated and bleeding, shamed at what had happened to her, and fearful of what was to come. Míriel assumed she had been unconscious after that, for nothing afterwards did she recall. There was no sound with these images, but the maiden understood that the healers were busy tending to her, and she felt very thankful to them. She saw another bed being prepared, and this time Innas entered, carrying the body of Vanimë. Her heart leapt at the sight of him, but then sank as she noticed the Noldo. Her skin was gray and covered with sweat.
"But I found her at the palace gates, with a gash on her head that bled profusely!" she cried, and again Vanië indicated the basin below her.
A new wave of healers entered the room, and a wooden divider was placed between the two ailing women. On the one side, there was a massive fury to stem the bleeding of the maiden, and on the other a small incision was made on one of Vanimë's shoulder to allow a small trickle of blood to pass whilst the more learned healer stood above the Noldo's head, incanting words and feeding her small spoons of a draught. Innas remained at the end of the divider, looking at both of the women he cared for equally, yet in differing manners. Míriel observed as he took more notice of her than Vanimë, who looked much more detrimental than the maiden herself. She could not understand why there was more attention directed at her than the Noldo.
"Why are they not tending her like they tend me?"
This question she whispered to herself, but she noticed Vanië's smile vanish, and Galadriel shook her head, placing her hand on the dark-haired lady's arm this time.
"They have tended to her," came the quiet response. "But this is not what matters most. You understand now that Vanimë returned to Mirkwood? She came, despite your fears, and as you had wished and hoped. She received your letter on the eve of the first battle in Lórien."
The maiden nodded slowly.
"Very well then, look once more, child of Eryn Galen; this time heed nothing but what is shown to you. Remember, all you see has occurred already while you were resting."
Again, Vanië looked towards Galadriel, but the Lady of the Golden Wood said nothing, only indicating to Míriel to gaze into her Mirror. The Silvan Elf did as she was requested.
This second time, there was sound with the images, so that the maiden was able to understood more comprehensively what she was seeing. There was Vanimë standing before the Mirror as she herself did now, with the same pair of ladies present. So she had also been brought here; had she also cried out in despair and for help? Galadriel held the letter aloft, the one Míriel sent impulsively. She noted the blood indicated, and realized that her former Noldo matronly figure had been injured shortly after reading it. The voices came and went as the images faded in and out. Vanimë's head was now inclined before her, bowed over the edge of the basin, and from her place over the very basin itself Míriel watched the dark outlook of Mirkwood that the Lady had predicted for her Noldo kinswoman if the former Mistress of that land failed in her appointed task. Míriel heard the legend of the Ents as well. Yet what she found more distressing was the realization Vanimë made upon learning that she had been sent to Mirkwood to save its King, and her refusal. Did Vanimë no longer care for Thranduil? What of the innocent defenseless people?
"Did she refuse? Had she given up already?" Míriel pondered.
She met the smiling faces of Vanië and Galadriel, who once more pointed to the Mirror. But it was Galadriel who spoke this time, her words carefully chosen and deliberate, in her slow way.
"Vanimë is Noldo, and the Noldo do not give up so easily, especially the descendants of Fëanor. They try their utmost to succeed, even if it means their death. Nay, as you see before you, she gathered her strength and was aided by others. For a task this daunting, she needed the assistance of others who were of like mind. Aran Thranduil is formidable, yet he has his weaknesses just the same as any commoner. You see Innas and his men with Vanimë, giving her support and encouragement. You see her at your side, understanding now that because of her the kingdom is in ruins, and by her with the people's backing, she can undo her misdeeds. She found a mighty token left behind by the Prince, a token that enabled her to woo the people to her side and return them to their King. She has also pledged her life in defense of Eryn Galen, thus voiding her debt with Thranduil. In doing so, she has accepted the price of never returning to Mirkwood."
Míriel felt tears forming in her eyes, watching the last few scenes unfold before her, providing another dimension to the narration of Galadriel. How must have Vanimë felt, knowing that the last true saving grace for Mirkwood lay in her hands? How difficult was it for her to admit she had betrayed an entire kingdom, that she was partly at fault for its turmoil (the maiden refused to believe, as Innas did, that she was to blame for it wholly)? How callous of Thranduil to dismiss Vanimë in such a manner after she had more than redeemed herself! He had accepted her offer of helping to protect his realm without a moment's worth of hesitation. Though he had proclaimed his apology at not being able to reunite with the Noldo, the Silvan maiden felt that those were simply contemptible emotionless words, empty of everything save irrationality.
"Muinthel nín (my sister) Vanimë…" Vanië began, "has ever been misjudged, ever given herself repeatedly for many causes, only to be let down. But I know that she does not regret her actions, most specifically her sacrifice for Thranduil, and your home…"
Míriel shook her head, wiping the tears that ran down her face.
"Why did she sacrifice; was there no other way?" she wept. "Why did aran nín not forgive her?"
Vanië turned her own head away, leaving Galadriel to answer.
"There must always be a sacrifice on some part. It is the way of the world, so that balance and order remain. Vanimë has lived far too long restricting a greater part of herself so that she was never entirely complete. And now she pays the price by facing herself and her own darkness. It began when she admitted to herself that she had wronged Thranduil. The initial unraveling of her soul occurred before she went into the throne room as you saw. I cannot begin to fathom how she felt as she stood in the throne room, proclaiming herself for who she really is, admitting to the chaos she helped create unintentionally. Relief she felt in part, but also uncertainty and fear I am certain. One thing she did not lose in revealing herself is her passion; she firmly believed in the return of the people to their King as his redeeming factor. They must have felt her sincerity; that is the only element that could have driven them to do so. In accepting this she had to depart from him, yet she also had to face herself now. Stripped of everything she had ever hidden behind, there was nothing to conceal her from her own self. There was none to stand by and support her; she had given away all her love, strength, and hope to others. And thus she passed—"
"I found her dead…" Míriel concluded.
Vanië turned back towards the maiden, gray eyes misty.
"She has not gone on to Mandos…yet…Her spirit still struggles…She is bound to Middle-earth like no other. Her task in Mirkwood is not yet complete," she stated. "One matter remains still."
Here, Galadriel rose to her feet, joining her Noldo kinswoman. They both turned to Míriel.
"It is not the wont of the Noldor to request help of those they deem lesser Elves, the Tawarwaith (Silvans). Your simple lives do not suit our sophisticated mannerisms, yet what does this matter when we are faced with either the ending of our world as we know it, or the sunset of all edhil (Elves) in the face of the rising edain (Men)? Yet perhaps it is this very simplicity of your people that will be the saving of your home. Not always is refinement and civilization beneficial when one's spirituality is lost. You asked how you can be of service; are you willing to do so now?"
Galadriel spoke these words directly into Míriel's mind, her azure eyes once more piercing into the maiden. Vanië closed her own eyes as if in a trance, pointing to the basin one final time.
"I have spent the majority of my time in Fangorn Forest. I was one of the first who began waking the trees, teaching them to speak. There is something very ancient and formidable about this old Forest, a lingering element of what was in Valinor in the very beginning. It comforts me. I rarely leave Fangorn; and only once did I venture to Mirkwood, seeking out the lost Entwives."
Míriel saw the memories of the dark-haired Noldo in the basin below her, how she had arrived in Fangorn teaching the trees to speak. It was a daunting task, for after some time she saw the Noldo's face creased with frustration, but in the next image there were trees waking. How many years, centuries even, it took, the maiden did not know. At the last sentence she saw a portion of Ents leaving the Forest, while a number remained behind, leaking silver tears from their eyes.
"The Entwives desired to control things and plant gardens. They taught Men much about the working of the land and farming. While the Entwives' Gardens were lost in the Second Age, and they themselves disappeared, I believe that they are in Eryn Galen; they would have loved to retreat there after their loss, nurse their wounds perhaps. Pride and shame would have prevented them from returning to Fangorn. In eons gone by, Mirkwood was a lovely forest, known then as Eryn Galen. If the Entwives fled here after their Gardens were demolished, I would think they would have spent some time with the Beornings, teaching them how to care for the earth, then as the Shadow increased they retreated here. It is my belief that they inhabit Mirkwood, based on rumors I heard and personal intuition. If you can find them, I will be able to rouse them through you. Their aid will be greatly needed to help stop Dol Guldur. They will not have forgotten so easily the pain they suffered upon losing their Gardens because of Sauron." Vanië ended.
"I have heard of the Entwives and their legend, but how would Fangorn have known about their oath?" Míriel asked. "Would they not be lost any longer?"
"Fangorn knows of the oath when it was first established; there were Ents near the southern region of Dol Guldur, the former site of Oropher's kingdom. When the Darkness came there, the Ents waged a mighty and noble war, but were sorely defeated, cut down and used as firewood by the Enemy's Orcs and other fell creatures. Certain signs lead me to believe that the Entwives came here in hiding; and with the forest so dark and foreboding now they easily could hide themselves. It is simply my belief, but it is worth the time to search. I do not believe they would have lingered too far from the palace; they would not have liked the utter darkness here."
The Noldo ladies turned their eyes again upon the maiden, glances somber.
"You have asked how you can aid your home, and we have provided you with the knowledge to do so. It is up to you now to decide not only the partial fate of Eryn Galen, but also Vanimë's life. We call upon you to answer the plea of Mirkwood." Galadriel said.
The Silvan maiden felt herself being pulled, and as the scenery of Mirkwood returned around her, Vanië's lingering voice filled her mind, "Remember the power of song and your own voice."