"We need to talk."
Raven's bright eyes glittered from above her mask as she leveled her gave at Glorfindel. The elf, having just awoken from another uncomfortable sleep, adjusted his posture slightly. He subtly tugged on his bonds once more and for what felt like the dozenth time, marveled at the skill in the knots and the way that elvish rope held.
"Well I have been absolutely starved for conversation," Glorfindel smiled. Despite his carefree tone, he was taking great care to choose his words delicately. He had not forgotten how the strange maiden reacted to him referring to her as a "jailor" before. "What is it that you would like to discuss?"
"What is the date?"
"Pardon?" Glorfindel relied, genuinely surprised by the turn of events. "I must apologize, but my sense of time is rather off as I have slept rather more than I am oft to..."
"I don't need the day... just the year," she moved around the cave as she spoke, flitting like a robin from branch to branch, never landing in one place for long.
"Well, it is the Third Age, 3015."
"The Third Age..." she nearly whispered. "I was right..."
Glorfindel remained silent as she contemplated the information that he had given, wondering how any being could be so amazed by the century of the Middle Earth.
Raven paused, turning still for a moment before cocking her head to the side as if in thought. She drummed her fingers aimlessly on a small panel of wood which seemed to serve as some sort of counter before turning and facing Glorfindel once more. She strode quickly across the cave until her face was inches away from Glorfindel's own. Glorfindel almost found himself averting his eyes from the glow emanating from hers.
"Well I do suppose that the Third Age is a rather lovely one," Gorfindel supplied, hoping to break the tension. It had no such affect however as Raven's hands found their way to Glorfindel's shoulders, squeezing with a grip far firmer than what could be expected from one so slight.
"No... it is not. You must speak truly and honestly. Elves for all their arrogance are supposedly not beings of deception," her voice came out in a whispered hiss. "Has the house of Elrond fostered a human boy given the name of Estel?"
Glorfindel was shocked, so shocked by the unexpected question in fact that his eyes widened slightly before he could school his features. How does this maiden know of Lord Elrond and Estel? It seemed that his reaction was enough of an answer for Raven and she released his bound arms and stood, pacing soundlessly back and forth across the dirt floor of the cave.
"Tell me... how old is he now," she turned her ever sharp gaze on him again.
Glorfindel was at a loss for words. He did not know what to make of this line of questioning, but he did fear for the safety of Elrond's young ward.
"These are questions that I cannot answer," Glorfindel spoke slowly, suddenly cognizant of the ropes binding his wrists, ankles, and throat; his mind wandering to his still tender wound which was far from healed enough to even crawl, let alone walk.
"I seek no secret knowledge... Glorfindel of Gondolin, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower," she spoke his old title with a bite of bitterness on her tongue. The words shocked him. Few mortals knew of the elven tales. "Or do you prefer the address of Laurefindil as it was your old name?"
Glorfindel was hardly cognizant of the venom with which she spat her words as the shock of them set in. She knew far too much for a mere mortal child. Whatever creature she was, whatever lineage she came from, there was something more to her.
"How do you know such about me?" He asked, voice quiet.
"You will answer my question," those eyes still blazed.
"My Lord's foster son has reached his 83rd year. He no longer lives in the household." Glorfindel supplied that last bit of information in hopes that Raven did not have some sort of vendetta against the Edain.
"No, I suspect that he does not..." Glorfindel did not hear the rest which she seemed to mumble under her breath, but he could have sworn that he caught the word "rangers" in her aside.
"You never answered my query," Glorfindel prodded gently, hoping to obtain some information from that which he gave.
"I know many things," her voice was a sneer. "Far more than you elves can even begin to comprehend."
Glorfindel took careful note on how the word "elves" fell from her lips like a curse. He thought back through his time under Raven's care and noticed how she touched him as little as possible, how she avoided his waking presence like some plague by leaving that wolf of hers to always stand guard. Something was certainly wrong.
"I am not one to pry," she scoffed slightly at those words, but allowed Glorfindel to continue. "But, I couldn't help but notice that you from the beginning of our meeting you seemed to hold a certain amount of resentment towards my kin. Might I inquire why?"
She laughed aloud at this and busied herself at picking burs out of her wolf's coat, back turned to Glorfindel. Glorfindel however was patient, and thus by waiting was eventually rewarded with a response.
"I did not always hate the elves... When all I had were stories passed on through my Grandfather and old books, I thought of your kind as beautiful, wise, and noble creatures." She turned, pointing her dagger in his direction to emphasize her point. "Then I met the elves and learned that though beautiful, your kind are foolish and ignoble beings filled with malice."
"And yet you help me."
"And yet I do."
With those words, she turned her attention to her wolf and the pair seemed to have a silent conversation before Raven abruptly turned and left the cave, not sparing a second glance at Glorfindel.
Said elf was then stuck with his fierce watcher as he chewed over their conversation in his mind. This Raven was strange indeed. She knew far more than any mortal should and she seemed to despise elves in every way. Glorfindel found his mind wandering back to that night of Gondolin's fall. He recalled the tiny figure bearing wings who sheltered him, cradling his head as he slipped to Mandos' Halls. How could this Raven be of the same kin as that girl? He had never, outside of these two individuals, seen beings of such strange form in all of Middle Earth. The resemblance of dark hair, slanted eyes, and black wings was too great for them not to be of the same blood, and yet how had the ages changed their perspective of elves?
Glorfindel shifted slightly in place, careful not too struggle too much for fear of further damaging his stomach, or worse, angering the wolf watching over him. He settled the best that he could under the circumstances and fell into another fitful slumber, hoping dearly that Raven would remember to give him another painkilling brew when she got back.
"On the horizon!" One of the younger, more keen eyed scouts called out, causing the party to come to an abrupt halt.
"Does it approach?"
"Yes my Lord," the elf replied smartly.
Elrond watched as a white speck appeared in the distance, steadily making its way towards the party. They had been wandering for several hours as after reaching the sight of the battle between the elves and orcs, the trail had somehow gone cold. They knew that Glorfndel raced forth from the sight with a pack of wargs on his heels, but there was no evidence of a trail out. No trodden grass nor broken branches.
"We ride to meet it," he called, already spurring his horse forward.
The other followed suit and it was not long before the figure could be spotted as a pure white horse. It was traveling at a weird trot, sweat beading its flank and several long, shallow gashes lazily leaked blood which stained its coat crimson.
"It is Asfaloth," Cuhador stated, voice tense. "He is Glorfindel's most trusted."
The white stallion neighed softly as if in agreement, immediately approaching Elrond who still sat astride his own mount. The horse nudged Elrond's side gently, nickering and causing the lord to idly pet his forelock.
"We camp here tonight. I want scouts sent in every direction searching for any sign of Glorfindel. Idher," Elrond spoke gently, doing his best to not allow any emotion into his tone. "Tend to Asfaloth's wounds."
The wound healer nodded and immediately dismounted, reaching for Asfaloth who only went with her after some gentle encouragement. Quickly, scouts were sent off and the rest of the elves broke a simple camp, tending to their horses in the nearby stream. Elrond, wearied but ever fair, assisted the other elves in the chores, doing his fair share despite his title.
"Asfaloth would not leave Glorfindel easily," Cuhador mused, speaking quietly behind Elrond so that none but the two of them would hear.
"I fear that you are right."
"But we must have hope yet my Lord," he added with a sad smile which did not reach his eyes. "Remember, he once faced a Balrog. A pack of orcs and wargs should not bring him down."
Elrond merely nodded and finished setting up his bedroll, taking care to brush away and small rocks. As he did so, he pondered as to how no trail was found leading away from the battle. Asfaloth had obviously left the sight, but there was no record of him leaving, only prints of his return. It was as if the very earth itself had erased all traces of the Gondolian veteran.
As Elrond turned in his bedroll that night however, his mind wandered back to Cuhador's words, his reminder that Glorfindel once faced a Balrog. Sadly, his thoughts were inevitably drawn toward how that battle ended.
"He did not survive the Balrog though," he whispered so silently, none but himself could hear.
Looking to the stars, he gave a silent prayer to Eru, the Valar, and even his own father's star, asking them if they could, in their mercy, bring Glorfindel back to him.
It seemed that at least Lorien, Master of Dreams, heard his plea. That night he slept soundly images of Glorfindel, one of his closest companions and the rock that steadied him after the loss of his wife, weary but whole, wandering our of the woods to greet their party. His golden hair shining in the sun and that warm smile of his gently teasing Elrond for his concern. Although he would not remember the dream come morning, his heart would still feel its warmth.
"Why do you play favorites with the Perhedel?" Yavanna chided Lorien. "Why is it that you grant him sweet dream which stay with him, but give the child and Glorfindel horrendous memories in their sleep?"
"He has lost so much already."
"And she has not?"
"Perhaps I should be asking why it is that you favor the child so?" Lorien raised an eyebrow, amusement crowning his face.
"You know the answer," Yavanna replied tightly. "Her destiny is a hard one."
Before Lorien could present another barb, Varda stepped between them.
"What is done is done," her tone was even but her eyes gave no room for argument. "We must move forward."
The other two Valar nodded in agreement before dispersing, each having a separate task to complete. It was a tricky game that they were playing, rules of non involvement were firm and Eru would not be pleased if they meddled. In the end it would come down to the actions of those who walked the land of Middle Earth, they would determine the fate of their world. Be it salvation or doom, they would walk into it by their own choices.
The Valar could only hope that they made the right ones.
Evelyn, in shock, veered upwards rapidly. Her wings beat out a fierce rhythm until she could feel hot blood coursing through her veins as she forced herself to climb high up in the sky until she became no more than a mere speck above.
She had to get out of their sight range
Below her, in the spot where the elves and orcs had battled several days before, was an entire camp of elves. Somewhere near thirty forms were spread out, glowing softly in the moonlight as half slept, half stood watch. Next to their camp, an equal number of horses grazed and Evelyn had time to spot the pure white stallion that Glorfindel rode among them. The creature must have run into the party on his way back to Imaldris and it did not take Evelyn long to realize that these elves must be from the hidden city, out searching for Glorfindel.
A sharp spire of fear pierced Evelyn's heart, causing her to loose her rhythm for a moment, almost falling from the sky. She quickly righted herself and recalled that there should be no way for them to track her to her home. She had asked the earth to cover Glorifndel's tracks to the battle sight, and asked it once more to cover the tracks leading to her abode. The grasses, shrubs, and trees seemed to understand her just as Nightshade did, just as Tawny did, and she knew that there would be no trace.
There was a slight chance that if they were lucky, the elves would find the sight of their battle as few creatures fed on orc or warg flesh, but they would have nowhere to go from there.
I am safe.
They can't find me.
They won't catch me.
She repeated the words like a mantra in her head, reminding herself that she would never again feel chains or be trapped in a cage below the earth.
For a brief moment, she contemplated leading the elves to Glorfindel and ridding herself of his presence. She knew that Aragorn was 86 during the events of the Lord of the Rings books and thus the ring and the war were almost upon Middle Earth. If she got rid of Glorfindel, then she could return to her solitude, return to presenting that the rest of the world wasn't burning around her. Middle Earth would go to war and lives would be lost, but the good, or at least better than Sauron, would triumph in the end and none of it would effect Evelyn and Nightshade in their little hiding place.
But, another part of her reasoned, in Glrofindel state there was no way that she would be able to move him without ripping open his wounds. If she wished to be rid of him then she would have to lead the elves to her cave, she would have to approach the military party and show them her hidden home. That was something that she could not do.
Besides, a quiet and frightened part of her reasoned. Do you really want him to go?
She squashed that part of her mind mercilessly and flew back home, resolved that she would not approach even more elves. Instead, she fixed her mask and walked down the tunnel into her hidden cave, greeting a cheerful Nightshade and nodding silently in acknowledgment to Glorfindel.
Remembering that in her anger before, she failed to administer Glorfindel's medicine, she immediately began brewing the healing tea. Pouring it gently into a cup and brought the drink over to Glorfindel who required less assistance than before in drinking it.
"My thanks, Lady Raven," he spoke softly after being administered his tea. The caution in Glorfindel's eyes reminded Evelyn of the fury that she exploded with earlier, indicating that he was likely cautiously attempting to avoid further angering her.
"Is it true that elves do not scar," she asked suddenly, surprising even herself with her question. "It is said that once you fought a Balrog, and yet I see no scars on your body," she continued, curiosity compelling her.
"In most cases, elves can heal without scarring," Glorfindel spoke with a hint of a sad smile. "Very few, very powerful, wounds would never heal and most elves with such injuries hide them with magic though they still lie below the surface. The scars of a Balrog are such, and even though I was reborn with a new body, the Balrog scar still lie below the surface," he paused and hesitated for a moment. "Brining them forth is a painful and difficult task, one that I could not undergo in my current state... but perhaps one day I will show you."
"That is quite an offer," Raven almost whispered her words.
"True, it is not one that I normally give," Glorfindel hesitated once more, seemingly lost for words. "But, seeing as one of your kin was there when I received them... it seems only fair."
"How do you know one of my kin," Evelyn asked, her own hear rate increasing. She squashed the urge to raise her hand upward and feel her mask to assure herself that it was still in place. She was certain that he did not know her identity.
"The similarities are too stark for you to not be kin," at this, Glrofindel's face broke into a genuine smile. "I have lived for many ages and thus watched generation lines pass. I know the feeling of looking at someone and seeing the echo of their ancestors in them."
Evelyn only nodded and busied herself with tending to her home. She tied bundles of herbs to dry over the fire, sorted her water skins, dusted her sleeping pelts, brushed through Nightshade's fur, and basically conducted anything possible to avoid looking at the golden elf tied in the corner.
"If we are exchanging tales of our past, might I make and inquiry?" Glorfindel spoke. Evelyn ignored him and continued with her busy work, only pausing when Glorfindel asked his actual question. "You mentioned your Grandfather telling you tales... did he know any elves?"
Evelyn paused, memories of her old Grandfather surging back into her mind. She had tried so long since reaching Middle Earth to put him out of her mind. His twinkling eyes and faded smile, he was a man of the earth and of kindness. She recalled the tales he would tell her of fairies and ghosts, of witches and magic which flowed through the forests, tales of caution to never follow a will-o-whisp for they were tricky things indeed. The old man's gentle soul would be crushed if he were to now what his precious elves were like in reality.
"Although my Grandfather often claimed to have met elves and other beings of myth," she spoke gently, forcing the old memories from her mind. "He never did. He was a dreamer and a weaver of tales while I was always his favorite audience."
"I think I should like to have met him," Glorfindel mused.
"I think he would have liked that," was all Evelyn replied before the two fell into an easy silence. Whatever had occurred before, perhaps they made peace with one another... if only a little bit.