"My Lord," a firm hand rapped against Lord Elrond's door with far more urgency than is usually carried in the sage elf who spoke.
"Enter, Erestor," Elrond called back and the dark haired elf pushed the door open, immediately crossing the room to deposit a pile of scrolls onto Elrond's desk.
"You must come down at once... a horse has arrived."
"A horse?"
"Bearing no rider," Erestor paused, his lips pursed slightly. "I have not seen it as I came straight to you, but the guards said they believe it to be Asfaloth."
Elrond's mind rang in alarm as he stood and briskly exited his office, making his way to the courtyard. Erestor was following quickly behind. The idea of Asfaloth arriving at Imladris without Glorfindel worried Elrond greatly. He had sensed danger surrounding the elf, he knew that something was wrong... but he never imagined something so severe. Asfaloth was a loyal steed and was not inclined to leave his master without cause.
"How long ago did it arrive?" He asked.
"Mere moments. It should still be out there."
When they arrived in the courtyard, they found a group of elves gathered around the stallion who stood calmly in the middle, not at all uneasy as they would suspect him o be after loosing his rider. Elrond immediately recognized the noble steed as Asfaloth, Glorfindel's mount and became worried. Not only was Asfaloth missing his rider, but he also still bore his riding tack and the supplied that Glorfindel set out with. His packs were still firmly tied to the saddle.
"You said he intended to head north, across the Misty Mountains and past Mirkwood..." Erestor spoke slowly. "He has been one fore some time and unless he hugged the boarder for quite some time... Asfaloth crossed the Misty Mountains on his own..."
"He was certainly determined to reach home," Elrond mused as he slowly approached the stallion.
Asfaloth, for his part, remained docile as Elrond stroked his hand along the with horse's muscular neck. But, the elf paused when his hand caught on something strange. Reaching out slowly, Elrond found a small piece of metal tangled in the stallion's mane. He plucked carefully at the hairs and eventually succeeded in removing what he found to be a small hair clip from the horse.
Holding it up to the light, Elrond was surprised to find a bright, gold flower that he recognized quite easily- it was the symbol of Glorfindel's house. The hair clip was a remarkable piece of workmanship with thin, mithril chains holding dangling feathers. The flower indicated that it belonged to Glorfindel, but Elrond couldn't recall his friend ever wearing such a clip.
"I believe, my Lord," Erestor held out his palm and Elrond deposited the clip into it obligingly. "This appears to be Dammorion's make."
Elrond accepted the clip back and determined that they should question Dammorion as to the origins of the clip. Elrond quickly issued a few orders to have Asfaloth cared for before he and Erestor turned in the direction of Dammorion's forge. They both obviously had theories as to why Glorfindel's horse showed up on their doorstep riderless and bearing a hair clip, but neither were willing to voice any until they got as many answers as possible.
They arrived at the familiar yellowed sandstone building and Elrond resisted the urge to pause and contemplate. He rarely visited this part of Imladris as most of the buildings surrounding Dammorion's workshop had long ago been abandoned or turned into storage sheds. Once, the entire sector of Imladris was alive and buzzing, smoke pouring forth from massive fires and hammers cracking against heated steel. Those where the days when Imladris was known by many as "The Great Forge," those were the days when they were preparing for war.
Dammorian wasn't hammering away at his forge however. When they entered, the elf was sitting at a table delicately carving something into what appeared to be a partially finished arrowhead. He looked up when Elrond and Erestor entered, putting his work down and grinning broadly.
"My Lords," he bowed his head respectfully. "What can I help you with today?"
"We have an item which we wish to inquire if you know the origin of," Erestor spoke first as Elrond held out the hair clip.
Dammorion barely glanced at it before chuckling lightly.
"Oh, I certainly do. A trinket like that isn't often forgotten," he carefully set down his tools.
"Indeed," Elrond replied for the piece seemed to be made of solid gold and mithril.
"It was a commission from Lord Glorfindel, though I doubt he ever wore it," Dammorian still had that grin on his face.
"Might I inquire why you think so?" Elrond, curiosity thoroughly peaked, asked.
"Well because this is the same elf who several months later brought a rather strange maiden with a request to build her a virtual armory. This is one of the arrowheads from that commission," he gestured to the arrowhead on the table.
Erestor quickly crossed the few feet and picked up what looked to be a finished arrowhead sitting on the edge of his desk. The deadly looking arrowhead had a dark black patina with a beautifully etched design decorating it. Amongst the swirling loops and delicate patters lining the edges were images of tiny feathers. The sing arrowhead alone was a work of art- more suited to a necklace than a weapon of war, and likely costed more than an average elf's weekly salary.
"What weapons did he have commissioned?" Elrond asked.
"A matching pair of long knives, forty arrowheads, two daggers, 14 throwing blades... and a suit of armor."
"Armor?!" Erestor looked a bit aghast as Dammorian gestured for them to follow him. He walked over to a side door which he opened and stepped through. There, at the center of the room was a large shape covered in a draping cloth.
"I must admit," Dammorian said as he walked towards the cloth draped object. "Glorfindel's an old friend and he asked me to be discreet about this, but if there's anyone who I would tell it would be you my Lord," he explained to Elrond who nodded.
Dammorian then pulled aside the cloth and revealed a wooden mannequin with a shining suit of armor. But, perhaps calling it a suit of armor was an injustice to the work of art they saw before them. It was obviously elvish steel, but instead of the usual shining gleam it was a smokey black, a black so deep that it appeared to swelling light from around it. The armor was compact, curved for a petite figure and bearing a smooth, unadorned breast plate dropping down into shingles that would allow for maximum moment and very little restriction whilst maintaining protection. The pauldron bore elegantly curved spines lined with mithril that could easily be used to drive into enemies and thin mirthril mail formed the close fitting sleeves creating a shine that vastly contrasted the black plate. Sitting on a stool beside the armor was a pair of black leather vambraces and greaves, both adorned with mirthril to equally decorate and strengthen the build.
Perhaps what caught the eye most however... was the massive wooden structure behind the armor that bore the shape of a pair of massive wings. Draped atop the faux wood wings was a set of beautiful armor designed with an echoing of the pauldron in its design for it held sharp, overlapping plates lining the ride of the wings with larger, pointed spires at the crux of each. The steel was blackened, but edged with mithril to highlight the deadly beauty and strengthen the cutting edges. Then, draping down from the top armor was a beautiful web of mithril, cleverly woven to allow for more flexibility than ordinary mail. The entire thing set likely weighed no more than a few pounds but was far stronger than any steel armor of man.
"It's-" Elrond paused as he stared at the work of art before him. "I've never seen anything like it."
"Neither have I," Dammorian spoke with a hint of reverence in his voice. "By far the finest piece I've ever crafted and likely the finest I ever will. There's still a bit of detailing which must be done... but it's a masterpiece."
"When was all this commissioned?" Elrond asked.
"Glorfindel ordered the greaves, vambraces, and hair clip a few days after he returned from his- uh... missing period," Dammorian stuttered a bit, but Elrond didn't push further. He knew the Gondolin veteran and smith were old friends and he had no intention of prying unnecessarily. "But-" Dammorian continued. "He had the full set commissioned after that large orc battle near the boarders. As for the weapons... he brought the maiden herself in... at least I assume such for while I never saw the wings that he described, she was the exact size and he was fawning over her with the enthusiasm it takes to commission this type of work."
"And so you simply built a set of armor for wings larger than any bird on Middle Earth?" Erestor asked, one eyebrow raised.
"My Lord Erestor," Dammorian casted a sly grin towards the stern counselor. "When Glorfindel, the re-born Balrog Slayer of Gondolin comes to you with a commission for a set of armor worth half the total annual wages of all of Imladris for one who he claims is the most remarkable creature he's ever met... you build the armor."
Erestor seemed thoroughly silenced by that and Elrond thanked Dammorian before leaving. As they were walking out the door however, Dammorian called to them.
"He's missing... isn't he? You've found the clip but not him?"
"...yes," Elrond replied sadly.
"When I crafted that piece," spoke as he walked towards the departing elves. "There was something other than me guiding my hands... something tells me that it'll always find its way back to its owner."
"I hope you are right, Dammorian," Elrond replied before he and Erestor left.
The walk across the filds and back to the main house was painfully long and filled with an uneasy contemplative silence. When they reached Elrond's office, Erestor lingered for a bit longer. He stood on the opposite side of Elrond's desk eyes grazing across the mess of papers scattered about.
"You think he found her, don't you?" Erestor asked.
"Yes... I think so."
"Glorfindel isn't one to abandon his duties though," Erestor persisted.
"No, he is not."
"Then why-"
"I think the Valar have more a part to play in this than we can see," Elrond spoke with a tone of finality that Erestor recognized. His Chief Councilor and old friend acknowledge this closing of the discussion, bowing his head before leaving Elrond's office.
Once alone, Elrond had a moment to contemplate what he saw. That armor... he swore it was familiar, like he had seen it from the corner of his eyes in the midst of a dream. The inky darkness of the steel, the shining mithril accents, a pair of massive black wings with spider-like webbings of mithril protection swooping across a battlefield of smoke and ash. They were rising above chaos, rising above a field of death and destruction.
It was unsettling... but obscure. He still couldn't quite uncover what his visions meant or what they could become.
One last through struck him though, just as Elrond pulled out the warrior's roster with an intent to determine who he could send in Glorfindel's place... he came to a realization.
The armor that Glorfindel commissioned... it covered every spot that Raven had been wounded in.
Evelyn was thoroughly irritated. Her wings had become far worse over the course of the last few days... well, perhaps they hadn't become worse... she was just noticing them more. She had spent her entire life since landing in Middle Earth as either a prisoner, or a convict on the run. She never had a moment to breath, let alone relax and thus... certain things were neglected.
Sure she kept herself decently clean, she was from the 21st century after all. But, her hair was usually washed once a week at most and simply braided out of the way. Her clothes was perfectly functional, but usually ended up being patchwork with more of her crudely tanned leather patches than the original fabric. What she neglected most however, was becoming quite clearly her wings.
After her initial run through to get the majority of the debris out, she found that they were still itchy. In all honestly, they had probably been for quite some time... but with her constantly running, fighting, or healing from battle wounds... it was likely that she just never previously noticed.
Now though, she sat angrily running her fingers through her feathers, trying desrletly to clean them without getting them water logged. Nightshade had grown so irritated with her grumbling that the wolf decided she would go out and patrol the boarders. So, she was left in the cabin with her chained elf companion as she contemplated chucking the bowl of water she was using out the window. Half of her wings were clean... but the other half she just couldn't quite reach no matter how much she maneuvered them. It was after she uttered probably the twentieth curse that she heard Glorfindel clear his throat.
"Elenya... I could uh... assist?" He seemed to speak with half a question in his voice.
Evelyn looked him over and was once again amazed by how at ease he seemed. There he was, sitting with a metal collar around his throat, a chain linking him to a tiny cell... and yet he could still smile as if the entire world was filled with nothing but sunshine.
She weighed out her options carefully. Nightshade would likely scold her when she got back for getting so close to the elf... but really what could he do? If he decided to strangle her, then he would still be chained up and would slowly die of starvation... if Nightshade didn't slaughter him first.
Plus, I don't think he could do that, a small part of Evelyn's voice whispered.
Making up her mind, Evelyn decided that the wings were annoying her enough to risk it... Just because of the itching, she told herself. Thus, she wordlessly picked up the bowl of water and cloth, carrying them over the Glorfindel. After placing them on the ground beside him, she slowly turned her back and unfolded her wings, allowing him access to the tangled feathers.
Evelyn couldn't help but startle at his first touch, but he was merely pushing her hair to the side. He then began to slowly run his fingers through her feathers and she had to consciously resist the urge to sigh in relief as his surprisingly warm and gentles hands delicately untangled the plumage. He then carefully wiped the small section with the cloth asking gently,
"Did that work?"
"Yes," she replied, her hands now fidgeting absent mindedly in front of her. He worked in silence for a little while longer, the only sounds being the birds outside who Evelyn occasionally answered. She found herself slowly relaxing, the tension draining from her spine as Glorfindel's hands worked gently through her feathers. It was like the most gentle and yet best massage in the world. She could see the way his strong, warm fingers wove through her feathers, straighten them out and scraping away and dirt or oil stuck in between them.
"Would you mind if I asked you a question?" Glorfindel asked, forcing Evelyn to blink awake from her half conscious state.
"You may ask... though I may not answer," she replied.
"That sounds fair," Glorfindel hesitated for a moment more as he struggled with a particularly knotted mass of feathers. "Why do you use a fake name? Why refuse to give your true name?"
Evelyn mulled over his question and found herself chuckling a little bit when she realized how foolish her answer sounded. It wouldn't be harmful to give though.
"In all honesty... it stated as an accident," she began her story. "This comes back to my Grandfather... he used to always tell tales of the Fay... beautiful, powerful, and tricky creatures with some benevolent, some malevolent. There are many rules around how one interacts with Fay... mind you they don't actually exist where I come from, but as I've said before... my Grandpa believed in them. Anyway... one rule that he drilled into my head, over and over again... was 'never reveal your true name to the Fay... it gives them power over you.' He used to claim that the Fay knew secrets about every human who walked the earth, and all they needed was your name to wield those secrets. He'd tell me 'your name is a secrete girl... guard it from the Fay.'" she paused to chuckle again. It was all a bit ridiculous really.
"So you think the Eldar are Fay?" Glorfindel sounded genuinely puzzled.
"No... not quite. We all have ways of coping and mine became my Grandpa's old fairy tails. I told them to myself for quite a while to stay sane. When I first arrived in this world, I likened elves to something like the seelie or 'good' Fay. I know you're not... but that's what my mind sort of latched onto. But then," her voice grew a bit soft as the less pleasant part of her story unfolded. "No one bothered to ask my name... and soon I felt like the elves could only be the unseelie... the dark Fay who deceive others, who betray those who they call friend, and who are fair of face though foul of heart. "
There was an audible pause highlighted by the still singing birds.
"So you remain reluctant to reveal your name... because you fear it'll be used to control you?" Glorfindel asked. His voice wavered in his words and Evelyn resisted the urge to turn and look at him over her shoulder.
"It's become habit at this point... It wouldn't feel right to hear my real name." Evelyn's hands strayed to the edge of her shirt. She was still unbelievably relaxed with Glorfindel picking his way through her feathers. "My 'real' name is my old name, it belonged to the old me who died in a cell in Mirkwood years ago. I'm Raven now... I'm not who I was, and I can't go back."
"To me... you'll always be Elenya."
After the Lords left, Dammorian covered the armor back up with the sheet. He was about to leave the room, when he paused. Something was pulling him back. He wasn't sure what, but it was as if something was tugging at him... urging him to return to the room, and so he did. Once there, he allowed instinct to guide him over to a small bundle in the corner, also covered in a sheet. He pulled it off to reveal a half finished piece.
There, sitting in a sad heap was a knocked over model of a wolf the size of a small horse. The half-finished armor that had once been set on it was laid out on the floor where it fell. The pieces that were completed were beautiful, designed to match the other set as it consisted of blackened, mithril lined steal designed for protection without hindering the wearer's agility with unnecessary weight.
Glorfindel had it commissioned alongside the full armor set... but a few days before his most recent disappearance, he had stormed into Dammorian's workshop. Dammorian honestly couldn't tell what emotion Glorfindel was feeling at the moment for he was filled with enough sorrow for tears to leak from his eyes and enough rage for him to kick over the wolf model holding the incomplete armor. He knocked it over in a fury before telling Dammorian to "forget about it" and proclaiming that it "had no purpose anymore."
Dammorian didn't have the heart to destroy the beautiful pieces, but he had no reason to continue working on them so they sat abandoned. But now, something, that same feeling that had urged him to linger in the room now urged him to continue working on the armor. It was the type of urge that felt so pure.. it could only come from one source.
Dammorian was many things... but disobedient to the Valar he was not.
Thus, he lit his forge... he had an armor set to finish.