RubiesandFire2

Ok, here's chapter 2! The plot thickens. Thank you very much to all those people who reviewed the first chapter. I really appreciate the encouragement and I really need it since this is going to become quite a long story. Now, the usual disclaimer: All these characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. Only two are mine and one of them won't appear until the next chapter at least. So, enjoy!

Rubies and Fire

Tall, majestic, Elrond and Glorfindel swept silently along the corridors like luminous wraiths until they came to the Rooms of Healing. Elrond hesitated with his hand upon the door, steeling himself for what he knew was behind it.

There are elves here who looked to me for help. What did I give them? Nothing. There are elves here who love and trust me, who obey me without question. They would do anything for me. And what have I given them in return? Nothing. I cannot even release them from fatigue with the light of day when it comes and claims them in the night.

This elf lord of divine ancestry, with the blood of all the elf and human kindreds flowing through his veins, very nearly withered under the gray cord of futility that tightened around his heart. When a hand clasped his and held it tightly, Elrond looked into the face of Glorfindel. They spoke no words, but both knew what the other felt. Elrond found the strength he needed in the ivy green eyes of his closest friend. Slowly, he pushed open the door and they stepped together across the threshold.

The Rooms of Healing held a cocoon-like atmosphere. Silence hung in the air like drapes of Spanish moss. There were windows, but all were heavily shaded. In former times the sun used to stream in through them, gently nudging exhausted or sick travelers out of their slumber. Now, the only light came from dim, sparsely placed lanterns.

Somberly as mourners in the rain, Elrond and Glorfindel slipped past the alcoves which held sleeping elves on soft mattresses- elves that seemed to sleep the sleep of the dead. Never moving, pale as if carved up from the very stone floor of the room, they lay. All were perfect, smooth, marble figures. Perfect and smooth except for the barely discernable pin-prick wounds on each elven throat.

A caretaker appeared. She led the elf lord and his companion to the back of the room, where the most recent sufferer lay. It was hardly necessary. From miles away on a moonless night Elrond would have known the still body before him for Narwen, the fire-maiden.

"Her name is Narwen, my lord," the caretaker murmured in a low voice.

"Yes, I've been told who she is. Amazing. Never was elf or mortal so aptly named."

It was true. The figure on the bed was rather plain by elf standards and small as well. But, fire-maiden was her name, and she bore it well; for her hair was of a color never seen before or since among the race of elves. With all the bright furor of molten rock it spilled across her chest, along the ravines of her shape to her white ankles. Orange-red, indeed, as flames the gently waved cascade illuminated the soft darkness around Narwen. Every hair on her small body was of the same color, even her fine eyelashes and eyebrows. Across her skin and on her glorious hair, this elf's own luminescence teased the shadows in an incendiary dance. She burned the sight of those who looked too long.

Elrond stared, forgetting to breathe so hypnotized and mystified was he.

"My lord," the caretaker politely broke the trance. Elrond blinked and turned away from the bed, still seeing the fire-maiden's incandescent form burning before his eyes.

"Tell me, why have I not seen her before? I know every guest under my roof, but she is a stranger to me." The caretaker seemed a bit thrown off by such an unexpected line of questioning.

"Well, master Elrond, she only arrived here last week and had not been brought before you."

"Still, why have I never come across her in the hallways or anywhere at all in this house?"

"I don't know very much about her, no one does apparently. From what I can gather, she's a bit reclusive. I think she has spent most of her time in her room with various books from the library."

"Oh. Was she travelling with a party?"

"No, lord."

"She came here alone?"

"Yes. It's quite unusual considering how young she is, barely 400. I think she's an orphan. I heard someone talking about it when she was first brought to the Rooms of Healing."

Elrond stood silently for a full minute, considering this new information. Then, he bent over the prone, fiery figure and turned her head gently. As expected, he found the two pin-prick marks on the left side of her neck. When Elrond drew back from Narwen he felt a silly impulse to look at his hands and make sure they hadn't blistered at the touch of this fire-maiden. Well, he had come, he had seen. She suffered the same as every other elf and there wasn't a damn thing Elrond could do about it. Just as he faced Glorfindel to say some words to that effect, the caretaker stopped him once again.

"Begging your pardon, my lord, but I think there's something you should know. I didn't notice it with the other elves because they weren't close enough to any windows. A tray I was carrying caught on the curtain yesterday while I tended to this girl here and, well, let me show you. You remarked the victims of this sickness demonstrate a sensitivity to light, yes?" Elrond confirmed what she said. "Very well. Watch."

With that, she lifted a lantern from its hook on the wall and brought it down so close to Narwen's face, Elrond was almost afraid it would burn the girl. The figure on the bed did not react despite the lamplight's strongest efforts to beguile her eyelids open. She remained still and impassive as a corpse.

"You see that?" the caretaker asked. "Nothing at all. Now watch what happens when I draw back the curtain." She did just that. A beam of sunlight momentarily blinded the small group after they'd been standing in darkness for so long. The white ray lit upon Narwen's brow. For a moment, there was absolute stillness. Then, her mute elf form sprang straight up with a scream like a rabbit caught in a snare. Writhing with pain she cringed into the shadows against the cool stone wall, desperately trying to escape the light. Quickly, the caretaker shaded the window. The clawing maid almost immediately fell prostrate on the bed, as unconscious as before.

Glorfindel shared a shocked glance with Elrond. Both felt their blood frozen by the anguished cry and their breath stolen by her pain. The caretaker's quiet voice broke upon them.

"You see, it's not just any light these afflicted elves are afraid of. Only sunlight causes them pain." Elrond nodded in comprehension, sincerely commended her for making such an important observation, then hurriedly left the Rooms of Healing.

He and Glorfindel both felt the eerie sensation of having alerted something, something they would have preferred to remain dormant. Both felt they were, from that moment, under the close scrutiny of some malevolent spirit.

When the two elves were once again in Elrond's private chamber, he confronted Glorfindel.

"My friend, would you say my judgement is hastily passed if I tell you to go right now and prepare the Lady Arwen for her flight to the safety of Lothlorien?"

"Certainly not, Lord Elrond," Glorfindel whole-heartedly agreed.

"Good. You and whatever steadfast elves you choose shall accompany her journey. Go."

So Glorfindel departed, and Elrond felt relief come to him for the first time in many days. His daughter, the Evenstar of her people, as dear to him as Luthien to Thingol, would be safe from the ravages of this unspeakable malignancy that threatened the sanctuary of Imladris.