Aniron
by Timeless
Chapter One: Lothlórien
Alantië looked up from her weaving to see the Lady Galadriel enter the room. There were similarities between the two: both had the long golden hair of most elves, both carried themselves with the grace born of their people and they were both beautiful, but while Galadriel's beauty was like that of the moon, cold and untouchable, Alantië's was the beauty of a new dawn and of sunlight glittering of the waters of a babbling stream. Alantië watched the Lady glide across the floor to where Alantië was sitting beside her loom. Galadriel examined the work.
"That is a fine piece of craftelveship Alantië," she said. "You have much improved since you first touched a loom."
Alantië laughed. "My Lady, I would be hard pressed to do worse! My work is still but a sapling to the mallorn tree of the fine weavings of the other ladies in Lórien!"
Galadriel smiled. Alantië was one of the few Elves in Lórien who spoke to her with anything other than awed reverence. "Aye, a sapling, but ever growing and blossoming. But I did not come here only to compliment your work, Alantië," she said, and her voice became more serious. "My scouts have spotted the Company of which I have formerly spoken."
A brief flicker of apprehension crossed Alantië's eyes for a moment. She drew a deep breath. "Then it is time?"
"It is." The Lady kept her voice grave. "If you are ready, your garments hang in your closet. But, Alantië -" she said, " - if you do not wish to partake upon this quest, I shall hold you blameless, and only the coldest of men and Elves would find it in their hearts to scorn you."
"Only those men and Elves - and myself," said Alantië. She drew a deep breath, and Galadriel knew that it was costing her every ounce of bravery she possessed to say her next words. "I am ready."
The Lady of the Golden Wood bent, and placed a kiss upon her student's brow. "You will find your courage.
~*~
When the Lady had left, Alantië sank onto her bed. She had been preparing for this moment for days, but now it had come, and she was afraid. She remembered the day when Galadriel had first revealed the plan to her. It had seemed so simple then. The plan was perfect - Alantië would join the Grey Company disguised as a boy, under the name of Alandur. She would travel with them and use the skills that Galadriel had taught her to aid them. What would happen, neither she nor the Lady knew. Now her task was about to become reality, it seemed enormous, and impossible. And not only was there the immense task to perform, she must also overcome her fears of the past.
A sudden wave of self-disgust hit her. She had promised Galadriel, and Galadriel had given her new life when she had come to Lórien. The least, indeed the only thing she could do to repay her kindness was to embark upon this quest, and devote herself to its fulfilling.
Resolved, Alantië walked over to her closet and opened the door. There was her outfit, or rather Alandur's outfit. It consisted of hardy dark brown trousers and a tunic of the same material, this time in dark grey, that reached to just above her knees, and was to be tied by a leather cord. In addition to these, her boots and a cloak of dark green Lórien silk, was a bodice designed to bind her chest and disguise her femininity. It was bound with a cord of silver Lórien silk, and Galadriel had spoken words of power over it, so that none, save Alantië and her true love, could untie it. For there are few pieces of Elven magic that cannot be broken by the power of love. The rest of Alantië's clothes were designed loosely, also to disguise her feminine shape, and there were also gloves to hide her delicate hands.
Alantië donned her outfit, to accustom herself to the feel of it. The rough cloth felt odd against her inner legs, for she was used to dresses. She was loath to cut her long golden tresses, and so bound them into a tight braid that fell behind her back. She put her hood up and examined herself critically in the full length mirror that hung on her wall. If anyone knew she was female, she would be quite easily recognisable, but Galadriel had ensured that none save herself and Celeborn knew of the plan. The rest of the forest believed that Alantië had left a few days ago to visit Mirkwood. Since then she had stayed in her room, and the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien had personally brought her food.
Just then, a knock came at the door. Alantië opened it, and there stood the Lady Galadriel. She regarded Alantië before speaking.
"Well, the disguise will certainly be effective to those who do not know of your true identity." She walked into the room, and Alantië shut the door. She spoke, trying to imitate a man's deep voice. "But will it be convincing enough to fool the Fellowship? Mithrandir is one of the Wise, and Aragorn is the Heir of Isildur. There is also an Elf in the Company - will they not see through my disguise?"
"They may." And now Galadriel's voice became more solemn. "But I fear some great evil may have happened to Mithrandir."
Alantië gasped and covered her mouth with a hand. "My Lady, surely not!"
"My heart greatly yearns that I am mistaken, but alas! my mirror rarely deceives me."
She forced a smile. "Now I suggest you work on your voice. You must not speak in your natural way lest you reveal yourself before it is time, so you must make men's speech as your own, and not relapse when startled."
Alantië nodded.
"I perceive that the Company will arrive around dawn tomorrow. Either I or my Lord will fetch you when the time has come. Until then, as always, remain in this room."
Alantië bowed. When she looked up, the Lady was gone.
~*~
The following morning, Alantië awoke and dressed in her travelling clothes. Her heart was beating faster than normal, with fear not only at the quest that was to come, full of unpredictable danger, but also at the prospect of venturing into the outside world again. She had not set foot outside Lothlórien since . . . /it/ had happened. What if it happened again? But the men of the Fellowship were brave and honourable, she reminded herself, and unlikely to do such a thing as she feared they might.
For the next few hours, she practised speaking like a man, until a knock came at the door. When she opened it, there stood Celeborn, the Lord of Lothlórien. He was no taller than his wife, and his hair was almost as long as hers, but both it and his beard were the pale silver of mithril. He stared at her for a moment before recognising her. "Ah, Alantië. That certainly is an effective disguise
Alantië bowed. "Thank you, my Lord," she replied in her male voice.
"The Fellowship have arrived, and my Lady and I are preparing to meet with them. It pleases us that you should make your way to the foot of the Great Tree of Cerin Amroth, so it will seem that you are among the other Elf Lords dwelling here."
"It shall be as my Lord pleases." Alantië had always been more reverential to Celeborn than Galadriel, for she was still uneasy in the presence of men of power.
The Lord of the Golden Wood left, and Alantië prepared herself. No weapon had been given to her, but she trusted that the Lady would provide in her own way. Secretly, Alantië was glad that she would not have to handle a weapon, for although she was well-trained in the fighting arts, she was loath to kill more than was absolutely necessary. She felt better suited to the life of a healer, being well trained by Galadriel and her assistants in herblore, and magic. Of course, these skills could be used to destroy life as well as preserve it, but Alantië had vowed to herself that she would never kill again unless there was no other option. She shuddered as she remembered the last man she had killed. That had been after . . . the event. Involuntarily, she found herself recalling the vision of the man, his head lolling to the side, his clothes soaked with blood, both his own, and hers, her knife in his stomach and his eyes wide open and glazed over in the paralysis of death . . .
Alantië banished the thought from her mind, and headed towards Cerin Amroth, the great wooded hill in the centre of Lothlórien. She followed a little-used route, to avoid being seen by others, who would no-doubt wonder about the sight of a strange man walking purposefully towards Cerin Amroth, his hood pulled over his face to hide his countenance.
by Timeless
Chapter One: Lothlórien
Alantië looked up from her weaving to see the Lady Galadriel enter the room. There were similarities between the two: both had the long golden hair of most elves, both carried themselves with the grace born of their people and they were both beautiful, but while Galadriel's beauty was like that of the moon, cold and untouchable, Alantië's was the beauty of a new dawn and of sunlight glittering of the waters of a babbling stream. Alantië watched the Lady glide across the floor to where Alantië was sitting beside her loom. Galadriel examined the work.
"That is a fine piece of craftelveship Alantië," she said. "You have much improved since you first touched a loom."
Alantië laughed. "My Lady, I would be hard pressed to do worse! My work is still but a sapling to the mallorn tree of the fine weavings of the other ladies in Lórien!"
Galadriel smiled. Alantië was one of the few Elves in Lórien who spoke to her with anything other than awed reverence. "Aye, a sapling, but ever growing and blossoming. But I did not come here only to compliment your work, Alantië," she said, and her voice became more serious. "My scouts have spotted the Company of which I have formerly spoken."
A brief flicker of apprehension crossed Alantië's eyes for a moment. She drew a deep breath. "Then it is time?"
"It is." The Lady kept her voice grave. "If you are ready, your garments hang in your closet. But, Alantië -" she said, " - if you do not wish to partake upon this quest, I shall hold you blameless, and only the coldest of men and Elves would find it in their hearts to scorn you."
"Only those men and Elves - and myself," said Alantië. She drew a deep breath, and Galadriel knew that it was costing her every ounce of bravery she possessed to say her next words. "I am ready."
The Lady of the Golden Wood bent, and placed a kiss upon her student's brow. "You will find your courage.
~*~
When the Lady had left, Alantië sank onto her bed. She had been preparing for this moment for days, but now it had come, and she was afraid. She remembered the day when Galadriel had first revealed the plan to her. It had seemed so simple then. The plan was perfect - Alantië would join the Grey Company disguised as a boy, under the name of Alandur. She would travel with them and use the skills that Galadriel had taught her to aid them. What would happen, neither she nor the Lady knew. Now her task was about to become reality, it seemed enormous, and impossible. And not only was there the immense task to perform, she must also overcome her fears of the past.
A sudden wave of self-disgust hit her. She had promised Galadriel, and Galadriel had given her new life when she had come to Lórien. The least, indeed the only thing she could do to repay her kindness was to embark upon this quest, and devote herself to its fulfilling.
Resolved, Alantië walked over to her closet and opened the door. There was her outfit, or rather Alandur's outfit. It consisted of hardy dark brown trousers and a tunic of the same material, this time in dark grey, that reached to just above her knees, and was to be tied by a leather cord. In addition to these, her boots and a cloak of dark green Lórien silk, was a bodice designed to bind her chest and disguise her femininity. It was bound with a cord of silver Lórien silk, and Galadriel had spoken words of power over it, so that none, save Alantië and her true love, could untie it. For there are few pieces of Elven magic that cannot be broken by the power of love. The rest of Alantië's clothes were designed loosely, also to disguise her feminine shape, and there were also gloves to hide her delicate hands.
Alantië donned her outfit, to accustom herself to the feel of it. The rough cloth felt odd against her inner legs, for she was used to dresses. She was loath to cut her long golden tresses, and so bound them into a tight braid that fell behind her back. She put her hood up and examined herself critically in the full length mirror that hung on her wall. If anyone knew she was female, she would be quite easily recognisable, but Galadriel had ensured that none save herself and Celeborn knew of the plan. The rest of the forest believed that Alantië had left a few days ago to visit Mirkwood. Since then she had stayed in her room, and the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien had personally brought her food.
Just then, a knock came at the door. Alantië opened it, and there stood the Lady Galadriel. She regarded Alantië before speaking.
"Well, the disguise will certainly be effective to those who do not know of your true identity." She walked into the room, and Alantië shut the door. She spoke, trying to imitate a man's deep voice. "But will it be convincing enough to fool the Fellowship? Mithrandir is one of the Wise, and Aragorn is the Heir of Isildur. There is also an Elf in the Company - will they not see through my disguise?"
"They may." And now Galadriel's voice became more solemn. "But I fear some great evil may have happened to Mithrandir."
Alantië gasped and covered her mouth with a hand. "My Lady, surely not!"
"My heart greatly yearns that I am mistaken, but alas! my mirror rarely deceives me."
She forced a smile. "Now I suggest you work on your voice. You must not speak in your natural way lest you reveal yourself before it is time, so you must make men's speech as your own, and not relapse when startled."
Alantië nodded.
"I perceive that the Company will arrive around dawn tomorrow. Either I or my Lord will fetch you when the time has come. Until then, as always, remain in this room."
Alantië bowed. When she looked up, the Lady was gone.
~*~
The following morning, Alantië awoke and dressed in her travelling clothes. Her heart was beating faster than normal, with fear not only at the quest that was to come, full of unpredictable danger, but also at the prospect of venturing into the outside world again. She had not set foot outside Lothlórien since . . . /it/ had happened. What if it happened again? But the men of the Fellowship were brave and honourable, she reminded herself, and unlikely to do such a thing as she feared they might.
For the next few hours, she practised speaking like a man, until a knock came at the door. When she opened it, there stood Celeborn, the Lord of Lothlórien. He was no taller than his wife, and his hair was almost as long as hers, but both it and his beard were the pale silver of mithril. He stared at her for a moment before recognising her. "Ah, Alantië. That certainly is an effective disguise
Alantië bowed. "Thank you, my Lord," she replied in her male voice.
"The Fellowship have arrived, and my Lady and I are preparing to meet with them. It pleases us that you should make your way to the foot of the Great Tree of Cerin Amroth, so it will seem that you are among the other Elf Lords dwelling here."
"It shall be as my Lord pleases." Alantië had always been more reverential to Celeborn than Galadriel, for she was still uneasy in the presence of men of power.
The Lord of the Golden Wood left, and Alantië prepared herself. No weapon had been given to her, but she trusted that the Lady would provide in her own way. Secretly, Alantië was glad that she would not have to handle a weapon, for although she was well-trained in the fighting arts, she was loath to kill more than was absolutely necessary. She felt better suited to the life of a healer, being well trained by Galadriel and her assistants in herblore, and magic. Of course, these skills could be used to destroy life as well as preserve it, but Alantië had vowed to herself that she would never kill again unless there was no other option. She shuddered as she remembered the last man she had killed. That had been after . . . the event. Involuntarily, she found herself recalling the vision of the man, his head lolling to the side, his clothes soaked with blood, both his own, and hers, her knife in his stomach and his eyes wide open and glazed over in the paralysis of death . . .
Alantië banished the thought from her mind, and headed towards Cerin Amroth, the great wooded hill in the centre of Lothlórien. She followed a little-used route, to avoid being seen by others, who would no-doubt wonder about the sight of a strange man walking purposefully towards Cerin Amroth, his hood pulled over his face to hide his countenance.