Twelve Songs In Rivendel.
An Elrond Romance
by The Fox.
Chapter Five
From Rohan
A Moment's Memory.
Early Winter
The wind had become cold, even if the mornings were still bright with the silver sun of
winter. Swift white clouds like doves crossed the sky over Rivendel quickly, dancing into embraces
into the Misty Mountains peak, covering the Hidden Valley with a warm blanket of white and gray in
the afternoons, through which the sun had to peek to gave them marvelous afternoons of cherry and
water. And Elrond had wandered, lost in his thoughts, enveloped in his warm deep red mantle,
walking alone to the folds of Bruinen, his reflection blood in the water as he looked to the immense
white sky and thought in the sunset.
Mithrandir has came and go, and he would come back again.
The autumn of preparation, the winter of tragedy was already starting. And Galadriel said it was
time. Time.
Now or never, in Mithrandir's words, a firm, strong kick into the bee hive. And then, we will
run for cover.
If the wisdom of elves is an instinct that doesn't stops shouting, maybe the real wisdom is to
comply, Elrond thought with a smile. He stood in a tall rock dominating the Bruinen, the water
flowing gently at his feet, clear and silver under the white sky. But Elrond frowned, staring over the
river, and the water flowed more and more violently, till became a waterfall of snow, exploding and
bubbling, hearing the call of their master. It become a glistening wall between Rivendel and the
darkness looming in the East, and the hand of its Lord rose, shining blue, the water following its
movement as a loyal son.
It was time: it is feel in water, the light, and the wind itself. And Elrond, master of the Ring of Air,
stood defiantly, his elven gaze piercing the horizon over the misty mountains protecting Rivendel,
right into the darkness where the enemy recoiled at the threat. The wind blew around him, showing
his support, whirling his mantle and his long black hair into tendrils of shadow. He stood there, elven
poetry of defiance and power, strong enough to keep his proud head up under the storm. He could
have been a statue for his quietness and his beauty, but for the glint in his eyes of silver, eyes that
was very much alive, where intelligence and will blazed like light. The circlet shone as a blue star.
We are ready. And we, the Elven Lords, would buy a little more time from you, Sauron, Lord
of Total Evil, with all the power we have left. And we will give time to the Third Age to
prepare your downfall, before it dies and wipe us, and our very memory too, from Arda.
We are ready.
The wind blew gently, taking with him the second where Elrond looked a high Elven king, all
powerful and legendary, pointing a finger to the darkness recoiling and groveling at his feet. And he
became again a slender elf, enveloped in a thick mantle against the cold, his gaze gentle and tired.
The Bruinen at his feet rested again, kind as a mantle of warm, liquid clouds. And Elrond was
stepping down the rock, as the sun went down too, when he heard it: a horse, crossing the water. He
walked to the riverbank, covered in tiny blue and gray rocks, and waited there. He smiled at the
sight of Arien, hood threw back, long hair swirling behind her like a mantle, eyes alive and twinkling,
crossing the River as quick as she could, Elfaroth honoring his name, the black horse exploding the
water into snow-like foam as he galloped securely, swiftly.
She saw him, and smiled, her horse making a tiny circling to avoid splashing the Lord. She jumped
from the saddle, and bowed, thick clothes enveloping her form, leather black trousers, a very heavy
leather and iron chainmail, and a long, glistening leather cloak hanging with a silver chain from her
neck. Over all that black her hair shone as the dying sun in the blackness.
- Good afternoon, my Lord.- she said, shining pale eyes into his.- I am so happy to be back into the
fair Rivendel.-
- And Rivendel opens arms to you, dear Arien.- Elrond said kindly, joining action to thought, and
enveloping the young messenger in his arms, against his scented mantle. Arien looked surprised, but
delighted, and smiled brightly at the warm welcome, leaving her hands in Elrond's, watching his
smile with wide eyes.
- How are you, Arien? Is everything fine?-
Her mood grew somber, but she spoke softly.
- I have so much to tell you, my Lord.-
- So we'll hurry. If you let me ride with you your marvelous stallion, that's it.- he said, walking to the
horse, who waited calmly, and let him touch his proud, arched neck. It was black as midnight, tall
and strong, and it looked fresh, even after the ride, and being heavily charged. He kicked the ground,
impatient, and looked to his master, whom was nodding, a flush in her cheeks.
- Of course, my Lord. It would be…- Elrond jumped to the saddle with agile grace .- …an honor?-
she blinked.
- Don't worry, Arien, I know how to ride, I taught Arwen and the boys myself. Did you think I went
to the Last alliance Battle in carriage?- he said, a smile in his features. In fact, it has been some
years since the last time he had a stallion between his legs, feeling the powerful muscles of the noble
beast as his. But with that it came the memories of wild rides with his lost brother, the laugh of
Feanor's sons, the wind in his hair as he ride with Gil Galad and Elendil. And then the earlier years
of Rivendel where young Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir enjoyed the sun of the autumn of elves under
his attentive look.
Years passing by…
Elrond didn't know, but the mist of memory had given him a beauty that mere mortals never found.
And he wasn't aware, either, of the sublime adoration in Arien's eyes, as she waited, standing by
the horse. She was staring as she had seen Elrond's mask slip, showing where the ancient elven
king has been now a young powerful warrior and rider with Human blood in his veins, all passionate,
all fresh and alive. Elrond looked at her, and smiled, and suddenly extended a hand and an arm that
were too strong for his slenderness, to hook hers and lift her into the saddle. She fell nested between
his thighs, and he called at the horse and ride to the Last Homely House at full speed. It were wise
hands letting the reins almost loose, strong spine arched into the galloping, brilliant eyes full of light
and laugh as they crossed the wind that called him his Master. Arien was there, quiet and
speechless, her eyes wide and her mouth parted, too stunned to talk, too stunned to even breath, as
she was carried back the Home by a Human prince born in the storm. The black cloak and the red
mantle were free in the brisk wind of winter, and red gold and black mixed too in their hair, as
Elfaroth, guided by expert hands that called this land his, rode away the fields, never doubting, never
stopping. The wild ride only relented at the archways of the house, as the night started to fall.
- My Lord…- she said, as he let Elfaroth enter with a light step to the stone patio.
- My thanks for this pleasure, my dear Arien.- he smiled, coming to a halt, and dismounting with a
flourish of pale tunic and mantle. It was a flush in his cheeks, a glint she was sure never have seen,
or even imagined, in the usually stoic face of the Lord If Imladris.- It was the most refreshing thing
I've had in years. Please, follow me into the house. you need to rest and eat, and we need to talk.-
She dismounted too, still staring. Elrond was walking, more quickly that it was his usual demeanor,
inside the house, and his voice was louder and more lively. And suddenly, Arien knew what were in
those eyes, and smiled. It was the wind. Wind that usually, always was a gentle breeze, now had
came to life briefly, into a shining, fresh, warm gentle rainstorm over cold earth.
- If Gondor lent stallions like that to his messengers, no doubt Lord Denethor must be the most
quickly informed lord in the West.-
Arien shook her head, as Elrond left her in the stairwell that conduced to the room they had called
hers everytime she had came.- No, it isn't a Gondor horse, we have few ones. But my old horse
was shoot by the Orcs last years in defense of Rohan and Isengard, and the White Lord has the
gentleness to gift me this by change, with the King of Rohan's acquiescence. I'm coming back from
that very lands now, my Lord.-
Elrond eyes dimmed, and his smile vanished hearing those names, and Arien cursed herself. Then
Elrond smiled again, but he was again the Lord Of Imladris, tall and gentle, and faraway.
- Go and refresh yourself, my lady. We'll see at dinner, and then we could discuss the matters at
hand. And then, if you want, can use my library all the time you may wish.-
- So Saruman would join our forces. That is good.- Elrond rolled the parchment again, pensively,
between his long fingers. Arien, very tall and straight stood in the front of his desk, having delivered
the letters from Isengard, Moria and Minas Tirith she had to. She was wearing her uniform black
robes, and her hair was up into a brilliant brass helmet, her hands behind her back as she stood
patiently. Elrond rested his chin in his folded hands, eyeing Arien, the roll still lazily between his
fingers.
- Did he gave you any spoken message?-
- Yes, my Lord. In fact, he entrusted me the whole planning of his actions, to deliver it to you and
Mithrandir.-
Elrond eyed her, unbelieving.
- Are you serious?-
- Yes. He said it wouldn't be wise to rejoin the Council now: it would be too obvious. He gave a lot
of suggestions for you, anyway.-
- Why he trusted in you for this?- it was rougher he meant too, and he extended a hand to apology
himself. But she looked down, and then smiled.
- I asked him the same.-
- And?-
- The exact words it were " because only you can cope with that arrogant Peredhil boy"-
Elrond sputtered as Arien examined her nails.
- Anyway.- he crossed his arms, trying to recuperate the serious mood.- What are, exactly, his
ideas?-
Arien, after a questioning look, and Elrond's nod, took a piece of parchment and a quill, wet with
blue ink. Swiftly, and with notable skill, he drew with quick and sure traces the Valley of Rivendel,
Moria, Fornost, Isengard, Lorien, the Misty Mountains, Dol Guldor and Mirkwood's West.
- The orcs and beasts must be contained in his flood when Dol Guldor fell, and for that the Dunedain
and Thranduil's people surely could do. But to chase away the shadow, he asked me to give you a
cryptic message.-
Great.
- Call the air from Elenna
Call the water from the wind
Where the fire explodes the door
White would stand the gray.-
Elrond's gaze hardened. Oh, arrogant white bastard.
- Tell him I understand the message quite well.- he said, his voice hard. Arien stared at him, and
then walked to a bookcase, to give him time to think.
It was a long silence, as Elrond scribbled some notes. And then, he sighed.
Like head of the White Council, we must follow his plan, and he prevented our opposition
simply wasting our time and forbidding us to reunite. And now, the old fox…
How he did know? Not even Mithrandir…
- Did him asked you to return with the message?-
- No. He was sure you would accept, my lord.-
Istaris. Sure and ball-picking as hell. Ooh, WHY didn't I listened Galadriel and made
Mithrandir the leader of the Council? Saruman is SO easy to get into my nerves.
Breathe, Peredhil.
Breath.
Arrogant_fucking_Istari.
Breath.
Elven Control, as Maglor used to say.
You're the wise elf, Lord of Rivendel. You can't go giving spectacles of yourself. Think in
Arwen and the boys, how they would laugh till get elven apoplexies.
-… And he asked me to stay here, to help you to plan and keep track of your actions.- Arien ended
nonchalantly.
- WHAT??- Elrond positively bellowed. Non even Gil Galad had made him get into such a state. It
was a good howl, anyway, for somebody who hadn't gave into one in centuries. It was the kind of
shriek that made glasses crac, windows tremble and cats run away.
And people cringe. Arien flattened herself in the chair, as Elrond loomed ominously over her across
his desk, his eyes burning and wide in anger, his hair falling in her direction.
- …Mmh … and if we call me an observer?- she sunk even more in the chair, Elrond's eyes
glinting dangerously, blue in the deepness of silver.- … servant….? … letter-boy…?-
Her plaintive tone made Elrond falter, and then laugh so hard his eyes misted, stumbling back into his
chair.
Damn sneaky Istari. He knows well I symphaty with her, and I can't help it…
Thanks Elbereth he didn't sent her with Thranduil. He would have choked her and her
remarks.
- Father?- Arwen must have heard the roar.- Is everything fine?- she asked gently, exchanging a
glance to the Gondor Lady, that smiled at her.
Wouldn't I surprised if they are placing betsg in my anger.
- Could you please fetch wine for us, Arwen?-he said, voice calm, but just lightly strained.- It's going
to be a long night.-
It was dawn when the whole plans where done. Saruman had asked for the power to of The Three
to back up his and Mithrandir's already impressive power, to chase away the shadow. Galadriel, in
the most sacred place of Lorien would call the Water: Mithrandir would call at the Fire in the doors
of Dol Guldor, and Saruman's magic would back up Mithrandir. At the same time, Saruman's
responsibility would be closing from Isengard the way to the old lands of Morgoth, forcing the
Shadow to flee.
And Elrond, from the Misty Mountains peak, from the Silver Celebdil, would call at the air, at the old
magic that with the water and fire would drive the Shadow away…
- Into the Celebdil? Is there such a way?- had asked Arien, incredulous.
- Yes, it his. The dwarves of Moria, in the years of Lindon, made it for me.- Elrond said, tired,
leaning in a window where the first sunrays could be seen. He had long ago shed his robes to stay in
nothing but tunic and trousers, and had left his circlet in a nearby table, the hair now dark and wild
like an expensive scarf. Arien had let her hair down too, and her fingertips were covered with ink
from too many designs.
Someone, awake in the dawn, maybe Glorfindel, or Finnvanna, or even Arwen, played softly an old
song.
A Moment's Memory.
- It was an observatory. From there, in the clear night, you could see the lights from Oesternesse,
Númenor of the songs. I got it done when Elros went away, as he did the Meneltarma. It was called
just like Númenor was called in that day: Elenna. To the stars.-
- Why…- a long silence. Elrond looked to Arien, her eyes frowning, her lips closed as she had
blurted something she hadn't intended.
- What?-
- I'm sorry, my Lord, I just…-
- Tell me, Arien.-
- Why would a Peredhil turn down the offering of the Twilight, for a mortal life, even as a King of
Men?-
Elrond turned. The rays of infant son framed him, and his night hair shadowed his face. But his eyes
where in Arien's young face, tilted to him.
Like the answer was life or death to her… Why does she care? What is it to her?
- I don't know what to say to you, Arien. I never understood it myself. But I can only repeat the
words he told me, after hearing my choice.- Elrond closed his eyes, to said words that he
remembered all to well. Words that had danced into his head, and would torment him till his way to
Mandos.
- My blood can be mixed, but my heart is not. I know where I belong, and I could not betray
my heart's direction.-
Her eyes filled with tears.
What…?
A blink, and it was gone.
- I'm sorry my Lord, to have asked it. It was obviously a very painful memory for you.- she avoided
his eyes, standing, her fingers idly recapping the inkpot. It was a long silence, and then the sun
streaked the window as a powerful mantle of white. Elrond stepped from the window, and sat again,
recollecting the parchments.
- Why?- he said slowly.
- What?- she looked back to him, handing him the still virgin parchments.
- Why a lady like you, a Gondor Lady, does this?- Elrond smiled, even if his eyes looked more tired
that ever.- It's your time to answer, my dear.-
She smiled at him, a shy smile, as outside it were still sounding the soft chords of that old song. It
was rumored to be a "starlit" song, a song before Sun and Moon, from the days without sun when
Olwe and his people waited long time near the shores, calling themselves the forgotten people. How
they dreamt with the Promised Shore…
It was old and ancient, and it seemed to fill the rhythm in Arien's talking voice perfectly.
- I born in beautiful Ithilien, many years ago.- she said, her voice a whisper.- And it was a mystery
in my bloodline I tried to discover. I am the last one of my family, and I took my father's job as a
messenger. Anyway, I… prefer to not stay too much time in any place.-
- Why?- Elrond's was truly interested, his chin in his hands, his eyes tired but very focused.- Never
though of settle down with a family?-
Her laugh was sad, a bit ironic.- No, my lord, I couldn't.-
- Why?- he insisted.
She slowly took something from her neck. It was a gem: a ruby pendant, perfectly round, incredibly
shining, red, with a touch of orange in his center. It was soft at touch, and Elrond knew it must have
been a very ancient relic to get this soft.
- It comes from your family?-
She seemed to think a while. Then , her eyes grew veiled, and Elrond had that odd feeling of old in
her gaze. A glint.
Metal glint in pale blue eyes.
- Your turn, my lord.-
- What do you want to know?- Elrond smiled. He could enjoy filling her asking for knowledge: it was
academically rewarding. A pleasure.
- Can you talk me about the fall of Gondolin, and Idril Celebrindal, my Lord?-
He blinked. Why she jumped like that from personal themes to her hobbies of old Elven story? But
anyway, he could easily answer this: it was a story he knew by heart. As he talked, she wandered
the room, to stare at the sun, turning her hair to bright gold.
- Gondolin it was the kingdom of Turgon, a hidden valley in the mountains. She was the High King of
Elves, and he only had a daughter, Idril Celebrindal. He was kind and powerful, and he took in
Maeglin, the son of his murdered sister lady Aredhel and his assassin Eol, the Dark Elf. But he
betrayed his trust in desire for Idril, who had fell in love with Tuor, the Ulmo messenger, a mortal
man, and in revenge he gave away Gondolin' secrets to Morgoth, who took it. Tuor killed Maeglin,
but Gondolin was lost, and just by luck and Idril's prevision they escaped with Earendil, my father, to
the ends of Sirion.-
She had her head thrown back, and something there made Elrond to stare. She looked away and
familiar at time. It was nothing he had ever seen before, except on those eyes, but it was something
there, something that was just in his blind reach. Something...
… like an half forgotten memory, a lost poem…
He could feel it sliding from his hand as Arien looked at him, and found words from the ancient song
which melody filtered with the dawn into the study, song that seemed to emanate from their
memories, so old and intimate that the lament became lullaby.
She sung the words forgotten so long ago, in that old song of wish and parting, the song of the Teleri,
from where he descended in a vast part. She sung, and his mind flew to lyrics that made his eternity
a blink, that made his wisdom a child's lessons. To the unforgettable shore.
Faraway
Promise
Light
Heart and Soul
How is the light from the blessed land?
Is like through our tears
a child's dream?
Memories being made, soaring through the sky.
Ah, starlight over me
Like the cresting wave of ocean, where I stood.
Aa, Take me away
My spirit floating away in that moment's memory
Ah, starlight over me, like the miracle of blowing wind
Aa, Inside a dream
Lost in that smile, that moment's memory
Souls touching each other in the time
Under the arms of the stars would meet…
A promise
In a dream
And a kiss
And a embrace
Give my wandering soul rest.
Ah, the starlight filling my arms
Open in waiting
And fly, over streaming light
To where sea ends
Into a moment's memory.
And looking into her eyes, he forgot what he was ready to ask.
She makes me feel young.
Like a poem of Beleriand…
- Talk me about your family, my lord.-
- Good! Parry! Now… quick! Very good!-
The shouts under his window awakened Elrond, who, still half-asleep tiptoed to his balcony, half
alarmed by the sound of parrying steel.
And he chuckled, gently, seeing Arwen sat in a pillar near Glorfindel, who howled directions, at
Elrohir, who cheered, and to Arien and Elladan, dancing around into intricate parries and sword
tricks. Elladan was a fine swordsman: he was as swift and terrifying as Glorfindel was, and quick
minded and full of energy. But Arien was deceiving him and pulling him by leash at her whim,
moving with a sword skill Elrond hadn't seen so finely executed from the Last Alliance. She danced
out of reach and attacked as quickly and perfectly as an elf: she jumped and arched with the energy
of Man: she dodged and parried with the easy efficiency of a dwarf, and moved with the calm skill
of a soldier, aged in many battles.
She had not only collected songs in her travelling, I see, poor son of mine, he shrugged, as he
saw Arien put in a good use her metal-pointed boots, and the bracelet in her left arm.
Elladan lost his patience, and gave her a wide opening in a blind charge.
Tsk.
A whirl, and Elladan' sword flew into Arien's grasp like a domesticated bird, her own short and
slender sword, black and silver, making a glistening arch to aim to the handle of the flying sword and
catch it with the elegant flourish like Gondor used to do.
- Crap.- Elladan was glaring. – I would like to say I let you win by hospitality and deference, but I
usually don't say so big lies.-
- It's possible to defeat the best sword master of the world with a trick new to him, my lord Elladan,
and I've traveled enough to get a bag of them. – she said gently, giving him his sword back.- That's
my one advantage, my lord: my sword skills aren't formal, I'm afraid.-
- But, none the less, you kicked my ass.-
- Indeed.- Elrohir piped in, laughing.- we're twins, it seems.-
- If the lady isn't tired, I think it would relay in me the debt of reclaim Rivendel's honor.- Glorfindel,
tall and powerful, took his sword. the blonde coloring, so different to his Lord and the twins, shone in
the early morning. His hair was in long, shining braids to avoid getting in the way of the serious
sword master and guard: he was too a master of wisdom and a healer, but over all, he was a
warrior, one of the most legendary of his age.
She saluted with her sword, the easy posture, watching and alert of a Dunedain mixed with the
nonchalance of an elf.
Glorfindel circled, whirled, and attacked with energy. Arwen looked worried, her beautiful eyes
troubled: but Elladan and Elrohir cheered and laughed, seeing Arien jump out the way, dock and
whirl, and then suddenly set foot and answer Glorfindel with none the less energy. The swords
collided and sung like a dance, as the both enjoyed the mock fight immensely. Glorfindel was patient
and experienced, and Arien quick and agile and they looked like a large blonde cat trying to eat a
dancing tiny bird…
- Elendil!- she yelled suddenly, her eyes full of mischief, and she grabbed the sword like an axe, and
with a heavy movement, very resembling of a fighting dwarf, falling to her knees brought the blunt
side of his sword up and hammered Glorfindel fingers against his sword handle.
Glorfindel roared, cursed, and the sword escaped from his hurting fingers.
Arwen cheered happily. Elladan and Elrohir gave her dirty looks.
- What? Isn't she great?- Arwen said with defiance, delicate chin up.
-Mn.- Elladan grunted.
- She used a combination of styles. But I can't believe you didn't saw that dwarf trick coming,
Glorfindel.-
Glorfindel, still nursing his abused fingers and his even more hurt pride, turned to see Elrond there, in
tunic and trousers, sword in hand.
- My Lord…?-
Elrond was smiling. His fingers remembered well old tricks: and he had seen enough. He brought his
sword to his eyes, saluting, but Arien seemed a bit jumpy.
- But, my Lord, I can't fight you…-
- She's scared!_ Elladan piped in, happily.
- My Lord, you had healed me… I simply can't put sword against you…- she said, shying away. But
Elrond was weighting the sword in hand, a glint in his eyes.
- I was a warrior long ago before a Mater or a healer, Arien. And is time to avenge Rivendel's
honor. – he sighed, mockingly depressed.- this is sad, my lady. My two champions and my man of
arms had been throughly defeated.-
She was smiling, but she doesn't look more willing that before.
- But, my Lord…-
- Please, Arien. If you don't fight me, I will grow offended, I promise you. And if you try to let me
win, I will ask Elladan and Elrohir and help me and we will threw you into the Bruinen.- he smirked,
and Arien looked dispirited.- Ready?-
- *sigh* Yes, my Lord.-
- Rivendel!-
- Minas Tirith!-
Maybe she should cry out *Isengard!*, being that her true master, though Elrond as their
swords met in strong collision. Hers was shorter, but clearly a Oesternesse work, light and perfect
like a moonlight, as his was one made expressly from him in Eregion's fires when Gil Galad was still
High King. It had accompanied him to far too many battles, and it was in his hand when he yelled
Victory! at the feet of Mount Doom.
He had fought Dwarves.
He had fought, long ago in the Sirion, Elves.
He had fought humans.
He could see through Arien's integrated style. She was full of disadvantages: not as quick as an elf,
nor as strong as a dwarf, a slim human.
She was a sword master, nonetheless, the kind that learns her sword skills fighting for her life, not in
a sword Hall. She had clearly fought before, his skill always aiming to touch and flee: the style of a
messenger. She wasn't a soldier, a warrior.
He was. Or at the very least, he had been.
And Elrond, blood of warrior running away like it hadn't in too long years through his body, again the
powerful captain of the Elven High King, heaved his sword and hit Arien's with so much skill the
sword made four complete loops in the air before to fall into his grasp.
- Wow.- Elladan was a little intimidated. His father had looked really dangerous, for a while.
- Are you well, Arien?- Arwen seemed a bit worried, as she neared Arien, and took her hands in
hers, her long yellow skirts glinting in the light over the grass, white but clear.
- Oh, I'm just fine, Lady Arwen. Your father is the most impressive sword master I ever seen.-
- I must say you are incredibly skilled, Arien.- Elrond returned warmly, still spots of color in his face,
giving her sword back.- It's a beautiful work. How's its called?-
- It's a Oesternesse blade, my Lord.- she confirmed, nodding, as Arwen tenderly smoothed the hair
escaped from her braid.- It come from my father. –
- How its called?- Glorfindel looked interested: sword craftsmanship was one of his few own liking.-
My Lords is called Ilmluin, Blue Wind from the Last Alliance.-
Elrond would have said Glorfindel it was no need to translate high elf to her: he had seen her enough
bent over valinorean books. But she simply nodded, and showed him the almost golden glint in her
sword, the way the handle was carved like metal hook, while his it was an eagle.
- Culmoth.- she said, smiling. Golden Red Sunset. Very appropriate, isn't it?
- Beautiful.- Elrond said, a bit disheartedly. Adrenaline still running in a body that long ago had
forgotten the feeling, he felt something pulling at the strings of his mind.
It wasn't her likeness to Estel, whom he trained himself, so different from the twins or other young
elves he had taught the ways of sword. She and Estel had that in common: the strength, the
quickness, the energy, but over all, the unpredictability neither elf nor dwarf could afford or master.
Like a flickering fire.
He had felt the same training Estel, but it was something more. Something else.
She whirling, like Glorfindel, her hair making a circle of eternity in her movements, and the
sun in her.
Deja vu. And of you had lived enough, like Elf, it become something of a state of dreaming.
Where…?
And more importantly, when…?
A moment's memory.
Mithrandir came and went from his birthday party in the Shire to Dol Guldor's doors, only Elrond
knowing about the irony of it. And it was a dawn of blinding light when a slim caravan with Elrond
heading, the twins, Glorfindel, Arien and a dozen of warriors said goodbye to Arwen. She stood like
Rivendel's Lady, with Finvanna the singer by her side, and said goodbye to them from the archway
of Rivendel, waving her hand, black hair in the wind like a flag over her red dress as the moon died
and the day started.
The winter is getting colder, Arien thought, enveloping herself in Arwen's shawl under her cloak.
She said goodbye, and then looked to Elrond, who after being so close and near sometimes now
looked as remote and faraway as the Celebdil peak itself. He was covered with a travel's mantle,
the dark red he liked so much to wear, his hair free but for his circlet, his gray eyes lost in the far,
and Arien though, too in the time. As the rest chatted and blew cold fingers in the chill of dawn, he
stayed quiet and still over his horse, his gaze away, and with the sad melancholy of the waning in his
face.
He thought in lost years.
And powerful like Manwe himself, wise as an Istari, ageless like Arda, he looked a moment into
Arien's eyes, and she felt her heart stop under the weight of his gaze. It was a blue light in him.
- Elenna.- said Elrond, looking again, a hint of sigh there, to where the Celebdil waited in the
horizon, in the middle of the Misty Mountains.- Let's go to the stars.-
A Moment's Memory.
© Yoko Kanno, Please Save My Earth.
An Elrond Romance
by The Fox.
Chapter Five
From Rohan
A Moment's Memory.
Early Winter
The wind had become cold, even if the mornings were still bright with the silver sun of
winter. Swift white clouds like doves crossed the sky over Rivendel quickly, dancing into embraces
into the Misty Mountains peak, covering the Hidden Valley with a warm blanket of white and gray in
the afternoons, through which the sun had to peek to gave them marvelous afternoons of cherry and
water. And Elrond had wandered, lost in his thoughts, enveloped in his warm deep red mantle,
walking alone to the folds of Bruinen, his reflection blood in the water as he looked to the immense
white sky and thought in the sunset.
Mithrandir has came and go, and he would come back again.
The autumn of preparation, the winter of tragedy was already starting. And Galadriel said it was
time. Time.
Now or never, in Mithrandir's words, a firm, strong kick into the bee hive. And then, we will
run for cover.
If the wisdom of elves is an instinct that doesn't stops shouting, maybe the real wisdom is to
comply, Elrond thought with a smile. He stood in a tall rock dominating the Bruinen, the water
flowing gently at his feet, clear and silver under the white sky. But Elrond frowned, staring over the
river, and the water flowed more and more violently, till became a waterfall of snow, exploding and
bubbling, hearing the call of their master. It become a glistening wall between Rivendel and the
darkness looming in the East, and the hand of its Lord rose, shining blue, the water following its
movement as a loyal son.
It was time: it is feel in water, the light, and the wind itself. And Elrond, master of the Ring of Air,
stood defiantly, his elven gaze piercing the horizon over the misty mountains protecting Rivendel,
right into the darkness where the enemy recoiled at the threat. The wind blew around him, showing
his support, whirling his mantle and his long black hair into tendrils of shadow. He stood there, elven
poetry of defiance and power, strong enough to keep his proud head up under the storm. He could
have been a statue for his quietness and his beauty, but for the glint in his eyes of silver, eyes that
was very much alive, where intelligence and will blazed like light. The circlet shone as a blue star.
We are ready. And we, the Elven Lords, would buy a little more time from you, Sauron, Lord
of Total Evil, with all the power we have left. And we will give time to the Third Age to
prepare your downfall, before it dies and wipe us, and our very memory too, from Arda.
We are ready.
The wind blew gently, taking with him the second where Elrond looked a high Elven king, all
powerful and legendary, pointing a finger to the darkness recoiling and groveling at his feet. And he
became again a slender elf, enveloped in a thick mantle against the cold, his gaze gentle and tired.
The Bruinen at his feet rested again, kind as a mantle of warm, liquid clouds. And Elrond was
stepping down the rock, as the sun went down too, when he heard it: a horse, crossing the water. He
walked to the riverbank, covered in tiny blue and gray rocks, and waited there. He smiled at the
sight of Arien, hood threw back, long hair swirling behind her like a mantle, eyes alive and twinkling,
crossing the River as quick as she could, Elfaroth honoring his name, the black horse exploding the
water into snow-like foam as he galloped securely, swiftly.
She saw him, and smiled, her horse making a tiny circling to avoid splashing the Lord. She jumped
from the saddle, and bowed, thick clothes enveloping her form, leather black trousers, a very heavy
leather and iron chainmail, and a long, glistening leather cloak hanging with a silver chain from her
neck. Over all that black her hair shone as the dying sun in the blackness.
- Good afternoon, my Lord.- she said, shining pale eyes into his.- I am so happy to be back into the
fair Rivendel.-
- And Rivendel opens arms to you, dear Arien.- Elrond said kindly, joining action to thought, and
enveloping the young messenger in his arms, against his scented mantle. Arien looked surprised, but
delighted, and smiled brightly at the warm welcome, leaving her hands in Elrond's, watching his
smile with wide eyes.
- How are you, Arien? Is everything fine?-
Her mood grew somber, but she spoke softly.
- I have so much to tell you, my Lord.-
- So we'll hurry. If you let me ride with you your marvelous stallion, that's it.- he said, walking to the
horse, who waited calmly, and let him touch his proud, arched neck. It was black as midnight, tall
and strong, and it looked fresh, even after the ride, and being heavily charged. He kicked the ground,
impatient, and looked to his master, whom was nodding, a flush in her cheeks.
- Of course, my Lord. It would be…- Elrond jumped to the saddle with agile grace .- …an honor?-
she blinked.
- Don't worry, Arien, I know how to ride, I taught Arwen and the boys myself. Did you think I went
to the Last alliance Battle in carriage?- he said, a smile in his features. In fact, it has been some
years since the last time he had a stallion between his legs, feeling the powerful muscles of the noble
beast as his. But with that it came the memories of wild rides with his lost brother, the laugh of
Feanor's sons, the wind in his hair as he ride with Gil Galad and Elendil. And then the earlier years
of Rivendel where young Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir enjoyed the sun of the autumn of elves under
his attentive look.
Years passing by…
Elrond didn't know, but the mist of memory had given him a beauty that mere mortals never found.
And he wasn't aware, either, of the sublime adoration in Arien's eyes, as she waited, standing by
the horse. She was staring as she had seen Elrond's mask slip, showing where the ancient elven
king has been now a young powerful warrior and rider with Human blood in his veins, all passionate,
all fresh and alive. Elrond looked at her, and smiled, and suddenly extended a hand and an arm that
were too strong for his slenderness, to hook hers and lift her into the saddle. She fell nested between
his thighs, and he called at the horse and ride to the Last Homely House at full speed. It were wise
hands letting the reins almost loose, strong spine arched into the galloping, brilliant eyes full of light
and laugh as they crossed the wind that called him his Master. Arien was there, quiet and
speechless, her eyes wide and her mouth parted, too stunned to talk, too stunned to even breath, as
she was carried back the Home by a Human prince born in the storm. The black cloak and the red
mantle were free in the brisk wind of winter, and red gold and black mixed too in their hair, as
Elfaroth, guided by expert hands that called this land his, rode away the fields, never doubting, never
stopping. The wild ride only relented at the archways of the house, as the night started to fall.
- My Lord…- she said, as he let Elfaroth enter with a light step to the stone patio.
- My thanks for this pleasure, my dear Arien.- he smiled, coming to a halt, and dismounting with a
flourish of pale tunic and mantle. It was a flush in his cheeks, a glint she was sure never have seen,
or even imagined, in the usually stoic face of the Lord If Imladris.- It was the most refreshing thing
I've had in years. Please, follow me into the house. you need to rest and eat, and we need to talk.-
She dismounted too, still staring. Elrond was walking, more quickly that it was his usual demeanor,
inside the house, and his voice was louder and more lively. And suddenly, Arien knew what were in
those eyes, and smiled. It was the wind. Wind that usually, always was a gentle breeze, now had
came to life briefly, into a shining, fresh, warm gentle rainstorm over cold earth.
- If Gondor lent stallions like that to his messengers, no doubt Lord Denethor must be the most
quickly informed lord in the West.-
Arien shook her head, as Elrond left her in the stairwell that conduced to the room they had called
hers everytime she had came.- No, it isn't a Gondor horse, we have few ones. But my old horse
was shoot by the Orcs last years in defense of Rohan and Isengard, and the White Lord has the
gentleness to gift me this by change, with the King of Rohan's acquiescence. I'm coming back from
that very lands now, my Lord.-
Elrond eyes dimmed, and his smile vanished hearing those names, and Arien cursed herself. Then
Elrond smiled again, but he was again the Lord Of Imladris, tall and gentle, and faraway.
- Go and refresh yourself, my lady. We'll see at dinner, and then we could discuss the matters at
hand. And then, if you want, can use my library all the time you may wish.-
- So Saruman would join our forces. That is good.- Elrond rolled the parchment again, pensively,
between his long fingers. Arien, very tall and straight stood in the front of his desk, having delivered
the letters from Isengard, Moria and Minas Tirith she had to. She was wearing her uniform black
robes, and her hair was up into a brilliant brass helmet, her hands behind her back as she stood
patiently. Elrond rested his chin in his folded hands, eyeing Arien, the roll still lazily between his
fingers.
- Did he gave you any spoken message?-
- Yes, my Lord. In fact, he entrusted me the whole planning of his actions, to deliver it to you and
Mithrandir.-
Elrond eyed her, unbelieving.
- Are you serious?-
- Yes. He said it wouldn't be wise to rejoin the Council now: it would be too obvious. He gave a lot
of suggestions for you, anyway.-
- Why he trusted in you for this?- it was rougher he meant too, and he extended a hand to apology
himself. But she looked down, and then smiled.
- I asked him the same.-
- And?-
- The exact words it were " because only you can cope with that arrogant Peredhil boy"-
Elrond sputtered as Arien examined her nails.
- Anyway.- he crossed his arms, trying to recuperate the serious mood.- What are, exactly, his
ideas?-
Arien, after a questioning look, and Elrond's nod, took a piece of parchment and a quill, wet with
blue ink. Swiftly, and with notable skill, he drew with quick and sure traces the Valley of Rivendel,
Moria, Fornost, Isengard, Lorien, the Misty Mountains, Dol Guldor and Mirkwood's West.
- The orcs and beasts must be contained in his flood when Dol Guldor fell, and for that the Dunedain
and Thranduil's people surely could do. But to chase away the shadow, he asked me to give you a
cryptic message.-
Great.
- Call the air from Elenna
Call the water from the wind
Where the fire explodes the door
White would stand the gray.-
Elrond's gaze hardened. Oh, arrogant white bastard.
- Tell him I understand the message quite well.- he said, his voice hard. Arien stared at him, and
then walked to a bookcase, to give him time to think.
It was a long silence, as Elrond scribbled some notes. And then, he sighed.
Like head of the White Council, we must follow his plan, and he prevented our opposition
simply wasting our time and forbidding us to reunite. And now, the old fox…
How he did know? Not even Mithrandir…
- Did him asked you to return with the message?-
- No. He was sure you would accept, my lord.-
Istaris. Sure and ball-picking as hell. Ooh, WHY didn't I listened Galadriel and made
Mithrandir the leader of the Council? Saruman is SO easy to get into my nerves.
Breathe, Peredhil.
Breath.
Arrogant_fucking_Istari.
Breath.
Elven Control, as Maglor used to say.
You're the wise elf, Lord of Rivendel. You can't go giving spectacles of yourself. Think in
Arwen and the boys, how they would laugh till get elven apoplexies.
-… And he asked me to stay here, to help you to plan and keep track of your actions.- Arien ended
nonchalantly.
- WHAT??- Elrond positively bellowed. Non even Gil Galad had made him get into such a state. It
was a good howl, anyway, for somebody who hadn't gave into one in centuries. It was the kind of
shriek that made glasses crac, windows tremble and cats run away.
And people cringe. Arien flattened herself in the chair, as Elrond loomed ominously over her across
his desk, his eyes burning and wide in anger, his hair falling in her direction.
- …Mmh … and if we call me an observer?- she sunk even more in the chair, Elrond's eyes
glinting dangerously, blue in the deepness of silver.- … servant….? … letter-boy…?-
Her plaintive tone made Elrond falter, and then laugh so hard his eyes misted, stumbling back into his
chair.
Damn sneaky Istari. He knows well I symphaty with her, and I can't help it…
Thanks Elbereth he didn't sent her with Thranduil. He would have choked her and her
remarks.
- Father?- Arwen must have heard the roar.- Is everything fine?- she asked gently, exchanging a
glance to the Gondor Lady, that smiled at her.
Wouldn't I surprised if they are placing betsg in my anger.
- Could you please fetch wine for us, Arwen?-he said, voice calm, but just lightly strained.- It's going
to be a long night.-
It was dawn when the whole plans where done. Saruman had asked for the power to of The Three
to back up his and Mithrandir's already impressive power, to chase away the shadow. Galadriel, in
the most sacred place of Lorien would call the Water: Mithrandir would call at the Fire in the doors
of Dol Guldor, and Saruman's magic would back up Mithrandir. At the same time, Saruman's
responsibility would be closing from Isengard the way to the old lands of Morgoth, forcing the
Shadow to flee.
And Elrond, from the Misty Mountains peak, from the Silver Celebdil, would call at the air, at the old
magic that with the water and fire would drive the Shadow away…
- Into the Celebdil? Is there such a way?- had asked Arien, incredulous.
- Yes, it his. The dwarves of Moria, in the years of Lindon, made it for me.- Elrond said, tired,
leaning in a window where the first sunrays could be seen. He had long ago shed his robes to stay in
nothing but tunic and trousers, and had left his circlet in a nearby table, the hair now dark and wild
like an expensive scarf. Arien had let her hair down too, and her fingertips were covered with ink
from too many designs.
Someone, awake in the dawn, maybe Glorfindel, or Finnvanna, or even Arwen, played softly an old
song.
A Moment's Memory.
- It was an observatory. From there, in the clear night, you could see the lights from Oesternesse,
Númenor of the songs. I got it done when Elros went away, as he did the Meneltarma. It was called
just like Númenor was called in that day: Elenna. To the stars.-
- Why…- a long silence. Elrond looked to Arien, her eyes frowning, her lips closed as she had
blurted something she hadn't intended.
- What?-
- I'm sorry, my Lord, I just…-
- Tell me, Arien.-
- Why would a Peredhil turn down the offering of the Twilight, for a mortal life, even as a King of
Men?-
Elrond turned. The rays of infant son framed him, and his night hair shadowed his face. But his eyes
where in Arien's young face, tilted to him.
Like the answer was life or death to her… Why does she care? What is it to her?
- I don't know what to say to you, Arien. I never understood it myself. But I can only repeat the
words he told me, after hearing my choice.- Elrond closed his eyes, to said words that he
remembered all to well. Words that had danced into his head, and would torment him till his way to
Mandos.
- My blood can be mixed, but my heart is not. I know where I belong, and I could not betray
my heart's direction.-
Her eyes filled with tears.
What…?
A blink, and it was gone.
- I'm sorry my Lord, to have asked it. It was obviously a very painful memory for you.- she avoided
his eyes, standing, her fingers idly recapping the inkpot. It was a long silence, and then the sun
streaked the window as a powerful mantle of white. Elrond stepped from the window, and sat again,
recollecting the parchments.
- Why?- he said slowly.
- What?- she looked back to him, handing him the still virgin parchments.
- Why a lady like you, a Gondor Lady, does this?- Elrond smiled, even if his eyes looked more tired
that ever.- It's your time to answer, my dear.-
She smiled at him, a shy smile, as outside it were still sounding the soft chords of that old song. It
was rumored to be a "starlit" song, a song before Sun and Moon, from the days without sun when
Olwe and his people waited long time near the shores, calling themselves the forgotten people. How
they dreamt with the Promised Shore…
It was old and ancient, and it seemed to fill the rhythm in Arien's talking voice perfectly.
- I born in beautiful Ithilien, many years ago.- she said, her voice a whisper.- And it was a mystery
in my bloodline I tried to discover. I am the last one of my family, and I took my father's job as a
messenger. Anyway, I… prefer to not stay too much time in any place.-
- Why?- Elrond's was truly interested, his chin in his hands, his eyes tired but very focused.- Never
though of settle down with a family?-
Her laugh was sad, a bit ironic.- No, my lord, I couldn't.-
- Why?- he insisted.
She slowly took something from her neck. It was a gem: a ruby pendant, perfectly round, incredibly
shining, red, with a touch of orange in his center. It was soft at touch, and Elrond knew it must have
been a very ancient relic to get this soft.
- It comes from your family?-
She seemed to think a while. Then , her eyes grew veiled, and Elrond had that odd feeling of old in
her gaze. A glint.
Metal glint in pale blue eyes.
- Your turn, my lord.-
- What do you want to know?- Elrond smiled. He could enjoy filling her asking for knowledge: it was
academically rewarding. A pleasure.
- Can you talk me about the fall of Gondolin, and Idril Celebrindal, my Lord?-
He blinked. Why she jumped like that from personal themes to her hobbies of old Elven story? But
anyway, he could easily answer this: it was a story he knew by heart. As he talked, she wandered
the room, to stare at the sun, turning her hair to bright gold.
- Gondolin it was the kingdom of Turgon, a hidden valley in the mountains. She was the High King of
Elves, and he only had a daughter, Idril Celebrindal. He was kind and powerful, and he took in
Maeglin, the son of his murdered sister lady Aredhel and his assassin Eol, the Dark Elf. But he
betrayed his trust in desire for Idril, who had fell in love with Tuor, the Ulmo messenger, a mortal
man, and in revenge he gave away Gondolin' secrets to Morgoth, who took it. Tuor killed Maeglin,
but Gondolin was lost, and just by luck and Idril's prevision they escaped with Earendil, my father, to
the ends of Sirion.-
She had her head thrown back, and something there made Elrond to stare. She looked away and
familiar at time. It was nothing he had ever seen before, except on those eyes, but it was something
there, something that was just in his blind reach. Something...
… like an half forgotten memory, a lost poem…
He could feel it sliding from his hand as Arien looked at him, and found words from the ancient song
which melody filtered with the dawn into the study, song that seemed to emanate from their
memories, so old and intimate that the lament became lullaby.
She sung the words forgotten so long ago, in that old song of wish and parting, the song of the Teleri,
from where he descended in a vast part. She sung, and his mind flew to lyrics that made his eternity
a blink, that made his wisdom a child's lessons. To the unforgettable shore.
Faraway
Promise
Light
Heart and Soul
How is the light from the blessed land?
Is like through our tears
a child's dream?
Memories being made, soaring through the sky.
Ah, starlight over me
Like the cresting wave of ocean, where I stood.
Aa, Take me away
My spirit floating away in that moment's memory
Ah, starlight over me, like the miracle of blowing wind
Aa, Inside a dream
Lost in that smile, that moment's memory
Souls touching each other in the time
Under the arms of the stars would meet…
A promise
In a dream
And a kiss
And a embrace
Give my wandering soul rest.
Ah, the starlight filling my arms
Open in waiting
And fly, over streaming light
To where sea ends
Into a moment's memory.
And looking into her eyes, he forgot what he was ready to ask.
She makes me feel young.
Like a poem of Beleriand…
- Talk me about your family, my lord.-
- Good! Parry! Now… quick! Very good!-
The shouts under his window awakened Elrond, who, still half-asleep tiptoed to his balcony, half
alarmed by the sound of parrying steel.
And he chuckled, gently, seeing Arwen sat in a pillar near Glorfindel, who howled directions, at
Elrohir, who cheered, and to Arien and Elladan, dancing around into intricate parries and sword
tricks. Elladan was a fine swordsman: he was as swift and terrifying as Glorfindel was, and quick
minded and full of energy. But Arien was deceiving him and pulling him by leash at her whim,
moving with a sword skill Elrond hadn't seen so finely executed from the Last Alliance. She danced
out of reach and attacked as quickly and perfectly as an elf: she jumped and arched with the energy
of Man: she dodged and parried with the easy efficiency of a dwarf, and moved with the calm skill
of a soldier, aged in many battles.
She had not only collected songs in her travelling, I see, poor son of mine, he shrugged, as he
saw Arien put in a good use her metal-pointed boots, and the bracelet in her left arm.
Elladan lost his patience, and gave her a wide opening in a blind charge.
Tsk.
A whirl, and Elladan' sword flew into Arien's grasp like a domesticated bird, her own short and
slender sword, black and silver, making a glistening arch to aim to the handle of the flying sword and
catch it with the elegant flourish like Gondor used to do.
- Crap.- Elladan was glaring. – I would like to say I let you win by hospitality and deference, but I
usually don't say so big lies.-
- It's possible to defeat the best sword master of the world with a trick new to him, my lord Elladan,
and I've traveled enough to get a bag of them. – she said gently, giving him his sword back.- That's
my one advantage, my lord: my sword skills aren't formal, I'm afraid.-
- But, none the less, you kicked my ass.-
- Indeed.- Elrohir piped in, laughing.- we're twins, it seems.-
- If the lady isn't tired, I think it would relay in me the debt of reclaim Rivendel's honor.- Glorfindel,
tall and powerful, took his sword. the blonde coloring, so different to his Lord and the twins, shone in
the early morning. His hair was in long, shining braids to avoid getting in the way of the serious
sword master and guard: he was too a master of wisdom and a healer, but over all, he was a
warrior, one of the most legendary of his age.
She saluted with her sword, the easy posture, watching and alert of a Dunedain mixed with the
nonchalance of an elf.
Glorfindel circled, whirled, and attacked with energy. Arwen looked worried, her beautiful eyes
troubled: but Elladan and Elrohir cheered and laughed, seeing Arien jump out the way, dock and
whirl, and then suddenly set foot and answer Glorfindel with none the less energy. The swords
collided and sung like a dance, as the both enjoyed the mock fight immensely. Glorfindel was patient
and experienced, and Arien quick and agile and they looked like a large blonde cat trying to eat a
dancing tiny bird…
- Elendil!- she yelled suddenly, her eyes full of mischief, and she grabbed the sword like an axe, and
with a heavy movement, very resembling of a fighting dwarf, falling to her knees brought the blunt
side of his sword up and hammered Glorfindel fingers against his sword handle.
Glorfindel roared, cursed, and the sword escaped from his hurting fingers.
Arwen cheered happily. Elladan and Elrohir gave her dirty looks.
- What? Isn't she great?- Arwen said with defiance, delicate chin up.
-Mn.- Elladan grunted.
- She used a combination of styles. But I can't believe you didn't saw that dwarf trick coming,
Glorfindel.-
Glorfindel, still nursing his abused fingers and his even more hurt pride, turned to see Elrond there, in
tunic and trousers, sword in hand.
- My Lord…?-
Elrond was smiling. His fingers remembered well old tricks: and he had seen enough. He brought his
sword to his eyes, saluting, but Arien seemed a bit jumpy.
- But, my Lord, I can't fight you…-
- She's scared!_ Elladan piped in, happily.
- My Lord, you had healed me… I simply can't put sword against you…- she said, shying away. But
Elrond was weighting the sword in hand, a glint in his eyes.
- I was a warrior long ago before a Mater or a healer, Arien. And is time to avenge Rivendel's
honor. – he sighed, mockingly depressed.- this is sad, my lady. My two champions and my man of
arms had been throughly defeated.-
She was smiling, but she doesn't look more willing that before.
- But, my Lord…-
- Please, Arien. If you don't fight me, I will grow offended, I promise you. And if you try to let me
win, I will ask Elladan and Elrohir and help me and we will threw you into the Bruinen.- he smirked,
and Arien looked dispirited.- Ready?-
- *sigh* Yes, my Lord.-
- Rivendel!-
- Minas Tirith!-
Maybe she should cry out *Isengard!*, being that her true master, though Elrond as their
swords met in strong collision. Hers was shorter, but clearly a Oesternesse work, light and perfect
like a moonlight, as his was one made expressly from him in Eregion's fires when Gil Galad was still
High King. It had accompanied him to far too many battles, and it was in his hand when he yelled
Victory! at the feet of Mount Doom.
He had fought Dwarves.
He had fought, long ago in the Sirion, Elves.
He had fought humans.
He could see through Arien's integrated style. She was full of disadvantages: not as quick as an elf,
nor as strong as a dwarf, a slim human.
She was a sword master, nonetheless, the kind that learns her sword skills fighting for her life, not in
a sword Hall. She had clearly fought before, his skill always aiming to touch and flee: the style of a
messenger. She wasn't a soldier, a warrior.
He was. Or at the very least, he had been.
And Elrond, blood of warrior running away like it hadn't in too long years through his body, again the
powerful captain of the Elven High King, heaved his sword and hit Arien's with so much skill the
sword made four complete loops in the air before to fall into his grasp.
- Wow.- Elladan was a little intimidated. His father had looked really dangerous, for a while.
- Are you well, Arien?- Arwen seemed a bit worried, as she neared Arien, and took her hands in
hers, her long yellow skirts glinting in the light over the grass, white but clear.
- Oh, I'm just fine, Lady Arwen. Your father is the most impressive sword master I ever seen.-
- I must say you are incredibly skilled, Arien.- Elrond returned warmly, still spots of color in his face,
giving her sword back.- It's a beautiful work. How's its called?-
- It's a Oesternesse blade, my Lord.- she confirmed, nodding, as Arwen tenderly smoothed the hair
escaped from her braid.- It come from my father. –
- How its called?- Glorfindel looked interested: sword craftsmanship was one of his few own liking.-
My Lords is called Ilmluin, Blue Wind from the Last Alliance.-
Elrond would have said Glorfindel it was no need to translate high elf to her: he had seen her enough
bent over valinorean books. But she simply nodded, and showed him the almost golden glint in her
sword, the way the handle was carved like metal hook, while his it was an eagle.
- Culmoth.- she said, smiling. Golden Red Sunset. Very appropriate, isn't it?
- Beautiful.- Elrond said, a bit disheartedly. Adrenaline still running in a body that long ago had
forgotten the feeling, he felt something pulling at the strings of his mind.
It wasn't her likeness to Estel, whom he trained himself, so different from the twins or other young
elves he had taught the ways of sword. She and Estel had that in common: the strength, the
quickness, the energy, but over all, the unpredictability neither elf nor dwarf could afford or master.
Like a flickering fire.
He had felt the same training Estel, but it was something more. Something else.
She whirling, like Glorfindel, her hair making a circle of eternity in her movements, and the
sun in her.
Deja vu. And of you had lived enough, like Elf, it become something of a state of dreaming.
Where…?
And more importantly, when…?
A moment's memory.
Mithrandir came and went from his birthday party in the Shire to Dol Guldor's doors, only Elrond
knowing about the irony of it. And it was a dawn of blinding light when a slim caravan with Elrond
heading, the twins, Glorfindel, Arien and a dozen of warriors said goodbye to Arwen. She stood like
Rivendel's Lady, with Finvanna the singer by her side, and said goodbye to them from the archway
of Rivendel, waving her hand, black hair in the wind like a flag over her red dress as the moon died
and the day started.
The winter is getting colder, Arien thought, enveloping herself in Arwen's shawl under her cloak.
She said goodbye, and then looked to Elrond, who after being so close and near sometimes now
looked as remote and faraway as the Celebdil peak itself. He was covered with a travel's mantle,
the dark red he liked so much to wear, his hair free but for his circlet, his gray eyes lost in the far,
and Arien though, too in the time. As the rest chatted and blew cold fingers in the chill of dawn, he
stayed quiet and still over his horse, his gaze away, and with the sad melancholy of the waning in his
face.
He thought in lost years.
And powerful like Manwe himself, wise as an Istari, ageless like Arda, he looked a moment into
Arien's eyes, and she felt her heart stop under the weight of his gaze. It was a blue light in him.
- Elenna.- said Elrond, looking again, a hint of sigh there, to where the Celebdil waited in the
horizon, in the middle of the Misty Mountains.- Let's go to the stars.-
A Moment's Memory.
© Yoko Kanno, Please Save My Earth.