Author's Note- This is my first ever attempt at writing fanfiction, so please be gentle. Though I don't pretend to own Tolkien's ideas or characters, the main characters of this story are my own. Happy reading! -Asphodel
Prologue
I have lived all my life under the boughs of Lothlorien, the Golden Wood. My mother and father, Elves of the Noldor, journeyed to Middle Earth with the Exiles and after many years, settled in Lorien. Galadriel had just claimed it as her realm, and many Sindar came with her and Celeborn. I am willful in spirit, like my mother, though I barely ever knew her. When I was still very young, she went with my father to join the Last Alliance of Elves and Men. They fought in the Great Battle beneath the standard of Gil-Galad, but they never came back. Raised by the grey-elves in the safety of Lothlorien, nevertheless I am not one of them. Rather than become one of Galadriel's maidens when I came of age, though I admire her greatly, I chose the path of the hunter. I have few friends; I prefer the lore of animals and trees and the song of my bow to dealings with other folk. My name is Tiranen, and I am alone.
Chapter One
Silence. Far off in the woods a bird chirped; the wind rustled the dead leaves in the treetops. The fading afternoon light filtered down into the glade. The deer was only inches away from Tiranen, and had not shown any signs of noticing her. The slender, wiry elf smiled; this would be easy. Making no sound, she tensed her muscles, shifted her weight slightly, and prepared to leap.
Suddenly there was a noise from somewhere in the trees. The deer cocked his head briefly, alert, and bounded off. Tiranen uttered a short oath under her breath; that was a whole afternoon's tracking wasted. She shouldered her bow and prepared to head home, when she heard that sound again. It sounded like singing, of all things. She wondered at it, for she was near the northwestern edge of the forest where the Galadhrim rarely went, except to guard the edge of the forest. Crouching in the shadow of a small shrub, Tiranen waited as the source of the sound approached.
It was an elf maiden! Here, on the border so close to the river- and not of the folk of Lothlorien, to be sure. She was small, for an elf; dressed in travel-stained green with hair like sunlight through the leaves. She carried a small pack and a stout bow slung over her shoulder. Singing softly to herself as she walked, she nevertheless appeared alert. Tiranen sighed; she should have been watching the border, instead of chasing deer while a stranger wandered into the woods. She stood, bow at the ready, although a threat seemed unlikely. "What is your name, and business here?" She tried to sound stern, yet somehow this unearthly creature put her at a loss for words.
"I am Tasariel of Mirkwood, and I come from Rivendell bearing a message for the Lord and Lady of this wood," the maiden replied with a hint of amusement in her voice. "I had hoped that someone like you would guide me to the city."
Tiranen said suspiciously, "And what proof do I have of your claim?"
"Only this," came the reply. The elf rummaged in her pack briefly, then with a triumphant "Aha!" removed a great clear green gem, wrought in the likeness of an eagle.
"Please forgive my rudeness," Tiranen said bowing low. "Strangers in our land are rare in these times of trouble. But as for one who brings the Elfstone, let me be the first to welcome you to Lothlorien. I am Tiranen of the border guard, and I will take you to Caras Galadhon."
"Will we reach it by nightfall?" asked Tasariel.
"There is no time now," said Tiranen. ""The sun is setting, and it is far from here. I would be pleased if tonight you stayed with me. There is a small flet near here, hidden from the eyes of enemies; we would be safe."
"In that case, lead the way!"
As they walked they spoke of ordinary things, trees and autumn and the music of the stream, and yet Tiranen wondered at this change that had come over her. Here she was, an avowed loner, listening beatifically to the chattering of a total stranger. Somehow she could not bear to look away from the beautiful elf.
The light was fading fast as they came to a young mallorn tree on a hillock by the stream. Tall and straight, the trunk branched out high up, and its dry leaves rustled in the wind.
"Call me an idiot," said Tasariel, "but the trees of my home are very different. How do we get up there?"
For an answer Tiranen made a sound like the whistling of a small bird, and a silken grey ladder tumbled down the smooth trunk. "Always seems to come when called," she said in reply to her companion's amazed expression. "Never thought to question it." She climbed up silently and was gone. Tasariel sighed, shouldered her pack, and followed her up the ladder.
She reached the flet just as the sun was setting over the Misty Mountains, casting its last rays on the wood. This mallorn was taller than the others, and Tasariel saw the forest spread out below her for miles like a floor of gold. She sat down, breathless, near Tiranen who sat watching the sunset. They rested in silence, lying on their backs to watch as the world dimmed around them. The stars kindled themselves one by one in the blue vault above, uncountable as leaves in the forest. And somewhere beneath it all, two small white hands met in the darkness and did not move apart.