The stables of Lord Elrond Half-Elven were deserted in the early morn, save one man who paced the forecourt edgily. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and heir to the throne of Gondor, was a man in waiting. And to any onlooker, clearly it did not befit him.
Better known to all his comrades and friends as Strider, he was be nature and by trade a Ranger of the North. As he stood now, in the chilled air under pale morning sunlight he wore a forest green, adorned only with a delicate silver star clasp. He wore long leather boots and carried on his waist a Halbereth sword. From a distance, he looked to be preparing for battle.
And in his own mind, he was. Yesterday evening, a ranger who rode with Elladan and Elrohir returned early, bearing news the sons of Elrond had gone to the aid of an elf set upon by Ringwraiths. The ranger spoke of the alert being raised by an aid to the Prince of Mirkwood. This aid knew only that the pursued was of elven descent and that it moved very quickly. Male of female, he knew not.
And so Aragorn stood in wait, for his one love, Arwen Undomiél had left only yesterday morning alone to seek out her brothers. Aragorn was a feared that this mystery elf was none other than the fairest maiden of Rivendell. Although through his long years at Rivendell, Arwen had left on such trips many times and she was quite the skilled warrior, news of the Úlairi chilled his heart.
Only two days previously had Arwen rescued the Ring-bearer hobbit Frodo from the clutches of the dreaded Úlairi. Strider had accompanied this Ring-bearer and three other hobbits from their Shire home to Rivendell, and they were almost there when the Nazgûl attacked. Had his beloved brave elf maiden not swept when she had Frodo would surely be dead from the poisons, loosed on him by the Black Riders. No one had been thus sure where the Black Riders had gone, until now.
The sound of hooves at a gallop roused him from his black thoughts. Aragorn looked up to see a grey stallion fast approaching. Although he could not yet make out the face of the approaching rider, there was only one who rode so expertly without saddle or rein. As the stallion neared closer, Aragorn could see that it was indeed Legolas, fair prince of Mirkwood and his long-time friend. He could see that Legolas bore a small bundle in front of him, the hunted elf no doubt.
"Undomiél?" The anguished cry was torn from his lips as he approached the elven prince.
Legolas brought his steed to a halt. The elf knew well of the love between him and the fairest maiden of Rivendell.
Legolas shook his head as he revealed the elf's ashen face.
"Nay. Fear not my friend. But quickly, are the healers prepared?"
Legolas relinquished his grasp on the fair stranger only to hand her to Aragorn while he dismounted. Aragorn nodded.
He could only guess as to her injuries, but grave they must be for Legolas to dispense so quickly with greetings.
As he held the elf maid, he could not help but notice how slight she felt, even for her slim frame. But still his heart felt lighter, for his love was safe. His hands felt the slickness of blood on her back. As he handed her back to Legolas, the elf prince explained that they had ridden all night. He had stopped only once to remove the Nazgûl arrow and staunch the bleeding. His precious burden had not stirred.
The elf prince did not need directions to the place of healers. Many times had Legolas been a guest at Rivendell, but still far to little for Arwen or Aragorn's liking.
"I will follow after I tend to your horse!" Aragorn called after his friend, but he doubted that Legolas had even heard him. It was rarely that he saw his steadfast friend so troubled. But, as many of late had noted to him, these were indeed strange times.
He turned quickly, and lead Legolas's fine steed toward a stable, his step lighter now that his heart was relieved of its weighty burden.
**********
Lord of Rivendell was stirred from him thoughts and woes by a sharp rapping on the large oak door of his private study. He'd dwelled all the long night on the thought of his beloved daughter in the grip of death, wrought on by Úlairi. From his study he had view of the stables, and he'd spied with the greatest relief Aragorn's reaction when the identity of the wounded elf was revealed. It was not Arwen.
His aide now entered, timidly peering around that massive door,
"Good Lord, Prince Legolas has arrived. He wishes to speak with you. He is with the healers. Shall I bid him wait?"
Elrond did not turn around, merely raised his hand in dismissal as he spoke.
"No I shall be with him momentarily."
Truly, he was vexed like never before. Not even when he fought a Dagorlad with Elven-King Gilgalad, was that threat of the dark so great. And now, the Dark lord's most fell servants had besieged Rivendell, one of the last havens of the Elves. Just two days previously, Arwen and her charge Frodo the hobbit, had narrowly escaped the clutches of the Nazgûl. And now the one ring, that which was the root of all war and unease of the last age, was here in his kingdom.
With a grunt, and a thump of his foot, Elrond stood tall, and left to greet the elven prince.
**********
Legolas paced.
It was something he rarely did.
He was a being of endless patience, and whether he was vexed or not, it was not in his nature to reveal his disquiet. He stood outside a large oak door. The hallway was warm, awash in soft gold and rustic colours and wrought iron. Candles gave weak light and softened the edges of the furniture. In fact, the entire place seemed at peace, save Legolas himself. He feared for the fair elf maid, feared he had not done enough, feared she would die, feared he would never even know her name. Elves were not born to die. Yet he was powerless to stop it. And so, the troubled Prince of Mirkwood paced.
"Legolas?"
Legolas stopped and turned. Before him Elrond stood, tall and yet weary. Smiling with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, Legolas walked over to him and clasped the other elf's hand, bowing slightly as he spoke.
"Lord Elrond. I bring greetings from my father, Thranduil. Too long sir, has it been since I walked these parts." Elrond smiled at this.
"It is good to see you Legolas Greenleaf. Though I wish it were different circumstances that bring you here this day. Strange times we are in now."
Legolas relaxed slightly. Rivendell was the only place where people addressed him by his Common Tongue name. He watched as Elrond seated himself on one of the upholstered sofas opposite the large oak door. He wore a rich red cloak over a beautifully embroidered burnt umber tunic. His long dark locks were drawn behind his ears but for two plaits. He wore no crown. But he did not need one for, though he carried many burdens and worries, he carried himself with the air of a true leader.
"How is she?" The question drew Legolas from his thoughts.
"I know not. I await here for news. It has been two hours. I fear the worst." Legolas resumed his pacing.
Elrond watched as the soft candlelight glinted against the silver woven through Legolas's longbow. The elven Prince had yet to remove it from his back. In fact he still wore his travelling clothes. Elrond saw that they were heavily stained in blood. Most likely the elf maids, he surmised.
"Will you not go and rest Legolas. I shall alert you when the healers are finished."
"I would rather stay. I am not tired but for the weariness brought on by worry."
Legolas stopped and faced Elrond.
"How long have there been Úlairi near Rivendell?"
Elrond told him briefly of Arwen's encounter two days previously. Then he told him of the Ring.
"This is grave news. Although it does explain why my father thought it so urgent. Truly it is grave news."
Elrond relaxed into the seat and steepled his long, slim fingers. Legolas sat now, as he considered the implications of this knew knowledge.
"Aragorn is here. Lord Celeborn of the Golden Wood arrives tonight. Gimli, son of Glóin of the Dwarves of Erebor, and Boromir Steward of Gondor arrive tomorrow."
Elrond gaze wandered, aimless, as he spoke.
"The Ring, and what shall be done with it, will be decided by representatives of all the free peoples of Middle Earth."
Legolas merely nodded. They sat in silence for a long while. Though it was not an uncomfortable silence. Both had a great many things weighing on their minds and both knew that the near future would hold little such calm in which to think.
The creaking oak door opened and both were instantly roused. They stood as a tall healer stepped out and bowed solemnly to both elves.
"The elf maid lives. She is greatly weakened. And I am loathed to inform you sirs that she has been beaten quite badly. She is weakened by malnourishment and thirst." His eyes filled with a sorrow born out of sympathy.
"She is awake?" Elrond spoke softly, his eyes cast downward.
"She is Lord Elrond. She does not speak, and may remember little."
Elrond nodded and proceeded past the healer into the room. Legolas followed, mumbling his thanks as he passed the healer.
The strong scent of Athelas greeted him as he entered the bright room.
The nameless elf maid lay on the bed. A pale yellow bolster propped her up. Her mid-section was exposed and Legolas could see much bruising and scarring aside from that of the arrow wound. The wound itself was heavily dressed, and still blood spotted the centre of the muslin bindings.
Elrond walked around to one side of the bed and sat. Legolas stood over her at the other side. Suddenly aware of their presence, her eyes fluttered weakly open. Legolas smiled gently as he crouched down beside her.
"Welcome to Rivendell." Elrond's voice was soothing and comforting.
He leaned forward slowly as he spoke.
"Do you know how you got here?" Her eyes flickered slightly toward Legolas. Her voice was weak, parched.
"No." She whispered, wincing as though the very effort of forming the word hurt.
Legolas spoke then, smiling and willing some of his strength to her.
"What is your name?"
She opened her mouth to speak, but the words did not come from her, but rather from behind them.
"Nephryn?"
Arwen Evenstar stood in the doorway, her face pallid at the sight of the elf maid. She leaned weakly against the frame. She still wore her tracking clothes, and her long deep brown hair was pulled away from her face.
Elrond stood and took his daughters arm and led her to the chair outside the room, closing the door in his wake.
Legolas frowned, beset by confusion. Who was this mysterious elf that Lady Arwen recognised her even in this state. The Elf Prince was certain that, never during his many visits to Rivendell, had he ever met this elf.
As he turned back to the injured elf, he saw that she held her hand to her mouth. Her eyes were closed and tears had welled up and clung weakly to her lashes. He reached out his hand to hers tentatively.
She started at the contact and the tears tumbled freely as she opened her eyes.
"Êl eris e môr... êl síla... I am safe!" A star rises out of the darkness... a star shines
She mumbled the words softly, mouthing what would not sound. Legolas clasped her hand.
"You are Nephryn?" He pressed as he entwined her slender fingers in his.
She blinked and nodded once.
"Nephryn, daughter to Elwë and Melkor." She whispered as she strengthened her grasp on his hand.
"And you have saved me. Thank you." Legolas sighed in relief. Whatever tortures she had suffered, they had not taken her memory. Whether it was a blessing or not remained to be seen.
**********
For a long time, Arwen Undomiél sat silent. The colour had returned to her face and yet she sat, staring at her clasped hands. Releasing a deep breath, she allowed her head to fall forward to her fathers shoulder.
Elrond reached up, stroking his daughters bound hair.
"Are you certain that it is Nephryn?"
"Yes." Arwen found her voice, but felt as though she sat now outside of herself.
Truly, Elrond thought, this must be difficult for her. She sat up again and gazed at the door to the healer's room, as though she could see right through to the far side.
Nephryn had been understudy to Galadriél, Lady of Lothlorién and Grandmother to Arwen. She had been Arwen's closest friend, until she was seized by Orcs. That was two years ago. Arwen kept up hope and vigil at Lothlorién for months after. During those months, she saw neither Elrond nor Aragorn even once. Finally, she resigned herself to the likelihood that Nephryn, her closest friend and would-be sister, was gone. Hitherto, Arwen carried that sorrow with her.
Despite her certainty that the injured elf was indeed her lost friend, she seemed plagued by doubt, as though all this was some eerie dream.
"How can it be? The Dark Lord Sauron does not take prisoners! And even if he were to, why Nephryn? She holds no knowledge that could benefit him!" She raised her voice to the point of hysteria. When Elrond reached out to her, she retreated.
Sucking in a deep, cleansing breath, she tried to compose herself.
"Where is Aragorn?"
Elrond frowned, aware that this cool appearance was merely a façade to hide her confusion. However, the steady soothing presence of Aragorn was probably what she most needed now.
"I believe he is with Frodo and Gandalf." Arwen nodded and leaned in to press a chaste kiss to her father's forehead.
She walked down the hallway, and turned to him before rounding the corner.
"I shall return presently. Do not fear for me." It was as though she could read the lines of worry on Elrond's face. And yet, her words did nothing to comfort him, for even in the dim candlelight, his keen elven eyes caught the tears that welled in her eyes. The only reason he had not seen them before then, was because she felt it necessary to be composed before him. It was Arwen's way. But her father was not comforted by it.
Minutes later, Legolas appeared and closed the door gently behind him. Elrond's weary expression caught his attention immediately.
"She sleeps. And she remembers." Legolas sat slowly next to the elf lord. Gently he placed his hand on Elrond's shoulder.
"Are you well, my friend?" Elrond broke out of his reverie, and nodded his answer.
"And the Lady Arwen?" The Lord of Rivendell hung his head: he could not answer for truly, he did not know.
**********
Gandalf the Grey sat back in a comfortable chair. At least in Rivendell he mused, most things accommodated his size. Standing taller than most elves, and twice or three times the height of hobbits, Gandalf of the Istari found that a great many things in this mortal realm did not quite fit. And since the Valar saw fit to send him forth from the Undying Lands in an old man's body, even more was his body prone to the aches and pains of mortals.
He gazed at the small figure in the bed. Poor Frodo Baggins was saddled with the greatest of chores. The role of the Ring bearer was unenviable at best. But the hobbit carried the burden with such determination that it inspired hope in his heart.
Events in Isengard did not bode well for Middle Earth. While it was true that Saruman had not allied himself Sauron, he was neither allied to Gandalf and the free peoples. Instead he coveted the One Ring for himself. No, now it had merely changed from a war waged between two sides, to a war waged among three. Surely that did not ease their task.
Gandalf sighed audibly.
"Surely Gandalf the Great is not fatigued?" The voice came from behind, and the wizard did not need to see the speaker to identify him. There was only one man in all of Middle Earth that addressed him as Gandalf the Great instead of Gandalf the Grey.
Strider treaded softly into the room and sat opposite the wizard. He nodded his head in greeting.
"How fares Frodo?" The hobbit still carried a fever, but the worst had subsided. Elrond himself had tended to him in the darkest hours. Truly, he was in good hands here.
"He will recover soon enough. Perhaps is just as well that he gets this opportunity to rest, for there will be little such time in the future." Gandalf's sombre tone alluded to more than he was saying.
Such allusions were not over Aragorn's head and he pushed for detail.
"You did not fare well at Isengard?"
Gandalf did not respond momentarily. He merely gazed out the window, toward Mordor.
"Saruman has fallen into darkness." Aragorn exhaled audibly, for clearly this news was unexpected. The Istari was right. Surely things were worsening now.
He was drawn from his morose dwellings by a soft knock on the door. Arwen Evenstar pushed open the door. Her blue eyes were drawn and swollen, her hair still bound. Strider stood and embraced her quickly.
He was relieved that she had returned so soon, but she appeared quite distraught.
He kissed the crown of head, and murmured into her hair.
"What is it, my love? Are you well?"
"No." The solitary word was followed by silence. Aragorn lead her outside, nodding briefly to Gandalf before he closed the door. Arwen was silent as he brought her to the gardens.
He removed his green cloak, and placed it on the soft, lush grass.
He pulled Arwen down nest to him, and kissed her temple as he gently began to release her long hair from the strong, red leather clasp.
"What ails you, my sweet?" She simply stared out toward the foot of the Misty Mountains.
"Nephryn is alive." She spoke in a low voice. She turned to Aragorn and a small smile broke the gloom.
"She lives. After two long years, my lost sister lives."
"How?" And so Arwen told him briefly of her remand with the Orcs.
Aragorn hoped that he looked as surprised as he felt, for he was quite stunned. Never had he had the opportunity to be acquainted with his beloved closest friend, but still he felt he knew her. Arwen spoke often of her charm and intelligence. And so when Nephryn was lost to them, Aragorn felt her loss keenly. A part of Arwen was gone as was, by extension, a part of his own self.
"Nephryn of Lothlorién lives!"
As he spoke, the truth of the words struck him and a grin slowly emerged. Long had Arwen carried a profound sadness at Nephryn's loss, for elves were not born to die. He leaned over to his beloved and embraced her, pulling her to the ground. Aragorn watched as the clogs of her mind turned behind her azure eyes, pondering this strange turn of events.
"Long have I yearned for her counsel and her company. When my days were darkest and I feared for your safety, 'twas then I felt her absence most."
Arwen traced lazy circles on Striders chest as she spoke.
Finally, she looked up to meet his gaze.
"Do you think she will be different?" Her eyes betrayed the fear and worry that she did not voice.
Truly, Aragorn could not say whether how Nephryn's stay with the Dark ones might yet affect her. In his own mind, he surmised that it could have done naught but harm, but for the sake of his beloved, he did not say this. Instead he settled for truth over speculation.
"I do not know."
More pressing on Aragorn's mind however was why the Dark Lord of Mordor would even take prisoner. Surely, if Nephryn were a threat, Sauron would simply have dispensed with her.
No, something was amiss here. And so he lay, with Arwen on the grass in silence, each lost in their own reflections.
**********