Thanks for all the reviews. Yeah, this might be getting a bit Mary Sue-ish, but I'll try to stay away from that…. I'll also try to make chapters longer. I've corrected the 'Cradhras/Caradhras' mistake, but it'll take a while to change on Fanfiction.net. The idea of a Balrog ski-resort was pretty funny though…
There are a few things I haven't changed though: one, the orcs still leave her alone on the journey over Caradhras. This is because I can't be bothered to rewrite all of that chapter – yet. Maybe later.
Two: I know half-elves are really rare, but this is a bit of creative license. It could be worse.
The chapters are getting longer, or they will after this one. There was another bit I wanted to put in this chapter, but it was huge and would just make it too big. I'll put it up a.s.a.p. after this one.
***
It was late evening when she heard they had arrived, some days later. It was Tirathnavir who told her, flushed and excited with the wondrous news. 'Mithmír! Mithmír!' He called her, grabbing her hand and lifting her up from where she had been sitting and daydreaming. 'They have arrived; the Fellowship is here! They are being taken to Caras Galadhon tonight, but they stay here for longer than that. Aragorn is here, your kin! He would meet with you, as soon as I said you were here he told me to bid you to meet him at sun-up tomorrow, by their sleeping-tree, which I was to take you to then.' He stopped talking finally, looking eagerly for her reply.
She was silent and still for a long while. Suddenly she hugged Tirathnavir with joy, and shouted loudly, 'at last, Tirathnavir, at last! Would you show me their sleeping-tree now? Please? Just show it to me, I won't tell you were the one who led me there…' Her pretty brown eyes, deep pools of emotion that reflected the stars in their depths, beseeched him.
He couldn't resist the plea of his life-long friend, the human woman so many centuries younger than himself, who he saw sometimes as a daughter, sometimes as an accomplice. 'Alright,' he smiled. 'Follow me. But be quiet!' Together they moved silently into the trees.
Tirathnavir left her when they first caught sight of the band of adventurers, who were laying out their packs and blankets. She marvelled at them for a long time: so those were hobbits, the tiny men. There were four of them; one weeping silently as he unpacked his bag. Her heart yearned for him; and she wondered what tragedy had already befallen the group. There was also two men: one she didn't recognise, but he was tall and handsome, and the other was Aragorn, Elessar, the one who she looked to as an uncle. She barely stopped herself crying out a joyous greeting, but was halted by the sight of a stocky man with a plaited beard. A dwarf, in Lothlorien, the Golden Wood! The elven part of her was outraged. Dwarves were the betrayers, the cowards. Her fingers gripped a twig in anger. She moved away, deciding to meet Aragorn the next day, as he had proposed. When she deemed herself to be far enough away, she started running. It was then that she heard it: a deathsong, in Elvish. And it was for… it was for Gandalf! He had fallen into shadow!
She had never met this wizard, the Istari being unfamiliar to her, but in renown every elf came to love Gandalf the Grey. The singing was coming from the very dell she had left. Disregarding manners, she ran back, and joined in the anguished song, which was set to go on for hours. She was almost close enough to touch the hobbit nearest her, but she didn't. It was the crying one. Now she knew the cause of his tears. She carried on singing, remembering the life and passing of a great Maia.
It was then that she saw the only elf of the party; a tall, blonde haired Grey Elf dressed in elven robes. She was amazed at his beauty, and the intelligence in his eyes that brimmed with sorrow. He sang, too, but denied his companion's wish for translation. She envied this stately figure: he embodied he greatest dream: to be an elf true and proper, not just half-elven trapped in a mortal's life.
When the song was over she left, silently, and unbeknownst to her both Aragorn and the Grey Elf noticed her parting.
She made sure that night that she was one who served the travellers at dinner. Tirathnavir was loath to let her do so, but Galadriel – who was keeping oddly close by her – bade him to let her do it if she wanted.
'Won't they realise she's no elf?' He asked.
'Aragorn already knows.' Smiled the Lady Galadriel. 'And to the others she looks mostly elven. Can't you see, Tirathnavir, that as Mithmír grows older she grows to look more like an elf?'
'How do you know what I used to look like?' Mithmír burst out, before blushing profusely for her rudeness. It was true; she had been told so many times; but why would the Lady Galadriel herself keep an eye on her, a lowly Second Born?
Galadriel chuckled. I know many things, Mithmír, her presence said without her lips moving. I have been watching you for a long time, ever since the foresighted Elrond told me one way or another you would play a part in this battle against evil.
Tirathnavir looked in wonder at his friend. She was surprising him all the time; even for mortals who in their short lives changed often. To have a holder of a Ring of Power speak to you telepathically…! He had not heard the words himself but knew by the look in Mithmír's eyes.
'They shall see you as an elf,' resumed Galadriel as if with no pause. 'Except… maybe… the elf prince of Mirkwood, Legolas Greenleaf.' She looked thoughtful for a while, before adding, 'or maybe not.' She looked deep into Mithmír's eyes, and the woman instantly knew that Galadriel was sure of her feelings, denied even to herself, for the mysterious elf from far away. She averted her eyes hastily, bowed, and then followed Tirathnavir away. The Lady Galadriel smiled faintly in the growing dusk, and the ring glittered on her finger.
He noticed her immediately. He recognised her from the second she refilled his cup with the sweet wine of Lothlorien which he had never before tasted, but was strangely familiar. As she leaned past him his eyes moved from her hand, up her arm, to her face. He savoured her strong, determined features; odd for an elf, and the ears were less pointed, but she was definitely elven. Elven and incredibly beautiful; not in the standard sense of the word; but she glowed – in his eyes at least – with some inexplicable inner beauty. He was studying her dark eyes when suddenly she pulled away, leaving a full cup behind her, and a trace of elanor-scent on the air.
'My thanks, lady,' he whispered after her. He watched her until she moved around the other side of Boromir to serve him. Legolas felt inexplicably jealous. He tried to quash these feelings, for more serious matters were at hand. He turned to his food.
Aragorn looked at the elf, thousand of years his senior, with surprise. He had no doubt that this prince had no idea of the "elf" woman's real identity. He was torn between the desire to say something and the embarrassed feelings he now harboured. He felt as if he had walked in on something deeply private to Legolas, and maybe later Mithmír. He decided to wait till he talked to Mithmír, daughter of one of his best friends, in the morning. Then he would tackle the problem.
