The Fallen Blossom
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: Most of these characters belong to Tolkein (Praise him!). Only Myria belongs to me. The song in Chapter 2 (Against All Odds) was written by Phil Collins, and performed (in this instance) by Westlife and Mariah Carey.
Arwen sat in the large open window in her bedroom at her father's home. She was perched on a beautifully carved window sill. A breathtaking view lay before her - Rivendell was spread out in all its glory. But Arwen Evenstar paid no heed to the picturesque elven haven below her. Something was preying on her mind. She glanced at the cherry blossom on the tree to the left of her window, and followed with her eyes the slow descent of one petal as it was buffeted by the wind. Gently, serenely, the petal floated down onto the windowsill. Arwen stared at it, not focusing on the soft pink petal but on some distant memory. So it was now April already. Soon, she would go to visit her mother in Lothlórien, and then she could meet with Elessar no longer.
They had met such a short time ago, but their time together meant the world to her. Yet she was living a dream, a lie. Their relationship was doomed from the start. Breaking out of her silent reverie, she beckoned for her handmaidens. Aylson and Pherlaith scurried over to their mistress.
"Please be ready to travel. We shall leave for Lothlórien at dawn tomorrow." whispered Arwen in a voice heavy with sorrow. She swept out of the room.
Myria sat watching Arwen sadly. Arwen's young cousin sat in one of the pagodas on Elrond's sweeping lawns, gazing up at her cousin in the window. She was no stranger to pain and suffering, having lost both of her parents at the age of thirteen. Beruthian and Melachor were struck down during the Great Battle of the Second Age, leaving behind an orphaned child. Myria had experienced much sadness in her young life.
For all her two thousand, seven hundred and sixty -two years, Myria had the appearance of a fresh -faced sixteen year old, a mere child. She looked not unlike her pretty cousin, but each possessed their own quality of beauty. Myria's long dark hair framed her heart -shaped face. She wore a pearl upon her unlined brow. Her skin was pale like porcelain, and she had full, red lips. She watched Arwen through keen sapphire blue eyes, which glinted with unshed tears. Myria blinked, and her long curling lashes were moistened with tears. Although she had been called attractive, her beauty paled into insignificance when next to her elegant cousin. The only thing preventing her true ethereal beauty shine through for all to see was the agonised expression on her face. She had her own private sorrow, one that troubled her heart.
Myria had recently experienced a disturbingly real dream. It was so strong that she believed she had seen a premonition of things yet to come. She had witnessed a great battle, one which sealed the fate of the whole of Middle Earth. The outcome could spell the end of the Elven race. Visions of hundreds of elves falling in battle remained fresh in her mind, and she felt burdened with the fate of her people. She had also seen great warriors slain by messengers of darkness, and saw a dark shadow creeping over the once peaceful land. Amongst these visions of dread and foreboding, she saw the face of a young halfling, a scared yet hopeful face, whose blue eyes were fixed in a look of terror, yet hopefulness. She knew not whether these things would come to pass, or whether they were just things that might have been. However, one of her kindred, Galadriel, lady of the Golden Woods, possessed a magical mirror in which could be seen visions of the future, so it was not impossible for Myria to have experienced something of the sort.
Then Glorfindel approached her lonely seat, interrupting her brooding thoughts, and spoke to her kindly and courteously. He had always been good to her, taking her under his wing when her parents perished and treating her like a little sister. She left her rumination for a while to go to dine with the tall, striking elf.
As Myria entered the hall, with Glorfindel by her side, strains of sweet elven music greeted her. Elrond was today celebrating the arrival of a guest, a halfling. The halfling sat at the right hand of Elrond, and Glorfindel proceeded to sit in the empty chair at Elrond's left hand, after ushering Myria to the seat next to him. She looked with interest at the halfling; she had never been introduced to one before.
"Myria," Elrond nodded to her, smiling only with his eyes, as elven lords are inclined to do.
"Bilbo Baggins at your service and your family's," the halfling introduced himself. His eyes twinkled at her. He had a gentle smile, and his old, lined face was split in a smile. Myria suddenly felt quite shy.
"I am Myria, Elrond is my uncle." She replied demurely.
" I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Myria," Bilbo returned sincerely.
"Bilbo is an old friend of mine, from his questing days many years ago. He has visited us before, but this time he will remain here for his old age," her uncle elucidated.
"Pah! Old age!" retorted Bilbo "I am only eleventy-one years of age, compared to all of you venerable elves!" he chuckled. Myria was growing to like this halfling, who possessed a long life-span compared to his kind, yet was but a child when compared to her race. The rest of her evening passed rapidly, with much friendly banter between the halfling and her uncle. It was clear that Elrond was immensely fond of this little man, and it was not until the evening began drawing to a close that Myria recalled some of the tales she had heard of days long ago.
"Mr Baggins, was it not you who travelled to Dale with a party of dwarfs and Gandalf the Grey, to free the good people from the desolation of Smaug?"
"Ah, indeed it was, my fair maiden," replied Bilbo with a nod of his head, "and now I must retire. Good night to you." and he bent and kissed her hand, and disappeared out of the hall.
