The Eye of the Ice Dragon

by Elarin

*

Chapter 5 | The Shadow of Angmar

Elrond and Glorfindel sat down with her upon one of the golden balconies giving a wondrous view of the Misty Mountains afar. She spoke to them of idle things, of flowers, and songs, and of all things that would seem childish perhaps. She seemed purely at wonder with the things around her as she was able to understand them now and their descriptions of things when she asked: with the birds, and the scent of the white flowering vines within Thranduil's halls, and the elven singers scattered about.

"This must be the most wonderfull place in all the world." She said softly her eyes misted over focusing inward, "Elrond, if you are not Elros then how is it that you are likened to him? And how is it that you shine like him as well?" She asked blinking her blind gaze as if trying to blink away the blindness.

Elrond and Glorfindel exchanged glances.

"Elros was my twin brother." Elrond told her slowly. She took this in for a moment then smiled easily.

"And where is he now? And when will I be able to see him again…" She then frowned at her own words, "Well, I mean…" Elrond smiled taking her hands.

"I understand, Telperiel," Elrond told her but his voice became soft and mournfull, "But I do not think you will ever see Elros again, for he has passed into the shadows long ago." He said. But he was beyond puzzled. How is it that she could have known Elros? She was a young mortal! Naught but a few years of age and a child still! And Elros had passed away long ago… long before the fall of Numenor, and to mortals that was but ancient times.

She now looked all the more mystified and saddened.

"But when… where…?" Elrond placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and sang her a single verse praying that some understanding and memory before the blackness would reach her:

From high above the eastern skies a shadow cast itself over shining Armenelos when Elros, the First Lord, walked the lonely road to his death bed. And there he took the crown from his fair head and at last slipped into the dreamless sleep forever… before the fall of Numenor…before the shadows came…and from far away a raven sang "The day will come again…when the kings from the sea will lead the Edain…"

Glorfindel was silent knowing the grief still lay heavy in Elrond's heart for his brother's departure from the earth.

"I am sorry." whispered Telperiel but all at once her sadness seemed greater. Elrond managed a grim smile.

"Let it not trouble you for we are two fates apart." Elrond said, "But you have been a mystery to us, Telperiel, and I would hear yet your tale. But how shall I begin to wonder from  whence you came and what sort of a jewel you are?"

"Ask me." she said managing a smile though she was still deep in thought.

"Very well," Elrond said, "How old are you?"

"Fourteen winters and summers have passed since my birth in …" she stopped for a moment as if seeking a place and time. "Numenor."

Glorfindel leaned forward toward her.

"Sweet Telperiel! That is not possible! For Numenor fell yet long ago!"

"I know." She whispered her voice shaking, "I saw it."

Once more Elrond exchanged a puzzling gaze with Glorfindel. If she saw the fall of Numenor and yet had met Elros then she must be old indeed! Then why did she not seem to know it? What an enigma she was! It seemed that Mithrandir had known something but was a farid to say.

And shall it lay trouble in my heart? Elrond wondered looking at her.

"What is your true name?" She seemed silent as he asked that question, for a long moment, and then she managed to reply, fear in her voice.

"I don't know… I don't remember… all I see is black as if its been torn out of me, from my heart… I can't tell you what I saw…or felt…I do not know my name…!" Now she was quivering fiercely with sadness and despair. Elrond leaned down taking her hands. They were as cold as ice. Elrond did not want to see her this way, not in pain.

"Sshhh… speak not more, little one, if it hurts to speak. Tell me of your songs, then, tell me of your tongue and what you hear and see with sight unseen." He asked her not wanting to hurt her though the mystery of her being knawed him. Who was this child? How old was she? How did she know of Elros? And the fall of Numenor? Where, in Aman, was Mithrandir?!

She swallowed softening to his request.

"The tongue I speak is the song of the world." she told him softly turning her face toward the breeze, "Everything sings, that is where I learned to speak when everything was black, when I was alone…" She trailed off, "The rocks sang, the ice and the snow," She whispered, "In the spring the flowers sang and the summer winds." She told him and her expression brightened and Elrond felt her hands grow warm once more. "And I learned the song of the world and I sang it, because it scared away the darkness and when I sang the darkness couldn't touch me and I would remember little things. Beautiful things from when I was little and when I met Vanarie…" She told him softly. Ah! So that would it explain why it seemed that some words seemed elvish. For when the elves awoke at Cuivienen and beheld the stars they too heard a song unheard.

"Do not despair, Telperiel," said Glorfindel to her, "We shall help you find your way and if the song of the world would aid us as well then we would cast away all darkness and fix all things of the past if we could."

Her blind eyes were misted over once more with foreboding.

"A past?" she whispered, "I barely remember mine… and think I do not want to remember…"

*

Two weeks had passed.

Gandalf arrived at the borders of Angmar. He looked at the barren land, still dark with an old shadow. It was early morn but it seemed that the light of the sun did not wish to touch this place and neither could Gandalf blame it. For once there ruled here The Witch King, chief of the Nazgul, and it was he that attacked the elven guards in Mirkwood. Gandalf walked warily through the rocky cliffs nearing an abandoned and crumbling tower using his skill to hide himself from any other dark thing that dwelt there.

He walked into the condemned fortress made of iron clad stone and shivered feeling the darkness there.

It was not one of his favorite places, at any rate.

'I wonder if I can find any clues in here…' he wondered. And he walked up the winding steps covered in dust and left unkempt. So dark was this place that not even goblins or stray orcs would make their home of it.  He found a hall and walked into it clutching his staff and curiously looking about from the shadow of his grey hat. When he found a room with an open and blackened door, that had been burned in earlier years, he entered it feeling that here were the answers that he was seeking.

And he found them.

Before him was a stone desk, now but a pile of rubble on the ground. Dusty  books and parchment lay scattered about as well as broken bottles of unknown substances Gandalf avoided touching. He picked up some of the parchment carefully so it wouldn't crumble in his hands. A shiver passed up through him. The paper held dark sensations and as he looked at the writing it was written in the black speech. Broken letters, broken words, merely messages to an accomplice, some other were orders written out to underlings. Others were short accounts of personal thoughts. Then he found one that caught his immediate interest, stuck within a book of old histories, and although its edges were burnt the paper was still whole.

Again writing in the black speech. But these were no orders to be sent by heralds, nor any business like formality. They were thoughts. Old and dark thoughts. Gandalf read the cryptic message upon it written by a Nazgul's hand, and indeed, like everything in the room, it was as cold as ice to the touch. A burning cold that could bring ill to any other mortal or creature about but Gandalf was immune to the black enchantment that lay upon it.

…I do not know, why deep regrets lie within me. All that I desire will soon be granted as long as I serve the dark one, Sauron. already my power is great. I have legions of orcs, and black beasts at my whim and even servants from Harad. This great tower was completed for my purposes and soon there will be more of the spoil to gain. But then there is the trouble with Silme… I almost loathe to put that name here. The tongue of elves, words that are of no use to me anymore. Sauron has given me a choice:  send her to Mordor to become a woman-slave or kill her myself. I would not let Sauron touch her, she is mine, and forever shall be. Of my blood and nobility. Anger had already flooded me when he came to visit and dared to toy with her. But it was not my right nor turn to speak against him. I shall bide my time and  I shall bring her to Ered Mithrin, to the old thing and leave her there, that even Sauron has little knowledge of. Let her stay there until the end of days. For at least there I know, Sauron shall not find her nor will he try to take her…and after I am rid of her… I shall get on with my own plans…

"Silme?" Gandalf whispered and in the dead silence it echoed lightly on the blackened walls. Could this be Telperiel? Gandalf looked at it again.

… I shall bring her to Ered Mithrin, to the old thing…

An understanding dawned on Gandalf. He finally realized from whence she came and what she was and why age had not touched her. He placed the letter back in the book, deciding not to keep it and idly brushed his hands upon his cloak in hopes to brush away the foul feeling of things he had touched here.

It was time to return to Mirkwood and report his findings to Elrond, for he would not doubt that the elven lord was beginning to learn imapatience.

*

Night had come.

Elrond tucked Telperiel into her bed since Glorfindel had decided to scout the western borders with Legolas, for he worried about her just as much as Elrond did. The moon had gone its full circle and now its face did not show in the sky and only the stars twinkled amid the woven trees.

"May I ask you something?" Elrond asked her in Sindaren, for it seemed that they understood each other fluently now.

"Yes?"

"What was my brother like to you, when you met him?" Elrond asked her. He didn't know why he asked this. Perhaps he was looking for some peace, some closing to the sadness he felt for his brother's departure from the world. Telperiel sighed deeply.

"He was much like you," She said softly, "When I was little, I was running through Numenor in the rain, I was but seven years of age and I liked to explore the city much. But this memory is the only memory I remember clearly in my life for it seemed the song of the world reminded me of him. Back then, I was not blind." She said sadly, "And yet, I can't remember not being blind except in this memory and it is one of the dearest thoughts I cling to when I am afraid, when I sing, I think of him. I met him because I had snuck into the property of one of the lords held in high esteem, alas, I do not remember his name! But Elros had caught me and appeared suddenly beside me from a window I deemed empty. He laughed and asked me what I was doing sneaking about like a fox." She smiled at the memory and Elrond smiled with her. Elros was always the first to laugh, no matter how dark a time it could be. "I told him I wasn't sneaking about, I was merely wandering. He knew who I was though, and my family and he took me into the lord's house he was visiting, for they were holding a great feast in his honor." She swallowed, "He sang to me… that song you sung me a few nights ago. The song to the Lady of the Stars."

This Elrond knew well. For it was a song both Elros and Elrond knew well, for it was the song Maglor sang to them to comfort them when he found them abandoned after their father had vanished and their mother had cast herself into the sea. Elrond sighed closing his eyes at the memory.

"You were close to him?" asked Telperiel quietly.

"Dearly." said Elrond.

"Sing then." She told him dreamily falling to sleep, "Sing and he'll hear you. For he's part of the song now."

Elrond smiles watching her close her eyes. He leaned forward and gently kissed her upon the forehead.

"I shall, my little nimloth." Elrond whispered quietly, "And when I do, I shall sing of you."

*

AN: -sigh- be forewarned. this story is only going to get sadder…