Her eyes fluttered open and she moaned as she felt someone gently shaking
her by the shoulder.
"Arwen." A voice called through the mists and she blinked until the image before her focused, "my lady."
"Hmmmmmmmm?" she murmured, staring into the deep eyes of Glorfindel, "Mae govannem," she whispered in greeting, sitting upright.
"My lady, are you alright?" he questioned, offering her a hand. His brows furrowed in worry at her dazed state, "Shall I fetch your father?"
Arwen took his offer for support and allowed him to help her to her feet. "Nay, I am fine, my lord." She smiled with all the grace she could piece together. Mithrandir was defeated.. How could it be? Why did he stray ever into the dark depths of Khazad-dûm, where dwelt shadow and evil? Surely he would not have led the company needlessly into Moria. It was a grievous loss, especially to the elven kind, who of all the races knew perhaps best his purpose.
Glorfindel looked at her quizzically but did not say a word. Some shadow lay upon her, a darkness which haunted the depths of her eyes. He raised an eyebrow as if to question her statement of reassurance but did not give voice to a challenge.
"Your father bid me send you word concerning the Fellowship of the Ring."
She started slightly, then looked at him with a closely guarded expression. "What then has become of it?" Arwen asked with an almost expectant look of sorrow, waiting for the words of confirmation she so dreaded.
"They have passed the borders of the land of Lothlorien, home of our kindred to the South, in safety, save one alone." Here he closed his eyes briefly as he struggled to regain his composure as the weight of this loss washed over him and clouded his clear blue eyes, "Mithrandir fell in the dark chasm of Moria."
Arwen stared blankly ahead, numb. For the grief of Glorfindel, she wished to feel some pain, some emotion, anything. She embraced him and stood for a time, not knowing what else to do. Everything just felt so wrong.
"There is always hope." she whispered gently, moving away and gazing into his eyes, ancient, filled with starlight and the knowledge of many days.
Glorfindel smiled softly and bowed slightly, his blonde hair spilling over his shoulders, shining with silver highlights in the moonlight, "Indeed there is, Lady Undomiel."
"Come," Arwen motioned her hand to the path which led to the city, "let us return to the house of my father."
Glorfindel nodded and the two began the walk through the gardens toward the dwelling. The air was filled with light and warmth, as though summer still lingered amidst the flowers and trees in the valley of Imladris. The moon shone brightly above them, filling everything with a cold glimmer. They walked, now in silence, each with their own thoughts. Glorfindel's mind rested on the figure who strode so gracefully beside him, the starlight flickering in her dark hair; a light shimmered beneath their feet as they tread the stone lined path, though no lantern did they carry.
So many years he had watched her grow. A brief smile touched his face as he recalled the young maiden who had so enthusiastically endeavored to wield the blade her father had given to her. She had listened with eager ears and flashing eyes filled with wonder to the tales of the past ages and had pleaded with Lord Elrond to be allowed the use and possession of the sword of Idril, lady of the once great fallen city of Gondolin, whom she was descended from.
Such wonder and determination had shone in her keen eyes that day. Elrond and Celebrian had watched with laughter and pride as she attempted to swing the heavy weapon. He could see her, wife to the Lord of Rivendell, laughing brightly, her long golden hair flashing in the sunlight.
The loss of the Lady Celebrian had been a grievous one, most of all to her husband. He could still see it sometimes, that haunted look of pain that would fill his eyes when he thought of her. She was gone; she had departed long ago, unable any longer to bear the torment of her wounds. Over a thousand year had passed and yet he could remember every detail as though it had taken place but the day before.
Scenes flashed before his half lidded eyes, ones that had haunted him for many days. Celebrian, laying forlornly upon a bed, her chest barely rising and falling with each shallow breath, her face and body scored with wounds innumerable. Her once shining golden hair streaked with dirt and bits of leaves and branches falling in a tangled mass around her battered, grime smudged face. The bright, starlight filled eyes that had once shone with such clarity were dimmed and hopeless, hidden behind tired lids as she slept fitfully in her haunted, feverish dreams.
Glorfindel's keen eyes hardened. Such evil, that could bring pain to the innocent. Such evil. to hate all that was good and pure and to devise its ruin. "Yrch." He mouthed the word, his lip pulled up in a sneer, his face apathetic and cold. "Dae a mor."* Memories of that day filled his mind and he sighed as they flooded him with grief; pain and hatred.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
* "Orcs" "Darkness and shadow"
Apparently, Peter Jackson and his cronies came up with an interesting history for the sword that Arwen bears. Here goes: it belonged to her great- grandmother, Idril of Gondolin, who wedded Tuor the mortal, and bore him Earendil, who wedded Elwing, who bore him Elrond and his twin, Elros. Elwing was descended from Dior, the son of Luthien and Beren, of whom many legends are told.
Galadriel is Celebrian's mother, so I just thought that since she obviously knew much about Arwen and Aragorn's relationship, and the fact that they were closely related, it seemed likely that Arwen would have the gift of foresight for herself, as well as the help of her grandmother in helping her to see the fate of the one she loved.
"Arwen." A voice called through the mists and she blinked until the image before her focused, "my lady."
"Hmmmmmmmm?" she murmured, staring into the deep eyes of Glorfindel, "Mae govannem," she whispered in greeting, sitting upright.
"My lady, are you alright?" he questioned, offering her a hand. His brows furrowed in worry at her dazed state, "Shall I fetch your father?"
Arwen took his offer for support and allowed him to help her to her feet. "Nay, I am fine, my lord." She smiled with all the grace she could piece together. Mithrandir was defeated.. How could it be? Why did he stray ever into the dark depths of Khazad-dûm, where dwelt shadow and evil? Surely he would not have led the company needlessly into Moria. It was a grievous loss, especially to the elven kind, who of all the races knew perhaps best his purpose.
Glorfindel looked at her quizzically but did not say a word. Some shadow lay upon her, a darkness which haunted the depths of her eyes. He raised an eyebrow as if to question her statement of reassurance but did not give voice to a challenge.
"Your father bid me send you word concerning the Fellowship of the Ring."
She started slightly, then looked at him with a closely guarded expression. "What then has become of it?" Arwen asked with an almost expectant look of sorrow, waiting for the words of confirmation she so dreaded.
"They have passed the borders of the land of Lothlorien, home of our kindred to the South, in safety, save one alone." Here he closed his eyes briefly as he struggled to regain his composure as the weight of this loss washed over him and clouded his clear blue eyes, "Mithrandir fell in the dark chasm of Moria."
Arwen stared blankly ahead, numb. For the grief of Glorfindel, she wished to feel some pain, some emotion, anything. She embraced him and stood for a time, not knowing what else to do. Everything just felt so wrong.
"There is always hope." she whispered gently, moving away and gazing into his eyes, ancient, filled with starlight and the knowledge of many days.
Glorfindel smiled softly and bowed slightly, his blonde hair spilling over his shoulders, shining with silver highlights in the moonlight, "Indeed there is, Lady Undomiel."
"Come," Arwen motioned her hand to the path which led to the city, "let us return to the house of my father."
Glorfindel nodded and the two began the walk through the gardens toward the dwelling. The air was filled with light and warmth, as though summer still lingered amidst the flowers and trees in the valley of Imladris. The moon shone brightly above them, filling everything with a cold glimmer. They walked, now in silence, each with their own thoughts. Glorfindel's mind rested on the figure who strode so gracefully beside him, the starlight flickering in her dark hair; a light shimmered beneath their feet as they tread the stone lined path, though no lantern did they carry.
So many years he had watched her grow. A brief smile touched his face as he recalled the young maiden who had so enthusiastically endeavored to wield the blade her father had given to her. She had listened with eager ears and flashing eyes filled with wonder to the tales of the past ages and had pleaded with Lord Elrond to be allowed the use and possession of the sword of Idril, lady of the once great fallen city of Gondolin, whom she was descended from.
Such wonder and determination had shone in her keen eyes that day. Elrond and Celebrian had watched with laughter and pride as she attempted to swing the heavy weapon. He could see her, wife to the Lord of Rivendell, laughing brightly, her long golden hair flashing in the sunlight.
The loss of the Lady Celebrian had been a grievous one, most of all to her husband. He could still see it sometimes, that haunted look of pain that would fill his eyes when he thought of her. She was gone; she had departed long ago, unable any longer to bear the torment of her wounds. Over a thousand year had passed and yet he could remember every detail as though it had taken place but the day before.
Scenes flashed before his half lidded eyes, ones that had haunted him for many days. Celebrian, laying forlornly upon a bed, her chest barely rising and falling with each shallow breath, her face and body scored with wounds innumerable. Her once shining golden hair streaked with dirt and bits of leaves and branches falling in a tangled mass around her battered, grime smudged face. The bright, starlight filled eyes that had once shone with such clarity were dimmed and hopeless, hidden behind tired lids as she slept fitfully in her haunted, feverish dreams.
Glorfindel's keen eyes hardened. Such evil, that could bring pain to the innocent. Such evil. to hate all that was good and pure and to devise its ruin. "Yrch." He mouthed the word, his lip pulled up in a sneer, his face apathetic and cold. "Dae a mor."* Memories of that day filled his mind and he sighed as they flooded him with grief; pain and hatred.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
* "Orcs" "Darkness and shadow"
Apparently, Peter Jackson and his cronies came up with an interesting history for the sword that Arwen bears. Here goes: it belonged to her great- grandmother, Idril of Gondolin, who wedded Tuor the mortal, and bore him Earendil, who wedded Elwing, who bore him Elrond and his twin, Elros. Elwing was descended from Dior, the son of Luthien and Beren, of whom many legends are told.
Galadriel is Celebrian's mother, so I just thought that since she obviously knew much about Arwen and Aragorn's relationship, and the fact that they were closely related, it seemed likely that Arwen would have the gift of foresight for herself, as well as the help of her grandmother in helping her to see the fate of the one she loved.