Inturruptions

Chapter 08

Changes in the Wind

By Renee 101

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The flickering firelight highlighted the gentle mahogany hues in the ornately carved woodwork of the library bookshelves. Within the shelves, the leather bindings of the hundreds of books rested comfortably in their respective spaces; the supple rawhide both absorbed the light, yet reflected it in a most serene manner, the musky scent of leather and paper filling the room with its heady effects.

Glorfindel leaned back against the comfortable, overstuffed chair, gazing moodily into the fireplace. The library was usually such a relaxing place, with its thick rugs, its polished redwood, and the fire that always seemed to be flickering in the fireplace…But not tonight. Tonight, the peace eluded him as he brooded, his lips pressed tightly together in an unmistakable purse, and his long, slender fingers steepled in front of his face. The familiar nagging headache was all he had in means of company, it sat in the shadows of his mind like a cobra, ready to strike at any moment and unleash its deadly poison. He felt lines crease his forehead and made a conscious effort to relax the muscles therein. He felt haunted, made uneasy by some memory…some…thing…he knew it contained important information, yet it was elusive as a stray parchment that had been caught up in an afternoon breeze, so near, yet absolutely unattainable.

Something about the maiden Elharma that afternoon was nagging at him. He had seen something there, something that he did not recognize, something unfamiliar. This, of course, was, in all practicality, an insane thought; considering that Glorfindel had personally known the maiden for practically all of her life. Of course, there were those few times that she and her mother Elensar had gone from Lindon and visited Maeglin, and there also were those years in the aftermath of Elensar's death; but with those exceptions made, Glorfindel had been present for virtually every moment of the maiden's life. But it was, incredibly, something about her that was undeniably foreign about her that day...no no no, not foreign. The thing that was haunting him was actually something about her that conjured a memory… a memory that refused to surface, something from a long time ago… It reminded him of…of…damn! why couldn't he put his finger on it?

 He knew, somehow, that the thing that mercilessly plagued his mind was not yet another way which the maiden resembled her mother. Ironically, there was little about the maiden that did not look almost exactly like her mother, her hair, her build, her whit and charm... Little, yes, but one of those things were the maiden's eyes. Her mother had borne the characteristically sky-blue eyes of her lineage, a heritage passed from her grandfather to her father and then on to both Elensar and Elrond. No, the maiden's eyes were unique, having the remarkable ability to be all colors or no color at all. It was these eyes that haunted him this night…Needling him…haunting…begging… Stirring some forgotten memory from the depths of his mind like one would wake a sleeping child, gently prodding, calling into the foggy depths. Incredibly, the more Glorfindel pondered this…this… thing that was disturbing his peace, the more he came to recognize the haunting elusiveness in resemblance to a memory that he had attained in his first life…interesting.

He watched the flickering firelight, searching, pleading into its golden depths, hoping against all hope to loose himself in the welcoming glow…but the blessed freedom never came; his mind refusing to release his consciousness from the nagging, teasing, maddeningly elusive taunt that his memory was holding just out of his reach…

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As a matter of fact, the maiden was, at the moment, sitting calmly in Galadriel's garden talking with the visiting dwarves while they waited for the evening meal. They were intelligent, cunning and whitty; characteristics that, according to popular belief, was decidedly lacking in their respective race. Elharma was surprised, pleasantly so, as she talked with the travellers.

While they exchanged social chatter, she entertained her intellect by studying their race, a culture that, with the exception of the language, was absolutely foreign to her.

Thorin was taller than the rest, and boasted of a long red beard cropping from a substantial, bulbous nose beneath twinkling, friendly eyes from under thick, bushy brows. On his head he wore a solidly-made helm of forged steel. His clothes were colored in browns mostly, his generous boots a dark grey and the lining of his cloak a deep forrest-green.

The next one, the smallest of the three, was named Knor. Of course, he made up for his lack of height with a generously muscled physique. He vaguely reminded her of a box, the same width as of height and the same height as depth.- His hair (it amazed Elharma the amount of hair on these curious little beings) was black, but streaked lightly with grey at his temples. Elharma thought that it gave him a very regal air and complimented nicely the grey tunic and brown boots.

The third, Malron, was quite outspoken, although not unpleasantly so, since he was generally cheerful and full of compliments. He was of a lighter build than his companions, and his hair and beard were not as long as the tresses of his counterparts, also bearing fewer of the ornate braids that the other dwarves proudly sported. Elharma assumed that these signs meant that he was the youngest of the group, as he also appeared a little naive.

Unfortunately, her mind strayed…these social discussions were, unfortunately such a bore. Her mind reached out to Haldir… but was interrupted when she heard: "Elharma…what does that name mean?"

Thorin had asked the question, snapping the maiden to the present.

"Pardon me?" She asked, slightly disoriented.

"What does your name, Elharma, mean?" He repeated, ununciating the words carefully.

"It means 'Treasure from the stars' in quenyon." She replied, "Actually, it is not really my name." Thorin tipped his head quizzically as Elharma continued, "It is just a nickname, something that is easier for the elves to pronounce than my real name is. My real name is D'immaren…"

"A miiranish name?" Thorin interrupted quickly, his attension caught. His companions scowled at him for interrupting.

"Actually, yes," Elharma responded, pleasantly surprised, "You know the mirranish language?"

"Well no," Knor countered, "The miiran have become legendary, myths of our history. An especially prominent legend is one of a miiran by the name of D'imma who would come, bidden by her elvish rider, when our families were in need of aide. It is only by that legend that we recognized your name as miiranish."

Elharma was intrigued, "As a matter of fact, I was named after the miiran D'imma. The rider you spoke of would be my mother, Elensar. She is the only elf in the existence of all middle earth who can touch the creatures."

The dwarves perked, "Is she here? Might we meet her?" Malron asked excitedly.

"Alas," The maiden responded mournfully, "She died many ages ago."

Thorin placed a gentle hand on Elharma's arm, "We grieve for your loss."

"Do you…" Knor asked, suddenly shy, "Do you…bear the mark?"

Elharma nodded and smiled faintly, "I do."

"Might we see it?" Malron asked quetly. The other dwarves nodded enthusiastically.

Elharma, perceiving no danger from the friendly beings, stooped down and pulled her thick blonde curls over one shoulder. A miniature, though roughly calloused finger, caressed the skin surrounding the mark of the miiran. Suddenly, though, it jerked away, surprise eminating from all of the dwarves as the fingers came into contact with the denoted flesh.

"But…" She heard a quiet gasp.

"Yes…it is made of a metal." She replied in an understanding voice.

"Incredible, the metal has fused with your skin, becoming almost a living thing." This was Thorin, "And can you…can you summon the beast? Can you call forth the Miiran just like your mother before you?"

She straightened, shaking her head, "Nay, kind sir. The lady Galadriel is helping me learn how, however."

"We wish you the best." Malron offered gallantly.

Elharma smiled demurely, "Thank you. Unfortunately, I must bid you farewell, for I must prepare myself for the evening meal. Is there anything I can do for you before I go?"

Malron was about to say something, but Thorin quickly interceded, "No, you have been kind enough. Now go, we will be waiting here for you, for we dearly wish to escort you to the dining hall."

Elharma smiled and departed, laughing inwardly at how delicately Thorin asked for her help.

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She had just finished pinning her hair up when there was a knock at her door. "Come." She commanded softly.

Haldir entered, his hair wet and disheveled, his clothes mussed. She took one look at him and burst out laughing, "Haldir, my love, you look absolutely absured!"

He did not say anything, his only response was to walk purposefully over to her, gather her in his arms and quiet her laugh with a kiss that left her quite breathless. He wrapped his arms around her so possessively and held her so close that she thought that her ribs might just crack. She pulled sharply away from his desperate lips, "Haldir, you are hurting me…"

A series of emotions crossed his face and he relaxed his arms, "Sorry my love. Is that better?"

She smiled, "Much," and laid her cheek on his chest, relishing the feelings that his very presence elicited from within her very soul, "What is wrong, my love, that would prompt such uncharacteristic public dishevelment in you?"

He kissed her ear, and said, "I have just missed you. That is all."

She smiled, and placed a soft kiss on the soft colour of his cheek. "You had better go. It is almost time for the evening meal, and I completely expect you to be my escort."

He scowled, "I can think of better things to do…"

She giggled again, "But you must wait, my love! I am needed as translator for our honored guests tonight."

He groaned as she accented this statement by tucking her fingers in the waist of his trousers and teasing the flesh there. Sure as the sun was in the sky was he thinking of better ways to spend the evening.

She laughed and pushed him away, "THAT, my love, will DEFINITELY have to wait until another time."

He left after another kiss that was, in his opinion, entirely too short.

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I know that there hasn't been a whole lot of romance in the last two chapters, but your time is coming…

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