Part 5 – Lineage
"Good morning, Amarië." Lord Celeborn greeted her benevolently as Amarië paused just inside the arched doorway of the audience chamber, her hand on the elaborately carved lintel. He was alone this time. Without Galadriel at his side, he seemed more approachable, though only slightly, for he possessed a magnificence of his own, a majesty so great it nearly paralyzed her wits.
"Enter, child," he continued in Elvish. "Why do you hesitate? Am I so fearsome that you must look upon me with such doubt?"
Moving so gracefully he seemed to float, he came over to her, gazing down at her with those deep-set eyes, which seemed to see so much.
Amarië flushed. "Pardon, my lord. It is just that I am overwhelmed."
"Much here is new to you," he agreed, "but you have long known of your elven ties. Now you must start to accept them." He drew her hand into the crook of his arm, escorting her through the outer chamber into an inner chamber bearing a grouping of cushioned chairs and other amenities. "Let us sit and be easy. There is much to discuss."
They sat. Celeborn regarded her with a curious smile as though he knew more about her thoughts than she did. "Did you find your room comfortable?"
"Oh, yes!" Still nervous, she rushed the words. "I hope I did not displace someone?"
"No, that is one of the rooms reserved for guests, though you are no guest, Amarië, but a rightful inhabitant of our city. You must find it odd, living as we do so high above the ground, our rooms built upon Telain, connected by walkways in the air. But to us it is as natural as breathing."
"It is very beautiful here," she said shyly. "I like it."
He smiled, but did not reply. He seemed to be waiting for her to continue, but when she did not, he added, "There is something on your mind, child. I see it in your eyes. What is it that you would say to me?"
She took a breath, knowing that this was her chance. "My lord," she began self-consciously, "I am grateful that you have seen fit to acknowledge me. Naturally, I had hoped, but I was afraid . . . I was never certain . . ."
"Of course I acknowledge you, child. You are the daughter of my son."
Still dazed by his easy acceptance of her, she bowed her head, looking down at her fingertips. "His name, my lord? Can you tell me . . .?"
"Celebrenin," he replied, and added nothing more.
"Celebrenin," she murmured, savoring the sound. "I know this sounds foolish, but . . . he is dead, I assume?"
"Slain by Orcs," Celeborn confirmed, his voice tinged with sorrow. "They came upon him while he wandered in the wilderness. He fought valiantly, but there were too many."
She absorbed this with a frown, imagining the scene all too easily. It pained her to consider it. "He broke my mother's heart, I think. She was a beautiful woman with a proud spirit. I've been told she was never the same after he passed through our village."
"I grieve for her. My son had his faults. He is still learning, as we all are."
"Even you?" she dared to ask.
Celeborn inclined his head. "Even I."
Emotion chose that moment to strike—intense, harsh, like a sudden storm in the night, careless of its path.
"What am I, my lord?" she cried out. Her chest ached from the pressure of holding back the tide. "Can you tell me that?"
"You are yourself, dear child." He reached out and caught hold of her hand, holding it between both of his. "No more and no less. Once you accept that, all else is simple."
"But what does that mean? I am neither Elf nor human! I am nothing!"
"You are everything," he contradicted her gently. "You are part of the whole, an essential part, matchless and perfect in your own completeness. There is none other like you, thus you serve your unique purpose without effort, even while you struggle and search. Indeed, you cannot escape serving your purpose, yet you can serve it more fully by willfully aligning yourself with your own Truth."
"I do not understand."
"You will, in time. Now, there is another matter on your mind, is there not?"
She stared at him, confounded by his seeming omniscience, but determined to say what she must say before she lost her nerve.
"My lord," she began, "when I embarked upon this journey, five-and-twenty men accompanied me. Five are now dead, and two lie wounded on the edge of your land. Of those that remain, one is my half-brother, Ennis. The others are simple farmers, farriers, shopkeepers, and the like. They are a peace-loving people, but peace has left our land and other ways must be learned. As you know, I am here for my own purpose, but they . . . they have come to learn the art of warfare from the elves of Lothlórien."
Celeborn displayed no sign of surprise. "And who among us would teach them this warfare?"
She frowned, the mild question catching her unawares. "Why, your Marchwarden, I suppose, and his bowmen . . . wardens, he calls them . . . warriors . . ."
"Then it is Haldir you must ask," he informed her patiently.
"No!" She shook her head. "He will refuse! I am sure of it."
Celeborn's face remained serene. "You must know him very well indeed if you can be so certain of his answer."
Confused, she pressed her hands together in her lap. "Nay, I do not know him well at all, but I have seen him sneer at them . . . at us. He mocked our fighting skills."
"I do not think he sneered at you yesterday when he took you to the archery range."
"You heard of that?" It had not occurred to her that the tale would spread so fast. She looked down, flooded with the memory.
"Word has reached me of the human female who possesses elven skill with a bow. Many are curious. Why did you not tell Haldir the truth? He must suspect by now."
Her lowered eyes flashed up. "I did not know if you would object. You did not give me leave to speak of it."
"You thought I wished to hide it?" he queried, very gently. "My dear child, I only thought to grant you time for reflection before making an announcement that would draw so much attention upon you. Did you think I was ashamed of you?"
"No, of course not." Yet she colored because she had indeed wondered this.
"Amarië, look at me. Do you want me to tell him?"
"Perhaps that might be best," she said, her voice low.
"Why would it be best?"
She released a breath. "I fear he may be annoyed with me. And then he will certainly refuse our request for elven aid." She paused, then added pleadingly, "Could you not command him to help us?"
Celeborn sat back in his chair. "I could, of course, but I will not. Haldir is the captain of the Galadhrim, one of our highest-ranking elves. He has earned the right to make such decisions on his own, and I would not insult him by withholding that right. This is not a matter of alliances or treaties. This is a favor, and as such must be requested rather than required."
"I see." Amarië's heart sank.
Yet Celeborn's smile was warm. "You act as emissary for your people on this matter, therefore you must take up the gauntlet. You must face down your own dragons, child. If you do, I think you'll find those dragons are not so fierce."
xxx
Celeborn strolled beside her along the walkways of the city, attracting curious glances from those they passed. The Elf lord's stature and dignity made Amarië feel small and clumsy by comparison, but she kept her chin up and hid her sense of inadequacy as best she could.
They found Haldir on a talan set high above the city; according to Celeborn, it was a place the Marchwarden often went to be alone. He stood tall and straight, gazing out toward a distant part of the Golden Wood, as though his longtime habit of watching for enemies followed him even here.
He turned at their approach, his fair hair ruffled by the breeze. "My lord?" he said, his proud face alert. His gaze shifted to Amarië, then back again to Celeborn with just a hint of inquiry.
Celeborn waited until they reached Haldir's side before he spoke. "My friend," he said in the common tongue, "it is good to have you here in the city for a change. Long have you guarded our borders with diligence. You deserve a respite from your duties."
"It is good to be here," Haldir answered with equal courtesy and a slight bow.
"I bear news that may or may not come as a surprise. It concerns Amarië. Perhaps her performance with a bow has made you suspect that she is no mere human." He paused. "In fact, she is half elven. She is also my granddaughter."
Complete silence greeted his words. Haldir's gaze moved to Amarië, his face devoid of expression. Shrinking inwardly, she offered him a small smile, an apology of sorts, but won no response for her effort.
"I see," he said, his expression unreadable. "Then she is Celebrenin's offspring?"
Offspring. Somehow it seemed to her a rather ill mannered word. Her stomach clenched with the certainty that he was angry, but this was followed by a small spurt of indignation. Why should she care what he thought? If only she did not need his help, she could walk away from him without a backward look. Yet even as this entered her mind, she knew she did care what he thought of her. She cared very much. You see, whispered a voice in her head. Already he makes you weak . . . he is dangerous . . .
"Yes," Celeborn answered. "And although my son's behavior was often ill-considered, Amarië is a great gift to us. To me, as well as to all of Lothlórien. I am very pleased to have her here."
To Amarië's astonishment, Haldir turned and gave her a bow. "Welcome to Lothlórien, my lady." Still, his formal words were at odds with his demeanor, for his gray eyes chilled her with unspoken accusation.
"Haldir, I will leave Amarië with you for now. I believe she has a request to make of you, and I would give her privacy to make it." Celeborn touched her arm in a reassuring gesture, then glided silently away.
Amarië looked down at the ground, her body taut with tension. She felt Haldir's stern gaze on her face. "You could have told me," he said quietly.
She glanced up. "Nay, I could not."
"I asked you yesterday. A direct question, Amarië. You lied to me."
"Yes, I did," she admitted. "And now you are angry."
"I do not enjoy being lied to, or being made to look a fool. Many have asked me about you. I told them what I thought was true."
"I am sorry." She lifted her chin. "I did not feel that I could speak of it. The time was not right."
He sighed and looked away, his lips pressed together as if considering her words. After a few seconds, he seemed to gather up his annoyance and set it aside. "Very well. We will not mention this again. What request would you ask of me?"
Flustered, she moistened her lips. "A small favor."
"What is it?"
"It concerns the men in my company. Perhaps you wonder what their purpose is in coming here."
"I do indeed. They are a hopeless lot."
"I trust you do not mean that. They are good men, all of them. Strong and able and fearless."
"What is your point?" He sounded suspicious and rather haughty, the way he'd been in the moment of their first meeting.
Feeling a little daunted, she went on, "I have spoken to Lord Celeborn, and he has indicated that you must be the one to decide."
"Decide what?"
She pushed a lock of hair from her face, and embarked upon the same speech she had made to Lord Celeborn. "—they are peace-loving folk, but as you know, all peace has left our land. Those who would survive must learn another way to live. Those twenty men your wardens guard, those men you call a hopeless lot, they have braved a long journey to come here. They have come to ask your aid, Haldir of Lórien. They come to learn the art of warfare from the elves of Lothlórien."
"Learn the art of warfare?" He had the nerve to laugh, not a pleasant laugh, but incredulous and rather sour. "That is what you call a small favor?"
Dismayed, she studied him; this was the exactly the reaction she had anticipated. However, speaking of it had served to strengthen her resolve to do what she could for the people they had left behind. She thought of the families she knew, of their fear and desperation, and of the Orcs and evil men who continually trampled over their lands, burning and destroying and killing as they went.
"Please, Haldir," she pleaded. "Two weeks of your time, perhaps three. It could make such a difference to my people."
"I thought the elves were your people now. You switch allegiances quickly."
She flinched. "Will you consider the request or will you not?"
"I cannot see that two or three weeks could make a difference. It could take months or years to turn most of them into satisfactory warriors."
"You underestimate them, my brother most of all. They are motivated by their love for their homeland, and for the people they have left behind who are counting on them to come back with skills they can pass on to others, perhaps even new, more effective weapons."
He looked down at her without speaking, his expression stiff and shuttered.
"Please, " she repeated humbly. Moving closer, she placed her hand on his chest to make her meaning clear. "I will do anything you ask. Anything." Her heart rate quickened as once again she made the only offer she could think of that might sway him, even though it might forever seal his poor opinion of her.
"You already made that offer, Amarië. My answer is the same."
When she realized he was again rejecting her, her face went hot with humiliation. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice shaking despite her efforts to control it. "I have nothing else to bargain with." She started to turn away, but his hand prevented her.
"Amarië, look at me." The censure had left his voice.
Mortified, she could not do so. She heard him sigh.
He caught hold of her shoulders, turning her toward him, and lifted her chin with his hand. "You do not have to offer me your body to win my aid. If the Lord and Lady do not forbid it, we will bring the men to Caras Galadhon, train them in warfare, and send them on their way when it is done. Does that satisfy you?"
Startled, her eyes widened. "Yes. Oh, yes, it does." She clenched her hands into fists at her side, afraid that she would do something foolish, such as hug him. Another rejection she could not take just now. "Thank you," she whispered, still amazed.
"It will not be an easy task. You will have to help." A smile now lurked in his eyes. Somehow, against all odds, she had persuaded him, though she knew not what had turned the tide.
"I will help in any way I can," she said.
"My one request is that you do not lie to me again. And I have changed my mind regarding one other matter."
"What is that?" she asked anxiously.
He touched her cheek with a finger, tracing the curve of her jaw. "One kiss will I take from you. It's a small price, I think. Will you mind?"
"No, I won't mind," she said, her knees turning to water.
Danger.
Her breath caught in her throat as his hands settled at her waist. Slowly, he pulled her closer, seeming in no great hurry to proceed. He was still watching her, studying her, his gray eyes unwavering, their expression obscure. She could scarcely breathe. What was he waiting for? What were his thoughts?
Irresistible danger. Unbearable tension.
Now his head was lowering, his mouth closing on hers, gentle but for a moment, then urgent, demanding. Many men had she kissed, many caresses had she known, yet none had warmed her, not like this…not like this. He kissed her hotly, fully, expertly, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth as though he had the right.
Dizzy with need, she slid her palms up his arms to his well-defined shoulders, feeling the hard Elven muscle beneath the cloth of his tunic, shaped by centuries of training and battle. His silken hair slid against her hand as she smoothed her fingers up the line of his jaw to the tip of his pointed ear. Ah, that did it. She heard a moan low in his throat . . .
He pulled away before she was ready, while her pulses still raged and shuddered with need. "Enough," he murmured, his breathing ragged. "I fear that was a little more than one kiss."
She said nothing, unable to speak.
"You are Celeborn's granddaughter, which means I owe you my allegiance and my courtesy. I should not have done that. I should apologize."
What could she say? It seemed he recovered more quickly than she. Perhaps from habit?
"I agreed to it," she said. "I do not want an apology."
He wore an enigmatic look. "I am not making one. I merely said I should."
"Nor would you have been allowed to kiss me if I had not wished it."
"That I knew," he replied, a slight quirk to his lips. "Yet I think for now we must put this matter behind us. We have work to do, warriors to train."
She straightened her spine, disconcerted to discover that for those brief moments she had actually forgotten about that other business. If a kiss from him could wreak such havoc, what chaos could a full night do?
"I must speak with Lord Celeborn first, then I will send a message to my brothers," he went on briskly. "They will see that the humans are brought here forthwith. Rúmil speaks enough of the common tongue to manage them. Tomorrow we will start training with both bow and sword." He paused, as if considering. "How is your swordplay? Do you have skill enough to help with their training?"
"Some," she admitted. "I have practiced only with Ennis. And with Orcs," she added wryly. "I am no match for Orcish strength, but I am quick."
"That is your Elvish blood speaking. I should have seen it. Eventually you must learn to speak our tongue, but that can wait. Now I must go. Do you wish for my escort, or can you find your way about?"
"I would like to stay here for a while," she answered seriously. "This is a good place for reflection."
"I will leave you then." He turned to go.
"Marchwarden," she said, staying him for a moment. "Thank you. You have a kind heart."
Haldir gave a short laugh. "Not always, Amarië. But in this matter, you may rely on me. I must first be sure this is allowed, but if so, I give you my word that your brother and his men will have the opportunity to learn from the elves of Lothlórien. How much they learn will be up to them."
xxx
Galadriel and Celeborn smiled upon Haldir as he stood before them in their audience chamber. "The request is unusual," Galadriel told the Marchwarden, "yet it has been foreseen and a purpose exists. You may proceed, Haldir. Allow the humans to enter our city, but be sure they are watched."
Celeborn glanced at her, then returned his gaze to Haldir. "Amarië thought it would be difficult to persuade you."
"It was not easy," Haldir admitted, without adding details.
"You showed compassion," Galadriel stated, "yet you now question yourself. Do not give in to self-doubt, Haldir. Your judgment was sound."
"You do not call it weakness, my lady?"
"It is not weakness to yield to kindness. It is weakness to yield to cruelty."
Haldir bowed his head. He had lived long and learned much, yet the focus of his life had been on the protection and defense of his own kind. When killing was a way of life, one did not tend to dwell on gentler virtues.
Celeborn spoke. "Have you enough elves to teach these men and still keep our borders safe?"
"Yes," Haldir answered, "I have considered that. I can easily spare eight including myself, and it will not weaken us on any front. And Amarië has sufficient skill with the bow to be of help. I would like to have Rúmil and Orophin here. By now they will have the measure of these men, and the men will perhaps have grown less hostile to my brothers. Also Rúmil speaks a little of their language."
"Who will take charge of the watch?" Celeborn asked.
Haldir named another Elf, one who had taken his place in the past and fulfilled his duty admirably.
"All seems to be in order then," Celeborn said. "And Amarië?"
Perplexed, Haldir did not answer at once. "I do not take your meaning, my lord."
"She has explained all matters to your satisfaction?"
"I still do not follow you."
Celeborn exchanged a glance with Galadriel.
"In time, you will," Galadriel told him with a smile. "Remember, she is young."
"I know it well, my lady."
Haldir hid his confusion, knowing it would be useless to question the Lady further upon the matter. Instead, he bowed and took his leave, heading for his quarters so that he could write out a message for his brothers. Of Amarië, he could not think right now, for if he did, the message would go unwritten. Tonight, when he lay upon his bed, he would think of her all too much.
Celeborn watched him leave. "I would that she had told him," he said with a sigh.
"She thinks her knowledge of our tongue will serve some hidden purpose. It will, only it will not be the purpose she imagines."
"For her sake, I hope he understands."
"We cannot tell him. It is her choice to make. She must learn to trust."
"What purpose will her knowledge serve?"
Galadriel turned to her husband, immeasurable sorrow flickering in her eyes "The mirror has shown me something that has not yet settled in my mind. Pain is drawing near. Still, there is hope. There is always hope."
xxx
"What does it say?" Rúmil demanded, as Orophin perused Haldir's short letter.
"You and I are to bring the men to Caras Galadhon at once. Litters have been sent for the two wounded ones." His blond head came up, his face baffled. "What in the name of the Valar is he thinking? The Lord and Lady have agreed to this?"
"They must have, else he would not command it. Only the two of us?"
"Nay, we are to bring five others of our choosing. For what purpose, he does not say. Why am I not surprised? Ever has our brother enjoyed taking his revenge when we have played some trick on him." His voice held both amusement and frustration.
"What trick have we played?" Rúmil asked, then chuckled. "Ah, you mean the wager."
"Yes, but as for that, these are good tidings indeed." Orophin grinned. "Clearly, the woman's influence is at hand in this."
Rúmil flashed him an answering grin. "So things progress. But how far?"
"That we cannot know. How many days has it been?"
"Can it be only two? It seems like a century we have been watching these men. Such children they are."
"Remember, you said no more than four days. I said he would withstand her charms for a week. That leaves a middle ground where neither of us wins."
Rúmil glanced around at some of the other elves, those guarding the men and in the nearby trees. "We could get some of these others involved to make it more interesting."
"Nay, brother, what are you thinking? Haldir would never forgive us if we so sullied the lady's name. Between us, it is different. We are his brothers."
"You are right, of course. 'Twas but a fleeting thought. The trick will be to discover if and when it has happened."
"Oh, I do not think that will be so difficult," Orophin replied. "It will show in his face, do you not think?"
Rúmil considered. "I suppose you are right. Others may not see the difference, but you and I will know. If we can see the two of them together, that is. We will watch his face when he looks upon her."
"What if it does not happen at all?"
"Nay, have you forgotten her beauty? Or the look on his face when she put her fair hand on his chest? The question is not if but when."
"I think you have the right of it. This should prove interesting indeed." Orophin tucked Haldir's letter away, adding, "Which elves shall we take with us?"
"Oh, let us choose those who like to laugh the most."
"That sounds fair," Orophin approved. "If we have to be around these humans, we may as well have fun with it."
xxx
Amarië did not see Haldir until late in the day, when she had recovered enough poise that she could face him once more. In the interim, she had wandered the pathways of Caras Galadhon, exploring its nooks and secret places, and meeting various Elf-folk, who greeted her in the Elvish language and smiled upon her in a friendly manner. None had seemed to expect her to answer in their tongue, but the respect they accorded her suggested that Lord Celeborn had begun to make her lineage known.
Eventually she wandered down to the archery range, where she found Haldir and Ferodir indulging in a bout of swordplay on the training court. Neither Elf glanced her way as she joined other onlookers, for their eyes were locked together as they circled each other, each bearing a wicked-looking sword in his hand. Both elves had changed from their fine clothes to what looked like attire meant for training purposes. Both were tall and lean, with Haldir being slightly more muscular. Amarië was certain he would quickly best the slimmer Elf, but within moments she saw that Ferodir had talents beyond his charm and wit.
Still, it was Haldir who held her eye. She had seen his skill with a bow during the battle with the Orcs, but with a sword, he was equally impressive. He whirled and parried with such ease and grace, moving effortlessly and with such swiftness that it stole her breath away. He was far quicker than she had realized, far more dexterous and agile. So much could her brother and his men learn from him if he were to assist in the training! Whether he planned to, she did not know.
The swords gleamed in a blur of speed, clashing and parrying and thrusting, the two elves moving and circling, their faces grim with concentration, as though it were a matter of life and death and no mere game. For Haldir, she supposed this training was indeed necessary to his continued existence, whereas Ferodir appeared to do nothing but enjoy the finer elements of life. Amarië twisted her fingers together in her tension, for the swords they used were real, their edges sharp and very deadly. Quite easily could one of them be injured, for they did not appear to be holding back or using sensible precautions.
If Haldir were harmed, she would kill Ferodir.
The thought came into her mind unbidden, catching her by surprise with its intensity and force. How had it come to this? How could one simple kiss have this effect? But there had been nothing simple about it. He had called one kiss a small price to pay, but it came at no small price to her. It was a memory that would long haunt her dreams and all her waking moments. She wondered how much it had affected him, and whether he would dream of her at all.
All at once she noticed that the style of fighting had altered. As if by tacit agreement, both elves began to use tactics they had not used before, becoming more physical and vicious, throwing their weight around, attempting to trip each other and knock each other down with brute animal force. For an instant, she was horrified until she realized that of course they would have to be prepared for methods used by other, less civilized races. Still, it made it even harder to watch, especially when Ferodir successfully brought Haldir to the ground, then hit him in the face with the hilt of his sword. She saw blood spurt from Haldir's nose, then in the next moment it was Ferodir on the ground with the Marchwarden's sword pressed to his throat.
"Yield," Haldir demanded.
Ferodir glared at him, then broke into a wide grin. "I yield to you, mellon nîn. Until next time, that is."
Haldir stepped back, shoving his hair from his bloodied face. He held out a hand to help the other Elf to his feet, and Ferodir accepted with a laugh and a bow to their audience. "I fear we have shocked Lady Amarië," he remarked in Elvish. "She does not like me very well at the moment."
Haldir turned and looked at Amarië, then walked over to where she was standing as their audience dispersed. "Where have you been all day?" he asked, switching to the common tongue.
"Exploring," she replied, trying to appear cool and composed. "You look terrible."
His mouth slanted into an almost boyish smile. "Yes, but I feel very good. Ferodir provided me with some much needed practice. I think I did well." He sounded quite pleased with himself.
"His skill surprised me," she replied, wishing she had a handkerchief to wipe away the blood, "though yours did not."
As if he read her mind, Ferodir brought over a cloth and handed it to her with a bow and a smile. Was this something that lady elves normally did? Or was Ferodir up to his mischief?
Her gaze met Haldir's, but he only raised one dark brow as if daring her to do it. Well, why not? It was not so great a thing, after all. She reached up and dabbed the blood from his face, making sure she did not look directly into his eyes. He was smiling, and looking rather smug, too. Perhaps the arrogant Elf liked the idea of Lord Celeborn's granddaughter cleaning his face for him in public.
"Have you any word from your brothers?" she asked.
"Nay, I did not ask for word. They are to bring the men, and should arrive by nightfall. You will see your own brother soon."
His words gladdened her heart. "Where will I find them when they arrive?"
"They will encamp at the base of our city, and will be guarded at all times. We do not let humans roam freely here. Do not frown, Amarië. I have done everything you have asked of me, have I not?"
"Thus far," she admitted.
"Do not concern yourself, pen-neth. All your desires will be seen to." He paused, as if suddenly realizing the implications of his words. "Which reminds me, a word of advice. When you retire for the night, it might be wise to draw your curtains. Either that, or wear a nightgown."
He turned and strolled away from her, joining Ferodir upon the archery field.
Flabbergasted, Amarië blushed scarlet, then threw the bloody cloth on the ground and stomped on it, vividly cursing the Marchwarden of the Golden Wood in both the tongues she knew.
tbc
(pen-neth - little one, young one)
