Chapter 2
Months passed by on black wings for the girls of The Order, and they bore their burdens silently, like one walking to the grave. In the halls they would nod or look into the other's eyes, communicating through silence rather than facing the world by speaking. Idril's once warm brown eyes iced over, and they became a cold brown, which faded to a washed out green, like the color of sickened grass before the first frost of winter. Inwë and Alatáriël's bright blue eyes dulled to a steely gray, and Nienori's once proud and challenging gaze was transformed into a piercing glare from deep black eyes. Now people began to notice the change, as though their spirits had been sucked out of them and stashed in an unreachable, deep, dark place that none dared wander.
Alatáriël's parents were the first to notice the difference in their daughter, and they took her to specialists, who could not seem to get her to talk below the surface. Idril's parents noticed the drastic change in their daughter also, and soon each of the girl's parents realized the connection of the friends. They could not make the girls break their silence, however. They were beyond help.
One day in late winter, the four of The Order were walking through the local park, the crisp morning silence unbroken in their wake. Each had lost the voice of their soul, feeling only grief and despair. The cries of the world deafened their thoughts, until they could not think for the noise in their minds. Slowly, they were losing their sanity, and soon it would be gone forever, in the same unattainable place that their souls now rested. Alatáriël looked to Nienori, and her look communicated what she could not. How long must we survive? The look Nienori gave her was just as telling. Not much longer.
It was at the end of the winter, when pale spring is emerging from the depths of the earth, shaking off a crusty layer of frost and emerging n a bright green undimmed by the cool breeze still clinging to the air, reminding the world that winter was not over yet. However, while all else was renewed, The Order clung to their chill like a security blanket, and did not shake off their frost. Now they realized the depth and breadth of the task they had undertaken, and they felt suffocated, as though the gravity of the world were on their chests, making is harder and harder to draw breath. Now, now they saw that they could survive no longer, and so The Order met for the last time.
It was a sunny morning in early March when they met in Inwë's woods for what would be the last meeting of The Order. They were not sure what they were planning to do, but they knew that something must be done, before all was lost and they were caged for the rest of their lives by the chains and shackles of depression and grief. They sat in the same square that they always did, and looked at each other, knowing what should be done, yet not being able to do it. It was amazing how precious life seemed, even when it was bleak and worthless.
A cold breeze blew across the windswept field, and Inwë raised herself up to exult in its power for what might be her last time. Clouds billowed overhead, and a slight electric quality could be felt in the air. The rumble of thunder rolled through the heavens, and a few spatters of rain fell to the ground. Yet the four did not move.
The wind picked up, tearing at the fields and forest with horrid tenacity. The trees were forced to bow under the force, and leaves flew through the air like birds on broken wings. The girls' hair flew across their face, streaked out behind them; none of them could see a thing. In the middle of the torrent, they could hear a voice whispering on the wind. They could not make out the words, it sounded like a different language. The wind howled to loudly to be able to place the language, and the storm screamed in their ears. The dark storm seemed to swallow them up and they fell into the shadows of their own hearts.
~ * ~
They awoke, shredding the remnants of a dream from their memories. They were in a field, though it seemed different from the field they had been in before they had been in that awkward storm. The trees seemed bigger, or maybe it was just the shadows or their imagination. Either way, they sat up, sitting in a square like they had been. The air was as sweet as candy when they breathed in, and they realized that they could not possibly be in the same place. Without speaking, The Order rose from their seats simultaneously, looking at the extremely large trees all around them. They reached up to the sky with many golden hands, their leaves flashing like the scales of a dragon. The trunks were so wide that they couldn't possibly even encircle their trunks with their arms. Something wasn't right.
After wandering through the forest for a few minutes, they realized that they were totally lost. The huge trees loomed dauntingly in front of them, as if blocking their way through the forest deliberately. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Idril caught a flash of green, moving. She spun quickly on her heel, and came face to face with a thin, double-barbed arrowhead. The pure white fletching spiraled around the shaft, and a tight string drew back the deadly weapon. The bow itself was a masterpiece, made of a dark, almost metallic wood that shone in the sunlight that filtered through the trees' canopies. The arms that drew the wickedly deadly, yet beautiful bow were thin but muscular, and the torso attached to the arms was also thin, but obviously well built. The legs were long, and he stood tall. Looking up into his face, it was fine-featured and fair, with large, golden-brown eyes almost the color of his bow. His long brown hair was pulled back, and his mouth was tight-lipped in determination.
Most noticeable were his ears. They were normal, except for the longer edge, which drew up into a dull point at the top before sloping back down. Idril found her voice.
"Ah ah ah ah ah!" She keened, stumbling backwards into the other three, who all looked up and saw the same thing she did. Their eyes widened, and they blanched from fear, wondering if they were dead, and this was heaven. Apparently, the man on the other side of the bow was surprised at their reaction, and surprised at their appearance, and he lowered his bow.
"What are you doing in Lothlórien?" He asked, regaining his composure. His voice had an accent none of them had heard before. Idril answered, since the other three girls were still recovering from the fact that they were face to face with an imaginary being, and he was talking.
"We aren't really sure," she said unsteadily, her voice shaking. How long had it been since she had used it? How many months had passed since she had uttered a word? She couldn't rightly remember, but now she spoke freely, and she felt as though a dam had been broken within her, and everything was pouring out into the open, out into the sun. However, Idril's answer only seemed to confuse him more. What Alatáriël whispered next didn't help.
"You're an elf." She stepped forward, gazing up at him. He didn't enjoy this unexpected attention, though, and he simply frowned down at them.
"You still haven't answered my question." He stated in a not-so-friendly voice. The foursome looked at each other, thinking about how to explain themselves when they weren't even sure what they were doing there. Inside of them all, they each had a story that they could tell, but none of them wanted to speak and risk unleashing the tidal power within them, bottled up for ages and ages until it had, doubled, tripled the breaking point. But someone needed to respond. For the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, Inwë spoke.
"We are travelers from a distant realm. We are lost." She hoped that he didn't prod; it would be a very hard story to try to tell. He didn't, but he seemed puzzled.
"Well, I must take you to The Lady of the Golden Wood. Now that you have entered, you cannot be allowed to leave without seeing her. You cannot know the way to the city, though, I must blindfold you." None of them put up any fuss, they stood still while he tied the strips of cloth around their eyes so that they could not see a thing. They walked in a line to avoid veering off course into the forest, and it seemed like ages that they were just holding on to the person in front of them, walking the steps of the person in front. Finally, they came to a halt. "We are just outside of the city. I can remove your blindfolds now." He pulled the cloths off and they squinted in the bright sunlight that was now garishly shining down on them, now unobstructed by the trees.
The Lórien that they looked upon was not the stuff of Lord of the Rings. It was smaller than any of them had pictured, with warm light filtering down through the trees that were dispersed throughout the city. The tree houses were elegant, but not spidery. They were made of wood that shone like fire, and they were hoisted in the giant trees. Not only were they in the trees, they were part of the trees. Some went around the tree, some were nestled in its branches, but all of the houses seemed not to harm the tree they were harbored in. Walkways connected the tree houses together, and it looked as though no one set foot on the ground as long as they were inside the city. And in the trees they saw what they had not admitted their guide to be. There were elves. They walked gracefully from house to house, hardly stirring the flimsy looking rope bridges connecting them. Those on the bridges saw them on the ground and looked down curiously, obviously wondering not only about the fact they that had gotten in, but about their dress. All three of them were adorned in what would be normal dress in the 2000's flare jeans and t-shirts, sneakers and hooded sweatshirts.
They were headed towards the middle of the town, where one giant tree tore out of the ground and reached its boughs higher than all the others. Nestled in its braches was a huge, round house, light glowing in its windows. "That's the meeting house, and where we're going." The elf said. He led them to a rope ladder and climbed it with ease. Slowly, they made their way into the branches of the trees. They crossed a number of bridges, and arrived at the meeting house. "Wait out here." He said, and he entered the house. The four girls stood outside the door, waiting to be beckoned in to tell their unbelievable story once more and attempt to explain how they got in.
It was not long, though. "You may enter." A calming female voice said from behind the door. The four of them entered, and the inside took their breath away, not because it was at all wondrous, but because there were many elves, many more than any of them had been expecting. The room was large, with a central podium and chairs fanning out from the center. There were at least twenty elves in the seats, and the elf which had led them in stood in the center, along with an elven woman. Her hair was a deep black, and fell to the small of her back. Her skin was creamy white, and her eyes were a deep violet. She was dressed in a simple red and black dress, nothing that would be expected of an Elven Princess. She beckoned them forward, and they walked to the podium, stares from twenty pair of elven eyes following them. When they reached the center, each of them bowed out of sheer respect for the woman before them. She nodded, and then asked what all of them had been expecting. "How did you get here?"
Though all four of them tried to explain it, none of them could do the story justice. Stumbling along in a vain attempt to be believable, they knew that it was very hard for the elves to think that they were telling any truth at all, but what else could they do?
There was a long silence, and no one really knew what to say. Finally, the elven woman spoke. "I don't believe that you were introduced to any of us?" It wasn't what they had been expecting, but they shook their heads. "I am Eldwen, daughter of Aragorn and Arwen. This, your guide, is Aranor. And together, we are the last elves council in Middle-Earth. Lothlórien is that last haven for elves, and those here and outside are the only ones that have not faded. Who are you?"
This they had not thought of. What names do they give? Inwë spoke. "I am Inwë. This is Alatáriël, Idril, and Nienori." Whispered rushed through the elves present. Eldwen quelled the whispers, and turned to Inwë.
"You have Elven names? Interesting. There is much that is confusing about you, Inwë and company. But right now we cannot discuss that. Who here has anything to say about these girls?" Eldwen looked around, and one elf nodded.
The elf, who was named Valia, stood up. "It is but two days until the ambassadors from Gondor, Rohan, Mirkwood, and Rivendell arrive. What are we to do with these children, what can we do for these children? They cannot even explain why there are here or how they got in!" She sat back down.
"Aranor, accommodate them, please. We must be hospitable, though this is a hard time for us all. I imagine it is hard on them, too." Aranor bowed to the Lady, and the five of them retreated from her presence, back onto the forest floor to avoid the stares they got from their odd clothing.
He led them to one of the small tree houses, which was propped up in a large tree with leaves of burnished bronze that struck the sunlight back into the heavens. They climbed the rope ladder, if somewhat precariously, and walked across a rope bridge with little grace to reach the house.
"This is where you will be residing for the time being," he told them, "Actions are about to be set in motion that no one can foresee the outcome of. I advise you spend much of your time here." He retreated, light footsteps receding into the distance.
"No one spoke. It was as if they had once again forgotten their voices, and the silence enveloped them like a dark blanket. Furthermore, no one wanted to even try to explain how they had gotten to where they were right now. Idril got up to look around the house, which had four small but accommodating rooms. The floors were made of wood, but not the wood of the trees outside. This wood was obviously brought into the city from other places. The elves would not use their own precious trees' wood to build their homes. Through the middle of the house the truck of the tree they inhabited protruded from the floor and into the ceiling. Some of the branches also wound through the house, but the house was cleverly constructed so that the branches did not limit movement in and out of the rooms, they were part of the walls themselves. Overall, the place had a woodsy aestheticism to it that all four of them found pleasing. So why weren't they happy?
"I don't think it's where we are," whispered Nienori, "I think its us."
Months passed by on black wings for the girls of The Order, and they bore their burdens silently, like one walking to the grave. In the halls they would nod or look into the other's eyes, communicating through silence rather than facing the world by speaking. Idril's once warm brown eyes iced over, and they became a cold brown, which faded to a washed out green, like the color of sickened grass before the first frost of winter. Inwë and Alatáriël's bright blue eyes dulled to a steely gray, and Nienori's once proud and challenging gaze was transformed into a piercing glare from deep black eyes. Now people began to notice the change, as though their spirits had been sucked out of them and stashed in an unreachable, deep, dark place that none dared wander.
Alatáriël's parents were the first to notice the difference in their daughter, and they took her to specialists, who could not seem to get her to talk below the surface. Idril's parents noticed the drastic change in their daughter also, and soon each of the girl's parents realized the connection of the friends. They could not make the girls break their silence, however. They were beyond help.
One day in late winter, the four of The Order were walking through the local park, the crisp morning silence unbroken in their wake. Each had lost the voice of their soul, feeling only grief and despair. The cries of the world deafened their thoughts, until they could not think for the noise in their minds. Slowly, they were losing their sanity, and soon it would be gone forever, in the same unattainable place that their souls now rested. Alatáriël looked to Nienori, and her look communicated what she could not. How long must we survive? The look Nienori gave her was just as telling. Not much longer.
It was at the end of the winter, when pale spring is emerging from the depths of the earth, shaking off a crusty layer of frost and emerging n a bright green undimmed by the cool breeze still clinging to the air, reminding the world that winter was not over yet. However, while all else was renewed, The Order clung to their chill like a security blanket, and did not shake off their frost. Now they realized the depth and breadth of the task they had undertaken, and they felt suffocated, as though the gravity of the world were on their chests, making is harder and harder to draw breath. Now, now they saw that they could survive no longer, and so The Order met for the last time.
It was a sunny morning in early March when they met in Inwë's woods for what would be the last meeting of The Order. They were not sure what they were planning to do, but they knew that something must be done, before all was lost and they were caged for the rest of their lives by the chains and shackles of depression and grief. They sat in the same square that they always did, and looked at each other, knowing what should be done, yet not being able to do it. It was amazing how precious life seemed, even when it was bleak and worthless.
A cold breeze blew across the windswept field, and Inwë raised herself up to exult in its power for what might be her last time. Clouds billowed overhead, and a slight electric quality could be felt in the air. The rumble of thunder rolled through the heavens, and a few spatters of rain fell to the ground. Yet the four did not move.
The wind picked up, tearing at the fields and forest with horrid tenacity. The trees were forced to bow under the force, and leaves flew through the air like birds on broken wings. The girls' hair flew across their face, streaked out behind them; none of them could see a thing. In the middle of the torrent, they could hear a voice whispering on the wind. They could not make out the words, it sounded like a different language. The wind howled to loudly to be able to place the language, and the storm screamed in their ears. The dark storm seemed to swallow them up and they fell into the shadows of their own hearts.
~ * ~
They awoke, shredding the remnants of a dream from their memories. They were in a field, though it seemed different from the field they had been in before they had been in that awkward storm. The trees seemed bigger, or maybe it was just the shadows or their imagination. Either way, they sat up, sitting in a square like they had been. The air was as sweet as candy when they breathed in, and they realized that they could not possibly be in the same place. Without speaking, The Order rose from their seats simultaneously, looking at the extremely large trees all around them. They reached up to the sky with many golden hands, their leaves flashing like the scales of a dragon. The trunks were so wide that they couldn't possibly even encircle their trunks with their arms. Something wasn't right.
After wandering through the forest for a few minutes, they realized that they were totally lost. The huge trees loomed dauntingly in front of them, as if blocking their way through the forest deliberately. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Idril caught a flash of green, moving. She spun quickly on her heel, and came face to face with a thin, double-barbed arrowhead. The pure white fletching spiraled around the shaft, and a tight string drew back the deadly weapon. The bow itself was a masterpiece, made of a dark, almost metallic wood that shone in the sunlight that filtered through the trees' canopies. The arms that drew the wickedly deadly, yet beautiful bow were thin but muscular, and the torso attached to the arms was also thin, but obviously well built. The legs were long, and he stood tall. Looking up into his face, it was fine-featured and fair, with large, golden-brown eyes almost the color of his bow. His long brown hair was pulled back, and his mouth was tight-lipped in determination.
Most noticeable were his ears. They were normal, except for the longer edge, which drew up into a dull point at the top before sloping back down. Idril found her voice.
"Ah ah ah ah ah!" She keened, stumbling backwards into the other three, who all looked up and saw the same thing she did. Their eyes widened, and they blanched from fear, wondering if they were dead, and this was heaven. Apparently, the man on the other side of the bow was surprised at their reaction, and surprised at their appearance, and he lowered his bow.
"What are you doing in Lothlórien?" He asked, regaining his composure. His voice had an accent none of them had heard before. Idril answered, since the other three girls were still recovering from the fact that they were face to face with an imaginary being, and he was talking.
"We aren't really sure," she said unsteadily, her voice shaking. How long had it been since she had used it? How many months had passed since she had uttered a word? She couldn't rightly remember, but now she spoke freely, and she felt as though a dam had been broken within her, and everything was pouring out into the open, out into the sun. However, Idril's answer only seemed to confuse him more. What Alatáriël whispered next didn't help.
"You're an elf." She stepped forward, gazing up at him. He didn't enjoy this unexpected attention, though, and he simply frowned down at them.
"You still haven't answered my question." He stated in a not-so-friendly voice. The foursome looked at each other, thinking about how to explain themselves when they weren't even sure what they were doing there. Inside of them all, they each had a story that they could tell, but none of them wanted to speak and risk unleashing the tidal power within them, bottled up for ages and ages until it had, doubled, tripled the breaking point. But someone needed to respond. For the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, Inwë spoke.
"We are travelers from a distant realm. We are lost." She hoped that he didn't prod; it would be a very hard story to try to tell. He didn't, but he seemed puzzled.
"Well, I must take you to The Lady of the Golden Wood. Now that you have entered, you cannot be allowed to leave without seeing her. You cannot know the way to the city, though, I must blindfold you." None of them put up any fuss, they stood still while he tied the strips of cloth around their eyes so that they could not see a thing. They walked in a line to avoid veering off course into the forest, and it seemed like ages that they were just holding on to the person in front of them, walking the steps of the person in front. Finally, they came to a halt. "We are just outside of the city. I can remove your blindfolds now." He pulled the cloths off and they squinted in the bright sunlight that was now garishly shining down on them, now unobstructed by the trees.
The Lórien that they looked upon was not the stuff of Lord of the Rings. It was smaller than any of them had pictured, with warm light filtering down through the trees that were dispersed throughout the city. The tree houses were elegant, but not spidery. They were made of wood that shone like fire, and they were hoisted in the giant trees. Not only were they in the trees, they were part of the trees. Some went around the tree, some were nestled in its branches, but all of the houses seemed not to harm the tree they were harbored in. Walkways connected the tree houses together, and it looked as though no one set foot on the ground as long as they were inside the city. And in the trees they saw what they had not admitted their guide to be. There were elves. They walked gracefully from house to house, hardly stirring the flimsy looking rope bridges connecting them. Those on the bridges saw them on the ground and looked down curiously, obviously wondering not only about the fact they that had gotten in, but about their dress. All three of them were adorned in what would be normal dress in the 2000's flare jeans and t-shirts, sneakers and hooded sweatshirts.
They were headed towards the middle of the town, where one giant tree tore out of the ground and reached its boughs higher than all the others. Nestled in its braches was a huge, round house, light glowing in its windows. "That's the meeting house, and where we're going." The elf said. He led them to a rope ladder and climbed it with ease. Slowly, they made their way into the branches of the trees. They crossed a number of bridges, and arrived at the meeting house. "Wait out here." He said, and he entered the house. The four girls stood outside the door, waiting to be beckoned in to tell their unbelievable story once more and attempt to explain how they got in.
It was not long, though. "You may enter." A calming female voice said from behind the door. The four of them entered, and the inside took their breath away, not because it was at all wondrous, but because there were many elves, many more than any of them had been expecting. The room was large, with a central podium and chairs fanning out from the center. There were at least twenty elves in the seats, and the elf which had led them in stood in the center, along with an elven woman. Her hair was a deep black, and fell to the small of her back. Her skin was creamy white, and her eyes were a deep violet. She was dressed in a simple red and black dress, nothing that would be expected of an Elven Princess. She beckoned them forward, and they walked to the podium, stares from twenty pair of elven eyes following them. When they reached the center, each of them bowed out of sheer respect for the woman before them. She nodded, and then asked what all of them had been expecting. "How did you get here?"
Though all four of them tried to explain it, none of them could do the story justice. Stumbling along in a vain attempt to be believable, they knew that it was very hard for the elves to think that they were telling any truth at all, but what else could they do?
There was a long silence, and no one really knew what to say. Finally, the elven woman spoke. "I don't believe that you were introduced to any of us?" It wasn't what they had been expecting, but they shook their heads. "I am Eldwen, daughter of Aragorn and Arwen. This, your guide, is Aranor. And together, we are the last elves council in Middle-Earth. Lothlórien is that last haven for elves, and those here and outside are the only ones that have not faded. Who are you?"
This they had not thought of. What names do they give? Inwë spoke. "I am Inwë. This is Alatáriël, Idril, and Nienori." Whispered rushed through the elves present. Eldwen quelled the whispers, and turned to Inwë.
"You have Elven names? Interesting. There is much that is confusing about you, Inwë and company. But right now we cannot discuss that. Who here has anything to say about these girls?" Eldwen looked around, and one elf nodded.
The elf, who was named Valia, stood up. "It is but two days until the ambassadors from Gondor, Rohan, Mirkwood, and Rivendell arrive. What are we to do with these children, what can we do for these children? They cannot even explain why there are here or how they got in!" She sat back down.
"Aranor, accommodate them, please. We must be hospitable, though this is a hard time for us all. I imagine it is hard on them, too." Aranor bowed to the Lady, and the five of them retreated from her presence, back onto the forest floor to avoid the stares they got from their odd clothing.
He led them to one of the small tree houses, which was propped up in a large tree with leaves of burnished bronze that struck the sunlight back into the heavens. They climbed the rope ladder, if somewhat precariously, and walked across a rope bridge with little grace to reach the house.
"This is where you will be residing for the time being," he told them, "Actions are about to be set in motion that no one can foresee the outcome of. I advise you spend much of your time here." He retreated, light footsteps receding into the distance.
"No one spoke. It was as if they had once again forgotten their voices, and the silence enveloped them like a dark blanket. Furthermore, no one wanted to even try to explain how they had gotten to where they were right now. Idril got up to look around the house, which had four small but accommodating rooms. The floors were made of wood, but not the wood of the trees outside. This wood was obviously brought into the city from other places. The elves would not use their own precious trees' wood to build their homes. Through the middle of the house the truck of the tree they inhabited protruded from the floor and into the ceiling. Some of the branches also wound through the house, but the house was cleverly constructed so that the branches did not limit movement in and out of the rooms, they were part of the walls themselves. Overall, the place had a woodsy aestheticism to it that all four of them found pleasing. So why weren't they happy?
"I don't think it's where we are," whispered Nienori, "I think its us."