Morning rose gently on the day of Frodo's awakening, and Wren was immediately immersed in it. Though sleep had eluded her the night before, she chose to greet the new day early. The misty, grey light of dawn found her wandering toward the stables to check on the guests' mounts. She made no sound on the stone paths, and paid little heed to direction – she knew the way to the stable well enough to let her mind wander, and wander it did. She thought of many things, but foremost of the danger drawing the strangers to Rivendell and of the Prince of Mirkwood.
At the door to the stables she paused, her face suddenly blank. She reached out and clutched at the air with one delicate hand, trying to steady herself. "Ai, Eru, please. No!" Smitten with a sudden, blinding pain behind her eyes, Wren collapsed, lights swimming within her vision. In the blackness that followed, a vivid scene appeared.
There were people of many races sitting at a long table – they spoke calmly, but the fear was everywhere, just beneath the surface of their words. The room was wreathed in the black flame of despair, and several forms were wrapped in shadows of doubt. Some gleamed with the brilliant, pure life force of the Elf kind, and others glowed with hope. Still, the fire licked at even these, though their spirits fought fiercely against it. One, smaller than the others, translucent and glowing with a different kind of light, stood and walked into the flame. Long he kept it at bay, but just as he reached the edge of the fire it began to consume him. She screamed for him, and tried to reach him, but to no avail. Suddenly, something else came up out of the darkness and clutched at him. Wren could not see what occurred next, and she wept. Eight more stood, following his footsteps into the fire. From one the fire fled, but the others strove against it. One fell to its power, and two others shielded the rest from it. Of these, one was shadowed, and the other faltered, but they all continued on. They would not stop, though the fire raged about them, tearing at them, dividing them. They clung to each other – if they reached the edge of the flame, it would be together. If they fell, they would fall together…
Wren came back to herself crouched on her hands and knees, tears streaming down her face from the pain, from the fear. "Eru!" she gasped. "Why? Ai, Elbereth why?" For the better part of an hour she knelt, shivering, when she suddenly felt a gentle touch on her shoulder.
"Orsúlë, little one, are you alright?"
Slowly she uncoiled, turning to look at the golden Elf-Lord standing behind her. His bright eyes were shadowed with concern; a slight frown touched his lips. Carefully, he helped her to her feet.
"I-" she began, "I was…just going to – to check on the horses, and…" Wren wiped the tears from her face. "Glorfindel, this sight – it will destroy me."
He pulled her close and held her, stroking her soft hair. "Poor child, no. You would not have been given this gift if you were not strong enough to wield it! The Powers are not so cruel to their children." Wren clung to him for a few moments, like a lifeline to peaceful reality. "Can you tell me," Glorfindel asked finally, "what it was you saw that troubled you so?"
She pulled back and looked up at him, searching his eyes. Usually, she told her visions to no one but Lord Elrond, but Glorfiendel had never asked before. What made him do so now? Fool, she chided herself, he is like an uncle to you, or a brother. He asks out of concern, nothing more. Stop trying to see enemies everywhere! Tentatively, and then in a rush, she told him what she had seen. His soft expression darkened while she spoke, and as she finished, he placed a hand beneath her chin and forced her to meet his eyes.
"Elrond must hear of this," he said softly. "You will tell him?"
"I know. I intend to." She looked away, letting her eyes travel along the climbing vines beside the path. "Still, I do not know how many times I can repeat this without… without falling apart." Wren pulled a flower toward her, gazing into its moon-white depths.
Glorfindel touched her arm. "If you wish, Little Bird, I can speak to him for you." Soft entreaty colored his voice.
Suddenly Wren laughed, all childish bubble. "What, my friend, are you acting the part dear Elrohir would take? My protector and guardian? The dear older brother?"
The Elf Lord smiled at her. "Ah, Ever-Child, you have seen my ruse. They asked me to keep an eye on you while they were gone, but as Elrond had asked me to find the hobbits and bring them here, I was unable to keep my promise." With a soft sigh, he looked toward the stable door, the rush roof and pale walls golden in the morning light. "I am sorry, Wren. I wish I could spare more time for you, but there is evil rising again in the east. I wish your visions would give you peace until the brothers and I can help you."
Her eyes grew distant. "Until the fall of the fire and the end of the darkness I will have no peace – not while I remain in Rivendell."
Glorfindel looked at her sharply. "What do you mean?"
Startled by the tone in his voice she turned and drew away. "Nothing! Nothing, Glorfindel. Just a thought, a feeling that has been growing in my heart. There has been much in my sight, of late, about evil that must be destroyed." She knew he was not fooled. "Thank you, for offering to tell Lord Elrond what I saw." Hastily she turned away. "I must check on the horses, my friend…" With a sudden flash of smile, Wren dashed into the stable.
The older Elf watched her go, puzzled and concerned by her words. Not while I remain in Rivendell… What was she planning? He shook his head, and turned back to the House. He would tell Elrond of her vision as he had offered, but as yet, he decided, he would say nothing of his concerns.
Dismayed by the treachery of her own tongue, yet unable to keep the glowing morn from lifting her spirits, Wren meandered from stall to stall, looking in on the noble steeds of Rivendell's guests. The Elven horses were well awake, but Bill the pony and Tiren of Gondor grumbled at being disturbed so early. Gwiaen was tapping on one side of his stall with his hoof, an arresting, hypnotic pattern which he had apparently been repeating for some time. Miranë looked at Wren and sighed mournfully with a slight toss of her head. With his graceful white neck stretched out over the stall door, Asfaloth was attempting to reach the pin that unlocked his door – the tapping threatened his sanity. Only Falrahes seemed to find it amusing, mostly because it was irking Tiren to no end. Bill, somehow, ignored it.
"My my, what have we here?" Wren chimed.
Startled, Asfaloth jerked his head back in alarm. Upon seeing the young half-Elf, he paced a quick, relieved circle in the stall and returned to the door to look entreatingly at her. "Get. Me. Out. Of. Here!" he demanded, emphasizing each word with a shake of his head.
She looked down the aisle at the colt. "Gwiaen," she demanded, "that is quite enough."
Gwiaen stopped in mid-strike, hoof raised, and turned to see who had spoken. Shying back into the stall, he meekly obeyed. "Yes, Lady," he whickered.
Asfaloth lowered his head with a sigh, and gave Wren a look of sheerest gratitude. But it was Miranë who spoke first.
"Thank you, Mistress. I never thought to see the day when I could not sway the actions of my own blood, but he refused to listen." She paused. "Though it did not help that he was encouraged by one of higher station than myself." Miranë shot a wicked glare at Falrahes, one that bespoke danger to his precious hide if she caught him off guard later.
The stallion ignored her and looked instead to Wren. "Well, good morning, Lady! I trust you had a pleasant night?" he added with a snicker. She stared at him. "What, you think we would not have heard? Our masters were here less than half an hour ago talking amongst themselves." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "They said little, in truth, save to wonder where their Lord had been. Of course he answered them, but was quieter than usual, reflective." Again his tone became light. "Would you know why, Mistress?" he teased.
Wren looked at Bill, who was now wide awake. "And how was your night, my friend?" she inquired, avoiding the stallion's question.
The pony shook his mane. "Nay, Wren, I shall not let you dodge this one. I am just as curious as he, this time." The half-Elf stared at him. "I realize this is none of our business. But Asfaloth has told us much about you and your silence, and we heard the Wizard's words yesterday. All of us would like to know how you managed."
Dropping down upon a stool, Wren sighed in despair. "Alas, friends, you conspire against me! I was trying not to think about it."
Asfaloth reached out over his stall door and nudged her with his muzzle. "Did it not go well, child?"
She smiled up at him. "No, it was lovely. For the first time in centuries I was able to properly speak with another Elf, knowing I was not being judged." Wren turned then to Falrahes. "Your master is most noble, my friend." The stallion proudly arched his neck. Miranë snickered at his vanity.
Wren's smile slowly dimmed, and she stared vacantly at the dusty floor. Tiren, who had been watching through one sleepy eye, focused on her at last. "Are you alright, Mistress?"
Blinking up at him, she replied, "I have never really been able to trust before. Elrond and his children, and Gandalf I trust, of course, but few others. Yet, for some reason, I know I need not fear Legolas." She said the name softly, testing it, tasting it. There was something about him that meshed with her visions, and though she knew she would continue to be wary of him, she would no longer be afraid. Asfaloth, oblivious to her revelation, snorted indignantly. She smiled. "And of course I trust Glorfindel. There are others, now, but my point is, never have I trusted anyone so readily."
"True, but if you truly intend to follow through with your plans, then perhaps you are learning none too soon." Wren looked into the stallion's pale eyes and nodded. If she really planned to leave Imladris, she would need all the help she could find along the way.
The conversation was making Wren uneasy. She hoped to be able to slip unnoticed out of the Valley, preferably during a time when Master Elrond's attention was elsewhere. As it is now, she thought. But I cannot depart until I know…what is coming.
Until now she had only confided her desire to flee Rivendell to none but Asfaloth, yet due to a slip of her distressed tongue his Elven master was now guessing at it. She prayed no others found out. Glorfindel could be trusted to say nothing to any who might stop her, though he himself might try. She could only wait and see.
With a smile, Wren politely took leave of the horses and quit the stables. She had made a promise to Refsil, and intended to fulfill it.
She found the young fox basking lazily in the sun on a large rock beside one of the Valley's many streams. He barked and wagged his tail at her approach, but seemed to find the fish he had been watching far more interesting. Wren laughed. "Well, little one, would you like some of those fish?" He jumped eagerly to his feet, tail lashing enthusiastically. Indeed he would!
Scanning the sky with her bright Elven eyes, Wren loosed a shrill cry. Poor Refsil, caught unprepared, yelped in fright and slid into the water. He scrabbled at the rock before moving toward the softer earth beside it and climbed out, bedraggled and disheartened, to find Wren collapsed in a heap on the ground, giggling madly. He glared at her, and stepped back onto the rock with as much dignity as a wet fox cub can muster. It was too much for the Elf. She rolled onto her side, tears of laughter streaming from her eyes, and clutched her stomach, trying to breathe. Refsil sat down, head to one side, and watched her mournfully.
Summoned by Wren's call, an elegantly barred hawk now circled low above the pair. She watched in amusement for a few moments, before landing in a nearby tree with a questioning trill. Wren tried to get herself under control, wiping her eyes and carefully sitting up. Her ribcage was sore – she had not laughed so hard in a very long time.
"Good morning, Sheerkah," she greeted the bird, still grinning. "How are the winds today?"
"The winds waft soft and sweet from the west, but they are turning," replied Sheerkah. "Soon they will come from the north. The weather grows cold higher up, and there will be snow in a few weeks." It was hard to believe, on this sunny autumn day, that winter was rapidly approaching, but Wren had seen enough sudden snows to hold no doubt of the hawk's words.
"Ah!" Wren sighed. "You bring depressing news, my friend!" Her smile never dimmed. "Winter, already? Alas!" Refsil barked, irritated at being left out. Wren turned and reassured him. "Yes, little one, I was just coming to that!" She looked back to Sheerkah. "Would you be willing to do a bit of fishing, for our little fox?"
The hawk regarded Refsil placidly, and the poor cub wilted under her steely gaze. "I think, perhaps, I may be able to help him. Do you think the cub would mind if I took some for myself, while I am fishing?" Though the fox could not see it, Sheerkah was highly amused by his unease.
The Elven-Maid did see it, but decided to let the hawk play it's game. "Well I see no reason why he should mind. Besides, you need to eat, wind-rider, and if you do not eat the fish, you may need to find other nourishment…" She glanced at Refsil, only to find the poor creature trembling in sudden terror, and could torment him no longer. She gathered the young cub into her lap, and stroked his fur until his shivering ceased. "Poor cub, we are only teasing you! Were she starving I would not let her touch you. She will get you some fish. Now, be easy, friend."
Refsil snuggled closer, turning his soft brown eyes on her, accusing, still shrinking away from Sheerkah. Then, he licked her wrist and lowered his head upon her hand. She gently scratched his chin.
The elegant bird turned her attention away from the frightened creature and back to Wren. "I will fish for the cub. He is noble, if timid, but he is young. Time will heal his fear." She launched herself from the branch, and lifted herself high above the trees. Soon she was out of sight.
Smiling, the half-Elf rocked the cub, gently. "There now, you have impressed her, little one. Do not fear her." An instant later Sheerkah streaked down out of the sky, skimming the surface of the bright stream. She circled and dropped a fat fish on the ground in front of them. It flopped wildly for a few moments, and Refsil, curious, crept off Wren's lap and began to examine it. Tentatively, he batted at it with his paw. Wren laughed.
"It is perfectly edible, Refsil, but first you must kill it." He glared at her, and turned back to the fish.
Again the hawk fell from the sky, emerging from the water with a larger fish for herself. She perched once more, and began to rend the shining flesh with her sharp beak. Refsil watched her carefully, and soon was following her example. Both Elf and hawk were filled with pride at the sight. The fox had made its first substantial kill.
For some time after they had finished eating, Sheerkah and Refsil remained with Wren, taking pleasure in the company. But the hawk could not stay too long, and took leave of them. Tired of sitting, Refsil started bounding along the paths of Rivendell's gardens, with his Elven guardian trailing him cheerfully. Suddenly, both stopped, alert, and the fox's ears turned as he tried to catch the sound that had startled them both. Through the trees they could hear fair voices approaching, speaking in an accent strange to Rivendell. The Sylvan Elves of Mirkwood! Refsil immediately recognized the voice of Legolas, and darted throught the bushes toward them. Wren gasped.
"Refsil, no!" she hissed. Then clasped her hands across her mouth lest she betray her presence.
The voices gradually grew nearer, and soon she could hear their words plainly.
"We have brought our message, Lord. We should return to Mirkwood."
The reply was gentle, yet tinged with light annoyance. "I am not keeping you here. Go home, if you wish."
"We cannot leave you here!" exclaimed the third Elf. "Your father-"
"My father does not need me there," Legolas hissed. There was a moment of stunned silence. "Lord Thranduil needed a Grey-Elven daughter to keep within the palace and train to follow his rule, not a son with the Sylvan temperament."
"My Lord, surely you do not mean that!"
"Alas, Cerian, I do. I – hey! What have we here?" A short yip answered him, and he laughed. "Well met, little one! Have you come to torment my poor fingers again?"
"Who is this, Lord Legolas?" inquired the other Elf.
"This rascal is Refsil, a friend of one of the Elves here…" his voice trailed off. "Where is your mistress, my friend?" he added to the fox.
Oh, Elbereth, please! Not now! Wren thought desperately, dropping to her knees. She was not ready to face him again. Fortunately, Legolas was not willing to press the matter.
"Ah, you cannot tell me, eh? I understand." Again he laughed.
The one called Cerian also chuckled. "He is a bold creature!"
The Elven prince did not reply immediately, but addressed the cub. "I appreciate your visit, little one, thank you. Go and keep your Lady company." Refsil barked, and she heard him scamper back into the undergrowth. Legolas continued. "He is an orphan, and pure luck brought him here. He would not have survived, else."
"Ah, I see."
As they continued along the path, they continued their earlier discussion. "Well, friends, I cannot return to Mirkwood until after Elrond holds his council – I spoke with him but could not give him all the information we have. Until the Hobbit wakes there can be no council." Gradually they drifted out of earshot.
Refsil leapt up into Wren's lap and began licking her face. He seemed incredibly pleased with himself. She sighed and scratched his soft back, almost wishing Legolas had followed him.
"Alas, little one! You torment my poor heart." The cub looked inquisitively up at her, and she laughed. "Of course, you would not understand. All you know is that he plays with you! However," she added sternly, "wait until I am not with you to go see him again. Do not lead him to me, please."
He barked in agreement. Wren petted him once more, stood, and made her way back to the House.
Imladris was in a jubilant uproar. Wren could not get a coherent word out of anyone until she found Aragorn standing on a balcony overlooking the stream. She froze, and considered moving on, but before she was decided, he saw her and smiled. Resigned to the inevitable, she steeled herself and walked toward him.
"Good afternoon, Bright One," he greeted her. "You look well, if somewhat vexed." He raised a questioning eyebrow.
"Indeed, my Lord," she sighed. "Something is afoot, and no one will explain it to me! The entire place is rejoicing! It must be wonderful to know what is going on…"
Aragorn laughed. "Will no one take pity on you, Lady? Today is a great day for our peoples. The Hobbit, Frodo, has awakened and seems to be well on his way to recovery." His smile was full of relief, yet he seemed older, somehow.
"Oh!" Wren exclaimed. "That is wonderful! Bilbo will be thrilled. And Gandalf! I imagine he is as pleased as a little boy." For a moment she was silent, looking intently at him. "Frodo's brush with death has been hard on you, has it not?"
He shook his head in wonder. "You are as perceptive as ever, Wren. Yes, it has." Aragorn turned to stare out at the valley, with its clear streams and bright gardens and forests turning golden with the approaching winter. "I have grown close to the little Hobbits along our journey here. I partly blame myself for his injury, though there was little enough I could have done to prevent it." He ran a hand through his dark hair, glancing at her with a wan smile. "But he is awake, and the world seems a little brighter."
The half-Elf grinned. "I am thrilled to hear of it. At some point, I should like to speak to him and learn of his journey. He had never left his home until now, true? So I should like to know how he views the Wide World." Her eyes narrowed. "You are a traveler and see it one way, but we who never leave our homes see it quite differently."
He smiled. "Yes, that is true. It is difficult to understand how a Ranger sees the Wilds." After a few moments he continued. "Arwen told me what happened."
"Oh? And what did the Lady say?"
Aragorn sighed. "I am sorry that our meeting caused this rift between you and her, Little Bird. I wish I could change that. She understands that we are kin, that this is why you desired to speak with me, and does not object to our conversation." He laughed. "Fortunately she understands that she cannot keep me from the company of friends."
"Thank you," Wren replied softly. "I am sorry if this is causing dissonance between you and the Lady. Still, I am grateful for your intervention."
The wind swirled around the balcony, stirring the Ranger's dark cloak. The young Elf turned into it, looking up at the sky, breathing deeply of the autumn air. Aragorn watched her, always amazed by her manner. If not for Arwen… But no. Arwen was his heart's only desire. It was the fear of his waning affections that had worried the Lady at the first, and Wren's shifts would not be easy to deal with. "I would not see you pained, child. You sought only friendship – she was not aware of that, I suppose."
"And information," Wren grinned. "That was far more interesting. Besides, Dúnadan, I needed to know about the world – that you are my kin only made it easier to speak with you."
He threw back his head in a hearty laugh, shaken from his somber thoughts by her sudden child-like mirth. "I am glad you did not actually wish for my company!" She only smiled in reply. "You seem to be learning to deal with others at last, Wren. I heard you were greeting Elrond's guests as they arrived. Those I spoke to had naught but good to say about the soft-spoken groom."
"I am glad to hear it. Who all mentioned me?"
"Not many, little one: two of the Elves from Mirkwood, and several of the Dwarves. The Man of Gondor I have avoided at Gandalf's behest."
"Wise. When did you speak with them?"
Aragorn was thoughtful for a moment. "Well, I spoke to Glóin and his son this morning, as well as the Elf, Cerian. I spoke to the other Dwarves and Legolas yesterday evening. The Elf-Lord apparently had just quit the Hall of Fire in favor of the gardens."
"Oh?" Wren tried to sound uninterested. "What did he have to say?"
"Would it matter? He seemed sympathetic. How he knew your situation, I do not know."
She laughed nervously. "I wonder." After a moment of thoughtful silence she continued. "Thank you for telling me of the Hobbit's recovery, Lord Aragorn."
He bowed. "My pleasure, Lady. There will be a feast tonight, in his honor, if you plan to attend. I intend to go, and Arwen will be there, but so too will Gandalf and Glorfindel. It may do you good to go."
Wren smiled. "It may, but I shall not." Her eyes grew distant, vague. "I doubt that you will be there either, my Lord. The wheel is again turning, events are set in motion that will bear heavily upon the future, and you will need to know what arises." Slowly she pulled back out of her daze and looked up into his worried eyes. "I must go, my friend. I will speak to you again." With that, she turned and went back into the house. Once again the Dúnadan was left staring after her in amazement.
The Half-Elf was left to occupy herself for the rest of the afternoon, mostly at tasks she usually avoided. Several of her tunics had fraying hems or worn patches and needed mending, and the edging was coming removed from one of her gowns. All were articles she had sewn herself, years ago. What might have taken another lady but a short while took Wren all afternoon. Her ineptitude with the needle was the reason the garments were coming apart in the first place. With a resigned sigh, she carefully picked out the old stitching and reworked each delicate pattern as accurately as possible. She would generally enlist the aid of one of Arwen's ladies when crafting new clothing – otherwise her efforts were doomed to failure.
As evening approached, and the time of the banquet drew near, Wren heard the distant sounds of travelers returning to a warm greeting. She smiled when two familiar voices drifted to her ears. Like they were, yet easily distinguished by her keen ears. The brothers! She dropped the last of her sewing and ran to her window, listening for their direction. After a moment's deliberation, she dashed out of the room and through the halls of Rivendell. She stopped in a courtyard near where Elrond's twin sons were being greeted by the first familiar faces they had seen since parting with the Rangers weeks earlier. Much as she wanted to see them again, she realized they would first need to speak with their father, probably, or Aragorn or Gandalf. Regretting the impulse that had led her to immediately seek them out, she slowly turned back toward the house. As she moved, the moonlight shone off her hair and made her pale gown glow.
"Wren!" A clear, gentle voice called to her, as she was suddenly visible in the darkness. She paused. "Little Bird, one moment!" Light footsteps approached and she pivoted toward them, smiling brightly.
"Welcome home, Star Rider," she whispered.
Elrohir laughed, but there was dark concern behind his eyes. "It is good to be back, my friend. I wondered when I would have a moment to come speak with you, yet it seems you decided to find us first!"
"Of course! How could I not welcome my closest friends back to the Valley?"
For a moment the dark-haired Elf was thoughtful. "Of course, yet I assumed we would have to seek you out in your rooms, or in the gardens. I hear you have been a bit more…visible of late."
Wren shrugged. "So I understand. I just-"
He held up a hand, forestalling her explanations, and smiled sadly. "I cannot stay now to hear your story, Wren. Elladan and I must speak with our father immediately, if possible. I merely wanted to see how you have been." Gently he placed a hand on her shoulder. "When I get a few hours, some time over the next few days, I will come find you, that we may talk. Perhaps I can even convince my brother to join us." Wren smiled at this. Elladan was more of a teacher than a friend to her, and rarely joined them unless she asked for training. "Although," he continued after a brief silence, "as the weather seems to be holding, it might be wise to take to the field and work on your archery."
"It matters not," she replied, shaking her head. "I am glad to see you and your brother safely home. However, I do not know if you will be able to speak with Lord Elrond soon – there is a feast tonight in honor of the recovery of one of Rivendell's guests. Lord Aragorn is here, though. He would hear your news, and, perhaps, relate to you the goings on of the past few days."
"Aragorn! I did not know he would be here. That is very well, indeed. Thank you, Bright One. Elladan and I will seek him out." He turned and started back towards the other courtyard where his brother waited.
Wren smiled, but a sudden thought made her call out to him. "Elrohir?" He paused and looked back.
"Yes?"
"Will the fire of darkness reach Imladris?"
Long used to her strange insight, he was not surprised by her question. His fair face turned grave. "I know not, Little Bird. I pray that it does not." And he withdrew, leaving Wren alone with her unsettled thoughts.
She took herself back inside to finish her mending, and then took up a project that she had started years before. Her lack of skill with the needle forced her to redo entire sections at times. It was a long cloak of dark green, edged in mithril threads with an intricate pattern of stars and moons entwined with twisting vines of gold. She had chosen a Moonstar for the central figure, which would cover the back of the cloak in gold and silver with sapphires and diamonds adding their own fire to it. Who she made it for, she did not know – it was far too long for her. Arwen had once said that Wren prayed she would not spend eternity alone; that this cloak would be the Half-Elven's wedding gift to her beloved. Perhaps the Lady was right. Wren would not say.