*notes: AI!!! I wrote and posted that last chapter, and now am incredibly frustrated. I got ahead of myself. I was sooo eager to write a scene between Wren and Elrond, that I completely forgot that the entire Company wasn't chosen until TWO MONTHS after the council!!! *weeps* Well. I was also mistaken about when Boromir arrived in Rivendell. The only excuse I can give is that I am apparently blending the events of the movie into those of the book, in which case, the Fellowship WAS all chosen then… though in the movie they volunteered, I am keeping to the book's plot on that note and saying Elrond chose them. ANYWAY! From here on out I'm going to try to move a little faster. Tolkien didn't say much about the next two months, therefore, nor shall I. Also, I want to THANK everyone for all the wonderful reviews! That is a little late in coming, and I apologize – perhaps from now on I shall try to thank you each individually. As always, constructive criticism is welcome, and any flames "will be used to toast marshmallows." ^_^
Part 7: A Long InterimAs the late October sun edged close to the eastern horizon, heralding the new dawn with a pale, cold light, Refsil realized that he needed to go outside. Now. He had followed Wren to her rooms and had slept there, but that is a long time for a young fox to stay indoors. With a frantic yipping, he leapt up onto Wren's bed and pounced on her, waking her from her dream-trance.
Her mind so filled with thoughts spawned from her talk with Elrond that ordinary sleep eluded her; Wren had spent the night wandering the paths of dreams, hoping to find some answer to her concerns. Such answers were few and vague, and only reinforced what she had already told the Elven lord: she must leave Rivendell. Though, she realized, none of her visions ever indicated that she should go with the Fellowship… That had been an assumption entirely of her own making.
When Refsil woke her, it was a few moments before she could make any sense of what he wanted. As soon as she understood his desperation, she shooed him off the bed, and quickly began to dress. Not expecting much activity or labor ahead of her that day, she chose a flowing gown of the palest green, a shade, she had been told, very popular among the ladies of the Silvan Elves. Halfway into the garment, a slight sound reached her ears, and a pungent odor caught her nose a short moment later. Turning, she saw the poor fox cub, looking quite dejected, standing in a puddle.
"Oh, Refsil," she cried, trying not to laugh. "You poor dear. Don't move!" she added hastily as he made as if to step towards her. Quickly, she laid her gown on the bed, and slipped into something more suitable for work – tunic and trews of green and dark grey – and pulled her hair into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She then picked up the fox, setting him down a good distance from the puddle, again warned him to stay still, and left the room. Bewildered, he whined after her, but she was not gone long. A minute later the half-Elf returned with several rags and a basin of water.
First she rinsed the little cub's paws, then carefully endeavored to clean up the mess on her floor. "You are lucky," she told him, "that I like the feel of cool stone on my feet. Most bedrooms have rugs on the floors! We would truly have a problem, then!"
Refsil made it very clear to her that he was incredibly sorry, licking her face and rolling on his back even as she tried to clean. She had to rinse his paws several times. Once he nearly rolled into the puddle, and she had to scoop him up and toss him to one side before he got urine in his fur. Wren was paying so much attention to what she was doing that she did not even hear the footsteps approaching her room.
"By Elbereth, Wren, what on earth are you doing?"
Startled, she drew a sharp breath and went very still for a moment. "Elrohir," she breathed, relaxing, "good morning to you, also." She did not turn to face him, and continued scrubbing the floor.
Elrohir came into the room, moving around her to sit on the edge of the bed. "Good morning. Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you." His brow furrowed. "But what are you doing?"
Wren pointed the rag at Refsil, who began to try to make himself invisible. "We had a bit of an accident."
That seemed to amuse him, though not as much as it might have. There was still a darkness in his eyes as he answered. "Oh! What did you do, feed him a pond?" She glared at him. "I am sorry. You should have asked someone to help, or clean it for you. Now that you have asserted your status here, no one would gainsay your right to do so."
"The day I am too arrogant to clean my own floor is the day I curl up in a hole, dead to the world." Smiling, she sat up. "Besides, I have finished." Her smile faded as she finally took a good look at his expression. His usually bright Elven eyes were dull and empty, and his movements were restrained, almost as if they pained him. "Elrohir?"
He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to sound… I should not have been sharp with you." A weary smile touched his features. "You value what independence you can get, I know."
Dropping the rag into the basin, Wren stood and moved towards him, concerned. She stopped a step away, and started to reach out to him, but she remembered that her hands were dirty and drew back. "Elrohir – Brother – what is wrong?"
With a deep sigh he flopped back, lying on her bed. Wren recalled how un-Elvish he seemed sometimes, particularly when distressed. She also noticed that, though the four of them – Elrohir, Elladan, Arwen, and Wren – had often visited each other's rooms to talk, or conspire small tricks against the other Elves of Imladris – Elrond in particular – this was the first time she found Elrohir's presence in her room disconcerting. It was as if her calling him 'Brother' reminded her that, in truth, they were only very distant kin.
He was unaware of her discomfort. "I was hoping to have the time to take you out to train a bit more, before winter sets in, but there will not be time."
She sat on the side of the bed, looking down at him. "That's all right, Elrohir."
"No, it is not." He glared at her. "I am tired, Wren – tired of the fighting, tired of hunting these shadows, tired of watching my people fade while Men grow strong…"
"But that is how it must be. Each race has, for a time, superiority, then fades into the background while another takes control. Elves will still guide those Men as will listen, even as the Ainur guided the Elves in ages past."
"That was their joy, to watch the Children of Eru grow and thrive."
Wren nodded. "Can it not be an Elven joy, to watch Men come into their own?"
Elrohir stared up at her in wonder. "How do you do that?"
"Do what, exactly?"
"You make me feel so very young sometimes, but there is not so much of a difference in our ages. At times you are like a child whom I feel I should protect, and at others…" He shook his head. "Other times your…understanding can be very intimidating."
"I do not do it on purpose."
"I know."
The silence stretched between them, oddly uncomfortable. Finally, Wren stood, took the pail of dirty water out of the room, and washed her hands. When she returned, she found that Elrohir had sat up again and had Refsil in his lap. The fox looked quite content with the attention he was getting.
"So, you say there will be not time – what is happening?"
He looked up at her. "Father is sending us off again. He refuses to send the Ring out of Rivendell until he knows what has happened to the Ringwraiths."
Wren sat heavily in a chair near the door. "Oh, Elrohir!" For a few moments she said nothing more. "I do not know whether to be relieved for the company or distressed for you and your brother. You just got back, and now he sends you away again? He is not even giving you time to rest!"
"There will be no rest for any until the Ring is destroyed, I fear. Aragorn is going as well, though along a different road."
She stared at him in shock. "Oh! Poor Arwen… But what of the other visitors? Surely Lord Elrond will not send them all away."
Shaking his head, he said, "No. Father does not have authority over all of them, and there are some he would not dare send. The Road is too dangerous for the Hobbits, now, unless they are guarded – and what is the point in that? Why not just send those who would guard? He will not ask anything of the Dwarves, but will offer his hospitality while they remain here. Nor can he give orders to the Man of Gondor."
"That leave the Elves of Mirkwood," she offered, hesitantly, when he had finished.
"Yes. There is a problem with the Sylvan Elves." Wren just looked at him, waiting for him to continue. Elrohir sighed. "Father wants to send some of them back, to tell Lord Thranduil of the council's proceedings. Specifically, that his son will go south with the ring."
"Understandable."
"Ah, but neither of Legolas's guards will leave him here, and he refuses to go with them, saying that they would have to stay behind when the Ring goes anyway. Truth, I think he fears his father's reaction."
"I think," Wren said, softly, "that I would not like Thranduil much."
At that Elrohir laughed. "I think you would be surprised. He and his son are far too much alike for their own good, save that Thranduil is, perhaps, a bit stuffy and has none of Legolas's wanderlust. The king took his wife's death very hard, and has not been the same since. I only met her once – she and my mother got along well. I am almost surprised Mother did not insist on your meeting her as well. You would have liked her."
He set Refsil down on the floor and stood. "Well, we are leaving tomorrow, and I must prepare for the journey – again." Wren also stood as he neared the door, and he gently touched her shoulder. "I just wanted to tell you we were leaving."
She nodded, silent, then hugged him. "Be safe, Elrohir. Tell your brother. Both of you, please be safe."
Elrohir returned her embrace. "We will. Don't worry." And with that, he left. She would see neither him nor his brother until their return nearly two months later.
* * *
For the most part, Wren spent the following weeks alone in the peaceful silence of the gardens of Imladris. Sometimes she would happen upon one or more of the Halflings as she walked, and would stay a moment to speak with them. She found she liked talking to Frodo very much, for he was wise, in his way, and kind and understanding. But they were all very refreshing to talk to. She harried Gandalf for information until he forbade her intense questioning and avoided her. It took some time before she was able to seek him out to apologize, and after that he would speak to her again, and even tell her of the goings-on, as long as she did not ask him to. She also spoke to Legolas several times, for in the end his fellows went to Mirkwood without him. Mostly she avoided him until Aragorn returned at the beginning of December, then, when the latter was not with Arwen or taking counsel with Elrond, the three of them could most often be found in each other's company, telling tales or, in Wren's case, avidly listening. She did not try to rekindle her friendship with Arwen, though they no longer avoided each other. Nor did Wren seek Elrond out again – she dared not, lest he somehow guess that she still intended to leave the Valley. Rather, she wore the circlet he had given her, maintaining the ruse that thoughts of departure were far from her mind. Sometimes she wandered to the stables and conversed with the horses, and Glorfindel would occasionally find her there. He was perhaps the greatest comfort to talk to, as he was always willing to listen or tell her what was happening, and he did not mind her questions
Wherever she went, there Refsil also could be found, and he was growing rapidly. By mid-December he was seven months old, and nearly as tall as a grown fox, but had more energy and less caution. Huwar and Sheerkah were also with her often, as well as Kendri, a full-grown panther who had migrated far from her usual home in the South, fleeing the oncoming war. She had been gored by a boar shortly before Wren found her at the beginning of November, and was now nearly healed. Wren had heard nothing of the stag Nesil in ages, and began to assume he had left the area. Sheerkah finally brought word of him, for she had seen him a good distance East of Rivendell, near the Misty Mountains. This was both a relief and distressing, for the Orcs of that region were getting bolder.
For almost two months, little happened, and life tried its best to proceed normally. But 'normal' for Wren consisted of total avoidance of most people, Elven or no. Since she had finally stepped into her role as a Lady of Imladris, however, her usual self-enforced solitude was no longer an option.
She also set all of the birds within several days' ride of the Valley to watch for Elladan and Elrohir's return. Despite the latter's assurance before he left, she was still very concerned. She also knew, every time she saw Arwen, that she and the Lady still shared that much at least.
* * *
December was half over, and still no snow had fallen. Though this seemed a blessing – perhaps the company would not have to travel in deep snow – some, Gandalf in particular, could not help but wonder if the blessing now meant greater trouble along the road. Wren could not dispel a similar feeling, but had no visions to that fact and did not let it weigh on her heart.
She sat with Aragorn, Legolas, and Glorfindel near the hearth in the Hall of Fire. They had not spoken for some time, simply taking enjoyment from each other's company. They had not spoken of it, but knew that soon, two of them would be torn away, perhaps never to return. Only Glorfindel knew that he would likely be the only one of the four to remain in the Valley, for Asfaloth had finally broken down and warned him of Wren's plans, hoping he would help her. So, he kept glancing up at her, for he could do nothing if she did not ask…
Tired of the silence, he spoke at last, continuing an earlier thread of conversation. "So you were not actually at the Battle of the Five Armies, Legolas?"
Legolas had been lost in thought, and started when the elder Elf spoke. "Hmm? Oh – no, I was not."
Aragorn smirked – he seemed familiar with this story. "Then why," Glorfindel continued, "does everyone seem to believe you were?"
"My father thought it would be best to encourage that assumption," he replied, lacing his long fingers behind his head and leaning back against the wall, stretching his legs out on the floor before him. "I was supposed to go, in truth."
"Why did you not?" Wren asked.
Legolas's bright eyes shifted to her, and he smiled slightly. "I do not know that I should answer that. It was rather humiliating."
"Oho!" laughed Aragorn in mock surprise – he had definitely heard this tale before. "Then by all means, you must tell, my friend!"
With a weary chuckle, the Elf conceded. "Alas! To discuss such folly in front of a Lady," he mourned, jokingly. "I fear I had managed to get myself thrown from a horse, and was nursing a broken leg when my father's army left for the Lonely Mountain."
"Forgive me, Legolas, if I love to be reminded that not all Elves are flawless at everything they try."
"Few of us are, my friend," Glorfindel reminded the Ranger. "However," he frowned at Legolas, "I must ask – how did you manage such a blunder?"
"It was ridiculously simple. I was riding over unstable terrain and got distracted. My mount slipped, and when he fell, so, too, did I." He shrugged, nonchalant, but obviously a little embarrassed. "I was pinned partially underneath him. The injury could have been force-healed, I suppose, but that leg would still have been weaker – a liability in battle. It was safer simply to remain in Mirkwood. And also," he added gently, "I did not wish to go."
Up to this point, Wren had been studying Glorfindel's hair – though about half of it fell straight and unworked to the small of his back, the rest had been pulled up at the crown of his head to fall in three slender braids. However, these were not simple braids, but were full of so many elaborate twists and decorative knots that she could not work out how he had done it. But upon hearing Legolas's last confession, she wrenched her attention back to the conversation. He hadn't wished to go? To battle? Or to leave Mirkwood? she wondered, unable to comprehend that someone would not want to go…somewhere, despite what he'd have met there.
Aragorn and Glorfindel exchanged glances, then looked at Wren, one wary, one concerned.
"Why?" she asked, her voice subdued with something akin to pain.
Legolas looked at her and was startled by what he saw. The usually cheerful Elf-maid looked…lost. Her face was drawn, and the light in her eyes was dimmed. He did not understand what had happened to cause this sudden shift in her. "Why did…? Bewildered, he paused, but she never met his eyes, leaving him to continue blindly. "It was… I did not wish to leave my home to fight a pointless battle."
She finally looked at him. "You did not wish to fight? Or did not wish to leave Mirkwood?"
Understanding dawned in his eyes as he remembered her fervent desire to flee the bonds of Rivendell. He smiled slightly. "My father followed the Dwarves out of pride and no small amount of greed. The Dwarves had escaped us, it seemed, by some strange magic – an fairly accurate assessment. He felt that it was Dwarven greed that led them into our kingdom, and would not accept that their quest had nothing to do with us." Here he stopped a moment, thoughtful. "And perhaps it was greed that would not let them tell us of their journey. But greed begets greed, and their silence spawned in my father's mind imaginings of riches beyond even Elven knowledge. We had no claim to whatever they sought, and no right to fight them for it."
Glorfindel smiled. "But it was a good thing your father decided to do so. Else the goblins would have overrun the Dwarves and the Men of Dale."
"True," Legolas nodded. "I know it turned out well. But I do not have the Gift of Foreseeing, and could not know that."
Wren drew a sharp breath and looked away, wilting a little. She had never told him about her Gift, and hearing him speak of it tore her heart. Saying nothing felt like deception.
"I did not want to risk my life for what I felt was foolishness," he finished, oblivious to her dismay.
"A surprisingly wise decision on your part, my friend!" Aragorn jested, hoping to distract Legolas long enough for Wren to regain her composure.
It did not take long. She cast a grateful smile at the Ranger as she drew herself up again. Such a strange dance this was! Though she desperately wanted to be accepted for who she was, much her time in the Elven prince's company was spent trying to prevent him from learning of her visions. Aragorn, or Glorfindel, or Gandalf, or whoever was present at the time, would try to divert him long enough for her gain control of herself, and things would continue as if nothing had occurred.
There was an added distraction this time, for suddenly a flurry of activity erupted just outside the Hall. Several muffled exclamations, followed by an owl's exasperated shriek brought Wren swiftly to her feet, and she hurried to the door.
"There you are!" an elder Elf exclaimed as she came into view. "Wren, your friends seem to have news for you and refuse to calm down until they give it. Could you please…?" he trailed off, motioning to Huwar, who was swooping dangerously about the room. Two sparrows trailed her, chirping madly at anyone they saw.
As soon as the little birds caught sight of Wren, they darted towards her, declaring joyously that Elladan and Elrohir were less than a week's ride from Imladris. Her failing spirits lifted at once at this news, which she quickly related to the others present. A clamor of relief and rejoicing rose up around her, but quickly faded as the Elves recalled that the brothers' return meant that soon the Fellowship would depart the valley. Having delivered their message, the sparrows finally relaxed and flew from the House.
As they departed, Wren turned to Huwar, who came and lighted on the back a nearby chair. As the owl crooned a soft greeting, Wren heard the footsteps of Legolas, Glorfindel, and finally Aragorn as they entered the room.
They must have followed me when they heard the commotion, she thought, reaching out to stroke Huwar's soft feathers. The owl nibbled on her fingers and spoke at last.
"Lady, I am sorry – the news I bring is not pleasant. Ill it is, indeed, that I must give it now, after word of the brothers' return has been brought." She stopped and, uttering a plaintive, almost helpless hoot, hung her head.
Wren smiled encouragement and scratched the owl's neck feathers, then hooked a finger under her beak and forced the bird to meet her eyes. "It is alright, my friend. Better I know now, when it is balanced by good news."
"I know not what is better for an Elf." After a thoughtful silence, the owl visibly steeled herself and went on. "Lady, the stag, Nesil – he is dead."
The word's rang in the half-Elf's mind like a hammer-blow and left her reeling. She felt the blood drain from her face and for a long moment could not manage to form a coherent thought. Distantly she heard the others questioning if she was all right, but she could not answer. "Wha- How?" she finally asked the owl.
"It was Orcs, Lady. I was flying near the Misty Mountains – on the far side, towards Mirkwood – when I caught sight of a band of Orcs. It was a hunting-party, already heavily laden, and I followed, wanting to make sure of their direction before departing. They saw something I could not see – it was hidden in a stand of trees – and attacked. When I realized it was Nesil they were chasing, it was already to late – I could do nothing." Huwar clacked her beak in frustration. "They left him! They killed him and left his body! And I could not even call together the raptors or ravens to take the fresh meat so his death not be wasted – the Orcs poisoned the carcass…"
Wren placed a hand on the owl's head to silence her. "Thank you for bringing me word, my friend," she said, bravely. "I will… We must remember him, for if these dark days are not stopped, he will not be the last to meet such a fate."
"But it is not the same," Huwar mourned, "for he was ours, Lady. He walked these valleys with us – we knew him… He was one of us."
No, the Elf thought, it is not the same. Losing a friend and losing a stranger to the same death are not the same at all… Fighting tears, she reassured the owl, thanked her again, and sent her on her way. As Huwar winged away from the Last Homely House, Wren slowly came back to herself, and realized that the others were still watching her anxiously.
"Wren?" Glorfindel prompted gently.
She fought to pull herself together and answer calmly. "It is of little consequence to any but myself."
The Noldor rested a hand gently on her shoulder. "Wren, child, what has happened?"
Almost defiantly she met his eyes. "You remember Nesil, I imagine, My Lord."
He frowned. "The fawn you raised? Yes…"
"He was killed by Orcs on the other side of the Misty Mountains." Her voice thickened with unshed tears. "They did not even take the meat – they left him! – instead they poisoned his body, so even other beasts cannot make use of it…" A strangled, shuddering sob choked off her tirade.
"Bright Lady, child…" Glorfindel whispered, but he knew not what to say to even begin to comfort her. The beasts had been her closest companions for some years, and to loose such a close friend – particularly one who was there when most others deserted her – would be a terrible blow indeed.
"It is not right!" Wren exploded in fury, jerking away from him. "He was nothing to this battle! Why must they destroy everything we try to heal?" Tears began to stream down her face. "Everything we do they counter! Even what little I have done is nothing. Nothing! They destroy everything…" For a moment it looked as if she might crumble where she stood, but someone moved towards her – perhaps to give comfort – and she stiffened. "But how could anyone understand – he was only a stag, after all." With that she turned and fled the House.
Much to even his own surprise, Legolas started after her, but Aragorn caught his arm.
"Let her be, my friend, she has not even had time for his death to really sink in yet." His face was drawn with concern.
The Sylvan Elf gently disengaged from the man's grip. "I cannot do that. This is not the loss of an animal companion, but of a dear friend and loved one. I… I fear for her if she cannot unburden some of her pain…" He ignored the bewildered stares of the other Elves of Imladris and turned to Glorfindel. "Her mind is not strong-"
"You might be surprised," the Noldor commented, arching one graceful golden eyebrow.
"Not stable, then. Please," he begged, "let me try to help her."
Glorfindel searched the Wood Elf's face for a moment, then stepped aside. "She spoke to you when you were still unknown to her – the only stranger to whom she revealed anything of her hopes and dreams. If you truly believe you can help her, my friend, we have no right to gainsay your wish to try."
Legolas nodded and left to find the grieving half-Elf.
Gradually the other Elves started to withdraw, and when they were nearly alone, Aragorn turned to Glorfindel. "Is that wise, my friend? I know you have often helped her in the past."
The Elf Lord smiled sadly. "Indeed. But there are times, Aragorn, when the young must help each other. You, for all that your years number far less than theirs, are no longer young. They still are, however, and it may be that he carries a better perspective on how to reach her childlike mind than you or I." He sighed. "Would that she did not have to be touched by the coming darkness…"
"One could say the same for all of Middle-Earth," Aragorn replied. "But she was struck with it long ago. Her visions have plagued her for centuries."
"True." He looked in the direction the younger Elves had gone. "But I fear it shall grow far worse for her, ere the end."
* * *
For several hours, Legolas could find no sign of where the half-Elven girl had gone – her skill at moving without leaving any sign of her passing was great indeed. He came upon her, at last, by sheerest luck. Following a set of paw-prints (though he knew not if they belonged to one of her creatures) finally led him to a secluded glen, large enough for only a small gathering, where Wren lay curled on her side, partially hidden by both a dense shrub of hard, deep green leaves, and a large, dark feline. Uncertainty momentarily froze the Elf in his tracks. Though he had spent some time in her company, this lady was still strange to him – who was he to presume he could quiet her grief?
A soft touch on his foot startled him out of his doubts. Looking down, he saw the young fox standing near, looking up at him. The creature put out a paw and touched his soft shoe again, then turned and started towards Wren. A few steps away, he stopped and looked back at Legolas, waiting for the Elf to follow.
Ai, Estë, Healer of all hurts, give me the words, the understanding, to help this lost child of Ilúvatar find solace from her grief, and strength and wisdom in it. His silent prayer raised, he followed the fox and dropped to one knee beside the weeping half-Elf.
Wren uncurled enough to look up at him, her eyes glassy and vacant, her beautiful face smudged and streaked with tears. For a moment it seemed she did not see him, except to register that someone knelt before her – there was no recognition in her eyes. Then, slowly, a frown creased her face. "Legolas?"
"May I sit with you a while?" he answered. Without waiting for an answer, he arranged himself beside her, leaning against the strangely sturdy branches of the shrub.
Gingerly, as if grief had made her stiff and sore, she sat up, and the panther Kendri shifted to one side to give her room. Refsil sat, carefully watching the two Elves, full of concern for his two-legged friend, and above them Sheerkah looked down from a tree branch, crooning sympathies.
Thoughts were slow forming in Wren's mind. "Why are you here?" she asked at last.
For several long moments Legolas remained silent. "I have told you that Mirkwood is become a perilous place," he said at last. "I, too, have lost comrades, friends, companions since childhood, in the unending battle to keep the darkness away from our strongholds. I also have known grief." Tentatively he looked at her, met her eyes. "Sometimes…pain is easier to overcome if it is not borne alone."
Wren remembered long years of crying herself to sleep after her parents died, refusing to share her emotions with the Elves around her, retreating further and further into herself. She recalled days and nights spent wandering the gardens of Imladris after Celebrían crossed the sea, leaving Middle-Earth forever. Months of benumbed loneliness with almost none to turn to after Arwen's rejection also came to her. Fresh tears slid down her cheeks, and she coughed, trying not to sob, not wanting to appear weak before this Sylvan warrior-prince.
But he sensed her reluctance, and held out his hand to her, inviting her to unburden herself to him. Unable to resist such sincerity, Wren slowly let her tears flow, and leaned against him, her knees drawn up to her breast. In this way, she drifted into sleep, with Legolas gently stroking her hair, murmuring soft comfort, and her beasts curled about her – the first true healing rest of her entire Elvish existence.
Long years would pass before they would ever speak of it.