Notes: Okay, that last chapter went NOWHERE NEAR where I intended. However, seeing as it had been so long since I last posted, I figured I'd better take what I could get, and not worry too much. It worked, sort of, and since it's only real purpose was to move the story forward in time to this point, it was at least marginally successful. The real problem with it lies in the fact that I wrote it in pieces – a line here, a paragraph there, not really working with a cohesive whole. That's what happens when I don't update in months. Argh. Anyway. This next chapter finally starts to move the story again, and will hopefully see more development in the relationships between characters. With any luck, it will at least flow a little more smoothly. We'll see. This may actually prove to be a very short chapter, compared to the others. Then again…perhaps not. No, actually, now that I think about it… it may be very, very long….
Part 8 – Visitations and VisionsThe few days before the return of Elladan and Elrohir passed far too slowly for Wren's liking. Though her grief for the stag Nesil was not gone, it had abated to a bearable level, and she was impatient to hear any news that might have bearing on her decision to flee the valley. When they returned at last, however, none could pry any word out of them – they would only tell of their journey to their lord father.
"Decidedly unkind of you," Wren admonished Elrohir three days after his return, as they wandered through some of the less-used paths traversing the valley. He refused even to describe the lands he visited, leaving her feeling rather cheated. Not only had she been bereft of his company for weeks, but she could not even gain any useful information in exchange!
"Perhaps," he replied, "but silence and secrecy are also highly necessary in these times. The less that is spoken, the less the Dark Lord can guess, the greater our advantage, Little Bird." Despite the solemnity of his words, his tone was kind, and a smile lit his fair features. He pulled aside a tangled curtain of vines – turning brown with the coming winter – that nearly blocked the path entirely, and his expression dimmed. "Ah…I remember when all of these trails were clear and well-kept – now so much time is devoted to planning for war that none can be spared for such things."
Wren ducked under his arm, passing through ahead of him. "So it goes. How long has it been since you have been able to spend time creating, rather than hunting?" She glanced up at the tall Peredhel as he fell in step beside her once more. "I have seen no new instruments in the House for many years, and few woodcarvings."
"And few of those mine," Elrohir mourned. "Too much time has been spent creating tools of war. Even you have spent more time with leatherwork than embroidery over the past decades."
"As if my embroidery was ever really art," she scoffed, making a face. Their path opened onto one that had seen far more use of late and followed it back towards the House. "It could be considered a tool of war. Show it to our enemies and they shall all run screaming in terror!"
Elrohir laughed. "But not all of it, true? Arwen has said that the cloak you are weaving is quite lovely indeed." Wren did not reply, but blushed slightly. "How does it fare?"
"It is almost finished. Another day, perhaps two, of sewing that I need not pick out and redo, and it shall be done."
"Well, perhaps I should let you complete it before dragging you out to practice further skills of battle. We shall have some time, now, to work on such things." He sighed, at peace for the moment. "Perhaps even until the war is over. Then, if the Fellowship succeeds, and all we hope for becomes truth, perhaps father will relent and permit Arwen to marry Aragron as her heart so wishes. Then we will all travel to Gondor, and you will have your wish to leave Imladris at last."
Had he looked at her, he might have seen the sadness in her eyes as he spoke. "Yes," she said only, remembering that in fleeing so soon, she would be leaving him behind. A pity Elrohir cannot come with me. I would welcome his company, but he will have other tasks to attend to.
When the two reached the House he took his leave of her. "Aragorn will want to go over travel plans. Again. Despite the fact that Gandalf is actually leading this party." The Elf signed in mock resignation. "Honestly, Little Bird, I do not know how Men manage. They plan and replan, and plan again… As if once is not enough to get information into their thick skulls! And my sister wants to spend her life with him. By the Valar!"
Wren laughed. "I thought he was as a little brother to you."
"So he is, which is why I feel no remorse for so taunting him." With a quick hug and a jaunty wave, he disappeared into the House.
Grinning, the half-Elf wandered towards a different wing of Elrond's House. She wished to speak to the Hobbits again before their departure, and of late they had been very busy preparing for their journey. After some time, she happened upon Frodo and Bilbo reclining on stone benches in a small courtyard, silently watching the spray of a nearby fountain, which by some magic of Elrond's was kept free of ice, despite the chilling temperatures. Bilbo would, from time to time, scribe something in a small book at his side.
She hovered just out of sight long enough to decide that she would not be interrupting, then stepped into the courtyard. "Good afternoon, little Masters," she called lightly, startling them a little.
Frodo looked up sharply, then relaxed when he saw who it was. "Good afternoon, Lady," he replied, smiling.
"Hullo, Wren!" Bilbo added, closing his book. "And how are you, this miserably cold afternoon?"
Wren laughed. "I am as well as ever, and as restless. 'Miserably cold', dear Bilbo? I suppose it is, though I'm afraid I have not noticed."
"Oh?" the old Hobbit slyly replied. "And what young Elven lord have you been walking with, then? "
She missed the relevance of that question entirely – it went completely over her head. "I was just talking with Elrohir for a while…why?"
Frodo chuckled. Bilbo said, "Never mind, Wren."
Mystified, Wren shook her head and changed the subject. "How goes the 'literary work of the age'?"
"Slowly, seeing how I can't really write much new until Frodo's quest is over and he comes back to tell me about it." Bilbo shrugged. "I can only edit."
She turned to Frodo. "And how are you, Frodo? A great deal is being asked of you in these dark times." She sat down on a bench across from the two Hobbits, hoping there might be something she could say to help make his burden easier, but knowing that if there was, Elrond would already have said it.
"I am well," he answered. "Or, as well as can be expected, at any rate, knowing that in a few days I'll be starting on a journey with no foreseeable ending." After a thoughtful moment, he added, "But I did volunteer, and so I suppose I am content at the moment. Time is strange here, and our departure still seems years away, and rather unreal. Though I imagine it will be real enough once we start."
Wren gave him a comforting smile. "That is, indeed, the truth of it, my friend. For your sake we should wish these days to pass as slowly as possible."
"We should, to be sure!" Bilbo commented. "Yet you still have some envy for the Fellowship, I imagine."
"Alas!" She shifted on the cold stone seat, curling one leg under her and clasping her hands around the opposite knee. "It is, of course, ridiculous, but I fear there is no help for it. I would be gone from this Valley had I any choice."
Frodo smiled at her, suddenly feeling strangely old. "I used to think I wanted to travel away from the Shire and see distant lands. Now, I would give a great deal to be back inside its familiar borders." A cold wind whispered through the courtyard, stirring the naked branches of nearby trees, which clicked together like little bones, as if reinforcing the Ring-Bearer's distress.
The half-Elf shuddered. "Your words do not surprise me, but I fear I would still rather go than stay."
Bilbo snorted and shook his head, but Frodo nodded. "I suppose you might. Elves are very different from we Hobbits – as much in our values as in appearances and histories!"
Refsil chose that moment to come bounding up out of nowhere and leap onto the bench beside his Elven friend. The dear Hobbit is certainly very right, Wren mused, as the fox's actions leant credence to Frodo's words.
"We would much sooner stay in our holes, safe an warm, than journey on any kind of quest, perilous or no," he continued, and ignored the pained look on Bilbo's face that met that statement. "If journeying is your desire then as far as I'm concerned you may have it, and welcome! But I would hope you find a safer Road than ours."
Wren nodded and thanked him, and the three sat for some time in silence, letting the peace of Rivendell seep into their very bones. In the days and weeks ahead, it would be a source of strength for all of them, even when it seemed all else was darkness.
It was midafternoon, and the sky was just beginning to dim when Bilbo commented on Wren's idleness. "It's strange how everyone else I've seen lately seems to be rushing about with endless tasks, yet here you sit, calm as a spring breeze. Has no one given you anything to do?"
She blinked at him a moment, shaken out of her thoughts, then remembered her earlier conversation with Elrohir. "Yes, actually, I do have something I need to see to, and I doubt I shall have much time to work on it…" Both Hobbits looked at her quizzically, and she quickly grasped at an explanation. "Elrohir wants to continue my training as soon as possible, you see, so I doubt I shall have more than a few days to see to my own plans. If you will excuse me, gentlemen?" Rising fluidly from her seat, she bowed slightly, bade them farewell, and retreated into the cheerful glow of the Last Homely House.
* * *
Wren did not work two days on the Moonstar cloak. Rather, she labored for the rest of that day, all night, and into the next morning. Twice she picked out the section she had just finished and started over, but by noon on the twenty-third of December, as the Sire-calendar would mark it, she had laid the cloak out on her bed to carefully examine the pattern. The tiny diamonds and sapphires stitched in amongst the delicate mithril and gold threads caught the noon sun and scattered brilliant starbursts about the room. The golden vines shone like fire, and the silver shade of the mithril wound about it, gentling the blaze. The Moonstar shone as if plucked from the heavens – on the dark green fabric it looked like midnight in the deep forest. She smiled. It was not perfect – no stitching by her hands would ever be perfect – but she was pleased with the result. The design was singularly hers, as was the making of the garment itself. It was, perhaps, the one piece with which she had never asked for aid.
With great care, she folded it and placed it on a shelf, then sat down on her bed, leaning against the soft pillows, massaging her sore, tired fingers. I fail to understand, she thought, mournfully, how some of Arwen's ladies can embroider day in and day out. After barely twenty hours of such work my hands feel as if they should fall off!
While she rested, she searched out dreams and visions that pertained to the nine companions, or to the war. Many of the things she had Seen in the past had altered, even in her memory. Things she knew she had Seen, many years ago – Elrond slain and Rivendell burning, cities to the south lying in ruins, great forests flattened and stained with Evil – were no longer there. Shadows of those possibilities remained, but seemed more evenly balanced by other, more hopeful things that had wormed their way into her memories.
She could See possible marriages, crownings, unions between kingdoms – there was still sadness, death, faded Elven kingdoms, and the possibility of the Great Destruction her visions had warned her of long ago. Darkness was still far more likely, but Light was at least possible.
What can be done to tip the balance? How can we of the Free Peoples give the Company the ability to overcome all darkness they meet? Can it even be done?
Some hours later, still searching, lost inside her mind, Wren wandered from her room and out of the House, into the gardens. All night she roamed silently through the glens and forests of the valley, and when she came to the fields, Asfaloth joined her, keeping pace beside her, watchful. He knew better than to interrupt her thoughts, but hoped that if she roused from them, she might desire aid in sorting through them. However, she never spoke, or even gave sign that she noticed his presence, and at dawn he left her and went about his own business. The half-Elf gradually made her way back to the House.
She did not come back to herself until she literally ran into Gandalf.
Wren yipped in surprise, and the Wizard reached out to steady her before she fell over. "Well!" he said. "I was wondering if you were awake or not. Though I expected you to stop or I would have moved. What are you doing, Ever Child?"
"Not paying attention, apparently." She brushed imagined dust off her gown and grinned at him. "I was thinking."
Gandalf arched a bushy grey eyebrow. "Thinking? I have seen Elves deep in thought carrying on several conversations at once. Masters of doing more than one thing at once."
"Dream-wandering, then." Silent for a moment, she continued along the path, and Gandalf followed. "Can anything be done to help them?" she asked at last. "The Fellowship, I mean. Can those of us left behind do nothing?"
The Wizard considered her question for a long moment. "Hope," he answered at last. "Have faith, and keep believing that the quest will succeed. Never doubt, even when all about you loose hope." She looked back at him, incredulous, and he smiled. "It sounds like such a simple thing, but the potency of such things as faith and doubt might surprise you."
"I suppose they might…" Wren sighed, disappointed.
"If you were looking for something with a more visible outcome, I'm afraid I cannot help you, Wren. We have spent weeks pouring over the same questions you have just asked. And, while you sometimes make leaps of insight through your visions that defy even the Wise, I think this time you will have no better answers to them than we."
She nodded, sadly. "Alas, that seems to be true. It is…frustrating."
Much to her surprise, he laughed. An open, hearty bark of amusement. She stared at him. "A mistress of understatement! Dear child, Elrond should train you as a diplomat. You are saying, of course, that being able to do nothing is driving you to the end of your wits, and things seem bleak and beyond helping."
Smiling a little, she said, "Yes, I suppose I am." With a sigh, she went on. "Ah, well. We have done all we can, I guess. So, Mithrandir I suppose I shall-"
"Gandalf!" Aragorn's call interrupted her, and she turned to see him and Legolas coming along the walk. The Ranger gave Wren a quick nod of greeting, then continued. "Lord Elrond wants to speak with us…all of us going on this quest who are not Hobbits. He wishes you to be there to add anything he may have forgotten." He smiled grimly. "There are things he wants us to be aware of which, I suppose, he believes will terrify them out of going."
"Though that might not be a bad option," Legolas added, sounding cheerful despite his words.
Gandalf looked at him sharply. "I thought it had been agreed that the Hobbits should go. You never voiced any doubts before."
"True – and I agree that they may indeed be helpful on this journey, for themselves as well as for the support they may provide the Ring-Bearer. However, for their own sake, it is sad that they should be thrown into such tumultuous times."
"Such could be said of the rest of us, as well," Gandalf commented, but he was in agreement with the Elf. "I suppose we should oblige Master Elrond with our presence, then." He turned to Wren. "I would say 'Perhaps we can continue this conversation later,' but I fear later is rapidly becoming uncertain…"
She waved away his apology. "No need, Gandalf. I was finished, and if there is anything else you feel needs said then it shall be up to you to find me or not as you see fit. Gentlemen," she added, taking her leave of them with a quick bow.
"A moment, Wren," Legolas said, stopping her in mid-step.
Slowly, she turned and looked up at him, and the playful wind picked up, blowing her shining hair into her face and whispering in her ear. It spoke of an Elven King in a great forest to the east who sat enraged by his son's "presumptions" and "delusions of grandeur" and the folly of his accepting Elrond's request that he join a doomed quest. Looking at that particular "presumptuous son," she was able to smile. "Yes, Captain of Mirkwood?" she asked cheerfully.
He smiled, but there was something shadowed in his eyes, as if his thoughts were elsewhere. "The company – we nine – tomorrow we leave Imladris."
Her smile faltered as he spoke, then faded. "Yes."
"It will be long ere we meet again."
"Long and long," she whispered.
He smiled slightly, and some of his discomfort seemed to ease. He breathed deeply of the crisp, early winter air – a heavy sigh of contentment. "Bright Elbereth, I do not wish to leave this place! But this task must be done…" Pulling his thoughts back, he continued. "Lord Elrond has given us this evening – after our meeting – to spend entirely as we will, rather than in gloomy preparation, and tonight there will be a gathering in the Hall of Fire. It would give this dark journey a brighter beginning if you would share a meal with me before we are away."
Wren dropped into a slight bow and placed her hand over her heart. "I would be honored, and most glad to do so, Legolas."
The Wood Elf's smile deepened and relaxed entirely. He reached out and gently touched her hair. "Thank you, Wren," he murmured and abruptly turned and hastened after Gandalf and Aragorn.
For several long minutes she stared after him, thoughtful. Then, as one in a dream, she went to her rooms to change into something more elegant than the simple, straight, grey gown she was wearing.
The raiment she chose was, in the end, almost as plain, for she decided to save elegance for the later gathering in the Hall of Fire. She pulled a violet dress edged in pale green out of a chest made of dark wood and shook it out, for it had not been out of the chest for a very long time. In her sadness during her exile from Arwen's friendship, she had worn few colors, and none that were bright or would draw attention. Blues, greens, and greys alone she wore, but it was time for other shades to surface. Quickly she changed, then braided her hair back, and realized, quite suddenly, that she knew not where to meet Legolas, or when.
"Well!" she said to herself. "This is why most people think a bit farther ahead, silly girl. You will not be much help to the Fellowship if you insist on forgetting to ascertain specific details." However, she was not left to puzzle too long over her quandary, for after less than an hour there was a knock on the outer door of her rooms. When she answered it, she found there, of all people, the Hobbit Merry!
For a moment she blinked down at him in surprise. "Master Merry!" she exclaimed at last. "What, pray, brings you to my door?"
He was grinning cheekily. "I passed Legolas a short while ago, and he asked if I might come find you, and ask you to join him in the sun-room adjoining the guest rooms on the west side of the House." He chewed his lip thoughtfully for a moment. "And I imagine he assumed it would take me some time to find you, so you might want to wait a bit, seeing as I was able to find someone to point me in the right direction rather quickly," he added.
"Oh," she answered weakly, at a bit of a loss. Quickly she sobered. "He should not have sent you. You should be spending this time with your friends, savoring what time remains to you here."
Merry shook his head. "It's alright, I think. I was walking anyway, taking a moment to myself. And," he added hesitantly, "I had hoped to talk to you for a bit before we left."
"Really," she mused. "I am flattered, but why, may I ask?"
He shifted his weight nervously. "Just to thank you for being so nice to Pippin and me. We've felt a bit in the way since we got here, but you always treated us as if we had every right to be involved. That meant a lot – it was quite encouraging."
Wren smiled gently down at the young Hobbit. "I think I understand how you feel, Master Merry. I have been in rather a similar situation most of my life. But you Hobbits are quite fascinating, and I have enjoyed your company and will be sad to see you all go." She patted him on the shoulder. "Take heart, my friend!" Grinning, she added, "I am not quite finished being encouraging."
"Oh? Good! I should like to see what you come up with next."
Laughing, she winked at him. "You will, indeed!" Suddenly she was thoughtful. "Everyone will – and I wonder what some will think of it. But for now, you should find your friends again. If you all go to the Hall of Fire this evening, you will see me there."
Slyly Merry grinned. "For now you have someone else to attend to, eh?"
"That," Wren admonished teasingly, "is none of your affair." She shooed the cheeky young Hobbit on his way. Almost as an afterthought, she retrieved the mithril circlet from a shelf and settled it on her brow. It was not nearly as ornate as Elrond's, or even Arwen's (the twins refused all but the simplest pieces, and wore them only for their function of keeping their long hair out of their eyes), but it was finely crafted. A curl of metal sat above each temple, and the mithril was wrought to resemble twisting vines weaving around behind her head. The circlet arched downward from the spirals above her temples to a point above her brow, and in the v it created sat a single clear moonstone, which shone blue when the light was right. Lately, she felt more comfortable facing other Elves when wearing it than when not – it made her feel she had a right to her place. Though she knew Legolas did not care about that, she still, for some reason, wanted to be at least a little impressive.
Collecting her scattered nerves, she drew a green cloak that matched the edging on her dress about her shoulders, and made her way toward the western wing of the House. The sun had set by now, and the sun-room was dark but for a myriad of candles spread throughout the room. The waxing crescent moon hung framed by the western windows, and to the east and overhead the sky was sprinkled with stars. The Elven prince stood as she entered the room and motioned her to the chair across from him.
She smiled as she crossed the room towards the small table, and gestured about her at the candles. "What is all this?"
"They look nicer in here than those big lanterns," he replied. "And the housekeeper who helped arrange this," he added with some amusement, " wanted rid of them. She said they were cluttering up the closets."
Wren laughed, finding that a very reassuring response. They both sat, and she looked over the contents of the table. She was surprised that none of the dishes were recognizable to her, and even the wine seemed unfamiliar. It was far more potent than any she'd ever tasted, though she usually tried to avoid wine, as it tended to make her visions wilder. She also found she preferred the flavor of this vintage. Setting her glass down, she looked a question at her host.
Legolas laughed. "It is possible, Wren, to explore distant places without ever leaving home. I brought this wine from Mirkwood – a special vintage usually reserved for my father's house, though he occasionally will send some here. The food required some wheedling. Rivendell is apparently unfamiliar with Sylvan dishes, and until Elrond's meeting ended and I could help her, the housekeeper was at a bit of a loss."
"And she is not primarily a cook," Wren reminded him. "How was the meeting? Any new revelations?" She tasted one of the dishes, and found it absolutely delightful.
"Not really, no. He merely wanted to make sure we were entirely prepared." He sighed, and pulled his golden hair back behind him. "I do not blame him for his concern, but it is getting tiring."
"I imagine it is, but even with all the possible hazards, just imagine the places you will see, the distant lands you may travel to."
Hearing the bare longing in her voice, he refrained from mentioning that there was a good chance none of them would return from this quest.
They made short work of the exquisite meal – Wren found only one dish unpleasant – and soon sat peacefully sipping the wine. Or rather, Legolas sipped the wine, and Wren allowed her attention to wander about the room. She had set the wine aside some time ago, unwilling to risk a vision now. Legolas surprised her by suddenly refilling her glass.
He raised his glass and locked her eyes with his, pale blue-grey trapped by rich sapphire. She lifted her own, mirroring him, still slightly bewildered. "For the freedom of Arda…" he murmured, and she understood.
"And the success and safety of the Fellowship," she added.
He nodded, and tipped his glass, draining it. Wren took a small sip, then, unwisely, drained hers as well.
It was a grave mistake.
The room suddenly tilted, and the light from the candles pierced through her eyes into her skull. Her glass fell from her suddenly limp hand and shattered on the stone floor. A violent shudder ran through her, and pain lanced through her mind as if it would split in two. "Elbereth…" she gasped, clutching her head and doubling over. Dimly she was aware of Legolas calling her name, but she could not answer. The candlelight swam before her, and went black.
A forest. Statues from an ancient civilization interspersed between the trees. Farther in the sounds of battle rang out, and the vision focused in their direction. Grotesque creatures, like some sort of cross between Orcs and giant Men, heavily armed, trampled through the area, hurrying to reach their brethren who were engaged in combat up ahead. The scene shifted: three individuals faced the much larger party of not-Orcs – a Man, a Dwarf, and an Elf. The Dwarf and Man fought fiercely, and the Elf stood still, some distance off, firing arrow after arrow into their attackers. But there were archers among this party as well. He stood still too long, and a thick-shafted black arrow flew from nowhere, straight and true, and pierced his heart. Blood blossomed on his breast, and as he froze in shock, a second arrow joined the first. Not once did the Elf cry out – brilliant blue eyes stared wildly, and he twisted in agony, dropping to his knees. As he fell, she saw his face clearly for the first time. The Elf collapsed and lay still. Wren felt herself screaming and lunged towards him. He couldn't die! She wouldn't let it happen – Legolas couldn't die…
The vision faded, and Wren came back into herself amid confusion.
* * *
Elrohir was meandering through the House, as he often did when something was on his mind. Like everyone else, he wished there was something more he could do for the Fellowship, but unlike most, he was wrestling with some rather unusual emotions. When he had left the valley with his brother, on their errand before the arrival of the Ring Bearer, Wren had still been the childlike shadow he'd known all his life. His return was met by an Elf-maid, calm as a breeze, and more self-assured than he had ever hoped to see her. The change had been startling, and had reminded him that she, whom he had long treated as a sister, was only very distantly his kin. That opened up several possibilities that he had never really considered before – he was slowly realizing that he was beginning to see Wren as something more than a dear friend.
A terrified scream tore through his musings and he raced in the direction from which it had come, flinging open the door to the sun-room to a scene than enraged him instantly. Wren was curled into a ball on the floor, clutching her head, sobbing wildly, and Legolas stood over her, hesitantly reaching for her, as if he feared to touch her. Two chairs lay overturned, and the table, heavily laden, had been flung to one side.
The Wood-Elf looked up as Elrohir entered, and the expression on his face killed any accusations Elrond's son might have made. He did not enter in the midst of an attack on the Ever-Child, but in the wake of one of her visions.
"What happened?" Legolas pleaded. Desperately he needed to hear that this was not his fault, that he had not done anything to hurt her, but he was the only one present, who else could be to blame?
"I could very well ask you the same question," Elrohir answered brusquely, kneeling behind Wren's shaking form.
Legolas crouched before them, and answered miserably. "The wine… We drank to the success of the quest, and emptied our glasses. Then – I know not what happened. She cried to Elbereth and held her head as if it pained her. She did not move for a few moments, though she was shaking, and weeping, then she screamed and fell to the floor. I did not think – I threw the table aside to reach her, but… Not knowing what had happened, I feared to touch her, lest I make it worse."
Elrohir looked up to explain and stopped, startled to see a single tear sliding down his friend's cheek.
"I am sorry…" The Sylvan Elf whispered.
"It is not your doing, my friend," Elrohir assured him. "Wren…part of why her mind is so torn between childish innocence and great wisdom is that she has powerful visions." Wren's shaking had stopped – it seemed she was coming out of it. "They are often very…unpleasant. And violent." He took her by the shoulders and rolled her over, pulling her partly onto his lap, cradling her head in the crook of his arm. "Wren?" he asked.
Legolas gently took her hand in his, but the contact caused the vision to resurface in the Half-Elf's mind. She moaned, and pulled away. "No," she whispered. "Oh no… It will not happen. Eru, I will not let it happen. No, no, no…"
Startled, Legolas drew back, careful not to touch her again. "Bright Elbereth…" He stared at Elrohir. "What -?"
The Peredhel shook his head. Why should Legolas's touch trouble her visions? That was a strange thing, and Elrohir was as bewildered as his Sylvan friend. "Wren, are you alright?"
She passed a hand across her eyes and tried to sit up. The movement made her dizzy, but with Elrohir's support she managed. "I… I think so. By the Valar…this cannot go on…" Looking up at Legolas then, Wren saw the pain and worry on his face. "Legolas…I am sorry. Perhaps I should have told you sooner. This was not supposed to happen now…"
He shook his head. "That does not matter. You will be alright?" She nodded. "Then all is well." Standing, he righted her chair. "Can you stand?"
"I…don't know."
Looking down at Elrohir, who nodded in encouragement, Legolas held out his hand to assist her. Wren swallowed hard, remembering what his touch had done a moment earlier, but Elrohir was already getting up, bringing her with him. Given little choice, she took the proffered hand to steady herself.
Again the vision returned, but this time overlaying reality. She could see crimson blood running down the wood-Elf's tunic, and shadow-arrows embedded in his chest… With a small cry of dismay, she stumbled backwards into Elrohir, who took a firm hold on her shoulders to keep her from falling again.
"I'm so sorry," Wren sobbed. "It is too strong. I should go until I can control it again." She looked at the overturned table and shattered dishes strewn upon the floor. "Thank you for dinner… This should not have happened…" She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her gown and stepped away from Elrohir's support, careful not to move any closer to Legolas in doing so.
"Can you manage?" Elrohir asked.
"I will soon find out." With that, she carefully, and somewhat unsteadily, made her way to the doorway and out into the hall. When she had gone as far as she could, she stumbled into the nearest room at hand, startling an Elf who was reading there.
"What – Wren?" he asked, dropping his book. "What happened? Are you unwell?"
She collapsed into a large, soft chair. "I need Glorfindel. Could you find him? I do not have the strength to search the House…" She could not stop shaking.
He nodded. "It may take some time," he warned, fetching a blanket from another chair and draping it over her lap.
"It matters not – I can wait."
With another nod, he left.
Wren drew the coverlet up around her shoulders and snuggled down into the chair. Never had a vision exhausted her this badly – they seemed to be growing stronger. What will you do, she asked herself as sleep started to take hold of her, if this happens out in the Wild? Weariness dragged her under before she had a chance to find an answer.
* * *
*note – I wanted to get the Fellowship out of Rivendell in this chapter so very badly, but it's simply going to be too long. Argh. Oh well… on to chapter nine.