Disclaimer: This story is based on the work of Tolkien. The setting and most of the characters are his. Valarie, Maranwe, and Runevalas are my own creations. The Elvish language here is from the Tel'Mithrim and is used with permission. The word "feahoon" is used PENDING approval from the Grey Company. For more information please see their web site: www.grey-company .org
Rating: PG
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Valariel was confounded by her father's vehemence. She looked at Galadriel, and the Lady of the Wood could see the anger, and the argument, bubbling up inside of the youngster.
:This is not a time for arguing, young Valariel: said the Lady's voice inside Valariel's head. :You are a child still. When you reach your maturity all will be different.:
In the long, nearly eternal lives of Elves, natural death was rare. Most who aged long enough found their way to Valinor where death did not matter, did not exist. But those who died by battle or by accident went to dwell with Mandos in his great Hall. Some of these souls would come back, inhabiting new bodies, living new lives. It was said that from time to time two souls would recognize each other from lives they'd lived before, and the bond they formed would be nearly indestructible. They would be mates and lovers regardless of age or gender or any of the other superficial means by which relationships were defined.
"But I…" Valariel looked back towards the group, desperately hoping to see Legolas again. How could he not have seen me? How could he not have reached out for me? She was certain Legolas must have felt the same pull she did. It is because I'm still a child. I've not proven my worth as a mate. The next time I see him, she vowed, there will be no such hesitation.
"No more of this, daughter," said Haldir darkly. "No more."
Haldir gave her to one of the Archers. "See to it that my daughter is delivered back to our home. And see to it that she remains there until I return." He looked down at her. "You and I have much to discuss about obedience when I get home." Valariel hung her head and walked slowly away, her grand plan now in ruins about her.
As his daughter disappeared, Haldir stared at the forest floor, fists clenched, body rigid. Galadriel paused near him, feeling the torment that racked him.
"She does not understand," he growled. "That is not a word to be used lightly or in mirth. For her to even think of naming Legolas as feahoon… She mocks those who have truly found one!"
:Ease your heart, Haldir. Young Valariel did not intend to wound you. She cannot know what happened all those years ago. She knows nothing of your loss.:
Abruptly he straightened and started to walk forward. The Lady's voice still echoed faintly in his head. He paused and gestured, allowing the Lady Galadriel to go before him as courtesy required. But she did not miss the sadness that colored his eyes and expression. But she did not miss the sadness that colored his eyes and expression.
His voice was but a whisper. "She does not understand the depth of feeling that comes if you find a feahoon. Long years pass and none of our people find one. Only a handful have. Mine came too late." He knew Galadriel could see the memory swimming in his troubled eyes.
Many years before Valariel was born, years even before he'd met Runevalas, there had been a battle. After Isildur cut the ring from Sauron's hand, the Dark Lord's minions had waged losing battles against Elves and Men. After one such battle, Haldir, barely old enough to have attained his rank as an Archer of 'Lorien, wandered the blood-soaked field searching for survivors.
He came upon Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, and in his arms a Rivendell Elf. Even from afar, Haldir could see the wounds were fatal. As he got closer, he could hear the voice – her voice – as she spoke.
"You need not linger with me, Lord Elrond, Mandos calls me. There are others who need your aid." She shut her eyes as a stab of pain raced through her.
"May I be of assistance?" asked Haldir.
"Any companionship at a passing is welcome," answered Elrond.
Haldir knelt on the ground, taking the strange Elf's hand in his as she lay cradled in Elrond's arms. Her hair was dark, nearly black, and long, braided in the way of the Eldar. At the touch of his hand, her eyes opened. They were the color of a restless ocean.
The 'Lorien Elf cried out as if an Orc scimitar had been driven through him, but later he would recall nothing of pain. At least not at that moment. What he would recall, and reveal only to Galadriel and Elrond, was the feeling of his very heart and soul being pulled apart as if they were the pages of a book, and the dying Elf before him knew each word written on those pages. And based on the look of shock and wonder on her face, she felt exactly the same.
"Feahoon," they both whispered in the same breath. Elrond knew it to be true. By his physical contact with both of them, he felt the edges of the power that flowed between the two.
"I am Haldir of 'Lorien."
"I am Maranwe."
Maranwe. The Elvish word for "destiny."
Without being asked, Elrond shifted Maranwe's weight towards Haldir and he took it without thinking, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers. The veil of his silver-blond hair fell between the two and Elrond, hiding their faces. Haldir kissed Maranwe's forehead and then gently kissed her lips.
Elrond stood quietly, wishing to give them this one moment – this last moment – before Mandos' call would become too great. Other Elves on the field had heard Haldir's cry. Elrond saw them coming and waved them away. He told two of his own to stand guard at a respectful distance and let no one but himself come near to Haldir and Maranwe.
When her spirit finally left, that was when Haldir remembered the pain. A sharper, truer pain he had never felt and for many hundreds of years it never faded. There had been days he feared it wouldn't. Slowly it did, but never disappeared. The feeling of knowing, the instant intimacy, the utter acceptance of everything he was, both dark and light, which he felt with Maranwe would stay with him forever.
Haldir had wondered if he could ever truly care about anything again. That, too, changed when he met Runevalas. She healed the parts of him that were open and raw from losing Maranwe so soon. She was a gentle, quiet soul who could soothe his tempers and allowed him his failings without judging. She was also respectful of his memory of Maranwe, and was never jealous of it. And it was Runevalas who had given Haldir his daughter, and for that he would always love her.
More years rolled away around the Golden Wood as Valariel grew tall and fair. Many remarked how she looked like her father, but she wasn't convinced. She had Haldir's oval face and his proud demeanor, but her cheeks and her nose were entirely Runevalas'. Valariel suspected that it was more her bearing – and behind raised hands some would whisper "arrogance" – that made the resemblance to her father so pronounced.
Valariel, even when she was small, was anxious to begin more formal training with the sword and the bow. She wanted to join the Archers of 'Lorien and serve under her father's command. But year after year she was not allowed into formal training. No young Elf was until they'd reached maturity and brown eyes transformed to blue ones. She watched her friends and age mates all reach their maturity. One day they would be with the children and the next they would be with the adults, their change marked and noted by the change in their eye color. Valariel soon found herself the only one of her age group who had not gone through the change.
"Is there something wrong with her?" Haldir asked Galadriel. "My daughter is close to 1,600 years old now. The others in her age group went through their passages years ago."
"I don't believe there's anything wrong with Valariel," said the Lady of the Wood. "Do not fret so, Haldir."
"But there have been some… Some Elves who never changed. They remain trapped, children in adult bodies. Never to fight, never to wield magic as you do, never to mate… What if my Valariel is trapped thus?" The Marchwarden put a hand up and covered his eyes. Most of this was his concern for Valariel. But part was because he worried how it reflected on him. He was Haldir, the Marchwarden of 'Lorien. Could it be his fate to have a daughter who was less than whole? It was a selfish thought; he knew that, and was ashamed, but it was how he felt.
Galadriel merely watched him with her enigmatic smile. She knew Haldir's heart; there was little in Lothlorien that she did not have some awareness of. He had always been proud, and excelled in all that he did. There were parts of Haldir that were arrogant and even selfish, but she knew how much he loved his daughter, even if he didn't always show it.
"Lady…"
"Haldir, the future is fluid. You know this. What may or may not become of Valariel remains to be seen. You are welcome to look in Galadriel's mirror if you wish to see…"
"Nay," said Haldir quickly. He had no desire to look in the Lady's mirror. It could show the present, and sometimes the past, and then it could show the future. Or, more accurately, a possible future. For all his bravery and bravado, Haldir was afraid to see his daughter's future, afraid the mirror would confirm his worst fears.
Three days after Haldir had sat with the Lady of the Wood, Valariel was walking near the edge of the wood. Near her the merry laughter of children rang through the air.
"I am little but a glorified nanny," she sighed to the trees. "I am adult enough to watch the youngsters, but I am a child to everyone else in 'Lorien. And even as I watch them, I am not alone." She knew somewhere nearby were Archers – today it was her father and uncles. While the woods were safe, the Elves were protective of their children. She carried two large knives with her. They were the one concession to arms training that she was allowed. Her father and both of her uncles had taught her how to use them.
Nearby, three Orcs watched the children. They'd planned this days before. Two stole away, their mission to distract the guards. The last was to take the children. They would be a delectable treat and their disappearance would devastate the Elves.
A whistle from Rumil caught Haldir's attention. His keen eyesight spotted what Rumil had seen… Two Orcs trying to sneak over the borders of 'Lorien. Are the truly that stupid, Haldir wondered. He whistled back, signaling his brothers to follow. For a moment, he looked back over his shoulder. This would take him further from Valariel and the other children. He was their guard today… They'll be fine, he thought to himself and started after the Orcs with his brothers. These idiot Orcs can be handled quickly.
An odd noise turned Valariel. She scanned the edge of the wood. A twig had snapped and she couldn't see where the noise came from. A cold feeling crept up her back. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Then the children started screaming, running towards Valariel as the Orc rose up out of the bushes.
"Run," shouted Valariel. "Run for the woods! Up into the trees! Call for the archers!" The five little ones started to run as Valariel cast a quick glance to the trees. Where were the Archers? Her father could have put an arrow through the Orc's eye in the dead of night. Why had they not taken him?
"No Archers to help you, she-Elf," the Orc cackled. "They're chasing my friends. Once I kill you, I'll track the children down. They won't get far in the woods. They're too little and no one will hear them screaming…"
He raised his saber and moved menacingly towards Valariel, but rather than run, she reached behind her shoulders and pulled the knives out of their sheaths. The Orc hesitated for a moment. Valariel looked young nor was she dressed like a warrior, and then he saw that her eyes were brown. She was just a child. He narrowed his eyes; no half-grown she-Elf was going to scare him away.
"You'll be hurt playing with knives, little girl." He lunged at Valariel.
A distance away, Haldir stopped. There was a sound on the wind. It was a scream.
He was horrified; the Orcs had deceived them. "Rumil! Orophin!" he shouted. "Leave the Orcs to the others. Something's happened to the children!" They raced through the trees as Haldir cursed to himself.
His thoughts were desperate: The children… Valariel…
** ** ** ** ** ** **
As always, thank you to those of you who have taken the time to email comments on the story (Mercury G: hopefully this gives you some of the info you wanted in your review). I hope you're all enjoying it so far. There's more to come…
Rating: PG
** ** ** ** ** **
Valariel was confounded by her father's vehemence. She looked at Galadriel, and the Lady of the Wood could see the anger, and the argument, bubbling up inside of the youngster.
:This is not a time for arguing, young Valariel: said the Lady's voice inside Valariel's head. :You are a child still. When you reach your maturity all will be different.:
In the long, nearly eternal lives of Elves, natural death was rare. Most who aged long enough found their way to Valinor where death did not matter, did not exist. But those who died by battle or by accident went to dwell with Mandos in his great Hall. Some of these souls would come back, inhabiting new bodies, living new lives. It was said that from time to time two souls would recognize each other from lives they'd lived before, and the bond they formed would be nearly indestructible. They would be mates and lovers regardless of age or gender or any of the other superficial means by which relationships were defined.
"But I…" Valariel looked back towards the group, desperately hoping to see Legolas again. How could he not have seen me? How could he not have reached out for me? She was certain Legolas must have felt the same pull she did. It is because I'm still a child. I've not proven my worth as a mate. The next time I see him, she vowed, there will be no such hesitation.
"No more of this, daughter," said Haldir darkly. "No more."
Haldir gave her to one of the Archers. "See to it that my daughter is delivered back to our home. And see to it that she remains there until I return." He looked down at her. "You and I have much to discuss about obedience when I get home." Valariel hung her head and walked slowly away, her grand plan now in ruins about her.
As his daughter disappeared, Haldir stared at the forest floor, fists clenched, body rigid. Galadriel paused near him, feeling the torment that racked him.
"She does not understand," he growled. "That is not a word to be used lightly or in mirth. For her to even think of naming Legolas as feahoon… She mocks those who have truly found one!"
:Ease your heart, Haldir. Young Valariel did not intend to wound you. She cannot know what happened all those years ago. She knows nothing of your loss.:
Abruptly he straightened and started to walk forward. The Lady's voice still echoed faintly in his head. He paused and gestured, allowing the Lady Galadriel to go before him as courtesy required. But she did not miss the sadness that colored his eyes and expression. But she did not miss the sadness that colored his eyes and expression.
His voice was but a whisper. "She does not understand the depth of feeling that comes if you find a feahoon. Long years pass and none of our people find one. Only a handful have. Mine came too late." He knew Galadriel could see the memory swimming in his troubled eyes.
Many years before Valariel was born, years even before he'd met Runevalas, there had been a battle. After Isildur cut the ring from Sauron's hand, the Dark Lord's minions had waged losing battles against Elves and Men. After one such battle, Haldir, barely old enough to have attained his rank as an Archer of 'Lorien, wandered the blood-soaked field searching for survivors.
He came upon Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, and in his arms a Rivendell Elf. Even from afar, Haldir could see the wounds were fatal. As he got closer, he could hear the voice – her voice – as she spoke.
"You need not linger with me, Lord Elrond, Mandos calls me. There are others who need your aid." She shut her eyes as a stab of pain raced through her.
"May I be of assistance?" asked Haldir.
"Any companionship at a passing is welcome," answered Elrond.
Haldir knelt on the ground, taking the strange Elf's hand in his as she lay cradled in Elrond's arms. Her hair was dark, nearly black, and long, braided in the way of the Eldar. At the touch of his hand, her eyes opened. They were the color of a restless ocean.
The 'Lorien Elf cried out as if an Orc scimitar had been driven through him, but later he would recall nothing of pain. At least not at that moment. What he would recall, and reveal only to Galadriel and Elrond, was the feeling of his very heart and soul being pulled apart as if they were the pages of a book, and the dying Elf before him knew each word written on those pages. And based on the look of shock and wonder on her face, she felt exactly the same.
"Feahoon," they both whispered in the same breath. Elrond knew it to be true. By his physical contact with both of them, he felt the edges of the power that flowed between the two.
"I am Haldir of 'Lorien."
"I am Maranwe."
Maranwe. The Elvish word for "destiny."
Without being asked, Elrond shifted Maranwe's weight towards Haldir and he took it without thinking, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers. The veil of his silver-blond hair fell between the two and Elrond, hiding their faces. Haldir kissed Maranwe's forehead and then gently kissed her lips.
Elrond stood quietly, wishing to give them this one moment – this last moment – before Mandos' call would become too great. Other Elves on the field had heard Haldir's cry. Elrond saw them coming and waved them away. He told two of his own to stand guard at a respectful distance and let no one but himself come near to Haldir and Maranwe.
When her spirit finally left, that was when Haldir remembered the pain. A sharper, truer pain he had never felt and for many hundreds of years it never faded. There had been days he feared it wouldn't. Slowly it did, but never disappeared. The feeling of knowing, the instant intimacy, the utter acceptance of everything he was, both dark and light, which he felt with Maranwe would stay with him forever.
Haldir had wondered if he could ever truly care about anything again. That, too, changed when he met Runevalas. She healed the parts of him that were open and raw from losing Maranwe so soon. She was a gentle, quiet soul who could soothe his tempers and allowed him his failings without judging. She was also respectful of his memory of Maranwe, and was never jealous of it. And it was Runevalas who had given Haldir his daughter, and for that he would always love her.
More years rolled away around the Golden Wood as Valariel grew tall and fair. Many remarked how she looked like her father, but she wasn't convinced. She had Haldir's oval face and his proud demeanor, but her cheeks and her nose were entirely Runevalas'. Valariel suspected that it was more her bearing – and behind raised hands some would whisper "arrogance" – that made the resemblance to her father so pronounced.
Valariel, even when she was small, was anxious to begin more formal training with the sword and the bow. She wanted to join the Archers of 'Lorien and serve under her father's command. But year after year she was not allowed into formal training. No young Elf was until they'd reached maturity and brown eyes transformed to blue ones. She watched her friends and age mates all reach their maturity. One day they would be with the children and the next they would be with the adults, their change marked and noted by the change in their eye color. Valariel soon found herself the only one of her age group who had not gone through the change.
"Is there something wrong with her?" Haldir asked Galadriel. "My daughter is close to 1,600 years old now. The others in her age group went through their passages years ago."
"I don't believe there's anything wrong with Valariel," said the Lady of the Wood. "Do not fret so, Haldir."
"But there have been some… Some Elves who never changed. They remain trapped, children in adult bodies. Never to fight, never to wield magic as you do, never to mate… What if my Valariel is trapped thus?" The Marchwarden put a hand up and covered his eyes. Most of this was his concern for Valariel. But part was because he worried how it reflected on him. He was Haldir, the Marchwarden of 'Lorien. Could it be his fate to have a daughter who was less than whole? It was a selfish thought; he knew that, and was ashamed, but it was how he felt.
Galadriel merely watched him with her enigmatic smile. She knew Haldir's heart; there was little in Lothlorien that she did not have some awareness of. He had always been proud, and excelled in all that he did. There were parts of Haldir that were arrogant and even selfish, but she knew how much he loved his daughter, even if he didn't always show it.
"Lady…"
"Haldir, the future is fluid. You know this. What may or may not become of Valariel remains to be seen. You are welcome to look in Galadriel's mirror if you wish to see…"
"Nay," said Haldir quickly. He had no desire to look in the Lady's mirror. It could show the present, and sometimes the past, and then it could show the future. Or, more accurately, a possible future. For all his bravery and bravado, Haldir was afraid to see his daughter's future, afraid the mirror would confirm his worst fears.
Three days after Haldir had sat with the Lady of the Wood, Valariel was walking near the edge of the wood. Near her the merry laughter of children rang through the air.
"I am little but a glorified nanny," she sighed to the trees. "I am adult enough to watch the youngsters, but I am a child to everyone else in 'Lorien. And even as I watch them, I am not alone." She knew somewhere nearby were Archers – today it was her father and uncles. While the woods were safe, the Elves were protective of their children. She carried two large knives with her. They were the one concession to arms training that she was allowed. Her father and both of her uncles had taught her how to use them.
Nearby, three Orcs watched the children. They'd planned this days before. Two stole away, their mission to distract the guards. The last was to take the children. They would be a delectable treat and their disappearance would devastate the Elves.
A whistle from Rumil caught Haldir's attention. His keen eyesight spotted what Rumil had seen… Two Orcs trying to sneak over the borders of 'Lorien. Are the truly that stupid, Haldir wondered. He whistled back, signaling his brothers to follow. For a moment, he looked back over his shoulder. This would take him further from Valariel and the other children. He was their guard today… They'll be fine, he thought to himself and started after the Orcs with his brothers. These idiot Orcs can be handled quickly.
An odd noise turned Valariel. She scanned the edge of the wood. A twig had snapped and she couldn't see where the noise came from. A cold feeling crept up her back. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Then the children started screaming, running towards Valariel as the Orc rose up out of the bushes.
"Run," shouted Valariel. "Run for the woods! Up into the trees! Call for the archers!" The five little ones started to run as Valariel cast a quick glance to the trees. Where were the Archers? Her father could have put an arrow through the Orc's eye in the dead of night. Why had they not taken him?
"No Archers to help you, she-Elf," the Orc cackled. "They're chasing my friends. Once I kill you, I'll track the children down. They won't get far in the woods. They're too little and no one will hear them screaming…"
He raised his saber and moved menacingly towards Valariel, but rather than run, she reached behind her shoulders and pulled the knives out of their sheaths. The Orc hesitated for a moment. Valariel looked young nor was she dressed like a warrior, and then he saw that her eyes were brown. She was just a child. He narrowed his eyes; no half-grown she-Elf was going to scare him away.
"You'll be hurt playing with knives, little girl." He lunged at Valariel.
A distance away, Haldir stopped. There was a sound on the wind. It was a scream.
He was horrified; the Orcs had deceived them. "Rumil! Orophin!" he shouted. "Leave the Orcs to the others. Something's happened to the children!" They raced through the trees as Haldir cursed to himself.
His thoughts were desperate: The children… Valariel…
** ** ** ** ** ** **
As always, thank you to those of you who have taken the time to email comments on the story (Mercury G: hopefully this gives you some of the info you wanted in your review). I hope you're all enjoying it so far. There's more to come…