Synopsis:
In the time before the War of the Ring, a loved one
was lost. Now, in the peace that follows, Valraen,
the King's own cousin has been found. But her past is covered in darkness
and Valraen has no memory of herself or the Elf she
loved. As the forces of darkness that separated them gather once more,
can Legolas bridge the distance between them and
reclaim the one he lost?
Many thanks for those of you who continue to review! Your feedback has been great! Here is Chapter 7. Hope you enjoy it. (Aramis, you'll notice I've taken your advice and tried to make it easier for you guys to visualise what I'm describing. Thanks for your input!)
Legal Stuff – All characters (except Valraen/
Arienel; The Master and Fidelian) belong to Tokien The Great. None to me (more's the pity). I am but a
trespasser on his glory.
On the banks of the Sea of Rhun, high up in a dark cavern of a particularly rocky mount, Fidelian, the Master's one-eared conjuror, sat brewing his potion. The evening breeze brought a misty spray from the waves below into the cave in intermittent bursts, sprinkling the short mage's filthy black robes and causing him to alternately hiss and swear.
"Lose an ear… lose an ear indeed… damn these waves… damn them… I'll show him an ear… yes I will… yes…"
Thus murmuring to himself, the Easterling pottered to and fro amongst the many shelves looking for the various herbs he needed. The cavern, visible through a small hole in the side of a mighty mountain, was linked to the outside world via a series of labyrinth-like passages and caverns that led down to the other side. It was poor as far as a home went, but then again he had no choice. After the fall of Sauron, all of them had been forced to escape into the mountains.
In one of the larger caverns, that had been turned into a comfortable room, was the Master himself and spread throughout the rest of the complex underground system were whatever deadly Selenar were not on assignment. The Mage himself rarely saw them - his only contact with the outside world was through the forbidding man he served - but he knew of them. Oh yes… he certainly did that. Was it not he who had found the potion that enabled the Selenar to psychically connect with the Master? Was it not he who had divulged its secrets? Little gratitude did he now receive for his pains.
Fidelian ran a dirty hand through his thinning black hair and squinted his beady eyes in the dimming candlelight. The potion should not have failed, he thought crossly. It should have connected them permanently. If it did not, then it is certainly not my fault.
How he was expected to reconnect the Master with an absent Selenar was beyond his comprehension. After all… he reasoned with himself, it was not my concoction and the one who would know is long dead. He made a huffing noise through his nose as he remembered the old sorcerer he had stolen the secret from. Apprenticed to the old man at a young age, Fidelian had waited a long time before his teacher had invented anything of any use. When he finally did, Fidelian had wasted no time in killing the old man and taking the secret.
Now of course he wasn't so sure he had made the right decision.
"I must find the secret or I must lose the other ear…" he reminded himself. "And we don't want that… no indeed…"
**
In her room in the palace of Minas Tirith, Arienel sought the dark silence. She sat cross-legged upon her bed and stretched out with her thoughts. Over the past week she had tried repeatedly to reconnect with the Master. Truth be told, she had missed his guidance and felt the need of it, now more than ever. Time and time again however, she had gone part way down the path only to be inexplicably blocked.
Master… Master… hear me…
Once again, she visualised the thought leaving her and traced its path through the ether. Once again it travelled quickly from her mind, and once again, instead of connecting with the piercing black stare she was used to, it reached a point of light and stopped dead.
Arienel opened her eyes and felt a whirr of panic start in her gut. Something was wrong… very wrong. She had never before heard of a disconnection – had never even known such a thing was possible. She could not remember a time when she could not access the Master's guidance when she needed it. It filled her with a dread she did not want to examine.
Closing her eyes, she made another desperate attempt. The same path; the same point of light. Collecting her wits, Arienel moved mentally closer to the point of light. Perhaps if she could discover the source of this blockage, she could move beyond it. Perhaps it was a test. Such things were not unknown.
So she moved her mental body closer and focused on its centre. As she neared it, she felt rather than saw a warm heat moving through the light in concentric circles. Forcing down an uneasy feeling of foreboding, Arienel moved into the tunnel being formed by the waves. An ethereal blue flowed through her. Ahead she saw a figure washed in white. This must be the source, she thought with a jolt. She focused now on the face of the figure in front of her.
Arienel moved closer still until the blue white light that surrounded her thoughts was almost painful. She focused her mind, the pressure building to a point she felt sure she could not survive. The figure before her looked up at her and their eyes met. Her eyes…
Wrenched from her trance by an enormous spasm, Arienel cried out in pain and horror. She clutched her head as she fell onto the floor beside the bed. With a shaking hand she pushed back her now damp hair and lifted herself weakly to her feet.
No, she thought as she tried to move towards the window at the far end of the room. It cannot be true… It cannot be true…
It was me… I am her… She is me…Arienel struggled in vain to hold onto her slipping sanity, slidding quietly to the floor again as another spasm shook her.
I am Valraen, she thought fleetingly. Legolas…I am Valraen…
And then the madness took her.
**
A mile away, Legolas and Gimli travelled towards Minas Tirith. Riding together on Arod, like in the old days, they had spent the better part of the afternoon in pleasant companionship.
Gimli was part way through reminiscing about the battle of Helms Deep for the third time when Legolas slumped over suddenly in his seat.
"Legolas!" Gimli exclaimed in surprise. "Are you all right lad? I didn't think my storytelling was that bad."
"Gimli," Legolas replied weakly as he brought a pale hand to his chest. "Something terrible has happened."
Knowing better than to question Legolas' elvish senses, Gimli frowned with concern. "Is it the King?" he asked urgently. "Has something happened to him?"
"No," Legolas said, a note of rising panic now sounding in his voice. "It is Valraen. I heard her cry out to me. Gimli, something has happened to her. I have come too late!"
Kicking Arod sharply in the flanks, Legolas sent the horse flying into the forestland.
"Slow down lad!" Gimli cried as he struggled to keep his place on the galloping stead.
Legolas could not answer. A painful lump had formed in his throat and he found he could not speak. Forcing his focus onto the speeding horse beneath him, Legolas tried to still the frightened buzzing of his thoughts and tried not to think of the last time he had felt this way.
I have come too late, he thought. I have come too late.
Once again, I have come too late.
**