I still haven't decided if I like how this chapter turns out. hmmm.
Chapter VII lúmenna entulessë
[upon the hour of return]
This feeling of not knowing was beginning to upset me. I had not an idea in the world of how this was going to go. Would Galadriel be angry with me? Would she be cross that I had not perished with the rest of my people? Or would she be happy of my return? Would I be welcome here? Or kept a prisoner? Or would I turn to a dish of pudding, I thought stupidly. You moron.
But I think this may have been why I was upset of entering her wood: I knew not what was going to happen. All the years-no, millennia-of knowing the Lady of the Wood like her own shadow, it frightened me that I knew not how she would react. The one curse of my people was just that, since we live almost forever, we have tendencies to forget out pasts... or what we did yesterday. Too long a period of time, we forget memories and things just to keep ourselves innocent. Why?. Don't ask me, I know not. Gandalf had warned me in his letter, now that I begin thinking back on it, that it is dangerous to forget the past in fear of the future. I knew not what he meant in his words, but a nagging voice almost screamed at me that it had everything to do with this situation.
I slipped farther into my mind, shutting the outside world out as I thought. Could Galadriel have changed that much over the years? The stories of the cold beauty and splendour of the Lady of the Golden Wood, of her aloofness and control, had not failed to reach my ears, and I was completely shocked to have found myself believing these stories: the word of tongue of those who had never seen the Lady nor been in her company. Ridiculous. Absurd. Why now was I thinking this through? Because I'm here? Last time for repentance before Death comes to kick our bucket?
Get a Grip, Aíca. These thoughts are absolute folly, and you know them to be untrue.
Yet why could I not shake the feeling of pure fear in my heart?
I shivered and whimpered as the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel entered the room, stepping as lightly as ever halfway down the steps from the dais. I averted my eyes and found special interest in a small bug that wandered its way across the room by my feet, desperately wishing that I could become as small and virtually insignificant as it. The sight I expected to see was no different from what I had previously seen, even though I looked not, for indeed, Elves changed little over the years, especially at their ages. Celeborn would look over the fellowship with a frown as he would notice that Mithrandir was not present. Galadriel would test the members with her mind games (but even I groaned at my use of 'games': 't were nothing of the sort, and it was not often at all that I would speak ill of the Lady and her devices, despite my uneasiness of her) and bid them rest, knowing that they were weary and wished time to repose. It almost shocked me that I thought of this at the present. do all people think such random and. well, stupid thoughts as these while under pressure? I already asked this. Only *I* do.
I wanna go home. I want my mommy.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Nine hath set out from Imladris, and yet of the original nine walkers, only eight stand here now. Tell me, where is Gandalf the Grey, for I much desire to speak with him." Celeborn spoke as he looked over the members before him. The hobbits bowed their heads, as well as the dwarf and the small girl that stood to the side, flanked by two guards. None brought forth any response, and Galadriel took on a wistful look as she looked upon them with newfound emotion in her bright eyes.
"He has fallen into darkness." She said sadly as she sent a knowing glance at Celeborn, and flitted her gaze across each member of the Fellowship. Each member responded differently as she offered them a choice of paths, and she smiled gently as she found each was prepared to take on their tasks. Her thoughts lingered on a few: Aragorn who did not feel himself prepared to lead; Frodo who felt burdened of his quest yet held no doubts about the final end and what had to happen; Boromir who loved his homeland yet was slowly falling for the power of the Ring. and the last, the young girl who had succeeded in blocking the thoughts of the Lady from her mind.
Galadriel felt an inkling towards the girl since she had first stepped into the room, yet had had nothing as of yet to prove her suspicions. Yet this; not one of yet had fully succeeded in hiding their thoughts from the Lady. save one, one who brought great grief upon the heart of Galadriel.
She probed further, pressing her mind upon the unknown girl with more strength, but she could receive no message from her other than vague imaginings, fleeting images of fright and worry, and a desire for comfort and. mother, perhaps? She abruptly stopped her attack when the girl's forehead creased in pain, and she finally brought her head up to meet the gaze of Galadriel. Violet eyes sang in alarm as they met her own, and Galadriel's heart softened, then cried out as memories started assailing her, memories long thought forgotten.
She looked over the Winged Sprite with sadness and solace as she noticed the changes Haíthiminë had gone through over these many years. She had heard Mithrandir tell of her growth, but stories paled in comparison to the Lady that stood before Galadriel. Here stood a mature, grown woman that had faced such sorrow that was not meant in any way to be born upon her shoulders. Her mind, now in all access to Galadriel --for, in Haíthiminë's shock, she had dropped all guard and her resolve slipped,-- showed such mourning, pain and loneliness that it brought tears to her eyes. Still a child, an innocent, forced into adulthood long before she would have properly adjusted to it. Yet still, Haíthiminë held the dignity and grace that was inherent of her race, and many more qualities that Galadriel could not pass into words. A fear of the future, a longing for forgiveness, a hidden (perhaps lost) innocence and a beauty that surpassed that of the elves, when it was desired to be presented in turn. This is the Queen that her little fëa had grown into?
That brief moment passed as Galadriel brushed upon a far hidden memory, one buried deep in the subconscious. Images flashed in her head, images that both horrified her and saddened her. Ones that, as she looked deeper, she could sense a feeling of hostility towards her, bitter guilt. She looked upon Haíthiminë and saw the pain upon her features, pain of a mother for her lost child, of a friend for one lost, and one who has loved and lost.
"No longer shall you be prisoner here, but for the rest of the days of the world shall you be free to come and go as you wish." Galadriel spoke softly. As she spoke, Haíthiminë also heard a voice in her head, one that was reassuring yet still potent: {Welcome back, « Fëanya », friend from far and long ago.}
Galadriel signalled to a guard at her side to remove her binds. One stepped behind her and deftly removed the knots and ropes around her hands, then her shoulders. She bit her lip as a strong pull jarred the unseen wound on her back, and her shoulders slumped forwards and she swayed forwards slightly. Her legs suddenly buckled and she fell to her knees, and she looked up again at the golden Lady before her. She clenched her arms at her sides, hugging them across her stomach as if they had indeed caused her great pain, which indeed they had.
Before any of the fellowship could reach her side, Galadriel knelt down forwards to the front of her, and gathered the still shaken Haíthiminë in her arms, hugging her tightly, and yet carefully, as one would cradle a newborn. For a moment Haíthiminë was stiff with surprise, but she soon softened and returned the hug weakly.
"I should have never turned you away, Fëanya. It has caused you much grief and loss, I beg your pardons." She whispered as tears threatened to defeat her. How she wished she could remove all the dark stains from her soul, and ease the little one's spirit.
Haíthwen pulled away from the hug, her eyes shining with an astonishing light. She shook her head vehemently, and pulled Galadriel up from the ground.
{You only did what you thought was right. It cannot be undone, so let it pass.} she said shyly, the light from her eyes fading as she bowed her head again. To the Fellowship, she seemed timid amongst the Elves, and seemed much smaller, humbler, and frightened than the group had ever seen her to be. Galadriel smiled warmly and turned to the rest of the Fellowship, who watched the exchange with interest and curiosity.
"You are much welcomed in the Wood, and shall be left to rest. Be not weary of outside danger, for no evil or threat shall plague you whilst in the Woods of LothLórien." Celeborn spoke, authority shining like a mantle around him but his voice kind and welcoming.
She looked at Haíthiminë and smiled. "Do not trouble yourselves. For no harm has come far into these woods, and you will be safe. Go and rest, regain the strength you have lost," Galadriel wished them, as another elf entered and lead them through down the paths to where they could slumber in peace.
Galadriel watched as Haíthiminë left next to last, only followed by Aragorn who was much relieved of her release. Before she could no longer, she sent a thought to each. To Haíthiminë: {None can heal if there are no wounds to be seen.} To Aragorn: {Tend her wounds, but be mindful of the ones that appear not on the skin.} She watched as they disappeared, and she turned to Celeborn, who turned finally to her.
"It is much amended that she has been made to return, although I much would have preferred she to return of her own free will." He said with a kind yet troubled expression.
"As would I had she had more time. Yet time is being stolen away from us, and we can do nothing to retrieve it. Some things require compelling... Yet I fear too long has passed as it is. She has changed much," She spoke, looking up to the stars, "As have I."
"What of Alassëa?" He asked.
"Dead." she said sadly, "She died within a week of their departure." They both walked through the doors, heading solemnly to their rooms.
"Such things burden her: she has wings, yet prefers to crawl through life. I fear for her. more now than ever before. Her life balances upon a high cliff, what if she is to fall?" She cried softly, and Celeborn wrapped his arm around her. "But not all hope is lost." He said, remembering one member of the fellowship.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The group was led to a small flit in the woods, where they found elves waiting for them with food, drink, and fresh, clean clothes. Not much was said as they all wearily rested; the hobbits falling asleep almost immediately, Legolas and Gimli off taking a stroll, and Boromir, Aragorn and Haíthwen sitting around a small fire, warming them.
Aragorn looked over at her, desperately wishing he could talk to her without the presence of Boromir. She sat off to the side a ways, staring blankly at the fire while clutching her bundle of clothing to her stomach. She had naught said a word since they left from speaking with the Lord and Lady, and Aragorn would have shot himself in the foot to know what she thought of, if indeed she did think. She seemed far too comatose to do any of that, until she suddenly jumped up and walked off through the forest before Aragorn could ask. Worried for her immensely, for indeed she seemed to have mislaid all love for existence, he picked himself up and followed her, trying his best to keep silent as he tread through the worn forest paths. She could not have heard him unless she attempted to, and in her state she seemed to hear naught around her. Still, he took care. She followed a trail towards a small yet deep stream of water that flowed through Lórien. She kneeled on the edge of the water, pulling off her outer tunic. Aragorn blushed and almost turned away, but he could not turn as he watched her soak the shirt in the crystal clear water, clearly seeing red blood seeping from it in the bright moonlight. He walked over to her, unable to stay hidden any longer.
"Through all your pain you continue to refuse help from the elves, or even me." He said as he knelt beside her, taking her hands in his, pulling them out of the cold water. She jumped at his touch, but calmed as she looked into his face. She turned away as she continued scrubbing her shirt in the water, not saying anything.
"Let me see." Aragorn said, and she winced as she twisted the wet shirt, removing the water. He asked once more when she ignored him, and she looked at him, slightly annoyed but she hung her head. Her lips whispered something, but Aragorn heard not what was uttered.
"Turn around." she said a little more clearly as he made no attempt to move. He stingily turned, somewhat glad that the light was dark and he was not facing her so she could not notice the blush on his cheeks. He looked up to the sky, the stars and moon shining brightly. His thoughts shifted to Arwen, as they usually did when the moon was full and the stars shone. He missed her terribly, and, even though he was honoured that she would give up immortality for him, he felt so worried that she could dare to face the same fate as he, feared the day when she may fade away into dust like all those doomed to die.
He was shaken out of his reverie when he felt a small tug on the back of his cloak, and turned to see her clutching her shirt desperately around her upper body. She sat down on a rock that was beside the stream, and let her bare feet hang in the stream. Aragorn knelt down beside her, and was shocked to see blood flowing down her back slowly from numerous cuts. He ran a hand over the cuts, and he felt a thin membrane that covered her back shudder under his touch. He turned his head slightly, and he could see a pale crystalline membrane cover her back, shimmering with the moonlight.
Wow, he thought. I have yet to actually see her wings, as pale as mist they seem.
« Attolma i menelessie nai airitainiéva esselya. Nai ardalya tuluva. Nai írelya tyarniéva mardesse ve menelesse. Anta men sire ilyaurea mastalma. Ar avanta men raikalmar ve avantalme raikatyarolmain. Ar nai útukuvalye me mailenna Ná fainu me ulkallo. »
A very soft, lilting voice echoed through the trees, faint and muted, until Aragorn saw it was Haíthwen who sang. He knew not all the words, for the language spoken was indeed elvish, but a strange dialect he had never heard. Still, it sounded beautiful, in an ethereal sort of way, even though the voice that sang wavered and trembled slightly. It strengthened him as he set to work cleaning the wounds with some athelas he kept wrapped in his pocket.
"Haíthwen, I wish you would have come to me earlier."
"What could I have said, Aragorn? That, dear me, my back hurts, can you take a look at it, thus illustrating to ALL that I had wings? I'm not ready to do that!" she shouted, surprising him. He gaped at her, but she tensed and turned away again. "I am sorry, Aragorn. That was uncalled for." Her shoulders shook as she turned towards him and looked him in the eye. Shining eyes met his, and he put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"It's just that I am not ready to throw all care away when that care has been the only thing that has kept me alive for over three thousand years."
"I meant no offence. It's just that I worry about you. You are a sister to me, I wish I only could ease your soul."
"What's that over there?" Haíthwen asked, pointing behind him to a small shrubbery. Aragorn turned, but saw nothing. When he turned back to her, already she had quickly slipped on a long white embroidered shirt with a very low back, one that allowed air at her wounds and allowed her wings to unfold, if she so wanted. She sighed in contentment. The shirt, although baring her back, kept her wonderfully warm, even in the slightly chilled air. And it was the familiar style of faërie clothing that made her feel a little more at home. She laughed slightly at the simple trick Aragorn always fell for. He groaned, but smiled, for her mood had been improved with one unforeseen trick. He moved to grab some bandages, but she claimed it too bothersome to bind such a wound.
"Will you return to the rest of the Fellowship for sleep? I have not seen you rest since meeting by Moria, and even for you that is too long." She shook her head, brushing her hair and bangs from her face, which had begun growing since the concealment spell had been halted, a little faster than Haíthwen could grow accustomed to. By tomorrow, she thought, it would be to my back! I bet this is Galadriel's doing. man, do I hate long hair.. She knows that I hate it. twisted sense of humour, that Galadriel. she thought, unsure of whether she truly felt as she did of it or just needed something to complain about.
"I cannot sleep, but I shall return on the morrow. I know of some elves who wish to hear a proper lament for a wonderful person." She said as she turned with a last wistful smile and walked away. She paused a moment, and turned back to Aragorn slowly.
"Aragorn.thank you." She said, meditatively, slowly, and Aragorn looked at her again.
"For what, my Lady?" He saw her eyes, glowing with such joy and light as he hadn't really ever seen before.
"You called me Haíthwen! You actually called me by my name!!!" She said, incredulous as she laughed and ran back to him, floating over the ground as if she weighed no more than air. She hugged him tightly, and Aragorn thought for a moment that perhaps she was made of air, as she weighed nothing in his arms. He hesitated in astonishment, 'I called her Haíthwen? Damn, the things I let slip when worried!' but hugged her back, lighter than her own embrace because her cuts still had not been bandaged.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She cried as she kissed him lightly on his cheek and let go, running off through the woods, singing lightly as her skips and footsteps echoed through the forest before fading away.
He stood there, stunned for a moment, but immensely pleased that her mood had so dramatically changed for the better. Indeed, there was nothing sadder than to see a faërie depressed. Save perhaps a depressed elf. At the moment, he could not decide which was worse, and hoped he never lived to see the results of the former. Many stories say faëries fade to lost spirits when heartbroken or depressed, forevermore to walk the earth in sorrow. They also say that faëries are spirits of gods who grant people wishes. while he had nothing to disprove it, he doubted it as well.
Although, he thought sardonically, it was also told that all faëries are drunkards and morons, who wiped themselves out by jumping off cliffs in masses while intoxicated, forgetting they could fly.
Yeah. Right.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter VII lúmenna entulessë
[upon the hour of return]
This feeling of not knowing was beginning to upset me. I had not an idea in the world of how this was going to go. Would Galadriel be angry with me? Would she be cross that I had not perished with the rest of my people? Or would she be happy of my return? Would I be welcome here? Or kept a prisoner? Or would I turn to a dish of pudding, I thought stupidly. You moron.
But I think this may have been why I was upset of entering her wood: I knew not what was going to happen. All the years-no, millennia-of knowing the Lady of the Wood like her own shadow, it frightened me that I knew not how she would react. The one curse of my people was just that, since we live almost forever, we have tendencies to forget out pasts... or what we did yesterday. Too long a period of time, we forget memories and things just to keep ourselves innocent. Why?. Don't ask me, I know not. Gandalf had warned me in his letter, now that I begin thinking back on it, that it is dangerous to forget the past in fear of the future. I knew not what he meant in his words, but a nagging voice almost screamed at me that it had everything to do with this situation.
I slipped farther into my mind, shutting the outside world out as I thought. Could Galadriel have changed that much over the years? The stories of the cold beauty and splendour of the Lady of the Golden Wood, of her aloofness and control, had not failed to reach my ears, and I was completely shocked to have found myself believing these stories: the word of tongue of those who had never seen the Lady nor been in her company. Ridiculous. Absurd. Why now was I thinking this through? Because I'm here? Last time for repentance before Death comes to kick our bucket?
Get a Grip, Aíca. These thoughts are absolute folly, and you know them to be untrue.
Yet why could I not shake the feeling of pure fear in my heart?
I shivered and whimpered as the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel entered the room, stepping as lightly as ever halfway down the steps from the dais. I averted my eyes and found special interest in a small bug that wandered its way across the room by my feet, desperately wishing that I could become as small and virtually insignificant as it. The sight I expected to see was no different from what I had previously seen, even though I looked not, for indeed, Elves changed little over the years, especially at their ages. Celeborn would look over the fellowship with a frown as he would notice that Mithrandir was not present. Galadriel would test the members with her mind games (but even I groaned at my use of 'games': 't were nothing of the sort, and it was not often at all that I would speak ill of the Lady and her devices, despite my uneasiness of her) and bid them rest, knowing that they were weary and wished time to repose. It almost shocked me that I thought of this at the present. do all people think such random and. well, stupid thoughts as these while under pressure? I already asked this. Only *I* do.
I wanna go home. I want my mommy.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Nine hath set out from Imladris, and yet of the original nine walkers, only eight stand here now. Tell me, where is Gandalf the Grey, for I much desire to speak with him." Celeborn spoke as he looked over the members before him. The hobbits bowed their heads, as well as the dwarf and the small girl that stood to the side, flanked by two guards. None brought forth any response, and Galadriel took on a wistful look as she looked upon them with newfound emotion in her bright eyes.
"He has fallen into darkness." She said sadly as she sent a knowing glance at Celeborn, and flitted her gaze across each member of the Fellowship. Each member responded differently as she offered them a choice of paths, and she smiled gently as she found each was prepared to take on their tasks. Her thoughts lingered on a few: Aragorn who did not feel himself prepared to lead; Frodo who felt burdened of his quest yet held no doubts about the final end and what had to happen; Boromir who loved his homeland yet was slowly falling for the power of the Ring. and the last, the young girl who had succeeded in blocking the thoughts of the Lady from her mind.
Galadriel felt an inkling towards the girl since she had first stepped into the room, yet had had nothing as of yet to prove her suspicions. Yet this; not one of yet had fully succeeded in hiding their thoughts from the Lady. save one, one who brought great grief upon the heart of Galadriel.
She probed further, pressing her mind upon the unknown girl with more strength, but she could receive no message from her other than vague imaginings, fleeting images of fright and worry, and a desire for comfort and. mother, perhaps? She abruptly stopped her attack when the girl's forehead creased in pain, and she finally brought her head up to meet the gaze of Galadriel. Violet eyes sang in alarm as they met her own, and Galadriel's heart softened, then cried out as memories started assailing her, memories long thought forgotten.
She looked over the Winged Sprite with sadness and solace as she noticed the changes Haíthiminë had gone through over these many years. She had heard Mithrandir tell of her growth, but stories paled in comparison to the Lady that stood before Galadriel. Here stood a mature, grown woman that had faced such sorrow that was not meant in any way to be born upon her shoulders. Her mind, now in all access to Galadriel --for, in Haíthiminë's shock, she had dropped all guard and her resolve slipped,-- showed such mourning, pain and loneliness that it brought tears to her eyes. Still a child, an innocent, forced into adulthood long before she would have properly adjusted to it. Yet still, Haíthiminë held the dignity and grace that was inherent of her race, and many more qualities that Galadriel could not pass into words. A fear of the future, a longing for forgiveness, a hidden (perhaps lost) innocence and a beauty that surpassed that of the elves, when it was desired to be presented in turn. This is the Queen that her little fëa had grown into?
That brief moment passed as Galadriel brushed upon a far hidden memory, one buried deep in the subconscious. Images flashed in her head, images that both horrified her and saddened her. Ones that, as she looked deeper, she could sense a feeling of hostility towards her, bitter guilt. She looked upon Haíthiminë and saw the pain upon her features, pain of a mother for her lost child, of a friend for one lost, and one who has loved and lost.
"No longer shall you be prisoner here, but for the rest of the days of the world shall you be free to come and go as you wish." Galadriel spoke softly. As she spoke, Haíthiminë also heard a voice in her head, one that was reassuring yet still potent: {Welcome back, « Fëanya », friend from far and long ago.}
Galadriel signalled to a guard at her side to remove her binds. One stepped behind her and deftly removed the knots and ropes around her hands, then her shoulders. She bit her lip as a strong pull jarred the unseen wound on her back, and her shoulders slumped forwards and she swayed forwards slightly. Her legs suddenly buckled and she fell to her knees, and she looked up again at the golden Lady before her. She clenched her arms at her sides, hugging them across her stomach as if they had indeed caused her great pain, which indeed they had.
Before any of the fellowship could reach her side, Galadriel knelt down forwards to the front of her, and gathered the still shaken Haíthiminë in her arms, hugging her tightly, and yet carefully, as one would cradle a newborn. For a moment Haíthiminë was stiff with surprise, but she soon softened and returned the hug weakly.
"I should have never turned you away, Fëanya. It has caused you much grief and loss, I beg your pardons." She whispered as tears threatened to defeat her. How she wished she could remove all the dark stains from her soul, and ease the little one's spirit.
Haíthwen pulled away from the hug, her eyes shining with an astonishing light. She shook her head vehemently, and pulled Galadriel up from the ground.
{You only did what you thought was right. It cannot be undone, so let it pass.} she said shyly, the light from her eyes fading as she bowed her head again. To the Fellowship, she seemed timid amongst the Elves, and seemed much smaller, humbler, and frightened than the group had ever seen her to be. Galadriel smiled warmly and turned to the rest of the Fellowship, who watched the exchange with interest and curiosity.
"You are much welcomed in the Wood, and shall be left to rest. Be not weary of outside danger, for no evil or threat shall plague you whilst in the Woods of LothLórien." Celeborn spoke, authority shining like a mantle around him but his voice kind and welcoming.
She looked at Haíthiminë and smiled. "Do not trouble yourselves. For no harm has come far into these woods, and you will be safe. Go and rest, regain the strength you have lost," Galadriel wished them, as another elf entered and lead them through down the paths to where they could slumber in peace.
Galadriel watched as Haíthiminë left next to last, only followed by Aragorn who was much relieved of her release. Before she could no longer, she sent a thought to each. To Haíthiminë: {None can heal if there are no wounds to be seen.} To Aragorn: {Tend her wounds, but be mindful of the ones that appear not on the skin.} She watched as they disappeared, and she turned to Celeborn, who turned finally to her.
"It is much amended that she has been made to return, although I much would have preferred she to return of her own free will." He said with a kind yet troubled expression.
"As would I had she had more time. Yet time is being stolen away from us, and we can do nothing to retrieve it. Some things require compelling... Yet I fear too long has passed as it is. She has changed much," She spoke, looking up to the stars, "As have I."
"What of Alassëa?" He asked.
"Dead." she said sadly, "She died within a week of their departure." They both walked through the doors, heading solemnly to their rooms.
"Such things burden her: she has wings, yet prefers to crawl through life. I fear for her. more now than ever before. Her life balances upon a high cliff, what if she is to fall?" She cried softly, and Celeborn wrapped his arm around her. "But not all hope is lost." He said, remembering one member of the fellowship.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The group was led to a small flit in the woods, where they found elves waiting for them with food, drink, and fresh, clean clothes. Not much was said as they all wearily rested; the hobbits falling asleep almost immediately, Legolas and Gimli off taking a stroll, and Boromir, Aragorn and Haíthwen sitting around a small fire, warming them.
Aragorn looked over at her, desperately wishing he could talk to her without the presence of Boromir. She sat off to the side a ways, staring blankly at the fire while clutching her bundle of clothing to her stomach. She had naught said a word since they left from speaking with the Lord and Lady, and Aragorn would have shot himself in the foot to know what she thought of, if indeed she did think. She seemed far too comatose to do any of that, until she suddenly jumped up and walked off through the forest before Aragorn could ask. Worried for her immensely, for indeed she seemed to have mislaid all love for existence, he picked himself up and followed her, trying his best to keep silent as he tread through the worn forest paths. She could not have heard him unless she attempted to, and in her state she seemed to hear naught around her. Still, he took care. She followed a trail towards a small yet deep stream of water that flowed through Lórien. She kneeled on the edge of the water, pulling off her outer tunic. Aragorn blushed and almost turned away, but he could not turn as he watched her soak the shirt in the crystal clear water, clearly seeing red blood seeping from it in the bright moonlight. He walked over to her, unable to stay hidden any longer.
"Through all your pain you continue to refuse help from the elves, or even me." He said as he knelt beside her, taking her hands in his, pulling them out of the cold water. She jumped at his touch, but calmed as she looked into his face. She turned away as she continued scrubbing her shirt in the water, not saying anything.
"Let me see." Aragorn said, and she winced as she twisted the wet shirt, removing the water. He asked once more when she ignored him, and she looked at him, slightly annoyed but she hung her head. Her lips whispered something, but Aragorn heard not what was uttered.
"Turn around." she said a little more clearly as he made no attempt to move. He stingily turned, somewhat glad that the light was dark and he was not facing her so she could not notice the blush on his cheeks. He looked up to the sky, the stars and moon shining brightly. His thoughts shifted to Arwen, as they usually did when the moon was full and the stars shone. He missed her terribly, and, even though he was honoured that she would give up immortality for him, he felt so worried that she could dare to face the same fate as he, feared the day when she may fade away into dust like all those doomed to die.
He was shaken out of his reverie when he felt a small tug on the back of his cloak, and turned to see her clutching her shirt desperately around her upper body. She sat down on a rock that was beside the stream, and let her bare feet hang in the stream. Aragorn knelt down beside her, and was shocked to see blood flowing down her back slowly from numerous cuts. He ran a hand over the cuts, and he felt a thin membrane that covered her back shudder under his touch. He turned his head slightly, and he could see a pale crystalline membrane cover her back, shimmering with the moonlight.
Wow, he thought. I have yet to actually see her wings, as pale as mist they seem.
« Attolma i menelessie nai airitainiéva esselya. Nai ardalya tuluva. Nai írelya tyarniéva mardesse ve menelesse. Anta men sire ilyaurea mastalma. Ar avanta men raikalmar ve avantalme raikatyarolmain. Ar nai útukuvalye me mailenna Ná fainu me ulkallo. »
A very soft, lilting voice echoed through the trees, faint and muted, until Aragorn saw it was Haíthwen who sang. He knew not all the words, for the language spoken was indeed elvish, but a strange dialect he had never heard. Still, it sounded beautiful, in an ethereal sort of way, even though the voice that sang wavered and trembled slightly. It strengthened him as he set to work cleaning the wounds with some athelas he kept wrapped in his pocket.
"Haíthwen, I wish you would have come to me earlier."
"What could I have said, Aragorn? That, dear me, my back hurts, can you take a look at it, thus illustrating to ALL that I had wings? I'm not ready to do that!" she shouted, surprising him. He gaped at her, but she tensed and turned away again. "I am sorry, Aragorn. That was uncalled for." Her shoulders shook as she turned towards him and looked him in the eye. Shining eyes met his, and he put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"It's just that I am not ready to throw all care away when that care has been the only thing that has kept me alive for over three thousand years."
"I meant no offence. It's just that I worry about you. You are a sister to me, I wish I only could ease your soul."
"What's that over there?" Haíthwen asked, pointing behind him to a small shrubbery. Aragorn turned, but saw nothing. When he turned back to her, already she had quickly slipped on a long white embroidered shirt with a very low back, one that allowed air at her wounds and allowed her wings to unfold, if she so wanted. She sighed in contentment. The shirt, although baring her back, kept her wonderfully warm, even in the slightly chilled air. And it was the familiar style of faërie clothing that made her feel a little more at home. She laughed slightly at the simple trick Aragorn always fell for. He groaned, but smiled, for her mood had been improved with one unforeseen trick. He moved to grab some bandages, but she claimed it too bothersome to bind such a wound.
"Will you return to the rest of the Fellowship for sleep? I have not seen you rest since meeting by Moria, and even for you that is too long." She shook her head, brushing her hair and bangs from her face, which had begun growing since the concealment spell had been halted, a little faster than Haíthwen could grow accustomed to. By tomorrow, she thought, it would be to my back! I bet this is Galadriel's doing. man, do I hate long hair.. She knows that I hate it. twisted sense of humour, that Galadriel. she thought, unsure of whether she truly felt as she did of it or just needed something to complain about.
"I cannot sleep, but I shall return on the morrow. I know of some elves who wish to hear a proper lament for a wonderful person." She said as she turned with a last wistful smile and walked away. She paused a moment, and turned back to Aragorn slowly.
"Aragorn.thank you." She said, meditatively, slowly, and Aragorn looked at her again.
"For what, my Lady?" He saw her eyes, glowing with such joy and light as he hadn't really ever seen before.
"You called me Haíthwen! You actually called me by my name!!!" She said, incredulous as she laughed and ran back to him, floating over the ground as if she weighed no more than air. She hugged him tightly, and Aragorn thought for a moment that perhaps she was made of air, as she weighed nothing in his arms. He hesitated in astonishment, 'I called her Haíthwen? Damn, the things I let slip when worried!' but hugged her back, lighter than her own embrace because her cuts still had not been bandaged.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She cried as she kissed him lightly on his cheek and let go, running off through the woods, singing lightly as her skips and footsteps echoed through the forest before fading away.
He stood there, stunned for a moment, but immensely pleased that her mood had so dramatically changed for the better. Indeed, there was nothing sadder than to see a faërie depressed. Save perhaps a depressed elf. At the moment, he could not decide which was worse, and hoped he never lived to see the results of the former. Many stories say faëries fade to lost spirits when heartbroken or depressed, forevermore to walk the earth in sorrow. They also say that faëries are spirits of gods who grant people wishes. while he had nothing to disprove it, he doubted it as well.
Although, he thought sardonically, it was also told that all faëries are drunkards and morons, who wiped themselves out by jumping off cliffs in masses while intoxicated, forgetting they could fly.
Yeah. Right.
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