AN: Hi everyone! Thanks for the reviews! All of you are great and make
typing out this story worth it. I hope you're all having fun with the ride.
Lindiel Eryn: That would be strange if she wasn't Aragorn's daughter but I'm not going to say either way. It'll be a bit before we find out to whom she belongs.
hobbitgirl11: It's a sort of sequel to that story. Certain characters from that story will appear later because they have things in common.
Saralitazie: I appreciate your review. I'm not going to say yet to whom the child belongs but perhaps your guess will be right this time.
sunni07: Oh wow, thanks for the compliment. I really like to write but I don't think I'd have the nerve to go into it professionally. It took me nearly two years to work up the nerve to start posting stories here.
LalaithoftheBruinen: Thanks for your review! I'm glad you liked my story!
Kerla: I'm glad you liked the update! Here's another one coming up!
Kaimee: I try to update at least once a week, because of school restraints. It's Italian, actually, and I use it because I took three years of it in high school. I figured it might be interesting to use here.
Elainor: I'm glad you liked this story! Ice and Fire became two of my favorite characters to write about for assorted reasons so I figured I'd work them in here somehow.
pixie88: Wait no more! Here's the update! I'm glad toy liked that idea. It's a sort of nod to the idea of genetic memory. That is, our DNA retains some knowledge of our past.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except for a handful of made up characters. Tolkien thought up the concept and, as such, it belongs to him. I'm just playing in his world. I'm broke and in college. All I own are Pointe Shoes.
Arwen came back to consciousness very slowly. She could not remember how long she had been out and all the events that occurred before her blacking out were foggy and indistinct.
She vaguely recalled being taken to a healer's house and being in so much pain that she had felt she was going to die. She remembered people moving around her, giving her orders, and telling her to remain calm. Then there was nothing else---just a veil of unbroken darkness.
She opened her eyes, wincing as the low sunlight filtered in. She found her gaze fixed on a large basket. She did not recall bringing the basket into Lothlorien with her or why this basket would be important to her.
Making an attempt to get up, she mumbled, "What has taken place?"
"You have had a very trying day, child," said a pale skinned, light haired woman sitting at her bed side, "You must try to rest."
Arwen heeded the woman's words, allowing her to be propped up by several feather pillows.
As she sat up, she realized something was amiss. She could not put a finger on what was wrong or on why this sense of wrongness bothered her so much.
Then it hit her like a bolt from the blue, the familiar bulge that was her child was gone. Blind panic threatened to overtake her but she fought it back. If she were to panic, to fall pray to those emotions, she would never get the answers she sought.
"Can you please tell me what has taken place?" Arwen asked again, her tone slightly pleading.
"You were poisoned, child. They arrow that pierced your side was tipped with a very powerful substance," the woman, a healer, replied.
"What manner of substance could make what took place occur?" Arwen questioned.
The healer lowered her voice an octave above a whisper.
"Those foul creatures used a poison meant to kill the unborn. Though the amount that entered your system could have ended your life as well," the healer explained.
She, then added, "You are very lucky to be alive."
There was one question Arwen wanted to ask but she feared the answer she would receive. If the toxin was so potent, so powerful that it could have ended her life, what would it have done to something that was not yet strong enough to enter into this world?
Steeling herself, Arwen asked, "What about the child I was carrying? Was it delivered safely?"
Part of her wanted to know the answer, even if to have closure on that part of her life. Another part of her was afraid. Afraid that she was not going to like the answer she was about to receive.
Instead of verbally answering Arwen's question, the healer walked over to the basket. Though her back was turned, Arwen spied that she was lifting out a large bundle of cloth. The same bundle was, then, placed in Arwen's arms.
"She is not fully healed yet but we are confident that she will live," the healer commented, sitting back down.
Arwen looked down at the bundle in her arms. Wrapped up in a soft blanket of the palest pink, was the smallest child she had ever seen. Her skin was pale, nearly white, instead of the slight pinkish tinge most infants had. She was light, too light to be normal. A fringe of dark hair, the color of ink, stuck out from her daughter's head and two unfocused dark eyes watched her.
She was attached to the child as soon as she had set eyes on her.
Arwen whispered an elven greeting to the child, telling her that she was her mother and that she loved her.
The healer suppressed a smile and asked, "She is half-elven. You are aware of that fact?"
Reverie broken but not looking up, Arwen answered, "Her father is of the race of men. Is there something wrong with her because of that fact?"
Hearing the panic in the new mother's voice, the healer chided herself. It was impolite to make her worry that way.
"There is just one thing wrong with your daughter, child. She lacks a proper name," the healer informed Arwen.
A name for the child had not crossed Arwen's mind during her flight to Lothlorien. She studied her daughter for a brief moment, hoping a name would come to her. When that did not work, she stared out the room's tiny window. Something about her daughter's nearly white skin and their surroundings provided her with a fitting name.
"I shall call her Niphredil," Arwen announced.
"A fitting name," the healer commented, "Now, there is much I have to show you."
It was early evening when Galadriel returned to the healer's house. She walked the familiar route, pleased to notice that they had moved Arwen to a more private room. That would allow her to care for her infant in private, without the prying eyes of the rest of those being healed.
Upon entering the small room, Galadriel noted that Arwen seemed to be resting on her side, back to the entrance of the room. It appeared that the younger elf was either asleep or entranced by something on that side of the room. Lest she was asleep and not wanting to disturb her if she was, the ancient elf walked to the other side of the bed.
There she discovered a sight that placed a small smile upon her face.
Arwen was, indeed, wide awake. She was lying on her side, watching her equally wide awake daughter. The elven infant rested on the bed, encircled by her mother's arms. The infant was staring up with unfocused, dark eyes.
"It is good to see both of you awake," Galadriel commented; break the silence in the room.
Arwen looked up and noticed the other elf in the room. She sat up, pulling her daughter into her arms as she did so.
"It is good to be awake," she, truthfully, replied, "I was afraid I was not going to wake up ever again."
"It has been a rough day," Galadriel began but was cut off by her granddaughter.
"For Niphredil and I," the other elf finished.
Galadriel looked baffled for a brief moment; unsure of who or what "Niphredil" actually was.
It dawned on her just as Arwen explained, "My daughter's name is Niphredil. She is as pale as the flowers that can be found here."
"It is a good name, even if she will be dark of hair and eye," Galadriel, knowingly, replied.
"You have looked into the mirror?" Arwen questioned.
The ancient elf, simply, nodded.
"What did you see?" the younger elf pressed.
Galadriel sighed, knowing that, at this moment, she could not reveal all she had seen. It would break her granddaughter's heart, if she did.
"Your daughter is in possession of a very rare gift. A gift so rare that it was thought to be part of an ancient myth. Given time, she will be able to enter into the Halls of Mandos and speak to the spirits that reside there. It has also been said that the person who possesses this gift will be able to remove certain spirits from the Halls and return them to the world of the living," the ancient elf explained.
Arwen looked down at her, now sleeping daughter, in awe. A great power resided in the tiny sleeping figure.
"That makes her all the more special," the new mother commented.
"Aye, it does," her grandmother confirmed.
Lindiel Eryn: That would be strange if she wasn't Aragorn's daughter but I'm not going to say either way. It'll be a bit before we find out to whom she belongs.
hobbitgirl11: It's a sort of sequel to that story. Certain characters from that story will appear later because they have things in common.
Saralitazie: I appreciate your review. I'm not going to say yet to whom the child belongs but perhaps your guess will be right this time.
sunni07: Oh wow, thanks for the compliment. I really like to write but I don't think I'd have the nerve to go into it professionally. It took me nearly two years to work up the nerve to start posting stories here.
LalaithoftheBruinen: Thanks for your review! I'm glad you liked my story!
Kerla: I'm glad you liked the update! Here's another one coming up!
Kaimee: I try to update at least once a week, because of school restraints. It's Italian, actually, and I use it because I took three years of it in high school. I figured it might be interesting to use here.
Elainor: I'm glad you liked this story! Ice and Fire became two of my favorite characters to write about for assorted reasons so I figured I'd work them in here somehow.
pixie88: Wait no more! Here's the update! I'm glad toy liked that idea. It's a sort of nod to the idea of genetic memory. That is, our DNA retains some knowledge of our past.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except for a handful of made up characters. Tolkien thought up the concept and, as such, it belongs to him. I'm just playing in his world. I'm broke and in college. All I own are Pointe Shoes.
Arwen came back to consciousness very slowly. She could not remember how long she had been out and all the events that occurred before her blacking out were foggy and indistinct.
She vaguely recalled being taken to a healer's house and being in so much pain that she had felt she was going to die. She remembered people moving around her, giving her orders, and telling her to remain calm. Then there was nothing else---just a veil of unbroken darkness.
She opened her eyes, wincing as the low sunlight filtered in. She found her gaze fixed on a large basket. She did not recall bringing the basket into Lothlorien with her or why this basket would be important to her.
Making an attempt to get up, she mumbled, "What has taken place?"
"You have had a very trying day, child," said a pale skinned, light haired woman sitting at her bed side, "You must try to rest."
Arwen heeded the woman's words, allowing her to be propped up by several feather pillows.
As she sat up, she realized something was amiss. She could not put a finger on what was wrong or on why this sense of wrongness bothered her so much.
Then it hit her like a bolt from the blue, the familiar bulge that was her child was gone. Blind panic threatened to overtake her but she fought it back. If she were to panic, to fall pray to those emotions, she would never get the answers she sought.
"Can you please tell me what has taken place?" Arwen asked again, her tone slightly pleading.
"You were poisoned, child. They arrow that pierced your side was tipped with a very powerful substance," the woman, a healer, replied.
"What manner of substance could make what took place occur?" Arwen questioned.
The healer lowered her voice an octave above a whisper.
"Those foul creatures used a poison meant to kill the unborn. Though the amount that entered your system could have ended your life as well," the healer explained.
She, then added, "You are very lucky to be alive."
There was one question Arwen wanted to ask but she feared the answer she would receive. If the toxin was so potent, so powerful that it could have ended her life, what would it have done to something that was not yet strong enough to enter into this world?
Steeling herself, Arwen asked, "What about the child I was carrying? Was it delivered safely?"
Part of her wanted to know the answer, even if to have closure on that part of her life. Another part of her was afraid. Afraid that she was not going to like the answer she was about to receive.
Instead of verbally answering Arwen's question, the healer walked over to the basket. Though her back was turned, Arwen spied that she was lifting out a large bundle of cloth. The same bundle was, then, placed in Arwen's arms.
"She is not fully healed yet but we are confident that she will live," the healer commented, sitting back down.
Arwen looked down at the bundle in her arms. Wrapped up in a soft blanket of the palest pink, was the smallest child she had ever seen. Her skin was pale, nearly white, instead of the slight pinkish tinge most infants had. She was light, too light to be normal. A fringe of dark hair, the color of ink, stuck out from her daughter's head and two unfocused dark eyes watched her.
She was attached to the child as soon as she had set eyes on her.
Arwen whispered an elven greeting to the child, telling her that she was her mother and that she loved her.
The healer suppressed a smile and asked, "She is half-elven. You are aware of that fact?"
Reverie broken but not looking up, Arwen answered, "Her father is of the race of men. Is there something wrong with her because of that fact?"
Hearing the panic in the new mother's voice, the healer chided herself. It was impolite to make her worry that way.
"There is just one thing wrong with your daughter, child. She lacks a proper name," the healer informed Arwen.
A name for the child had not crossed Arwen's mind during her flight to Lothlorien. She studied her daughter for a brief moment, hoping a name would come to her. When that did not work, she stared out the room's tiny window. Something about her daughter's nearly white skin and their surroundings provided her with a fitting name.
"I shall call her Niphredil," Arwen announced.
"A fitting name," the healer commented, "Now, there is much I have to show you."
It was early evening when Galadriel returned to the healer's house. She walked the familiar route, pleased to notice that they had moved Arwen to a more private room. That would allow her to care for her infant in private, without the prying eyes of the rest of those being healed.
Upon entering the small room, Galadriel noted that Arwen seemed to be resting on her side, back to the entrance of the room. It appeared that the younger elf was either asleep or entranced by something on that side of the room. Lest she was asleep and not wanting to disturb her if she was, the ancient elf walked to the other side of the bed.
There she discovered a sight that placed a small smile upon her face.
Arwen was, indeed, wide awake. She was lying on her side, watching her equally wide awake daughter. The elven infant rested on the bed, encircled by her mother's arms. The infant was staring up with unfocused, dark eyes.
"It is good to see both of you awake," Galadriel commented; break the silence in the room.
Arwen looked up and noticed the other elf in the room. She sat up, pulling her daughter into her arms as she did so.
"It is good to be awake," she, truthfully, replied, "I was afraid I was not going to wake up ever again."
"It has been a rough day," Galadriel began but was cut off by her granddaughter.
"For Niphredil and I," the other elf finished.
Galadriel looked baffled for a brief moment; unsure of who or what "Niphredil" actually was.
It dawned on her just as Arwen explained, "My daughter's name is Niphredil. She is as pale as the flowers that can be found here."
"It is a good name, even if she will be dark of hair and eye," Galadriel, knowingly, replied.
"You have looked into the mirror?" Arwen questioned.
The ancient elf, simply, nodded.
"What did you see?" the younger elf pressed.
Galadriel sighed, knowing that, at this moment, she could not reveal all she had seen. It would break her granddaughter's heart, if she did.
"Your daughter is in possession of a very rare gift. A gift so rare that it was thought to be part of an ancient myth. Given time, she will be able to enter into the Halls of Mandos and speak to the spirits that reside there. It has also been said that the person who possesses this gift will be able to remove certain spirits from the Halls and return them to the world of the living," the ancient elf explained.
Arwen looked down at her, now sleeping daughter, in awe. A great power resided in the tiny sleeping figure.
"That makes her all the more special," the new mother commented.
"Aye, it does," her grandmother confirmed.