Rating: I will warn you that this will deal with prejudice, rape, sex, grief, love and you read at your own risk. If you don't want to read this, I politely ask you to leave. = exit's that way… ………..right you're still here, then I hope you enjoy your journey.
Disclaimer: I do not own nor am I affiliated with any of the Lord of the Rings enterprises and many characters are taken from J.R.R. Tolkien's masterpiece. Don't bother suing me, I have no money!
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I have never seen the Prince look so formidable as he does now, his thin lips tight, lithe body tense and ice blue eyes stern. He towers above me in regal blue and silver, as I kneel, wretchedly, on the floor begging for my life. He is my last shred of hope in what has been a nightmare. I sense that behind this rigid and battle worn exterior there is compassion and pity, emotions rarely displayed on the features of our ruler, but nevertheless found if one sees beyond his title. Will he find mercy for an edhel accused of killing his own advisor and comrade? Or will pain and revenge rob him of seeing the truth?
On the cool marble tiles I look like something that was once fine now broken and only glimpses of what was once beautiful can be seen in the shattered pieces. Dark auburn hair in a chaos of rat tails and matted knots, a plain underdress torn, frayed and with traces of blood and grime smeared across it – all that is left of an attractive garment, bare feet bearing cuts and dirt tarnishing skin and under fingernails. I have barely enough strength to defy anyone; but my innocence is what I have to defend at all costs, even to my last breath.
"I swear upon the Star of Ëarendil, I am no spy nor did I ever commit treason against you, my Lord," I plead, my voice wavering as the power to endure ebbs to dangerous levels.
Anger briefly flares upon his grim features. He leans down close to my tear streaked face, his voice deadly cold.
"One of my Captains and closest of friends died because of your treachery. Shall I read you the crimes of which you deny involvement when I have proof that condemns you and nothing except your word against it?"
My heart screams. I would rather die than confess to a wrong that is not my own.
"I will retain my innocence, my Lord, for guilty, I – am – not!"
The Chamber becomes silent, not a whisper of breath or rustle of cloth can be heard from the attended, and those who would judge me for something I had never done. A long shallow gash on my leg begins to throb and I notice for the first time that my body is shaking, signs of shock and fatigue. I have no one to appeal my case, no ally to defend me against these charges, which are placed upon me because of betrayal. My hands are tied; one mention of those who were the perpetrators and my family will die. There is nothing I can do to save myself and, unconsciously, I clench my hand into a fist. I made a choice to protect my family – one life so that five more can live, but I had promised myself to die with innocence still being proclaimed from my lips. That is all I want in return.
A valiant man my realm loves is dead and all signs point to me. Friends turn away, family disown, no one willing to see the truth through my eyes, and for this I am going to die.
* * * * *
Câlavendë (Pr: cah-la-vun-day) awoke from her dream/memory. She had relived that past in dreams for just over five years of men and as other thoughts of her life before exile became dim the memory of her trial became clearer, haunting her rest. She did not know where she was going; her guide, Shaneth, had long since died protecting her.
"I go where the Wind leads," she whispered.
A swift breeze caught at her cloak, she imagined it pushing her onwards, down a road that never ended. Câlavendë's feet turned North at the winds command.
* * * * *
The guardians watched the stranger enter their lands, aware of every movement it made. They waited as hawks did their prey, searching for weakness, defence and any trace of what it might be.
Câlavendë seemed oblivious to the eyes that peered mistrustfully from the talans and tree highways above her. Coated in a full length, coarse travellers cloak that had been mended far too many times, with the hood pulled far over her head shadowing her features, it proved impossible for the watchers to see the face of the stranger, no matter the angle or their keen eyesight.
"Edhel?" [Elf]
"Ai." [yes]
It could only be an elf; the fluid grace that the Eldar walked the earth with was a distinguishable attribute among their kind. She walked with a staff like weapon, sharp on the tip and blunted, even care worn, on the other. It was engraved with vines and leaves and one white gem gleamed from the middle. Finely carved and inlaid with a lighter wood, it was clearly wrought with much love. Câlavendë would swing the staff no more than a finger span from the ground and then step forward so that it became a strategic and carefully balanced dance. Other than the staff there was no other open show of defence, she almost looked like a wanderer who had strayed from the path and kept walking expecting to come upon the path once again, only wanderers – whether they intentionally or accidentally walk into the Lady of the Golden Wood's Realm – are all waylaid until they can be called friend or foe.
'Surround her,' came a hand signalled order.
In but a moment six elves had positioned themselves around Câlavendë and converged stealthily upon her. She still walked unheedingly through the lush undergrowth of fern, orchid and moss. From above bows were taut and arrows trained on her form. When the ground elves were ten paces from her, she suddenly stopped and all could hear her clear voice.
"Hail Galadhrim of Lothlorien the Fair."
If they were surprised by her sudden confirmation of their existence, and they were, as not many could discern their presence, they did not express it openly. Instead they encircled her plainly with all bows bent hard. A tall, silver haired elf with eyes the colour of a storm tossed sea and an air of arrogance and pride, stepped forward to stand in front of her, his own bow carried in his hand, a sign of peace in the midst of so much weaponry.
"Hail, stranger, you have entered the borders of our realm. You can go no further."
Câlavendë almost smiled.
"If you would step out of my way I could go much further, sir."
I wonder how far I can push them? she thought and stepped forward. The elf in front of her did not move at all."I am afraid, lady, that I cannot. Tell me who you are?"
"I am whatever you wish me to be. Ithilwen, Anoriel, Silyáedwen, Vinyaorëiel … pick one."
"I pray thee speak plainly, your name?"
"What is in a name? Niphredil by any other name would still smell as sweet," Câlavendë countered.
Haldir knew he must end this elusive word game.
"I asked for a name, not a riddle. I am Haldir, March Warden of Lorien. Duty and etiquette requires you return the favour."
"Would you like to hear the truth or a very good lie?"
Amazed at her audacity to continually avert from answering the question there was silence. Sighing, she knew that she had no other option.
"My name is Câlavendë Sûliell, I am – was – the seamstress for the royal Household of Dol Amroth. Of no high birth am I, I have no unique talent with bow or blade, I am but a maiden with duty, honour and above all life," she added almost in defiance that they should say otherwise. Wearily, "Do not waylay this traveller, Master Haldir, she only longs to follow the path at the Winds command."
Her words were strange, the meaning shrouded behind mystery. Haldir was curious as to why one edhel alone would travel the wild with the wind, far from Dol Amroth by the sea.
"Remove thy hood." A command.
Câlavendë stirred restlessly, her hand gripping the staff tighter.
"I warn you against my hood's removal," she murmured.
"It is custom in our Realm to look upon the face of strangers." He added in afterthought, "There is nothing that we would deem horrid."
Perhaps she has a scar? His contempt arose at her vanity. Many had died from head wounds in battle and she was worried about a scar?
"And yet, custom or no, I still wish my hood to remain as it is. You know not what you ask of me!"
"What I ask is simple and I am running out of patience, either you do it yourself or one of us will do it for you, but either way we shall see your face," his words belied how truly frustrated he was with Câlavendë, not used to encountering someone who would not do what he requested of them.
There was a deep sigh of regret and sorrow as her pale, slender hand reached up to pull it back. The hood fell away revealing curls of auburn, swept up haphazardly, with loose tendrils fanning around her face, a petite nose with high cheekbones and a pale complexion that was accented by small pink lips. Her eyes were the most intriguing, one a deep blue, and the other a vivid green. There was nothing in this face that warranted a warning and although it was not strikingly attractive it was comely in a wind tossed way.
"There is nothing here worthy of hiding," humoured Rúmil, trying to lighten the situation.
Her eyes still held Haldir's and their directness unnerved him; usually no one could withstand his gaze that some said froze the blood.
The wind, the same wind that had blown her into these lands, rippled the canopy and one golden mallorn leaf fell lightly down towards the ground. It came within a hairsbreadth from her eyes and still they did not blink or waver from Haldir's form. A hand deftly caught the mallorn leaf before it touched the ground.
"Ar'cened im [I am sightless], March Warden."
If the wardens had not been trained so well in discipline all would have taken a step back, only great strength of will kept them in their places so close to Câlavendë. Their eyes widened in distaste. In all elves healing was quick and none suffered from afflictions for long unless the hurt was that of the spirit. Death only occurred by blade or a broken heart. Haldir himself had received life threatening wounds in battle, but when treated had recovered in time. It was unnatural for a Firstborn to suffer from blindness, hence the reason the wardens wanted to step away. It seemed almost a curse from the Valar. Elves, the creators of everything beautiful and delicate in the world, had an innate dislike for anything that was once beautiful deformed or misshapen. Câlavendë knew this, she had feared it and had dealt with the consequences far to many times even with non-elves, and pulled her hood back over her features.
Suddenly Haldir understood the weapon, the strategic walk, and the hood. All were to help her survive. He felt no compassion for her, his own dislike for misshapen beings ran deep and they seemed a stain on the beautiful world of Lothlorien the Golden. A realm perfect and tranquil, Câlavendë would not be a happily welcomed guest.
"I warned you, u' lasto." (You didn't listen)
Haldir's gaze flickered back to her shadowed face, insulted.
"Oh I listened, but perhaps you should wear a sign about your neck, 'Blind Edhel Beware'," and waved the mallorn leaf he had caught in front of her sightless face, almost gloating when he saw her head bow. The taunt was like many she had heard before, but never from an elf, her own kin, and rash words followed.
"I may be blind, Master Haldir, but I have compassion, civility and love which more than makes up for the loss – emotions you know nothing of. You are a discourteous, foolish Warden with ample pride, arrogance," she paused and snatched the mallorn leaf from his hand, "and poor reflexes."
He seemed unconcerned by her display, already classifing her as one beneath him, instead he inspected his company and, for the time, ignored Câlavendë, speaking directly to those under his command.
"Three will head South, escorting Miss Sûliell out of our lands with a warning never to return. If she disobeys you have the right to forcefully imprison her on sight. Dorviel, Malachon, Rúmil, you shall send her on her way. Make sure she has food and water, only enough of what we can spare. We would not like to be known as compassionless hosts."
The sarcasm was so thick she expected him to snigger.
"Shouldn't we bring her to – ", Dorviel began.
"No," he was cut off by Haldir. "The Lady has assented to this course of action."
All who new Haldir well enough, which in the Company was only his brother's Rúmil and Orophin, could tell Haldir was lying, an event rarely witnessed by anyone. A tightening of the jaw and a tap of his left index finger were the only noticeable, but restrained signs. For Câlavendë to have elicited a lie from the March Warden she must have offended or infuriated him greatly.
Câlavendë paled when she heard that even the Lady of the Golden Wood would not have her near.
"Do I have any say in this matter?"
She swore she could hear his head turn in her direction, the contempt in his voice dripping off every word he uttered.
"Does the accused have any say in the verdict?"
The sword stuck home even if Haldir did not realise.
"I see," Câlavendë whispered.
"Now that would be hard to believe."
Foolishly Orophin's wit put him in mortal danger. Deep anger, that had built inside her since being detained, boiled over and her staff tip came up to gently graze Orophin's neck in what seemed a lightning quick gesture.
"Insult me again and by the Valar your blood will stain this earth."
A tense moment passed and it seemed that everyone froze waiting until someone made the first move.
The deciding stroke fell. Câlavendë felt a cold, sharp blade touch her own neck.
"Release him." A command.
Câlavendë's staff tip slowly withdrew from Orophin's neck much to the latter's relief.
"Disarm her."
The staff was taken from her hand which fell softly to her side, a hidden dagger also removed from her waist and still the knife tip was at her neck.
"Bind her hands."
The wardens found no resistance as they bound her, preferring to touch her with gloved hands than skin to skin, afraid the malady would pass onto them. Haldir stepped so close to Câlavendë that the heat from his powerful build coupled with his grim voice intimidated her so much she had to mentally restrain herself from stepping back.
"I will take my leave of you now, elleth, [elf-girl] your time here has ended and I can say in perfect honesty I could not be happier to see you out of my sight, misshapen as you are. I insist on never laying eyes on you again or it shall be your blood staining this earth, understand?"
He received a small nod and withdrew his silver dagger from her throat, a drop of her blood staining the keen edge. Haldir signalled them to escort her away and watched long after they had disappeared between the trees, his mind in turmoil.
The mallorn leaf Câlavendë had let drop from her hand as she left floated slowly down and landed a moment later on the place she had stood. One bloom of Niphredil beside it.
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NOTES: So what do you think??? You have read the first chapter and I sincerely hope you keep returning to read the continuation of this S.I.P.(story-in-progress). See the little lilac button – it's calling you to review!! Please help me write better!!
Câlavendë = Light… Sûliell = Daughter of Wind