Author's Note: dodges flying fruit I know, I know!! I am a terrible, horrible authoress who has been incredibly negligent and I can only hope you will forgive me. Be prepared for many surprises, and keep your mind open for the unexpected and sometimes extraordinary happenings you may find in this imminent chapter. I love my reviewers, I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE MY REVIEWERS, who have been so gracious and I can only apologise from the bottom of my heart for the longest wait. Your patience is truly amazing.
P.S. My results came in and I am ecstatic with joy – they were fantastic!
Dedication: To everyone who reads this SIP and reviews, to all who read this at all and to everyone who gives hope that my writing is not all as terrible as I sometimes think it is.
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated with any of the Lord of the Rings enterprises that are currently under copyright with Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Cinema and many characters/places/themes are taken for non-profit use only from J. R. R. Tolkien's masterpiece. Don't bother suing me for I have no money!
I Suggest Re-READING Previous Chapter if You Have Not Read in A While
Câlavendë had known physical pain, even endured soul tearing, but had never faced mind-auratic agony that felt as if a thousand hot needle points had been pressed into one, tiny area inside her head. It was understandable then that she suffered greatly as she made her way out of the majestic hall to wait for the guide who would take her to her guest chambers. She leant heavily against the handrail, breathing deeply through gritted teeth.
Câlavendë felt his brooding presence behind her as a hostile force being expertly withheld and so it was, behind a cold mask of arrogance and disdain. Haldir's chin lifted defiantly and his stance, though tension filled, did not reveal the true anger that raged throughout his entire being. Oblivious to her evident discomfort and brooding over his skinned knuckles from the unforgiving mallorn bark, not to mention still fuming from his demotion, strode by her and was almost past when he stopped suddenly.
"Such a short introduction, Lady Súliel," he drew a long finger over the railing as though checking for dust, before brushing it carelessly from his fingers. "Though I cannot say I am entirely surprised." Suddenly his nonchalance changed as he whispered menacingly, "You will find no peace within our borders, elleth."
"Is that a threat?"
He examined his nails before replying, "Consider it, a warning … and a promise."
With Haldir's back towards her, Câlavendë had another uncharacteristic urge to push him down the nearest stairs, but she knew that would not relieve the ache in her head any less. Instead she gathered all the nobility she could muster and turned to face him.
"You, sir, are required in the presence of the Lord and Lady. I bid you a pleasant afternoon and ask you to pass on a fond farewell to your brother Master Rúmil. Good afternoon, Warden." She knew the now lesser title would pierce his arrogant armour and was rewarded with a low hiss as he continued on into the great hall.
One hand hesitantly rubbed her forehead and the other gently pulled her hood to shadow her face once more, as the Ocelot whimpered pitifully in the pouch at her abdomen, clearly in pain and distress.
"My Lady?" A quiet voice whispered close by her ear, making her jump and nearly raise her staff against him. The speaker back peddled with almost comical haste, hands aloft. "My deepest apologies for startling my lady, but I wish to show you to your lodgings, if my lady so wishes."
Though tall, the speaker was very softly spoken and almost willow like in form, as if the wind could break his thin body in two. Yet he was not ungainly, almost spritely with white hair and a strong ethereal glow.
"I do wish that, good sir," Câlavendë sighed, her heart warming to the gentle voice of her guide, "but first we must go to the healing quarters for I have a wounded Ocelot in need of attention."
His head nodded twice gravely. "Of course, my lady. Aurelius is at my lady's service. Please follow me."
In her pained state Câlavendë could not be bothered commenting on the overuse of 'my lady's', and rather murmured to herself, "Aurelius, a lovely name."
Upon hearing the remark, and being the shy ellon that he was, Aurelius felt his ears grow pink with embarrassment and, unknown to her; she was endeared to him forever.
In the afternoon sun that splayed through the great shadows of the mallyrns, Caras Galadhon was a hive of graceful activity. The sunlight took on a tawny hue, bathing the walkways and talans in a golden brilliance and glinting off leaves that gently fell down from high above. The paths were smooth and stable, twisting and angling off to other unknown areas, sometimes they would come to what seemed to be the main thoroughfare, around the trunk of the great mallyrns and descend or ascend accordingly. Within a small amount of time Câlavendë could no longer remember whether she was retracing her steps or going around in ever widening circles.
Caras Galadhon was peaceful yet not in the sense that all was quiet, as the air was filled with the sweet music of voice and activity, but peaceful in way that meant sound was unobtrusive on the reflective mind. It could pass you by if you did not stop to listen. Horns sounded in the distance with various harmonies and they were not blown with force like those in war, used to put fire in your heart and fear in your enemy, but seemed to swell and fall, like a rolling wave. Small bells chimed in the passing wind creating a cascade of tiny notes and there were voices, voices spoken or in song, blending together in a joyous chorus.
As Câlavendë walked, elleth and ellon alike would stop to peer from high ways above or behind, from the opposite mallyrn to her left, to the path winding down beneath her. Their whispers were full of curiosity, but none seemed wanting enough to stop her and ask – too proud, she thought, oh, I shall be so happy to leave here. Passing through a wide flet between trees Aurelius paused and spoke quietly to a sentinel who blew three notes on a thin reed.
"A healer will come by and by, my lady, to take the Ocelot into their care."
Câlavendë felt slightly perplexed, she had always thought that a healer would come with her to her lodging, for she dearly did not want to abandon its awkward yet comforting presence so soon. She rubbed her forehead again, willing the ache to subside so she could think clearly and objectively.
"Master Aurelius, I would like, you see, I think that, under the circumstances, and since you have been so kind…" she stumbled and took another breath.
He looked at her quizzically, "Yes?"
Her response was forever stalled as Kellipson's claws pricked her stomach lightly, not enough to draw blood, but enough to achieve Câlavendë attention, albeit she was annoyed.
I shall heal here.
This was all too much, Câlavendë held her head in both hands trying not to laugh hysterically, as the male, strong, haughty voice seemed to intensify her head pain to excruciating levels. Legend had it that of all the creatures with enough coherent thought and reason, other than ravens, the Ocelot was among the best. Edhel had communicated with them for centuries until their numbers dwindled and the Ocelot took to stealth and shadows. Vain and proud beyond immortal comprehension they could only be heard by those it chose. To speak with one was strictly the feline's initiative or so said the phrase, "Do not greet the Ocelot, for thou shalt receive none for thy efforts."
I refuse to be carried in such an undignified manner any further. I shall be healed here or my tail will be crushed beyond repair. His head appeared from a slit in the pouch. And what may you be gawking at, boy? Terribly rude!
Aurelius' eyes widened till they seemed as round as his open mouth.
"You're – you are an Ocelot?!"
State the very obvious there! He re plied with a dry tone. What did you think I was, a foal?
Aurelius had lost none of his awe. "And you talked to me, I mean, us?"
Correct, an honour for both of you, be quite sure of it. He wrinkled his nose and stared into Câlavendë's hand covered face, his tone was full of sarcasm, Quick this one isn't he?! Do you surround yourself with such imbeciles commonly? It is most unseemly. Ah, Healer, good day.
Just as Aurelius had, the Healer coming up from the stairs behind them was also privy to the unusual comments. To their great surprise he bowed.
"Welcome Lady Súliel," there was a snort of indignation from Câlavendë's pouch, "and, and also welcome Master …?"
The very wise, and very handsome Kellipson esquire. He remarked with overzealous pride. Now if you will, Câlavendë Súliel?
She sighed in resignation, but a smile still played about her lips, and unstrung the makeshift sling from her shoulder, carrying the eccentric cat to the healer, who took it from her gently.
He directed his parting words solely at Câlavendë. I shall go now, he sniffed haughtily, your odour does smell so. We shall meet again soon enough.
Câlavendë's good humour disappeared as anger took hold. The Healer's voice came up from the stairs, as the cat had one last jibe to throw at Câlavendë who was well and truly bristling with offence and resentment from the last.
"You had best get some rest, lady, as Master Kellipson says you are quite exhausted."
Of all the ungrateful wretches…she stamped her foot, something which she only did when truly vexed, to relieve her frustration and the motion made her head spin with wheels of broken glass slashing through it. Now I have a smart talking feline to contend with, ah, insufferable! I swear I shall be glad to see the back of Lorien.
When Aurelius had recovered enough, though an inane smile still played over his face, he guided Câlavendë from the flet leaving a very disturbed sentry in their wake. He had watched their proceedings as one watched slightly unhinged people talking to imaginary friends. To his ears, the Ocelot had not spoken a word.
After inquiring whether she desired any other assistance, Aurelius left Câlavendë to explore her chambers alone. Her talan was quite regal, as one would expect being a guest of Lothlorien, with three rooms: a bed chamber, bathing room adjoining the latter, and the last doubled as both food preparation and leisure area. She reached for and hesitantly found the hook to hang her mud stained cloak by the door, tenderly touching the material's worn and ragged surface, before readying herself for the arduous task of accustoming herself to her surroundings. The wost was that this was something her "sight" could not help her with.
Her "sight" was able to see only the living, the essences that run through life, yet furniture and cloth lost its life force when it was crafted, so it just appeared empty in her mind. This meant that she would have to use touch and memory to make a detailed mind map of the talan's layout.
The first task was to locate all the main objects and Câlavendë used her staff to gently scan each room. In the bedroom, besides her lavish bed, she found a bureau and closet, even a writing desk beside an open balcony. She then ran her fingertips over the object and measured it with her hands where things were situated upon or in them. In this way she found the small ink well and quill with a roll of parchment on the writing desk. Felt the embroidered and beautiful quilt upon her wide and beautifully woodworked bed and found the levers for pumping the water into the bathing tub. Of course it was sometimes a hazardous discovery as she cut her finger on sharp knives with the cutlery, burned her hand discovering which lever and tap corresponded to hot and cold water, and bumped her head on the ceiling of low cupboards.
The last of her self-proclaimed tasks was to continuously walk through her chambers till she could unconsciously move to each object and place unerringly, without her staff. As helpful as the staff was 'seeing' outdoors, it impeded her incredibly in small places. Aloud she murmured what was to be found in each place.
"Two bowls, two dishes, kindling, left to right in low cupboard one. Four steps right, circular table with two stools. Ahh, let me remember, six steps to chaise with four pillows." A wry smile played upon her lips as a gentle breeze wafted the delicate cloths hanging from the open doorways and windows, across her face like a soft caress. "I gather it is next to a window."
Her mental inventory seemed to dull the pain within her head, but her exhaustion worsened. Stubbing her toe for the second time in a matter of moments, she finally gave up to retire for what was left of the afternoon. Drawing the hanging cloths closed and letting fall the heavier material of her talan's entrance she hesitantly stood next to her bed. Tomorrow I have a vexed march warden, a whole city to navigate around and concealment of my apparent sightlessness to contend with, and the thought weighed upon her shoulders, creasing her brow with concern.
Undoing her belt and pouch from her waist, Câlavendë laid them carefully on the bureau to be reorganised tomorrow. She slipped the concealed dagger beneath her pillow out of habit and laid her staff on the other side of her mattress. The laces on her boots seemed strangely hard to untie and the weight of her faded linen overdress was a burden difficult to remove. Still, she folded each item and placed them on the chest at the foot of the bed. Clad only in her thin chemise and worn stockings she fell, literally, onto the soft quilts. Disgusted with herself that she had not even eaten or bathed, murmuring that the comments the Ocelot had made were probably right, she drew the covers over her form.
"Tomorrow, I will tomorrow … but now…," she was lulled into sleep by the gentle music of Caras Galadhon, whilst another could find no rest that night.
He felt cheated, no, humiliated, disgusted, ashamed, vengeful and most of all furious and the path of his unrelenting stride was wearing thin the mat in his quarters.
"Demoted? Brother I hate to be incredulous, but me? That vermin I wish I could cut out of Lothlorien like you would a thorn from your side." Haldir turned towards the languid figure sitting beside the table with a flute of wine beside him and his eyes glinted dangerously. "Ah, she is more than a thorn, she is an arrow, barbed and cunning, shows airs of innocence and fragility when she is really a conniving little– , she gives no credit to our kind, she is a blight and sickness, a vile, scheming elleth and I would sooner be set upon by a thousand orcs than endure her presence within my realm."
Rúmil reached for the flagon and poured his angered brother another wine.
"First of all, sit yourself down and stop acting immature, that is my job and I frankly do it better, and secondly this realm belongs to the Lord and Lady. It is not yours and I do believe that they were the ones to demote you, not Lady Súliel. You may fume all you want now, when the wine has flowed a little too much, but you should be rather looking to remedy the situation rather than adding to further misery and anguish."
He looked pointedly at Haldir who was still standing taught and defiant in front of him. They had spent the better half of the evening in Haldir's glorious talan, drinking copious amounts of liquor and Haldir generally cursing the ground Câlavendë walked on.
"I suspect you are right."
"Quite naturally."
Haldir took a deep breath and seemed to freeze over for a moment, before relaxing and reclining into the nearest available chair.
"Since when did you become wise?" He tiredly rubbed his forehead and spun the ruby liquid within its crystal chalice, eyes lifeless grey orbs.
Rúmil smiled innocently, "I have always been wise, but I also think drinking two large flagons may also have something to do with my recent philosophical state."
"Oh, really? Only two? You have still a way to go before you are spouting sonnets about your female beaus, which I might say are chosen with impeccably bad taste."
"You should talk, the great wall of ice you are, tonight was the first night I have actually seen emotion from you in at least six seasons. I think I shall bring the lady many Nimrodel just for that."
Haldir's face turned to stone and his voice warned with a sharp coldness, "She may have wished you a fond farewell but you will have nothing to do with her. She will not last long here, the truth shall be outed and I will return to my former and rightful place."
Rúmil turned his now empty glass through his fingers. "Well, we are entrusted to not to speak of her … affliction– "
"Who said it will be us that let slip the secret? A few rumours, many unanswered questions, soon the heat of the crucible will get too hot and she will either burn or fly."
Rúmil shook his head, "You are increasingly morbid, Haldir, you should get out more. Perhaps, you know, laugh sometimes, like normal edhel."
Haldir sank lower in his chair closing his eyes, "What, and become like you? Addicted to seeing the good, the light, the most wholesome in unsavoury characters, it's a wonder you are still alive!"
"I did not come here to trade insults," Rúmil sighed heavily, "but I wanted to tell you that you have acted with absolutely no forethought whatsoever these past days. I was explaining on the Flet of Amroth the reason why we had taken her so forcefully was because of our love of this city," his eyes gazed out longingly to the beautiful blue grey vista of a Lothlorien twilight, "and you ruined the understanding by relating that love to perfection. A gross mistake, brother, the second of two you have made. One of law, the other principle. If I were you I would be concentrating more on winning back your title of March Warden rather than making me endure your tumult of pride and arrogance!" Rúmil's eyes had turned to steel and he felt he wanted to shake his brother whose mind seemed to work on a warrior's time only.
"Well done, brother, well done." Haldir clapped lightly, mocking Rúmil's emotional outburst. "I am truly touched," his tone changed dramatically. "Arrogant you say? Arrogance born of hundreds of years of men, which I have suffered and you have not. Arrogance born of knowing, seeing, risking life and cheating the mortals gift of passing." His voice raised, "Pride! Pride through servitude, through honour and craftsmanship. Pride of realm, of home, of hearth," suddenly his furore dropped to a forced whisper, " and – of – family! Now, tell me again of my mistakes and character. I am twice the edhel you will ever be."
Rúmil stood rapidly, rage tuning his normally passive features into ice hostility. Unexpectedly he threw his glass at the wall with such force it shattered into a thousand splinters of light, before walking stiffly towards his cloak upon the wall, boots crunching the shards underfoot. He viciously wrapped the cape about his form, before glancing back at his misguided sibling. "And I am thrice blessed because of it, brother!"
He melted into the night, with Haldir staring vacantly at the many glittering remnants lying brokenly on the floor. They seemed to be the ruins of his world brought down by one elleth, and as he ran a careworn hand through platinum hair, he began to list the many trials he would face to prove himself as March Warden and brother again. And he was not alone in his turmoil that night.
A slight breeze entered a room full of bound manuscripts, lifting the many papers that had recently been strewn across the ornate tables and floor. Celeborn had gone through many historical bardic tales, been sidetracked momentarily by a lost tome on ancient hymns, and was reaching for the last pile of parchments. His search had so far been in vain.
"Óre, Óre … hrmm, I remember. I know I remember that stone, but where …" his eyes scanned over the words in front of him by the light of a candelabra and he ignored the feeling of doubt that what he needed to know could not be found among the great store of knowledge he had accumulated within this chamber.
"Thou art stubborn and curious, dearest."
His mind still upon the words he had read, it took a moment before he realised his wife was standing in the doorway, a tired smile upon her beautiful face.
"Why I thank thee, but I fear this search will bear no fruit and I shall not be pleased."
She laughed softly and came forward to cup his face tenderly.
"Do you really long to know?"
Celeborn raised his eyebrows, "What are you suggesting?"
She smiled mysteriously, blue eyes suddenly sad, "I remember Celeborn, the stone. Remember its … history, and quite honestly I am astounded that you have forgotten. But tell me, do you really desire to know?"
He hesitated, as there was a subtle warning in her voice, before replying. "I do."
"As you wish, dearest."
She lead him over to the chaise and they both relaxed upon it, with her head resting upon his shoulder. His long fingers combed through her golden hair as he waited for Galadriel to begin.
"Óre Hwesta Silme, the Heart of the Vine, sister to the Arkenstone sacred to the dwarves and created by Aulë, was not formed by any hand of mortal or Eldar, but by Varda– Queen of Stars, the greatest Lady. As she gazed upon the world of Illuvatar's crafting, she saw the Vine, her most prized creation, flowering by the seashore. It's bright petals illuminated the water and within the light she saw the faces of the Firstborn on many ships sailing to Valinor. She begged Ulmo, Lord of Waters, to cup in his great hands the water that reflected the light of the Vine to keep with her when the Vine was not in bloom. He assented and created an orb of the ocean that was filled with the glorious soft light of the Vine, twinkling like starlight on water. When Varda was given the orb, she began to fashion it into a small faceted gem in the shape of a petal, about the size of her palm. She borrowed delicate tools from Aulë and spent many long hours lovingly crafting her stone. When she had finished, Aulë gave her a mithril clasp that would gently hold the stone about her neck and she wore the jewel for days unnumbered.
There came a windswept morning when a young elleth, a favourite of Varda's, afraid of the great shadow of Melkor even though he was chained and bound within the undying realm, could not be pacified. Seeing her distress, Varda relinquished her most loved possession to calm the child to immediate and great effect.
Soon after the Silmarills were lost, the light of the trees quenched and the Eldar left Valinor. The elleth, remembering the gracious gift from Varda, offered to return it back to its rightful keeper, but Varda smiled and said, 'Keep it; it was a gift and I will always see the blooms of the Vine from Valinor. May the Óre Hwesta Silme always turn back the darkness as there is much light to be bestowed upon the world you journey to.'
The elleth kept the stone with her and it gave great comfort for many, many ages until someone beloved to her was leaving for the Undying West with his betrothed. She gave him the stone to return to Varda, but ill fated was her choice. The elven ship in haven grey beneath the mountain lee, left the fading shore low beyond the swell and Amroth was unwittingly parted from his love Nimrodel. From the grey ship they saw him leap, and dive into the ocean, but he was never seen again and the Óre Hwesta Silme he had bound about his brow was lost.
A century of men had passed, when a young lord of Silvan and Númenórean descent, had found his way to the same shore where the ships once were taking the Eldar to Valinor, but none now waited within the small harbour. He walked the white sand of the beach and as he looked into the surf, searching for the ship that he had been aboard before a great storm had grounded it against a rocky shoal, a light glinted within the waters. Curious, he strode into the surf and reaching down, grasped a large pearl about the size of his fist and perfectly circular. Astounded by its beauty he did not notice the water's receding about him, nor the sun darkening as if behind large clouds. It was only when the voice of a thousand waves crashing onto rocks spoke that he beheld the Lord of Waters in his full splendour.
Standing high above him with a triton in one hand, his beard and hair seeming to be made of running water and seaweed, his clothing of waves, rain and shells; Ulmo was a terrifying sight to behold.
'You have in your hand something of great worth to me and I wish for us to trade. If you refuse, you will find your home among the fish of the deep waters.'
The man knew that it would be his death to refuse, yet he also wished not to trade especially with the Lord of Waters, after all he was trespassing in his realm as soon as he had stepped foot in the ocean. He bowed deeply to Ulmo and called up to him,
'With great thanks do I acknowledge your offer of trade, but I wish to give you this pearl and I expect no repayment, for the loss is not great.'
Ulmo seemed surprised, but took the pearl from him and placed it within the missing place in the crown upon his head. Then he waved his hand and an old wreck appeared still dripping from the waters, which it had rose from. Ulmo silently gestured for the man to climb aboard and a great tide took him out to see and a long way down the coast, till he came to another safe bay where he was again made to go ashore.
Ulmo was not a giving lord, but was pleased with this man and saw fit to reward him for his honourable deed. 'For your benevolence I wish to grant you this gift.' The Óre Hwesta Silme in all its glittering splendour was gently placed within the hands of the young lord. 'This, the Óre Hwesta Silme has the luminous of the flower of the Vine that grows in all its glory along this bay. It was lost with Amroth, and made by Varda and for only a short while have I had it in my keeping. It is blessed to keep away the darkness and I bless it also, to in the hands of the righteous and the royal of this realm no evil shall endure.'
So the man, Galador, son of Imräzor the Númenórean and Mithrellas a silvan elf, sent messages on the wind that he was building a great city, a Princedom on the coast, for southern protection and governance of what is now Gondor. He began to build the citadel of Dol Amroth, the name in honour of the edhel whose gift he now possessed and was the first Prince of that fair household. The Óre Hwesta Silme was handed down each generation, until its origin was lost in myth, and it was but a great heirloom of the royal line."
Galadriel fell silent and Celeborn kissed his beloved's concerned forehead with a tenderness born of great love.
"I remember, now. You always blamed yourself for Amroth's death, though I do not see how giving him the stone could have altered the ultimate ending of his great life. Love changes many things."
Galadriel sighed, "The stone should have gone back to The Lady, who had bestown it upon me as a child, but it seems its work was not yet finished here in Arda. How it has come to be in the hands of an elleth not of royal blood is a mystery. One of many Câlavendë seems to hide from us."
He took her hand within his own and caressed it softly.
"All shall be revealed, I am sure."
She turned her troubled blue gaze upon his beloved countenance and she traced its contours gently, whispering, "But I can not see it, her mind is dark to me."
"Then we must wait for her to speak to us."
Galadriel sighed softly resting her head against his chest. "Then I fear we will be waiting far longer than we imagine."
Note: Yes a couple of sentences of this story were taken from the Lay of Nimrodel written by JRR Tolkein, and I hope you are considerably intrigued for the next instalment. It will be a grand feast, the weavings of a lie, and the failings of a warden … who is not Haldir!! Hopefully you shall not have to wait so long!! A Very Merry (and Pippin!! J) Christmas and New Year to All.