"...The host of Morgoth, aroused by the tumult of Lammoth and the light of the burning at Losgar, came through the passes of Ered Wethrin, the Mountains of Shadow, and assailed Fëanor on a sudden, before his camp was full-wrought or put in defense."
She looked up inquiringly.
"Finish," Celahir indicated.
She sighed unwillingly, and bent over the large, dusty text. "And there on the grey fields of Mithrim was fought the Second Battle in the Wars of Beleriand. Dagor-nuin-Giliath it is named, Battle-under-Stars..." She suddenly slammed the book shut, and dust fluttered in all directions. "I know this story already. You have repeated all you know about Dagor-nuin-Giliath more times than I can keep track of, and yet I still have to read of it from these dusty slabs of grit!" She leaned forward in her desk, her deep green eyes staring through her tutor condescendingly. "At least Legolas makes these tales interesting."
"He tells the account in songs," Celahir said flatly.
She looked up with fierceness in her eyes. "I like music."
"Music will not tell all the facts, Néla."
"The education bores me."
"Fourteen-year-olds frustrate me. But you aren't bruised yet so you are in no position to protest. At least pretend you are interested and you may even start to like these lessons."
"I do not think I need them."
"Children younger than you knew these stories before you turned six. You are behind."
"I'm not scarred from it."
Celahir surrendered quietly. Niélawen's behavior had transformed drastically only years earlier where her perpetual enthusiasm to be enlightened was suddenly thwarted by some mannerism likely common only among her own kind, since mood swings never tended to be issues with the Eldar children. Despite what he had witnessed for two years, he knew she did not mean the things that spat from her mouth, for the natural luster and intelligence she possessed was clear indication of her attention and her interest still, indeed, well intact. As well, he was finally beginning to find some amusement in her indecisiveness— these were stories he wished to keep to himself and his brother with reserved humor, since Legolas seemed to hold her so high in esteem and thought her to be as disciplined and skilful as one of their own warriors— or so he told them.
There came a knock on the door, and Legolas entered cautiously. His eyes were laid upon Niélawen with intent after acknowledging Celahir in defeat. She slumped in her seat, knowing he must have overheard her from the hall— however far down he had been, with his keen hearing it did not matter in any case. "Don't be such a nuisance," he half-muttered, solemnly embarrassed.
She grimaced. "May I leave now?" she asked Celahir.
Celahir dragged the heavy text off the table, cracking a smile. "Suddenly now you have manners? Go then."
Niélawen smiled broadly almost instantly as she leapt from her seat, and she thanked Celahir half-way through the entryway. "Hannon le."
Legolas brought her down the bright corridor. Niélawen walked in an equal stride now, having grown very tall with her shoulders nearly level with his own. She took a great handful of her thick, curly blonde hair as they walked and threw it up skillfully using a single pin.
"I assume you're ready."
She tightened her vambraces that had been casually and comfortably left loose. "I'm prepared to try again. Could I start with the bow?" She paused, and as she made a last adjustment on her gloves she grinned. "However I'm willing to try the sword again…"
Legolas stopped abruptly in the halls before the door that would take them outdoors. "I don't want you using a sword any more."
"Not ever?"
He did not answer, and she continued to smirk deliberately.
"I'll do better this time!" she pleaded.
He rolled up his sleeve. A long, white slash ran up his forearm. "This is from assuming that a wielder without skill can do no harm."
She smirked. "I'm terrible and quick." She paused to study his expression. "Agility is important."
He glared and pulled down his sleeve. "No sword."
"Fine, no sword. But you do understand that you will not have that scar for much longer than a month?"
"The exception of me being an Elf does little to change my mind."
They stepped into the sunlight of late afternoon. The sky lay blue above them, a few clouds hanging here and there, with a large, dark mass lingering in the East. Niélawen proceeded into a light jog and approached a beech tree where a bow and quiver had been set.
"It is going to rain today," Legolas said grimly, taking his own bow into his hands.
"That's a shame. I was hoping to take Nessa for a ride."
"She's too young a horse to be put through such labor."
"You nag a great deal, Legolas. I know how to look after her."
Legolas groaned under his breath and followed her into the mass of dark trees. Sparrows scattered as they crossed through fallen leaves and foliage and walked a small distance to where the air was tight and the trees grew tall, thick, and very close together. Niélawen chose a spot for shooting, and indicated so with a glance to him.
"There are too many trees in this direction. Shoot over here, to the North."
She drew an arrow and took sure aim. "I like it here."
He decided not to clash with her attitude, and he proceeded to watch from behind. "Follow through with what you know. This is not easy for one of your skill." He peered ahead with his keen eyes. "Seventeen trees down. Hit the oak."
The shaft was released silently, and the arrow was pierced through the air strongly, whistling passed the trunks. It struck the fifteenth tree and snapped to the ground.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. With aggravation from her unsuccessful shot, she glared accusingly at the storm moaning in the Eastern direction, grudgingly drawing a second arrow. She peered far ahead, catching a very tiny edge of her target before drawing back on the twine.
The shadow of the dark clouds slowly loomed above her target oak and pressed closer through the forest at an unusual speed. Crows sprang into the sky, screeching their alarmed cries into the air. She felt a cool breath against her body, followed by a dank chill that crawled up her front.
"Did you feel that?"
Legolas' eyes never fell from her as he observed her form "I felt nothing. Pay attention."
She pursed her lips and nervously pulled back on the twine. Her entire right arm— her reliable shooting side— shuddered unexpectedly and went numb, and the arrow was released from her deadened fingers. She cried out in surprise as it hit the second tree nearest to her, shattered into pieces, and repelled from the tree toward them both.
"What happened?" he demanded, reaching out swiftly and instinctively to protect her vital parts from the jagged wooden shards. "You could have—"
"Killed myself? It could not be more evident, thank you." Her brows furrowed in trouble. "But I felt something out there," she interjected with alarm written on her face. She took her numb arm and observed it unsurely, peering far ahead. She was only now afraid because she was certain it was a presence she had seen, and felt, many times before. The last of those times had been so many years ago, and she had almost forgotten about those nightmares altogether.
When she blinked and looked down to observe her arm, she found that a translucent haze had suddenly fallen over her eyes. She stumbled as both alarm and dizziness overcame her. Her head began to ache immensely as her blood ran ice cold throughout, surging through her temples like acid. The numbness spread beyond her arm until the entire expanse of her flesh felt thick like bitterly cold. Dark spots flickered over her eyes, and before all conscious thought seemed to leave her she wondered if Legolas had sensed something unusual.
The darkness that had before only appeared as frequent blemishes in her sight became a large mass of shadow and a surrounding frame of white light that made her eyes throb in their sockets. At this time she was certain she had opened her mouth and cried aloud desperately, but she heard nothing beyond a shrill, deafening screech that had very suddenly overtaken her hearing.
She felt fingers curl around her arm that multiplied rapidly. Every touch was calloused, and every fingertip sent the most severe chill into her skin that consumed her body and mind in excessive terror. She could see nothing.
She began to feel as though she was falling back—slowly turning with the earth and with her rolling heals, slipping uncontrollably from equilibrium.
A deep drum sounded in her head— her blood was pumping so furiously that the sound of it was more deafening than the harsh whispers uttering an outlandish tongue in her ears. They were fierce and forceful, manipulating her senses as easily as she could do herself. She was a fighter— no woman even among the Elves could match her strength— but at last she could not struggle against any of it any longer.
Where was Legolas?
A dim light closed in from behind. Warmth returned to her blood. The shadows drew back, but her blindness still sealed her sight and the ache in her uneasy head throbbed in its aftermath. She fell against something warm and solid, and let herself drift out of sense.
Legolas pressed a damp cloth to her forehead as he held her beneath the darkening sky. No one had heard his cries— or hers— and none had walked in sight, and for countless minutes he sat against a tree with a torn and dampened piece of his tunic held above her brows. He watched her eyes flutter open and saw them twinkle green with life.
Niélawen gazed up into the sky in disorient. For a quick instant all memory was lost— her name she could not even manage to recall. Several seconds passed until she felt well enough to look around her. A deep twinge of pain singed on her left cheek, and being unable to feel much else she was very much tempted to touch it.
"Leave it be. It's bleeding."
Her body soon came to feel warm and fevered deep within her. There was a sensation in her blood she had never experienced before, and she felt both fatigued and energetic at the same time.
"Speak to me, Niélawen."
She stared up sharply at the fair face looming over her. Legolas removed the damp fabric from her skin and cupped her face with his large hand. "I don't want to," she mumbled dazedly.
He frowned, but she saw relief spring into his face. Niélawen looked into his eyes as they watched her carefully, and she smiled warmly—how greatly she loved his eyes she could not even express in words. She snuggled closer in his arms and shut her eyes peacefully. "What happened?"
"I hoped you would tell me." He slowly climbed to his feet and set her head gently upon the grass. "When your eyes hazed over and your face went ashen as a wraith you slid against a tree… I caught you as you fell to the ground. It has been half an hour's time since." He kneeled next to her and his crystalline eyes met hers meaningfully. He was concerned. "Elves listen well, you know."
She carefully sat upright against the tree and nodded while heaving a sigh. Her head was still spinning, but she had the calmness to tolerate it for a while longer. "They do." She caressed the insides of her fingers in her lap, and spoke low and with shame. "It was just like my dreams of long ago. But they… they never managed to get so close to me or affect me like that. Those voices have never frightened me so much…" She felt a great weight come down upon her chest and lungs, and she instinctively took an intake of breath, and swallowed.
Her vision wavered for an instant and she felt a strong sense of supremacy in the rapid beating of her heart. She gazed ahead blankly, listening and waiting.
"Niélawen?" Legolas leaned forward warily.
Her senses began to race, and she found herself able to hear all noises— beneath the earth, up in the sky, and hundreds of thousands of miles across forest, plain, and water— all except his voice. Everything else drowned out the sound of his deep, gentle speech.
Something built inside of her in a period of time too soon to count— a shadow far thicker than the upcoming storm. It was filling her, quickly. Her energy soared— she no longer felt like herself.
Legolas reached out to touch her face, to gently observe the open wound on her left cheek that he remembered from long ago as being the largest and the worst, stretching from her cheekbone to the hairline before her ears. He came in slowly and carefully.
At last a banked ferocity, lying just below the surface, spilled over uncontrollably and without reason, pure and very raw. She felt her blood become as hot as the sun's core. Her hand snatched his faster than even he could hope to catch.
Her power caught him off guard. She pulled his reaching arm in towards her, and thrust him back by driving her opposite and unused hand against his torso.
He rolled off his knees and onto his side and returned to a sturdy position in the way he always reacted when struck in such a way. He stared at her in alarm as she threw herself toward him. This time he tumbled to the ground, caught beneath her body straddling his, and with her hands she pinned him to the grass. He peered into her eyes, and just like the rock-solid strength she endured over him, they were black orbs filled by shadow alone, and nothing else. Her teeth were grit viciously, and she no longer looked like the engaging and tender girl he adored.
Now in the open, the commotion caused a stir not far off, and there came a number of bystanders who had caught a glimpse of the attack. They rushed to their Prince's aid, shouting for the sentinels, and in an unusual number of four they tore the young girl from him. As she was pulled away he felt the white nail marks in his wrist pulsate with a vicious stinging.
Niélawen was restrained from the Elves' grips, and she looked upon Legolas with the after burn of fury in her eyes. They gradually grew soft and returned to normal, and then quickly filled with overwhelmed tears of dismay.
Legolas lay upon the ground, gaping after her and refusing assistance from his people that waited at his side. He could not hold back from the alarm and bewilderment that had flooded through his mind at that instant. She had assembled so much power and so much anger toward him that he actually felt it surging from her skin, affecting the very air around her. He had only come close to being able to resist her strength, but his agility had not come to his aid.
He sprang to his feet, ignoring the leaves latched in his long, flaxen air and upon his clothing, when he unexpectedly caught a glimpse of a strong and resentfully familiar individual leaning against a tree with a small company widely in view, all staring his way. Legolas closed his fists and pursed his lips, and hurried after Niélawen with Oronar's eyes gazing intently after him.
"Niélawen!" He stormed toward the door of her room and was faced with a locked knob. He pressed his ear against the panels briefly, and heard her pacing inside. "Open the door!" he yelled, backing away. If he knew her well enough, she would not respond— not for the reason that she was stubborn, but because she was too afraid to face him.
Grim and very much driven by frustration, he rammed the door with the side of his body, and the continuous impacts thundered through the echoing halls.
"No!" she screamed from within. "Legolas, stop!"
The hinges gave in and shattered, and the door crashed to the floor. She stood very still as he approached her promptly, sweat lining her face and tears irritating her eyes and the skin around them. He took her by the elbow and dragged her into the hall roughly, and there he led her to his room in a very hasty and pitiless stride. He shoved her inside brusquely and secured the door behind him, knowing well enough that others had followed. Fists rattled against the door as several people pounded on the door with desperation.
Niélawen rushed to the corner, vulnerable and afraid of everyone and everything. Every bash against the door made her flinch. "I'm sorry!" she cried, almost pleadingly it seemed— as if she was afraid of him. "I don't understand why— I did not—"
He grasped her shoulders and shook her violently, urgency and scorn in his eyes. "I know you did not mean to! I know, and I do not care what you do— but do not run from me!" He pushed her to a seat, seemingly harder than he intended. She refused the chair close to the door in which she had been directed, and went to the bed in its place. "Sit, and you will tell me everything!"
The knocking upon the door became more furious. "Open, Legolas!" they shouted.
Out of his own anger, he threw his fist against its oak surface, and both the wall and hinges vibrated. There was silence from the other end, and numerous, heavy footsteps stormed away urgently. Legolas knew they would be back.
"I don't know what it was," she wailed. "I'm sorry, Legolas. I'm sorry." She crawled close to the head of the bed and closed her knees closer to her body. She shivered and cupped her hands over her eyes, brushing away the wetness on her cheeks with quavering hands. "I did not hurt you, did I?" she asked quietly, still appearing fearful.
"No," he said softly, suddenly wishing he had not been so aggressive in worry that he had caused more panic in her, and he sat beside her. "Only startled."
She shook her head frantically. "You're never startled. Ever." She pressed her shaking fist to her lips, her eyes finally beginning to settle on one place instead of frenetically circling the room. "What have I done…what have I become…"
"It was a mistake," he said slowly. "But I think only you can answer that."
She shook her head angrily, gritting her teeth as she spoke. "I told you all I know!
"You haven't."
She held her eye contact with him gravely and spoke in a soft, careful voice. "I think there was another voice inside my head— but it was not my own. Something made me want to hurt you." She breathed in with a shudder. "I acted upon those feelings… what I've done was my doing, even though I do not know where the urge arose from."
He took her hand, but did not recoil at its iciness. He did not feel that she had a right to guilt, and he hoped he could try to comfort her. "How are you now?"
Her lip quivered, coming close to tears again but managing with great effort to hold them off. "Too strong to feel the weakness that's come over me." She moved towards him, and squeezed his hand in return. "Legolas, I should know what this is," she whispered. "It feels too much a part of me for it to be so feral."
Legolas recalled Oronar's gaze— knowing and observant. He had been satisfied with what he saw, but shocked. The look of his eyes still made his blood churn madly. Nearly everyone wanted to see her fall. He would not give them her defeat.
"I trust you."
"What?"
He looked into her eyes, indulging in their lush green color and the inquisitive beauty they held. "You are not dangerous, and I do not fear you. I will help you." He smiled— she needed to see it.
"Are you certain you want to do that?" Despite the doubt in her words, her face brightened significantly.
"I swore it years ago." He moved to the edge of the bed and stood, and laying out his hand to her. "But we have yet to learn of your gifts."
She smiled, and took his hand. Her gifts… how wonderful and beautiful he could make unusual things seem, as if there was a light to be seen within everything. She crawled to the edge and let him escort her away. "How can you know there is more to be seen from me if we have witnessed one thing?"
"I just know there is more."
Celahir scrambled through drawers and shelves of bottled substances and potent herbs while Legolas and Niélawen waited aside in the poorly lit laboratory chamber. Niélawen folded her arms over her chest, weaving a curly piece of her bright blonde hair around her finger. She tucked it behind her ears, and then quickly mended her mistake, tossing it over the rim of her ear to conceal their shape.
"Why do you do that?" Legolas inquired softly, and she acknowledged him sharply having been unaware of him watching.
She looked down at the floor. "I don't want them to show. If no one can see them, they cannot judge me for my difference." She looked away shamefully, and added, "It makes me feel better."
"Why?"
She met his eyes for a mere second. "Sometimes I think I can cover up the things that make me a distinction. I just want to seem more like everyone else. That's what I've always wanted."
Celahir scattered jars upon the low table. "There, now. Before I get into the elaborate observations, why not go over the basics, hmm?"
Niélawen hopped onto the table's surface and let Celahir inspect the dilation of her eyes. Secondly, he studied her pulse, then her reflexes, and all the simple steps of her physical inspections. All the while, he did not speak.
"Niélawen," he started at last, "do you remember the Caradereg?" He held a bluish-green tinted leaf lined along its round edges with thin, sharp, red needles.
She gazed at him for a long time, and nodded. He handed the Caradereg leaf to her. Legolas watched with interest, not being familiar with the purpose of the lethal looking plant.
Niélawen inserted one of the red leaf needles into her wrist, and quickly turned her back to Legolas. "Don't watch."
Legolas knit his forehead, suddenly concerned. Celahir gestured to him to settle his worries as she handed back the leaf, a small but visible pool of red liquid contained like a dish.
"Listen," Celahir spoke up skeptically, holding the plant containing her blood. "Are you sure this is not a mere illness?"
"I have never been ill!" she said defensively. "Never since I have been in Mirkwood." She grinned cockily to Legolas. "I call it adopting a bit of Elvish vitality."
"You don't have Elvish vitality," Legolas told her dully. "You're not an Elf."
He did not look long enough to see the downcast sadness fall upon her face.
Celahir turned to his protective and obstructive wall of jars, his face clouding as he went absent with study. "Then this will take some time."
Niélawen nodded her head knowingly. "All evening."
"As long as I stay to it for all hours," he stated dryly. "Analyzing blood using herbs and plants is tedious work." Celahir rolled his eyes in exasperation and came close to laughing over the nonsense of the demanding duty.
Legolas took Niélawen by the arm without warning, and led her out of the room. "Go on."
"Why?" she demanded with an odd face.
All it took was a mere look, and she did not question further. Celahir smiled and gave her a wink, and she frowned in defeat as she passed through the doorway.
"Isn't it your time to nap?" Legolas asked, cocking his head to one side in mock question, and with an arrogant smirk he slammed the door.
Niélawen stared at the roof of her room, tucked beneath a heavy layer of quilts within her elaborate bed. She took Legolas' suggestion into consideration, being very weary anyway. The candles in the far corner of the room glowed lively and created graceful shadows and shapes along the walls for her soothing enjoyment. A shiver drew up her spine, and she shuddered coldly beneath the blankets, pulling them to her chin.
She felt invaded.
Her eyes scanned the dimness in timidly. She hated the dark; she had always been afraid of it for the longest years of her life. Her only rejoice from the uneasiness of night came from having Legolas close by. She smiled and closed her eyes with ease, warmly imagining she was young again and his nurturing company was acceptable for her age.
Her thoughts drew her into a deep, comforted state of sleep almost instantly and she welcomed it appreciatively. But however the quick shift into slumber was, it did not arise from a natural inclination.
Her body was engulfed in a wave of warmth, and she watched the darkness grow dim until there was actually white light all around her. She felt safe and secure. The energy pouring from her surrounding was astounding, and there she remained, undaunted and content, and unable to know any different.
Again she felt that eyes were ever lying upon her. Thought wanting to respond somehow to the strong warning inside her head she was unable to move, and her only option was to watch and wait with anxiety and caution.
She heard the distant whisper of a voice, beckoning to her in the Sindarin tongue she grew up knowing so well. The voice was soft and gentle— the ring of a feminine tone. In the Elvish tongue it spoke, but with little clarity and without the natural skill of the language. Nonetheless, Tolo na ammen was a distinctive call to her.
The voice rose in volume and behind it came a weak rumbling of gathering noise, growing in strength as the voice surrounded her. Like a looming storm, darkness crept from the distance, seeping into an invisible tunnel that engulfed her. Come to us, it said, and her body became tight and rigid. An uncontrollable power willed her to cry as a compelling sorrow consumed her mind and body.
Voices overlapped with speeches of the common tongue, Elvish, and of another she loathed upon hearing, for though a small part of her mind weakly recalled the language, a greater force willed her against understanding it.
At last she cried, loud and mournful over the hundreds of voices, unsure why she was feeling the incredible grief.
Naidamahën… Naidamahën…
One word was being slurred against the noise around her, filling her head with more sound than she could handle. Not one voice was in time with the other. They just spoke.
She never met the shape of a single concrete figure; she only felt their presence, breathing on her and whispering in her ear when she seemed caught off guard. She wept unconsciously and powerlessly, and the voices drew back in triumph. She could not move, nor could she turn her ears away from listening. And for every moment of fear and vengeful craving came the painful burning upon every one of her scars upon her face and over every inch of her body; and the lone slash along her cheek alone inflicted a venomous fire through her veins, feeling it tear open and draw in toxic air that scorched at her flesh and blood.
But a splendid light came from behind her; a belligerent defense that spread across her body a shield. Her abstract defender tore her from the darkness and the evil, and she watched it all become swallowed around her like a wormhole.
And she heard Legolas' voice…
"Niélawen!" His strong hands cupped her face frantically. "Come back, Niélawen. It's a dream, you're dreaming."
Her mind was a torrent of heat waves. She could not see straight and she could feel very little, but she did find the comfort of being in his arms as he held her firmly against his body.
She took a great breath of air, gasping from the drowning depths of the immense darkness. Legolas placed his hand over her sweaty, ashen forehead, and sighed with what seemed like relief, laying her head against neck as she twitched frantically. He held her tight until her body quivered less.
"They will come back if you leave." She gripped the loose shirt on his arm.
"What did they say to you?" he asked her softly, bringing her body down to rest upon her pillow.
She closed her eyes. Her damp chest rose and collapsed with each uneven breath. "Naidamahën," she breathed wearily. "That is all they said…"
Legolas wiped away the tears on her cheeks, among those that had already dried upon her scarred cheek and those that still drew forth from the corners of her eyes. He put a soft cloth to the bleeding wound on her left cheek. "Hiro hîdh [find peace], Néla. Sleep now."
"Naidamahën," she murmured. "They want her to come back…" She rested against the pillow with his arms holding her. Before all thought and sense left her, she mouthed things that she had intended to be spoken, things that should have been heard.
They will find her…
Early morning sat grimly in the dark setting of the hall beneath the earth. Legolas passed out of the olive green door of Niélawen's chamber and followed the path of the hallway wearily and without conscious thought.
Three years. Three straight years had passed by in placid nights where Niélawen did not cry into the emptiness, woken in a cold sweat by hallucinations and nightmares that left her sleepless nights full of terror.
He wished he could endow upon her his strength and his wisdom so that she could see passed the evil that was consuming her. And he did not doubt that it was an evil influence that was taking over her. His heart fell in shame at his hopeful assumption that she had a gift, suddenly beginning to believe that it was truly an imbedded curse poisoning her mind, and encouraging her abilities was only encouraging her breakdown.
Celahir darted towards him from the height of the corridor at a high speed unusual for someone as held-together and patient as himself. Legolas did not regard him until he skidded to a halt before his feet.
"I found it," he said softly, his excitement palpable. "I have little to prove it— you now have only my word to trust, but the truth is justified. I have the answers." He pulled Legolas into the corner. "My labor has proved us all wrong. Even your theories, as extravagant as they were, were miniscule in comparison to what I have discovered."
They simultaneously glanced down the halls to ensure the emptiness would endure. Celahir stepped in close, and a crooked, delightful smile lit up his face.
"She is not ordinary at all. She must have… incredible abilities that she has not yet seen or even felt to the full extent because of their potential— destructive or not I could not tell. Incredible is not even the correct word to use— her mind and her body are creating something brilliant, powers beyond those that can possibly be seen within the blood of a human. She may very well be immune to any plague that comes her way, and any other substance for that matter, unless she induces herself with something deadly. The reactions of her blood show such deterrence that I cannot be wrong. She has no flaw, no real physical weakness at all." His smile was broad, and he was nodding eagerly for a response.
"But her mind is corrupted."
"Alas, that I cannot study further," Celahir replied, quickly falling into dismay. "But we can help her. Oh Legolas, this is the greatest discovery of my life! Niélawen is a divine human being! She has lived under our guidance! No doubt we have taken part in creating her brilliance."
"What is she then?" he inquired hesitantly. On his next words he intended to keep from speaking, but his powerful curiously let it slip. "A witch?"
Celahir grinned broadly. "Amusing. Sorceress is a better term, though if I weren't so educated I would label her a God. However, more likely she is of some very divine race that has not been seen for hundreds of centuries—going as far as possessing the blood of the Valar, if you will! But I must take this more seriously since I have not yet seen the full extent of her capabilities, only evidence of her present state." His eyes widened in excitability.
Legolas was silent.
Celahir's face fell. "You have nothing to say of this?"
"… I do not know what to say. Or what to do with her, for that matter."
"What you have always done. She has become splendid and gifted with your help. Believe me, my friend. Keep on with what it is you are doing." He took Legolas by the elbow and led him up the corridor. "She has already learned much from you and me— the history of our world, life of the earth, might in combat. We can teach her all the skills we, as Elves, are endowed with. She will become as clever, versatile, and able as the Silvan people."
"And make her what she is not?"
"We are only encouraging what she already is, mellon." Celahir smiled up at him. "And she is perfect."
A/N: Note that the very start of this chapter included a few excerpts from The Silmarillion. Not mine in the least. ^_^