Disclaimer: No, I own not a single fraction of LotR.
A/N: Hello again. This is Starwind Rohana. I am bearing the next chapter of this story. Stupid alien phrase generator is going off…now.
Uh. I'm very sorry for any delays in the updating of this story. Trust me, events were probably beyond my control. /Looks puzzled. /
Anyway –this chapter some pretty hectic stuff begins. It's also rather more interesting, I hope. And there's also something that might be called murder, but might also be called accidental killing. And no, it is not like what poor Elladan had to do last time. It's a bit desperate. Oh, and a bit of something rather unusual comes out…
And the Sindarin translations can be found at the end of the chapter.
Fear and Discovery.
The sand felt cold.
Well, not cold, perhaps, but colder than what he had been used to experiencing for the last two weeks. Blessedly, blessedly cool. Damp, too, if only slightly. Now that he concentrated, he could hear water nearby. It sounded vaguely muffled, as though he were hearing it through…canvas? He shook his head to clear it, and then groaned as the action caused deafening pulses of pain to slam through his head.
"Ada? Ada! You're awake!"
Firm, delighted, youthful features ducked into his field of view, but it was difficult for him to concentrate. He moaned again. It hurt, dang it!
"What? No, hold on, I'm being stupid." I'm generally in agreement. "Wait here." Am I supposed to move somehow? –And stop kicking sand in my face.
Liquid frillicked down over his forehead, soothing the horrible, dull pain. He looked up tiredly. (A/N: Yes, I did invent the word 'frillick'. Your point?)
His son was crouching over him worriedly. His fingers were wet –he must have just scooped the water straight up. His hair clung to his face, sticky with sweat. Warm, browny-grey eyes looked at his face worriedly.
"Adar? Speak, for the love of the Valar! Are you well?" And then, with a sudden grin, and a flashback to happier days spent in Valinor, "How many oliphaunts? And what dance is it?"
Well, he knew how to answer that, at least. Words were an effort, though.
"Twenty-five, and they are currently engaged in a rather enthusiastic version of the Polka. Please don't ask me where they learned a dance that will only emerge approximately fifteen centuries from now."
His son smiled. Very gently, he reached out, brushing the hair from Elrohir's eyes. He laughed, but it seemed a rather pained sound.
"You're in our shelter. Grandfather's withLordThranduil. Do you remember coming here? Legolas said that you seemed to be unconscious most of the time, and that you weren't thinking clearly when you were awake. Coming down here, I mean. But you're better now."
The Peredhel let his eyes flicker again. He was so very, very tired. He could barely remember days of sun, sand, and sweat, drinking trickles of water while someone carried him. Come to that, he could barely remember Rivendell. His head was too dazed. With a sigh, he allowed himself to collapse back into dreams.
Warm arms caught him from behind. He smiled weakly at the half-familiar clearing, which was flooded with brilliant, beautiful light. Then he twisted his head, gazing up into his grandfather's strong, noble features.
He was somewhat easier with this place and this person than he had been. In his unconscious state, his mind had often chosen to rest here. With a grin, he whispered, "Are you well, Morningstar?"
"None of that, Elrohir, and yes, I am well," came the calm response. "But there is something that you should know now that you are safe, and there are things to tell you regarding why you were cast out of Valinor. I have much to explain, and you have things to learn, Elrohir."
"What are they?"
"Follow me."
They climbed once more into the sleek, silvery boat. The younger Half-Elf gripped the sides hard in an attempt to lessen his sudden anxiety. He had never been worried previously; not in this peaceful glade. But suddenly he knew that something bad was going to be shown to him. Something terribly, awfully wrong.
He stared at the ground as they lifted away from it, and allowed himself the brief enjoyment of amazement. But then they were away, and the stars caught his gaze, before they were returned to somewhere just outside Arda's globe.
"Look. Beyond the world, you can see stars. Beyond them, blackness. Not normal blackness; more an empty sort of blackness. That is the Void."
"Where Morgoth is held with Sauron."
"And where others are held, though you do not know it. Now, many of the dead spirits of their servants are held in the deepest reaches of Mandos, concealed from all. Those that did the worst, however, are also held in the Void. Watch."
Elrohir nodded, looking carefully at the dark cloud beyond the opposite stars. He saw fire glaring within it, and fury smouldering. It was rather confusing, being able to see emotion, but he adapted quickly. Then he saw something slamming into the edge, trying to break free.
"Below us is Valinor, a few days before the Breaking. For some inexplicable reason, the Valar were unable to foresee this, and it appears that they were unwilling to interfere with the lands outside of Aman. Elves, on the other hand, are not so restricted. If you look carefully at the world beyond…see?"
He did. Something smashed out of the Void, pummelling into Arda. The shockwaves did not seem to affect the world itself. Instead, they raced neatly around it, and…hurtled into Valinor, bounding over the Straight Road to shake the land furiously. He saw the cities sway.
People ran out, screaming. He could just hear the frightened cries. Stones crashed down.
And the land began to split open.
Suddenly, the crowds diminished in size. He saw Arda shudder violently as people appeared in the desert. In Aman, the cities vanished for a moment, to come back filthy and broken.
Then the land…broke.
He cried out in disbelief. Valinor had always existed. It could not just be gone! He looked to his companion for conformation.
Earendil was watching the place intently, his eyes narrowed and gleaming. Elrohir's words faded before they reached his lips. It seemed dangerous to speak to the Mariner in his current state. Automatically, he crouched back, tensing.
The land below was…reforming. Being fixed, anyway. Earth somehow melding back into a whole.
He glanced back at the true, round world, and saw that there was a slight blur over it, so that it was visibly in a different timespan. People seemed to be moving unusually quickly. Startled that he could see them at all, he squinted, relieved when the boat moved closer and the figures slowed down.
He could see himself and his father, running, staggering over sand. He saw his mother, working hard; his grandmother, running to the arena; his twin…fighting. Killing. He could see the pain that Elladan felt. He could see his grandfather, silver hair glinting as he comforted Elladan. He could see everyone in the arena.
Looking outwards, he spotted Thranduil and Legolas, gathering up him and his father. He glimpsed Gandalf, causing rain to fall. He saw his children –so different in age, and yet acting so similarly because they had to protect each other. He found that he could make out the shapes of tents, and that Erestor was in a cart, bound for he did not know where.
And lastly, when he glanced back toward Rome, he saw his wife, standing on a pier, watching the seas with her sharp, quick eyes.
He saw all of it, too quickly and yet too slowly. He looked at his companion with a mixture of curiosity and horror on his face. The stars shone bright behind them.
"You have seen what happened. Bauglir has escaped. The Valar are loath to leave their lands and to intrude upon the realm of Men, which they may not do -in fact, I have my doubts that they are certain of what has transpired. After impact, the fugitives dispersed and hid. The Valar haddevoted their attention to the immediateproblem.Iluvatar –Eru has apparently decided not to intervene. Not yet, anyway. But the Elves are in Arda, Elrohir. Alone with the beasts, a few Maiar, humanity, and a destructive power of incredible strength. He has regained much while in the Void; indeed, he is now more fearsome than ever he was."
Terror exploded in him, accompanied by a horrible sense of resignation. How could they hope to remain in Arda, alone and confused? We are lost…we will die…all will be crushed and levelled beneath his cruelty and might…the lands will become a black waste of poisoned waters and contaminated earth…
"What…can be done…no, what can we do?"
The other Peredhel looked at him, solemn and slightly sad. Silver and gold were reflected behind him, but the light of the Silmaril was the only light that he truly saw.
"You must tell them to fight. He will not be so open this time. He will be influential and destructive, but he will not openly conquer an area and send out his armies. He will be subtle –but there will be places that you will be able to find him. Eldar fought him in the First and Second Ages; they can do so again now. It is your best chance, grandchild mine."
"What? Fight him? But he is…he is…"
"Elrohir." Earendil took him firmly by the shoulders. "It can be done."
The silver ship turned in the dark sea. Slowly, surely, they began their descent.
" " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " "
The sun was far too bright. That was her first conclusion upon stepping onto the rough deck.
Her second conclusion was that she didn't like the smell at all. The dead fish absolutely stank.
She had come up here to clear her thoughts, and instead she was being distracted by fish-smell. Leaning over the side, she inhaled the scent of the salty sea, trying to focus on the facts.
Okay. Concentrate, Elenlome. You're not a complete imbecile. What do you know?
…That some arrogant, wealthy person whose trade I do not know is downstairs with Vilya in a little leather pouch that he keeps securely attached to his side. I know that he has her because he showed her to the metal trader whose ship I'm on, who is a friend of his. I know that the Three have somehow been granted power again, but that utilising that power would be a Very Bad Idea unless the person doing it actually had experience. Oh, and I know that I'm about to be sick. Blasted leftover human metabolisms…
Swearing quietly, she leant over the side and lost what little breakfast she had been given. The acidic substance burned her throat.
Well, that didn't do me any good…except that now I have nothing to throw up.
Killing him? Out of the question. I do have a sense of self-preservation. Besides, no weapon. Theft? Not something that I'm particularly happy with, although I suppose it might come to that. Not sure of my chances, really. Uh, maybe if I trick him into almost falling overboard and then pull him back, he'll give her to me –HAH! Not flipping likely! Perhaps if we have an accident I could salvage it…and then proceed to drown…
Quite frankly, she wasn't sure what to do. So, instead of thinking on how to acquire Vilya, she watched the blue, silver-topped waves roll in the sun. The irregular, yet somehow predictable motions intrigued her, despite the fact that she had seen it before, and she smiled, letting her mind wander.
Not far off, a sleek, slim, dark grey body leapt and flashed in the sunlight. She leant forward, fascinated. She couldn't recall having seen one of those particular animals in well over a century. Losing herself in the elegant twists of the lithe forms, Elenlome almost forgot about her predicament, and the horrible dilemma that she faced.
And, as she watched, she felt an idea begin to form in her mind.
Four hours later, as the sun began to darken, a shadow-clad figure slipped into a storeroom, and removed a sack of grain. It then slid out again. A floor up, it stopped, opened the bag, and scattered the contents over the floor. Then it upturned a bucket of seawater, lightly sticking the husks to the wooden planking, as well as making it slippier.
Smiling wickedly to herself, the night-haired Elf strode off to see what she could do for her 'master' that might place her under less suspicion when Vilya was found missing. In the end, she found herself pouring wine for the evening meal, listening intently for a certain sound.
She heard it half an hour later…the sound of someone skidding on wet grain, yelling in surprise, crashing to the ground, and shrieking in pain. There was a brief, convenient moment of confusion, which she used to make good her escape…
Vilya lay on the floor. Mostly hidden by dust and wheat, it was easier for her sharper eyes to pick the sapphire ring out. Elenlome's fingers dashed toward her, snaked around her, and flipped her back into the safety of the tough-skinned palm. She straightened up quickly, moving to hastily pull the mortal to his feet.
He was cursing, blustering, growling abuse at her. Her muscles tightened; this elleth had not been blessed with the ability to ignore insults in either life. Practically automatically, her fists clenched, although she knew that it would only mean more trouble for her. Fortunately, the arrival of the metal trader who owned the ship served to get her away without her actually attacking him.
She eventually sat down on what passed for her bed, and finally dared to open her hand.
The blue stone glowed gently amidst the dirt. It was slightly eerie. If you looked hard enough, you could imagine that you saw the breezes flowing through the lovely ring. The sight was like cool water to her hot, tired eyes.
She tore the hem from her long, threadbare cotton shift, and wrapped it carefully about the sapphire object. Then she tied it, and knotted the loose ends around her upper arm. Better safe than sorry.
When she slept, she dreamt of a silver ship flying through the stars, and of her husband at the helm.
Morning brought seasickness, worry, and bellows of 'NILTONA!' echoing their way throughout the vessel. She fell off her makeshift pallet, whacked her head against the floor, swore in a variety of languages, scrabbled to her feet, checked that Vilya was safe and concealed, and lumbered out into the passage, grumbling about stupid humans who couldn't let you sleep and trying not to throw up.
She dropped three plates and stepped on a cup about four seconds after entering the cafeteria-type room. Hoping to escape being sworn at even more, she took a wine flask, filled a glass, and set off queasily for the traveller's room.
He was not pleased to see her. She shoved the wine at him and hurried away.
The sun was bright above the deck. The sea rolled and curled, inviting her to play in it. The firm, aqua, glass-like waves were topped with soft, white-silver, foaming crests. Elenlome could have danced along one of the spars. She felt inexplicably light inside.
The sun glinted off the water, shattering in to a million jewelled droplets. Spray caught in her hair, shimmering ethereally. With the light that seemed to beam from inside her, glowing at the side of the deck, she did not appear to be remotely human.
So it was perhaps not surprising that the woman who came up the stairs gave a yelp, stared, blinked, and fainted.
The Elf who stared at the water turned around. She hissed something that she should not, given that she was married to the son of Imladris' ruler, really have known, picked the woman up by slinging her arms under the other's armpits, and hauled her heavy burden to somewhere that spray, slippery decks, and discovery were not such threats –this was just under the cabin area, concealed by boxes –and walked back to the side of the ship, concentrating on what she had to do.
The gull wheeled in the crisp air, a banner of white against the blue. It coasted in to the salt-silken wood, watching her with bright, sharp amber eyes full of intelligence. Its sand-yellow beak pecked at the threads of her shift.
"Telo si," she said to it abruptly. "Aniron pedi, maew."
She leant forward, whispering urgently, hoping against all hope that she would be understood, trying to convey her anxiety to the bird. She put all of her haywire emotions into her voice, knowing that all creatures could comprehend feelings. And then, at last, feeling slightly drained, she stepped back.
"Syl vain." And then, with a sudden longing to hear her mothertongue again, "Fair winds. Si, ego! Fly!"
She gazed on as the great wings spread, and bore the mist-edged gull away from her.
"I love you, Elrohir, Tindome, Tholinsul, Ninquedil. I love you all. I love you so much that I cannot think of living my life without seeing you. I love you, I love you, I love you, I'm so, so sorry for leaving you…"
The oceans heard her, but the seas didn't care.
And the lonely Elf stood on the ship, almost crying, carried away from her loved ones with every stroke of the oars.
" " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " "
Celebrian unwrapped the package.
It was just some thin cloth wrapped hastily about a slim object, which fell into her palm, flashing in the strong sunlight.
"By the sun!" she muttered, staring at the light, strong blade. "What in all Marred Arda can he expect me to do with this? Stab somebody in cold blood? Somehow detach the hinges of the gate? Threaten that Man into letting me go? He surely cannot expect me to use it!" But then, why would he have given it to me?…
It is a precaution, she reassured herself. He is just trying to make sure that I have access to something that I can use to defend myself. There. Simple.
Still, I cannot help feeling…cautious about this. If he finds me with it, that Mortal –what will he do? I have no wish to be beaten again.
Nodding decisively to herself, she straightened herself up and strode off to her area, sliding the dagger into the shoulder area of her shift.
The sun was hot, so hot, and the sand was baking beneath her feet, shifting and burning…the trees and bushes were shimmering, as though she saw them through water…she couldn't breathe; her chest was contracting, restricting her lungs, and she could feel her heart rapping frantically at her hard ribs…she doubled over, trying to drag the air into her lungs, but none came…
Pain blossomed from the hollow of her throat, streaming acid throughout her body. Celebrian's arms and legs twitched madly, burning and freezing at the same time. Her head was full of slow, baffling, half-thought ideas, which were suddenly and thoroughly overwhelmed by one horrible, clear-cut, bewildering, terrifying awareness.
Pain.
It spread hectically through every nerve, leaving a havoc of agony behind it. She felt as though she was burning alive, incinerated on a great fire, what little fat that remained inside her cooking and spitting, roasting her from the inside.
And, inside that raging inferno, she saw him.
Darkness flowed from him. He was standing there, laughing, his eyes cold, thrusting the pain into her, and smiling as she writhed. He enjoyed seeing what he could inflict on her, she realised, and quailed. There was nothing that she could do to stop him. He ripped through her mind for information, shredding her resolve.
And she saw some thing in him. She saw the Eldar that he had hurt, the good people that he had tortured, all of the suffering that he had inflicted on the first Elves that he had captured. And Celebrian shuddered, because, even through the agony, she could feel what they had undergone, and she could sympathise with them.
Somewhere in her subconscious awareness, she realised who he was, and fear rose thickly in her throat.
She hated him, loathed him with every fibre of her being…
No, she thought. Not hate. But maybe…
And she remembered the sun rising, Arwen dancing, her sons joking with each other as they returned from the hunt, and she, Celebrian, Silver-Maiden, hurled those feelings at him, and tore away.
The sand drifted over her outstretched arms.
He was gone.
Gone.
She breathed heavily, her mind reeling in the aftermath of the pain, absorbing the shock of her realisation. She knew, even though she had never before seen him. She knew.
He had almost told her. She had felt his power, felt those memories, and they had formed his shape.
What can we do? The lands shall be blasted to ashes and dust before him. Men and Elves shall fall, unaware of the threat until he takes them. Nothing good will survive, and Valinor will be riven asunder…
Do not be so pessimistic. The Valar will defy him…Valinor shall be kept safe! But, by Iluvatar, we will not. Though I would be cursed ere I lay down and allowed him to crush my kin to their dooms! I will fight!
But he was so strong… I barely survived…
I need Mother. Mother must know. Mother will help. She is so brave, so wise. Mother will tell me what to do.
Her feet found holds in the soft sand. Squinting against the sun, Celebrian estimated the distance to he mother, the energy needed to get there, her own reserves of strength, and the obstacles in the way. The conclusion was that she did not have the ability to get there before sundown.
She began to move toward the area that she slept in, hoping for food to be there. The news was urgent! She had to eat. Then, maybe, she could make it.
The slave quarters were not exactly luxurious. Nevertheless, the shabby construction was somewhere to relax, and the silver-haired Elf-Lady welcomed it. Her muscles began to recharge; she nibbled at some dry bread, sipped at some water, and gathered herself.
Through a crack in the woodwork, she saw the dark blot rising. It lay just against the dimming light of the sky, and dread burrowed into her once more. There was no time now for respite. She had to go.
She doubted that he would stay this open for long, but still, he was there. He was there, and she did not know if Galadriel was aware that the dark smudge was he. She did not even know if the Ringbearer had seen it.
She slid the knife out of her sleeve and into her hand, got to her feet, and ran.
The man was waiting for her. Quanamus stepped out into her path, blocking her, holding his club in one sturdy hand. She slowed, dismayed. She could not go around him, she could not go back, and he was lifting his hand…
Celebrian ducked, twisting out of reach, and spun to face him, hissing slightly in alarm. He swung at her again, and this time the heavy wooden mace caught her in the stomach. She gasped for air, winded –and, in a moment of desperate remembrance, she dashed the knife at him.
It skewed off, shallowly cutting his thigh, but it was enough for her to duck away again. Her breath came in short, sharp tugs, forcing her to slow her motions. She didn't really understand what he was doing –or rather, she did understand, but she didn't know why. She was his, in his thought, and why would he attack something of his own?
Because you are trouble…you break things, you scare the animals, you disobey, and now, now you try to run…
And then she was shoving against him, ripping at his face as he tried to beat her, tried to crush her body with his club, and somehow her right arm came up and pressed into his neck in an attempt to shove him away…but the expected feeling of firm resistance was instead a sensation of something collapsing, and warm liquid coated her hand with his spasms.
Celebrian jerked away, staring in horror. The red blood was flowing from his neck, seemingly endless in quantity, and oh, Valar, he was moving, jerking and thrashing, and she could hear him make choked, broken, gurgling sounds…her hands, her hands were stained, too much blood, too much, leaking into her skin and colouring her fingers crimson…
I have killed.
Celebrian, silver-haired Lady of Imladris, fled wildly towards her mother, a horrified scream bursting from her throat.
" " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " "
A/N: I did it! I finished it!
/Is ridiculously proud. /
Sorry it took so long –you know, it seems that I say that every time. You must be getting fed up with it.
Still, I hope that you all enjoyed this chapter, and I hope that it explained some things. It still seems a bit rough, this story does, but I'm working on it.
The bit with Morgoth –well, it can work, if you take certain ideas into consideration. The bit about the Valar remaining behind is less plausible, but if you take the view that maybe the Void contains some kind of power, it works out –just. I also think that the Valar would not want to move directly against him –for one thing, they don't really know that he's there, and then there are all those people around…
Translations:
Maew –gull.
Si –now.
Ego –go away.
Telo si –come here (I'm not good at accents).
Aniron pedi –I wish to speak.
See you in March (with luck), Starwind rather-flustered-and-very-pleased Rohana.
Bottom of Form