Title: The Weeping Wraith, Chapter Seven

Author: Katharine the Great

Summary: "What were the Riders trying to do?"  "They tried to pierce your heart with a Morgul-knife which remains in the wound.  If they had succeeded, you would have become like they are, only weaker and under their command.  You would have become a wraith under the dominion of the Dark Lord…" --Frodo and Gandalf at Rivendell

Notes: This is now completely A/U, and has elements of the books and the movies within. 

Disclaimer: Some of this story is quoted directly from the trilogy itself.  I will note these excerpts with italics, so pay attention and don't sue me for plagiarism!  I wouldn't dream of such an offense against the great JRR!!

Replies to reviews:

AJ Matthews: Well, now, there's an interesting thought…Aragorn gets into a fight with Lasselanta…hmmm, have to give that some thought…thank you for your continual reviews! :) And thank you for all your concern about Legolas.  It's so heartening when people care about the characters Francine and I write for.  Watch for major other-character angst, though, 'cause it's coming!

MarigoldG: Welcome to my itty bitty "The Weeping Wraith" fandom!  I'm SO glad you're enjoying it.  I especially appreciated your chapter-by-chapter reviews and the way you specifically addressed the items you liked the best. :)  Francine the Plotbunny literally did a back flip when she read your reviews of our work…I would have done the same, but my back has flexibility issues (one of them being that it has no flexibility at all, Lol).  Thank you, and keep 'em coming!

Raen: As always, you are a prompt reviewer and a detailed one.  Thank you so much!  And I can hear your excitement crackling like a live wire here!  I'm so happy to have acquired you as a fan.  Francine says hi, and also, "Pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon?"  Lol :)  Thank you! 

Now, without further ado, on to the story…

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            Night had fallen within the Wood with a shower of starlight.  Sparkling points of fleet-footed light winked merrily upon Middle-earth, and their glistening queen hung suspended in their midst with the appearance of a newly-crafted sickle.  The world had become a tableau of varying blue and black hues; somber indigo was the tint of those patches of grass that were bathed in bright Ithil's glow, and deep ebony were the trees and domiciles dotting the landscape.

            Within the great Hall of Lothlórien where Celeborn and Galadriel resided, however, everything was bathed in a gentle golden light that emanated from numerous hanging lamps.  The dining hall itself was a delight to Frodo and his kin, for though they had been inside once before upon their second arrival in Lórien, the place was so curious and fair an abode that it once again brought smiles to their troubled faces.  The ceiling was high and arched, and comprised of splendid bowed limbs that had been woven together and sealed against the sometimes damp weather in the forest.  A grand company of radiant coiled lamps hung from the warm-hued boughs and set the entire room ablaze with a soft golden sheen.  The lighting made the naturally luminous Elven folk seem to shine even more brightly.

            The table was circular, with a break in its round uniformity so as to allow for extra places within the circle.  The Lord and Lady took their places at the midpoint of the outer ring of seats, as was their custom.  Gandalf was at Celeborn's right; Lelemir of Mirkwood, to Galadriel's left.  Next to Lelemir was Hithílion, then Aragorn, Gimli, and Merry and Pippin.  Hithílion gave the Dwarf a long sideways glance, but said nothing.  Gandalf pulled Frodo to sit beside him, and of course Sam was next, with Boromir at the end. 

When everyone was arranged and seated, Celeborn spoke.  "Princess Lelemir, before you now are eight members of the Fellowship which departed from Rivendell.  Legolas your brother was the ninth."

            "Yes, my Lord," Lelemir said.  "Our father demanded a detailed report when he learned that Legolas was to accompany a perian on a Quest of some sort."  Her light gray eyes held a familiar breed of curiosity as she glanced about the room.  "I have heard many names, but I know not to which of these they belong."

            "I ask that the leader of the Company conduct the presentation of his fellows to Lady Lelemir, so that she may see and judge for herself the companions with whom Legolas has allied himself," Celeborn said gravely.

            Aragorn rose to his feet with uncommon grace, his gray cloak falling about his broad shoulders.  Frodo thought the Dúnadan so like in appearance to an Elf at that moment that Legolas' absence was felt all the more keenly.  The Elven prince had long been the merry heart of the Company, never downcast or perturbed by harsh weather or tidings of gloom.  His loss was palpable, most especially because of the arrival of his close kin. 

            Aragorn paced around to stand in the center of the circle created by the table.  He bowed slightly, then began his address.  "Greetings, Lady Lelemir of Mirkwood.  I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur and bearer of Andúril; though many know me only as Strider of the Rangers."

            "The successor to the throne of Gondor," Lelemir remarked wonderingly.  "I did not know there was one of that line left alive.  How is it that I have not heard your true name mentioned in the tales brought by the King's messengers, heir of Isildur?"

            "I am the last of his line, my Lady.  It was deemed necessary that I keep my identity hidden from plain sight for the present," Aragorn told her.  "I have revealed myself to you in honor of Legolas, whom I consider a brother as well as a friend."  He turned to indicate Gandalf next, and his voice rang with deep admiration and respect.  "The great wizard Gandalf the White, who has but recently returned from what we thought to be his doom."

            "Ah, Aragorn, the daughter of Thranduil is no stranger to me," Gandalf said with a smile.  "Often in the past I have found occasion to visit the Great Wood.  I daresay the Elvenking's children become more delightful with each encounter." 

At that, Lelemir's fair face shone with a smile of fond remembrance.  Frodo wondered what memories she held of Gandalf the Gray, and whether she would be willing to share them at a later time.  Strangely, Legolas had not mentioned his presumably long association with the wizard called Mithrandir.  Frodo lowered his gaze in sorrow, wondering if he would ever have the chance to question his Elf friend on the subject.

            Aragorn continued in his introduction of the Company.  Lelemir gave Frodo a warm gaze when his name was spoken.  Frodo stood and bowed slightly in greeting, but he wondered if the princess knew that his was the Quest on which her brother had embarked, and that it was for his sake that Legolas had been captured by the enemy.  The thought brought with it a harsh pang of guilt.  Frodo was somewhat cheered, however, to see Sam Gamgee blush and duck his head at Lelemir's smile.  Merry and Pippin were as cordial as they could make themselves, but their lack of experience made their attempts at refined speech more comical than genteel.  Nevertheless, Lelemir was thoroughly charmed.  Boromir's greeting befitted his nobility, although he did not make nearly the impression that the young hobbits had.

When Aragorn spoke of Gimli, there was a marked pause.  Frodo's heart sank within him as Hithílion and Lelemir focused their intense gazes upon the Dwarf.  As Elves, they had been ingrained from youth with a severe dislike of Gimli's people.  Frodo had hoped that Legolas was not the only one of his folk with a flexible nature, but now it seemed as though he might well be. 

            Finally Lelemir spoke.  "Gimli, son of Glóin, you are the Dwarf whose friendship with the prince of Mirkwood is still a subject for concern within my father's halls, are you not?"

            Gimli schooled his expression and politely inclined his stout head.  "I see not how it could be any other, my Lady."

            "Is that concern warranted?" Lelemir asked with a cool air.

            "No, my Lady, it is not," Gimli replied.  "I cherish your brother as a dear friend, and my heart consumes itself more with each day that he remains lost to us."

            "How feels Prince Legolas about you, son of Glóin?" Hithílion asked abruptly.

            "He is a worthy friend to me as well, Master Elf," Gimli responded, much less graciously than he had been to the princess.  "He has saved my life on many an occasion.  It was for my sake as well as that of these others that he sacrificed his own safety on the bank of the River."

            Hithílion and Lelemir traded fleeting looks, and the former turned his gaze to where Celeborn and Galadriel sat impassively observing the exchange.  Hithílion spoke a sentence in light, rapid Elvish.  His brow was furrowed in consternation.  Celeborn replied in kind, nodding slightly.  Frodo could not understand their speech, but he trusted that the Lord of Lórien was of a gracious mindset toward Gimli; after all, the Dwarf had entered the Golden Wood only with the permission of Celeborn and Galadriel.

            Lelemir listened to the elder Elf's answer, and then her bright gaze swung back round to meet Gimli's.  "Very well then," she said slowly.  "My brother is quick of wit and slow to trust, and he has been raised with the same estimation of Dwarves that I have been taught.  Therefore if he considers you to be a good companion, Gimli, I cannot deem you an enemy.  Neither, however, are you my friend as of yet.  Whether that may be amended remains to be seen."

            Gimli bowed once again.  "I understand, my Lady.  However, it is my hope that I will find means by which I might prove my allegiance to you ere we part ways."

            "There may indeed exist such a method, Master Dwarf," Lelemir said considerately.  She turned her attention to Aragorn.  "Thank you, Aragorn son of Arathorn, for your kind service."

            The Dúnadan bowed, saying only, "You are welcome, Lady Lelemir."

            With that, the introductions were completed.  Aragorn returned to his place, and the food was served.  The hall soon was filled with the sound of conversation.  Frodo watched the relations between Hithílion and Lelemir and Gimli closely, for he was eager to see friendship grow between Legolas' sister and the Dwarf.  It seemed to Frodo, however, that Hithílion was opposed to such a notion.  While Lelemir spoke politely to Gimli, Hithílion refused to look at or speak to the Dwarf.  Gimli, for his part, made no effort to remedy the disregard.

            Frodo sighed to himself and turned his eyes back to his plate.  Perhaps Hithílion was simply too old and too used to distrusting Dwarves to so easily put faith in Gimli.  Discerning the age of an Elf was almost impossible, however, so Frodo had no way of knowing if his guess was correct.  He hoped that Hithílion and Lelemir alike would come to see Gimli's worth, just as Legolas had.     

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            Elsewhere, to the far south of the City where the Lord and Lady dined with their guests, the sentries of Lórien kept their farseeing gazes riveted upon the shimmering figure that waited motionless upon a distant hill.  Mor-celeb, the Silver Rider of grave report and as yet nebulously defined menace, had appeared but moments before.  The creature did not approach any further; nevertheless, the Elves of the watch felt compelled to attend closely to Mor-celeb's presence, for the Golden Wood had long murmured of imminent danger.  

            One of the sentries spoke softly to his fellows in their own tongue.  He would ride swiftly to the great City and warn the Lord and Lady that a creature of disturbing rumor had arrived at the border.  The others agreed, for they were of a sufficient number to tend the border even with the loss of one.  Leaping nimbly astride a horse stationed nearby, the messenger hastened away into the deepening shadows of night. 

Those who remained turned their bright gazes back to their task, and they waited thus for many hours.  Mor-celeb remained where it was for the greater part of the night, unmoving.  The Elves of Lórien concentrated their focus upon the figure, and every now and again they shuddered to themselves with inexplicable chill.  The usual good cheer among the sentries had been replaced by grim foreboding, though they could not discern the cause.  Elves were not a naturally superstitious folk, nor did they fear strange specters as did the Men and Dwarves and Hobbits of Middle-earth.  Yet Mor-celeb disquieted their spirits as few things had the power to do.

The Silver Rider disappeared back over the hill from whence it had come ere the first rays of morning touched the land.  None of those Elves who had witnessed its arrival could say what its purpose had been upon that hill.  Their rare spell of unease lifted with the Rider's departure.  The sentries glanced at each other with curious expressions tainted with concern, but the sounds of quiet song soon filled the trees once again and washed away much of their lingering trepidation.  The Lord and Lady would soon know of the creature lurking at the southern border.

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The night was a time of shadow, when the forces of Mordor were strongest.  Orcs ran free beneath the jet sky; and other creatures, lesser known varieties of Sauron's servants, crept among the still trees and dwellings strewn about the realms of Elves and Men.

No night-shaded creature or structure, however, could rival the oppressive darkness of the Nine, the fell servants of Sauron.  They were without equal in the ranks of the Dark One, for they bore the Nine Rings; those cursed objects which had perverted them and changed them from great leaders of Men into formless specters of Mordor.  They rode midnight steeds, swathed in black robes and gauntlets and boots, carrying out the wishes of their master.  Their voices had been reduced to little more than a scathing hiss, which they exercised only in forming the Black Speech—the tongue given them by Sauron Himself—and also the hideous piercing wails associated with their kind.  Their presence alone inflicted unspeakable terror upon the hearts of those unfortunate enough to attract their attention.   

The Lord of the Nazgûl sat tall upon his mount, clutching the reins with both clawed hands.  He gazed through faintly glowing eyes to the north, toward the wooded sanctuary of Lothlórien.  It was one of the only strongholds that remained completely free of Sauron's influence.  The Nazgûl King knew that the Elves within had only so long to remain so; they would fall, just as all others had and all others would.  Lórien and the hidden valley of Rivendell would fall into darkness, in the same way as had the great forest of Greenwood.  The Dark Lord would emerge victorious at the end.

Now the Nazgûl felt the call of their master.  It sang in each filament of their shapeless bodies, urging them to obey His commands.  The Lord of the Nine lifted his head and looked to the southeast, to the vast plains of Mordor and the Dark Tower of Barad-dûr, where the Sauron's black spirit resided.  Return! came the directive, and the Nazgûl halted where they were, listening solely to the voice of their dark sovereign.  Return, it said again, return to My land.  Return to the Tower.  Return!

            Without a single word of discourse, without even a moment's hesitation, the Nine turned their steeds to the south and raced across the earth with impossible speed.  They gave not a single thought to the Ringbearer, for they knew without a doubt that their master would see to the return of His treasure in His own fashion.  And so they fled from the region, without so much as a whisper to alert those in Lórien as to their departure.

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End of Chapter Seven.  I know, this was kind of a slower chapter, but I had to do some setting up of character relationships and all that!  I PROMISE, the next chapter will quicken up the pace. 

Name Translations: Below is a listing of all the names of my original Elf characters so far (in order of appearance), a short recap of who they are, and what their names mean.  Raen wanted to know. :)

1) Léhulai (Elf of Lórien, took Merry to Lórien ahead of the Company after the hobbit was struck by an Orc-arrow) = this name is a Quenya derivative that contains the word "green," but the actual translation of his name is unclear.  It may be a combination of several familial names.

2) Evanen (Elf of Lórien, greeted and hosted the Company the first night after their retreat into Lórien) = this name is a Sindarin derivative that contains the word "water," but the actual translation of his name is unclear.

3) Lasselanta (name given by Saruman to Legolas Greenleaf when he became a Wraith under Saruman's control) = this name is a Quenya word that means "leaf-fall."  It is also used to describe the fourth season of the Elven nature-calendar.

4) Mor-celeb (name given to Lasselanta by those who spotted him riding in the night on his way to Lórien) = this name is a Sindarin derivative that means "black-silver."  It refers to the way his cloak shimmers in the moon and star light as he rides.

5) Gilharad (Elf of Lórien, leader of the search parties sent out by Galadriel to find evidence as to Legolas' fate) = this name is a Sindarin derivative that means "south-star."

6) Hithílion (Elf of Mirkwood, advisor to Thranduil who accompanied the search parties sent out by King Thranduil to help find Legolas) = this name is a Sindarin derivative that means "moon-mist."  It was probably originally spelled "Hithílien," but his family may have altered the spelling slightly for creativity's sake.

7) Lelemir (Elf of Mirkwood, daughter to Thranduil and sister to Legolas; she accompanied the search parties sent out by her father to find Legolas) = this name is a Quenya derivative that contains the word "jewel," but the full translation of her name is unclear.

Review, please!