A/N: Hi. Sorry it took so long to update and all of that. It's just been really hectic, and the lack of reviews is depressing. Anyway, here's the next chapter, and another one should follow pretty soon, as I'm already halfway through with it. If you want more, please review!
Disclaimer: I can dream.
Chapter Five- Revelations and Despair
"Hir nìn, the scouts have returned. They have seen an encampment over the next ridge, of what appears to be the delegation from Lothlorien." There was no flicker of acknowledgement within the depths of the midnight-black eyes. Glorfindel hesitated, staring intently at his silent lord, before continuing. "There is something wrong, hir nìn. Nothing stirs in camp, and we could discern no sentry."
Silence reigned for a few moments after this revelation. The younger Noldo gazed unseeing into the distance, a hand upon the hilt of his sword, as if he could will his loved ones back by force of thought alone. It had been a month since they had disappeared, leaving behind the empty husk which had once housed the spirit of a noble Elf-Lord. It had fled with them, all strength and power poured into this one task. Imladris had turned out in support, enraged at the audacity of anyone to harm their beloved ruling family. The loss of any Eldar was difficult to bear, yet the loss of such young lives was a tragedy indeed. Patrols had scoured the Misty Mountains, even going beyond the boundaries of Greenwood in their quest. No aid came from their Silvan kin. But they could feel resentful, bitter eyes bore through them, as cruel as orken daggers, as they traveled along the edge of the vast forest. Not even their kith from the Grey Havens or Lothlorien to the east had joined the search for the missing family, for no response came to the messengers that Elrond had sent in a last desperate attempt.
There was nothing to show for it, though. Not a trace had been left for supposition to their whereabouts. Elrond was sinking farther into despair, fading from the light as his hope grew dimmer with each passing day. He was unable to see them. For all of the occurrences of the world he knew of beforehand, for all of the power wielded by himself, he could not see those he cherished most. And so he sank farther into the pits of despair.
His people were growing desperate. Already they had lost their lady, heavy with child, and her twin sons. Would they soon lose their lord as well?
"Hir nìn? Elrond?" Glorfindel's gentle yet commanding voice penetrated the dark Elf's thoughts. No, he could not think. There was too much pain, hidden beneath the façade of carved marble. It would overwhelm him if he allowed himself to dwell upon the tragedy that had befallen him. His soul was lost, but he would not allow his fea to pass into the Halls of Mandos until he knew the final fate of his loved ones.
When he at last spoke, it was devoid of emotion, as flat and featureless as a smooth plane of water. "We proceed with all due caution. I want the camp approached from all sides until the threat is determined." With the sparse commands of his lord ringing through his ears, Glorfindel led the patrol of Imladris Elves forth.
It was as if they had never been there, camped beneath the ironic benediction of the heavens.
No movement stirred the area about the position around which the dark-haired Noldor were silently congregating. Indeed, the motionless bodies belonged to their kin of the Goldenwood, for even then could they determine familiar features amidst the deathlike trances of the golden Elves. Tension so palpable it could be sliced through with a sharpened sword emanated from the approaching group, fear that they had arrived too late to be of aid.
"Unfortunate is our time of meeting, Elrond of Imladris. Shadow dims your light. A great tragedy has befallen you as well, yet what it is has been hidden from my sight." The voice of Galadriel rang soft and true amidst the silence of the glade. The party of warriors bowed in deference to the ancient lady, whose memory went beyond that of any here to the Exile of the Noldor and the Kinslaying. She stepped forward with outspread hands, golden in her radiance, yet a radiance that was dimmed. Sorrow lined her unsurpassed features, darkening its ethereal beauty. "What is it that troubles you, husband of my daughter?"
Elrond moved forth, taking one of the Lady's slender hands to place a chaste kiss upon it. "I should ask that of you, my lady. For why does your escort lie as if dead?"
Galadriel turned and pressed her slender palm to her face, as if to banish the occurrences of the past fortnight. The gesture was unexpected for the normal poise and stoic calm of the lady, leaving a feeling of incomprehensible dread over the assembly.
"My lady?" The Noldo lord's voice was gentle, recognizing the same grief that had plagued him for over a moon.
"My visions had plagued me that night. Celeborn came to find me, knowing I had seen what was to be. Yet we arrived back too late. They had struck without warning, covering all in an impenetrable darkness. They took…" Her voice faltered, mingling with unquenchable rage and sorrow. "They took nìn naur. They took my Lìranar where we could not follow, for there were no tracks." The tears flowed unchecked upon the Lady's moon pale face. The Lord of Imladris was moved to her plight, for he bore only additional heartache to place on her already burdened soul. (my flame)
"And what of your escort, my lady? Have they been like this since that night?"
"Yes," she whispered. "They have moved naught, neither fading nor living. It is as if they are caught between the darkness and the light." He heard her in his mind, barely grasping the whispered words. Even Nenya and the power of the Eldar could not dispel the shadows. But perhaps two may work where one cannot. Her blue gaze pierced him, boring through with a soul-searing intensity. He opened himself to her, allowing her to see the events that had transpired over the past moon.
Those blue eyes, once alight with fire, became iced over as frost upon water, cold and unrelenting. He felt her withdraw, the chill lifting from him to leave him devoid of all warmth or comfort.
"Glorfindel," she said, with the icy breath of winter, "Set a perimeter around the glade. Lord Celeborn should be back soon. Elrond and I are not to be disturbed." With that, she turned and disappeared into the surrounding wood, a creature of golden flame and overpowering cold, the Lord of Imladris a brooding shadow accompanying her.
My lady, do you know what that shadow was? For it took both Nenya and Vilya to break its hold. Elrond stared pensively into the dancing flames of the fire.
Nay. Even in all of my years, I have seen naught like this. Able to lay a hold of twenty Eldar and keep two of the most powerful of the Elven race at bay. The heat of the flames could not affect the wall forged by the Ice Queen.
Night had fallen, casting its dark pall about the encampment. Lord Celeborn had returned, but from where he did not say. Yet even in his grief, the Silver Lord was far more approachable than the Golden Lady, whose wrath was barely contained. It was hours after his arrival, when dusk had already settled, that the invalid warriors of Lorien had awoken from their trance between life and death. They could not tell of what had happened, nor where Lìranar had been taken. The added news of the disappearances of the Lady Celebrìan and her children had only served to anger the wearied Eldar further, for they had all taken upon themselves for the loss of their Lord and Lady's youngest. Now, it seemed, hope was fast flying out the door, for such attacks could not be without purpose.
Elrond's dark eyes reflected the flickering light. I fear that only ill will come of this. Galadriel could sense his underlying thoughts. He had given up hope, for he could no longer sense his wife's vibrant fea. He believed them dead.
A cry from the Elves on watch startled all in the glade. The warriors of both Lothlorien and Imladris reached for readily available weapons as the tension grew even more palpable. Celeborn gave his wife a short nod before striding to join Glorfindel where the cry had come from, his moon-pale silver hair shining with radiant luminescence. They waited, swords drawn and bows nocked, as silent and still as mountains hidden by fog.
An orc was thrown into the glade, the hideous beast snarling at its treatment. Celeborn followed, his fair face dark with such wrath that few had ever seen before. Much did it take to anger the Silver Lord. Power, ancient as Arda itself, radiated from the noble Sinda, and none had doubt that if he chose, the glade could be laid to waste.
He unsheathed his sword, glimmering as brightly as his hair, the brilliant steel crying for orc blood as redemption as he placed it none too gently at the throat of the beast.
"Give them the message."
The orc hacked and shifted, attempting to remove its neck from the line of the Lord's ire as chill silver eyes bore into it with a vengeance. It bared yellowed fangs, spitting in contempt and with more than a little fear at the overwhelming presence of the ancient Elf-Lord.
"My master sends his greetings," it said, its hoarse voice filled with malicious laughter. "To the Lords of the accursed Elf-Homes. He bids me tell you that you are to hand over to him your realms and leave forever, or your little brats of spawn pay the price." He gnashed his teeth happily at the prospect as the anger of those about him swelled. "If you don't meet with his demands by the end of ten days, he will kill them all!"
Glorfindel stepped forth, deadly in his quietness. "And where is the proof of your claims."
The orc grinned once again, its dark gaze full of morbid delight as it tossed a bundle at Galadriel's feet. She reached for it, unhesitant though it was with certainty that it contained the fate of her loved ones. Its contents tumbled gently into the palm of her hand.
Strands of gold, silver, and ebony were intertwined; locks of hair as vibrant as those of their parents. Her hands trembled. With rage, with despair, with anguish and utter despondency, she stared. Celebrian's sun bright threads, as bright as Galadriel's own. The rich darkness of the twins' hair, mimicking their adar's Noldor coloring. Liranar's gilt silver strands, the same shade that had first attracted her naneth to Celeborn.
A swish and a thud echoed throughout the silent glade, as silver steel gave speed to the tormented being's final journey. Yet only the stars bore witness to the rage of the Eldar that night.
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