Chapter Thirty-Two: The Beginning of the End…
That morning Mélanyë woke up late. After having some breakfast she decided to go to her bakery, in an attempt to go back to her normal life and, perhaps, reclaim some of the happiness she'd had. She was feeling rather restless in the nearly empty city, and hoped that having something to do would relieve some of her nervousness.
Norin she'd learned, had already gone to Valinor while she was away. When Elrond had told this to Mélanyë, she had been upset that she hadn't had the chance to say goodbye to her. Elrond just told her calmly that her time would come soon enough, and that she will see her again. It made her feel somewhat better, but she would still be working alone, something she wasn't used to.
After she finished pouring batter into their pans and putting them in the oven, she turned back to the cutting board. She was slicing apples for a pie, something she hadn't made in so long that it felt as if it was the first time. Suddenly as she picked up her knife, a strange feeling came over her. She began to feel dizzy and looked around the room in confusion. Strange sounds began to float around her, becoming louder until she recognized them as shouts, and the clashing of swords. She looked down at her hands and stared- her knife, still in one of the apples, was stained black. She held it up, staring at the blade in shock as the sounds got louder. Then in front of her she heard another shout, louder than the others.
"What are you doing here?" It was Gandalf, at least, she thought it was. It was his face, but he was clad all in white. She looked around her and saw that she was no longer in her bakery, but in a city of stone, and instead of her kitchen knife, she held a sword. She saw also that, rather than her fair robes she wore layers of armor, black and silver crested with a white tree. She looked back up at Gandalf in confusion, and felt her lips moving, but spoke with someone else's voice.
"They called us out to fight," she said, though she didn't know why. Just as she finished there was a loud crash of stone and many Orcs poured into the city. She wanted to cry out in fear, but no sound came save for a shocked gasp. Gandalf turned and, in a surprising display of power he fought off the Orcs that had begun running towards them. When the last Orc fell he turned back to her.
"This is no place for a hobbit!" he said. "Go back to the Citadel!" Mélanyë, still in shock of her surroundings could not move or speak. When Gandalf turned away to fight again, she dropped her sword, but it did not land on the stone beneath her, but on the smooth tile floor of her bakery. She looked up and saw she was back in Rivendell, and when she picked up her knife from the floor, it was clean again.
Mélanyë bolted from her bakery and down the stairs. Her heart was pounding in her ears and she was soon out of breath, but still she ran. At last she climbed the stairs to the library and rushed in. Elrohir was sitting in his father's chair reading a book and he jolted upright in his seat when she entered.
"Mélanyë! What's wrong?" he exclaimed. "You shouldn't exert yourself in your condition…"
"I had another dream," she interrupted. "At least, I think I did…" She paused then, thinking about what had happened. She then looked up at Elrohir's concerned face and explained. "Every other time I was sleeping when I had them, but this time I was awake! It felt like…well, like I was really there." Elrohir got up and crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his.
"Mélanyë, what happened, what did you see?" His voice held such urgency that it almost frightened her.
"I saw Mithrandir," she began, "but he was different- dressed all in white. We were in a city of stone, being attacked by Orcs!" Elrohir started at this. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently encouraged her to continue. "I saw…I was wearing strange clothes. They were all black, but on my shirt was the emblem of a white tree."
"The Tree of Gondor," he whispered as he stood. "Minas Tirith is under attack." He sighed and sat back on his knees. She waited patiently as he thought, the fear of the vision suddenly leaving her, as if the act of telling someone else had freed her from it. 'I wish I'd known that in Fangorn,' she mused. Elrohir looked back up at her.
"Mélanyë," he said, desperation in his voice, "do you know if this dream has happened, or is happening…or is yet to happen?" He said the last with a little more hope in his voice, but Mélanyë frowned and shook her head.
"I don't know," she said. "Every other dream was about something that was already done…or that was just about to be," she told him. He nodded as deep lines creased his face. He looked back at her.
"You will tell me if you have any more of these dreams?" he said. It sounded like a question but she knew it was not. She nodded and he rose, leaving her in the library by herself.
She turned to look at the towering, seemingly endless rows of shelves filled to almost bursting with books and papers, records of the long years and several lifetimes of Elves. She let her feet take her down one hall, and her hand touch the ancient volumes as she passed them. The shelves towered over her and met the ceiling, and she wondered how one would get something from the very top if it was needed, and who in all of Imladris would know what was up there to want it.
She heard a noise behind her and turned in alarm, seeing an elf behind her , placing several books back on the shelf.
"I'm sorry I didn't mean to startle you," she said. Mélanyë smiled at the woman. She had dark hair that was almost black, but had a reddish tint when the sun hit it through the open window, and her eyes, a light but piercing jade, seemed to read her thoughts almost instantly. She smiled back at the girl and gestured to the books beside her. "Many generations of tales are kept here. Are you looking for something in particular?"
"No," said Mélanyë, shaking her head. "I was just looking and wondering how anyone could read all this." She trailed off as she saw yet more rows of shelves further away from her. The woman chuckled softly.
"If one who lives forever spent all their time reading, they would most likely run out of books," she said. She looked at the girl curiously. "I don't see you here often," she said, "but I have seen you. You are the daughter of Ancalimë, aren't you?"
"I am," she replied.
"My name is Hyarwen, I am the keeper of tales and lore here in Imladris." She guided the girl over to an alcove among the tall stacks of books where several chairs and tables had been set, for those wishing to study or simply read in silence. "I've heard some tales about you, Mélanyë," she began after they sat. "They say you ran away in search of your love." She peered at the young elf in front of her, who had lowered her head as she spoke. "They say you sacrificed a lot for him."
"He sacrificed himself for me," the girl whispered. "He died defending me. I don't think my heart will ever stop hurting because of it." Hyarwen sat back in her chair before answering.
"I happen to know that Lindir would have willingly died for you at any time. He loved you with all of his being." She looked up at her then, wondering how she knew this. Lindir had never spoken of her and, as she had rarely spent time in the grand library, she hadn't met her before either. However, the longer she looked on this woman, the more she began to understand that she was one who knew things without being told. She could most certainly have overheard many things from others in search of books, but Mélanyë guessed that it was more a matter of her looking upon another and instantly knowing what they were thinking.
"And I loved him," she whispered to herself. She looked down as her hand unconsciously rested on her gradually growing stomach. Hyarwen tipped her head at the girl and smiled.
"Now you have someone else to love," she said in a kind, encouraging voice. Mélanyë looked up and felt herself caught in a long searching gaze. The elf's eyes were mesmerizing and she felt that she could not look away. Finally Hyarwen broke eye contact with a flutter of lashes and sat back in her chair. "You have grown much in a short time," she said, as if speaking a prophecy, "but there is still much for you to do." She stood and took Mélanyë's hand, gently lifting her from the chair. "You have a lot more growing up to do, little one, and it has to happen fast if you are to be prepared for what awaits you." She bowed low to the girl and smiled. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have books to put away."
Mélanyë stayed where she was for several minutes thinking over those words. She took a deep breath, knowing that she had been right. She felt it in her heart; some trial was coming worse than the pain of bearing a child. It was a feeling in the very depths of her stomach, nagging in the back of her mind.
Shaking her head, she began to head for the door, back to her bakery. She was so lost in thought that when the door burst open in front of her she nearly screamed. Elrond was there, just returned from his long ride from the very eaves of the Dimholt. Still dirty and weary from his journey, dressed in his travelling clothes, Elrond had not cared to clean up after Elrohir had told him of her recent vision. He'd immediately rushed through the house, searching for the girl, needing to speak to her himself. When he saw her there before him he knelt, taking her shoulders in his strong hands.
"You have seen the truth," he told her cryptically. "You must come with me, now." Standing, he led the bewildered girl out of the room.