Chapter Ten – A Time to Heal
The soft rain fell lightly on her upturned face, washing away the signs of the tears as Laurè sobbed once more for a love she would never know again. Aldamar had been her light, the driving force behind her continued living, and when he had died, all the despair she had felt before mingled with the biting grief at his loss, driving her to the depths of her soul as she fought to carry on as he had asked her to.
She had left her children that same day, unable to face his funeral, knowing if she stayed, she would spend years putting off her departure just one more day. Galadriel had heard the echo in her heart from miles away, had known the pain almost as if she was living it too. She had drawn Laurè back to Lothlórien, back to the home of her people, where she was enfolded into the collective arms of the Galadhrim with love and understanding. She had discovered friends she had never realised she had, tidings coming from across Middle-earth from those she had known in the years she had lived. These friends went out of their way to fill her days, to keep her from falling into the grief that still hovered on the edge of her existence more than two thousand years later.
She could so easily have slipped into despair and death, if it hadn't been for the determined way Galadriel had pushed at her to stay focused on living her life. And of course, the last promise she made to Aldamar was to keep going, not to give in, and she was not about to break the last promise she made to him. So she had kept going, walking the darkest paths of her soul to come out the other end. She had thrown herself into life, wandering the roads of Middle-earth to keep on top of the bloodlines that would soon culminate in the people she had been waiting for for thousands of years. But even so, it had been a long time before she could smile again.
The One Ring lay quiet for three and a half thousand years, never troubling them with any rumour pertaining to it's whereabouts, until the well-remembered meeting of the Elven Council, where the rulers of all the Elven kingdoms in Middle-earth came to Lothlórien to share news with one another …
Laurè stood with Galadriel at the edge of the Council Clearing, watching the various rulers of the Elven realms mingling with one another, each reassuringly comfortable with each other. She had already spoken with Cìrdan and Elrond, and had exchanged pleasantries with the others. Gandalf was watching them gather together, leaning comfortably on his staff as he waited for them to begin. They were only waiting for the Mirkwood king and his son to make an appearance before the Council meeting could commence. Laurè, in particular, was looking forward to seeing Thranduil again, and meeting his son for the second time. At least this time around, the young prince would be capable of speaking and walking upright.
They entered the clearing oddly quietly, Thranduil looking old and weary as he nodded to those who noticed him. The young prince, Legolas, walked equally quietly, though it seemed more through nervousness than tiredness. Laurè fairly ran to greet her old friend, hugging him close in friendly delight at seeing him again.
'Laurè, you old rogue, it's good to see you again,' he laughed, patting her back companionably. 'Still stage-managing the world, I see.'
She smiled self-deprecatingly.
'Well, it keeps me busy,' she smiled, including his son in the smile. 'And I see you've had your hands full.'
Legolas bowed solemnly to her, and jumped as she embraced him warmly.
'It's good to see you, too, your highness,' she greeted him, pulling back to hide a laugh at his startled expression. 'The last time I saw you, you were just a tiny baby.'
His blush was endearing, deepening as Galadriel came to join them. He almost fell into a low bow to the Lady of the Golden Wood, who shared a grin with Laurè before pulling him upright to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek.
'Mae govannen, Legolas,' she welcomed him, turning to his father with a slightly colder smile. 'Thranduil.'
The king of Mirkwood nodded to her perfunctorily.
'Lady,' he said, his tone proper but barely warm.
For some reason, the two had never taken to one another, but at least they spoke to one another. Celeborn wouldn't even look at Thranduil, let alone spend any amount of time alone with him without insulting him. They didn't agree with the way he ran his kingdom, despite the shadow that fell perpetually over what once was the Greenwood.
With everyone gathered, the Council was brought into order, the various dignitaries taking their seats as all eyes turned to Galadriel, who remained standing, her eyes distant. Laurè smiled faintly to herself, inordinately proud of her friend as she watched Galadriel cast her spell over the rulers of the Elven realms. She watched as she drew her mantle about her, seeming to stand taller beneath the boughs of her beloved mallorn trees. In all their years together, through the hardships and joys, she had never seen her friend look more at home in this world, and she knew why. Here, in Lothlórien, the kingdom she had founded, she was legend and myth, and stunning reality. Her rule was just and kind, and her people loved her, and races across Middle-earth revered her from afar. Her smile had the power to raise a person's spirits into the realms of the Valar, a softly-spoken reprimand could do more than a long loud lecture, and her rarely shown affection could plant hope where hope once was lost. Here, in this place that was hers and hers alone, she was a part of the world around her, ageless beauty and youth that would outlast the civilisations that inhabited the lands.
When she spoke, it seemed that she spoke with the voice of the trees around her, soft and gentle, yet filled with the wisdom of the ages that had passed and the promise of the ages to come.
'The world is changed,' she said, each person feeling that she spoke to them alone. 'I feel it in the water … I feel it in the earth …'
Her gaze passed over each one who watched her, pausing for the slightest of moments on Laurè's eyes, just long enough to acknowledge the imperceptibly encouraging nod before she continued.
'I smell it in the air,' she paused, taking her place before her chair, letting her words sink into the consciousness around her. 'Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it.'
She paused again, watching her words make an impact on the hearts and minds gathered around her.
'We are fast approaching a time when the future of all Middle-earth will lie in jeopardy,' she told them, her voice grave. 'Some of us will not be there to see it. The light of the Elves has begun to fade … we must begin to make plans to leave these shores.'
Elrond rose, nodding to his mother-in-law as she took her seat.
'The time has come for us to withdraw from the world,' he said sternly, proving to all and sundry that his was the voice, next to Galadriel's, that commanded the most authority among them. 'We must call our people back to our borders, save those few whose wanderings are necessary.'
At this, his eyes should have fallen on Laurè, sat comfortably between Gandalf and Thranduil, but it was testament to his confidence that he did not even glance in her direction. Instead, his gaze fell on Cìrdan, who squirmed under his scrutiny. Laurè suppressed a smile. She was the one responsible for Cìrdan's scouts becoming common knowledge in the Golden Wood, having run across several of them over the past years in her search for what had now become the creature Gollum.
'I propose that no more than two from each realm, chosen for their skill at tracking, warfare and diplomacy, remain abroad to keep abreast of events as they unfold,' Elrond suggested, though his tone was more commanding than suggestive. 'My sons, Elrohir and Elladan, will be Rivendell's eyes during this time.'
Laurè caught Galadriel's eye and nodded, rising briefly to address the company around her.
'I have chosen to be Lothlórien's eyes and ears,' she told them. 'I am not suited to life within borders, even ones so beautiful as those of Galadriel's realm.'
Her impish smile was echoed by those sat around, since they all knew she had not remained in one place for more than a few years since her time as a wife and mother.
'As the only one among us with the experience to know exactly what we are looking for, may I put the Lady Laurè forward as the leader of these unofficial scouts?' Thranduil said quietly, and Laurè felt her heart sink as the collected rulers all agreed with him.
Galadriel was having difficulty hiding a smile at the look on her face; no doubt Laurè's gentle smile had become a pained grimace at the thought of being directly responsible for others for the next two hundred or so years. She had studiously managed to avoid all positions of authority for thousands of years, and now one of her oldest friends was forcing one on her, knowing full well how much she would resent it. Oh, she couldn't deny that she was the best qualified for such a position, but the last thing she wanted was to be worrying about even more people. She had her head full worrying about those that hadn't yet been born, let alone those who should know how to look after themselves, but who would, without question, come to her before doing anything, despite knowing what to do for themselves.
'Thank you so much for that, Thran,' she muttered, her lips barely moving.
The king of Mirkwood didn't even try to hide his smile.
'It's about time you did things with others,' he murmured, nodding his assent to his own idea as the proposition was put to vote. 'Stop hiding yourself away from us, Laurè. We need you almost as much as we need Galadriel.'
Laurè rolled her eyes, stifling a laugh as Galadriel spoke in her mind, proving herself to have been eavesdropping.
'If only he knew the truth, hmmm?'
Laurè shot her own thought back at her friend.
'Hurry them up, would you? I don't want to end up being granted a kingdom of my own, thank you very much.'
'But you'd be so good at it –'
'Don't push it, Ri.'
Galadriel sent her a significant look across the circle, but rose obediently, and began to call attention back to herself.
'We have other matters to attend to,' she told them. 'Laurè has news that may alarm some of you greatly.'
She nodded to Laurè, taking her seat once more as her friend rose, surveying the gathered dignitaries with more than a little trepidation. Her news would more than alarm them.
'The One Ring has come to light once more,' she said bluntly, ignoring the sudden shouts of dismay that rang across the clearing. 'We have been aware for some time that it was not as lost as people would like to think. There is no need to be alarmed, for the hands it has fallen into are led by a small and petty mind, one that is not capable of looking after himself, let alone lead armies against us.'
She didn't need to see Gandalf to know that he had frowned and passed his hand across his forehead. She stifled her smile at his very predictable reaction, seeing a similar smile suppressed by those who knew him.
'I was sent in search of the One Ring some two hundred or so years back,' she continued. 'I followed the echoes we have all felt, but it took me years to find where it lay. When I reached the riverbank where it must have lain in secret and silence for thousands of years, I found I was already too late. There is a village of Stoors there, small river folk who look no further than what the river can give them, and led by a matriarch far more fearsome than our own Galadriel in her own way.'
She paused, remembering with guilt what she had found there.
'There was a body …' she managed, swallowing against the grief at such a young life cut short. 'A young Stoor lad, strangled and hidden in the weeds, and rumours of mischief at the hands of another young lad. There were tales of invisible hands stealing what wasn't theirs, and knowledge being shared where it could never have been heard. When I reached the village, I was obliged to hide myself. There was some commotion outside the main burrow, and when I drew closer, I discovered that one of the young grandsons was being run off as the cause of all the evil happenings in the village. His name was Smeagol, and he spent a great deal of time muttering about his 'birthday present'. I have since come to know that this birthday present is the One Ring, and he murdered his cousin, Deagol, when they quarrelled over it. Deagol was the boy I found dead by the river.'
She stopped, fighting to push the conflicting emotions back in her heart. She could feel Celeborn's eyes on her, and not wishing to see the concern reflected in them, looked away, at the faces of the others, all of whom were watching her, eager to hear what else she had to tell them. Galadriel's familiar touch enveloped her mind, drawing away all the guilt and anger and pain at what she had seen until there were only the memories. She lifted her eyes to her friend, ever grateful as the wealth of emotion she had been feeling looked back at her from Galadriel's eyes. She looked up, centred once more, and continued with her narration.
'After that, I lost the trail for a long time, but I finally found him again a little over fifty years later,' she told them. 'He is … changed. All I can think of is that the Ring is somehow extending his life, but at a great cost. He is no longer recognisable as the Stoor boy who was run out of his home two hundred years ago. He is a balding, slimy creature, with huge eyes that glow green in a certain light. He is more at home in water than on land; he hunts the unwary goblins that share his home in the caves under the Misty Mountains. The One Ring is slowly consuming him. He hates it, and loves it, as he hates and loves himself. He no longer thinks of anything but the Ring and his own survival. Nothing can be done to save him now; if he gives up the Ring, his advanced years will kill him, but I do not think he would give it up. It has chosen him for a reason, and until it suits it, he will carry the Bane of Middle-earth no matter what befalls him.'
She watched this sink in as she took her seat once more, her part in the day's proceedings over, and tuned out, letting the following debate wash over her like so much fresh rainwater. She knew how this would go; she and Galadriel had carefully worked out how they would steer their companions towards the result they needed from this meeting, namely that nothing would be done about Gollum, or the One Ring, and that Laurè would be solely responsible for keeping track of his whereabouts. They had already arranged that Gandalf would enter the lair of the Necromancer in search of Thrain, the Dwarven king who had gone missing some years previously, and who had in his possession the key to the halls under the Lonely Mountain.
Everything was set up for the years to come, but all Laurè could think about was time. Where had all their time gone? It seemed only yesterday that they had had thousands of years in which to plan and prepare for the years that were even now creeping up on them, and now they had no time left to them. Events were falling into place all around them, and she had no time left. There was a momentum in this that she had never predicted would be there, and she was as caught up in it as all the people she was trying to save. She sighed, catching Galadriel's eye across the clearing, and knew that her friend was thinking exactly the same thing. Where had all the time gone?
In the pre-dawn twilight, Laurè smiled bitterly to herself. It was a good question, she thought, feeling once more those precious months slipping through her fingers. She had no more control over what was coming; she would have to stand by and wait, and watch as thousands died to preserve what she had spent her life protecting.
She had spent the next two hundred years directing her little troupe of scouts, sending them to all the corners of Middle-earth to keep her informed of the bloodlines that were coming through. Only a close few were told why these bloodlines were so important; not Legolas, certainly, but Elladan and his brother were told enough that they kept a close eye on the Dunédain and the young family of Arathorn, heir of Isildur. When he was killed, the brothers took his wife and infant son to Imladris, to their father, where the boy, Aragorn, was raised by the stern Half-Elven Lord, and trained in the ways of his people. Others she sent into the world of Men, to tell her of the worrying developments in the kingdoms of Gondor and Rohan. In such a way, she was aware of Wormtongue long before he was bought by Saruman, and knew of Denethor and his sons from afar.
She herself spent a long time wandering from place to place, personally checking on the Hobbits and Dwarves. When Gandalf took Bilbo off to join the quest to retake the Lonely Mountain, she had met the young Hobbit in Elrond's house as they passed through, and had found herself quietly impressed with the strength of will hiding inside the coward's exterior he showed to the world. But she was also there when he passed through again, on his way home, and had been greatly saddened to see the mark of the Ring upon the little man. Elrond had tried to comfort her in the hours following their departure, but there was only one person who had any hope of comforting her, and she was many miles away in her own kingdom.
The years passed quickly, every one of them on the alert for the event that would send them all cascading into chaos. Then she received a message from Gandalf that sent her on a wild trek into the lands of the North, in search of one who had to be in place at the sign of the Prancing Pony …
The rain swept around her, soaking her to the bone as she fought through the wilds. She knew they were watching her, she could feel their eyes on her as she battled through the elements. It was only a matter of time before they challenged her, out here in the wildest part of their world. The Dunédain were known as the greatest skilled Men at tracking and hunting, living the ways of the wild, and Laurè was well aware of their reputation, just as she was well aware of the eyes on her. She was being hunted, and she didn't like it much.
Eventually, she grew tired of it, and stopped, slapping wet hands to her sides and ignoring the splash that they made against her leggings. She stared around her at the brush and rock, her expression decidedly unpleasant.
'I know you're there,' she said, knowing they would hear her. 'Come out, and show yourselves.'
She didn't have long to wait. As she waited there, in the pouring rain, the very landscape itself began to sprout cloaked and hooded figures, all very obviously armed, and all very wary of her, a lone Elf walking openly where none had been seen in many years. Moving slowly, her movements gentle, she lifted her cloak away from Angùrei, unbuckling her sword belt and letting it fall to the sodden earth by her feet, as well as divesting herself of the various daggers and dirks hidden about her person. They watched her, two coming forward to collect her weapons as she stepped away from them.
'I seek the heir of Isildur,' she told them, casting her eye warily from face to face. 'I am Laurè, of Lothlórien, and I am sent by Gandalf the Grey to ask a boon of him.'
A tall dark man stepped forward, bowing slightly to her.
'Well met, Laurè of Lothlórien,' he welcomed her. 'Even here, we have heard of you. The man you seek has gone from these lands. He is in the resting place of his mother, and the home of your kinsman, Elrond Half-Elven.'
Laurè just about managed to stifle a curse.
'You mean I've been wandering around here in search of someone who arrived at my resting place shortly after I left?' she asked harshly, ignoring the look of faint amusement on the speaker's face. 'Well then, I thank you for your time. May I retrieve my weapons and make my way from your lands?'
He bowed to her, nodding to his companions.
'We will accompany you the shortest way, my lady,' he offered, gesturing for her to walk with him, as he brushed past.
The Dunédain escorted her through the harshest corners of their land, through marsh and plain and high rocky mountains, until at last she looked upon the Last Homely House with tired eyes, and a spirit all but beaten by the wilds she had walked. But as she descended into the lands of her people, her spirit lifted and her step lightened. She turned to thank her guides, but they were gone, melted away into the darkness and shadows of the mountain. A shout from the hall below her drew her eyes back to the steps, where a familiar dark haired figure was waving excitedly at the sight of her.
Arwen threw herself into her arms, laughing for joy at seeing her grandmother's old friend safe once again. Laurè held her gently, her heart aching for the sorrow this bright vibrant spirit would suffer in the years to come, when her man aged and died, and left her to endure the years she had left without the comfort of his presence. She knew all too well what awaited Elrond's daughter, and longed to spare her the hurt that was coming, but she knew also that it must be.
'I sent word after you, lady,' the dark haired she-elf told her, drawing her towards the gardens. 'He arrived a day after you left, and it has taken all my power of persuasion to convince him not to go looking for you, for I knew he would miss you as you missed him.'
She looked into Laurè's eyes, seeing the urgency within them.
'I see by your face this news you carry is important,' she murmured. 'It is time then?'
Laurè nodded reluctantly, gripping the young elf's shoulders in sympathy.
'It has begun,' she told her gently. 'I must speak with him.'
Arwen's face fell, and Laurè knew she could feel the miles stretching out ahead of her love, and the danger held within them. She knew also that representatives of the Races had begun to arrive at Elrond's house in preparation of the Council that had been called some months earlier. But for that Council to go ahead, she had to get certain people here, and to do that, she had to find their guide. Arwen sighed softly, shaking her head to clear the dark vision filling her mind.
'He is at his mother's graveside,' she told her. 'He will be pleased to see you.'
Laurè nodded, squeezing Arwen's shoulders one more time before striding in search of the one she had come for. She found him, as Arwen had said, kneeling before the grave of his mother, Gilraen. His weapons lay beside him, and he was dressed for travel. Undoubtedly Elrond had told him she was coming for him. She made no attempt to conceal her approach, not wishing to interrupt so intimate a moment between himself and his mother's memory. But he heard her, and rose to greet her, a grim smile on his weather-beaten face. She knelt, inclining her head to him as she rose to her feet once more.
'I greet you, Aragorn, son of Arathorn and Gilraen,' she said softly, adding gently, 'heir of Isildur, and heir of Gondor.'
He shook his head, giving her a look she had come to know very well in the years she had known him. It was a look that told her he was no nearer to accepting his fate than his father had been, or his father before him. He did not believe that in the weakness of his blood there lay his strength, nor would he, until that strength was put to the test.
'And I, you, lady,' he replied, gathering his weapons. 'What would you have me do?'
Despite herself, Laurè smiled at his willingness to serve her, even without knowing what it was she would ask of him.
'It is not just I who ask it of you,' she warned him. 'A dear friend to both of us, who even now stands in peril, has sent word to me that he cannot complete the task that was given to him.'
Aragorn frowned.
'Gandalf is in danger?' he asked, stepping forward in concern.
'There is nothing we can do to help him,' she told him, raising a hand to prevent his protest. 'He will join us here, I promise you. But you must collect those who wait for him at the sign of the Prancing Pony in Bree. They will need safe guidance here, to Elrond's house.'
'What is so special about these few?' he asked, and Laurè knew she would have to tell him what she could.
'They are Hobbits, four of them, led by one who will go by the name of Underhill,' she said. 'His true name is Frodo Baggins – yes, he is Bilbo's nephew – and he carries the Bane of Middle-earth. He carries the One Ring, Estel. He will need all the help you can give him.'
Aragorn nodded slowly, buckling his belt securely.
'Then I will go to them,' he said softly. 'I will being them safely here.'
She watched him walk past, already certain of his task.
'I will have Glorfindel watch for you,' she called after him. 'The Nine will hunt you.'
He did not glance back.
'I do not fear them,' he answered, 'only the fate they will bring to those who were once my people.'
Laurè watched him go with a heavy heart, knowing that if he set a foot wrong, she had sent him to his doom.