Title: Silver Shadows

Author: Forest

Pairings: Orophin/OFC, Galadriel/OMC

Rating: PG13

Genre: Angst / Drama

WARNING: Violence, Character deaths

Beta: Shelly

Cast: Haldir, Orophin, Rúmil, Celeborn, Galadriel, Erestor, Elrond, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, OCs

Disclaimer: I own no-one from The Lord Of The Rings. All the characters and place names displayed belong to JRR Tolkien except Saeden, Galaril and Tarwë who are from my own imagination and therefore are the only ones I lay claim to. I do not intend to, nor am I making any financial gain from the writing of this story.

Feedback: Yes please! We aspiring authors thrive on the stuff.

Timeline: AU (to allow for some leeway as regards the practises and ceremonies etc of the elves.)

Summary: (Loosley based on the story of "Hamlet".) When a tragedy befalls the elves of Lorien, there seems to be little hope for a full recovery. However, through a dramatic chain of events, Rúmil finds himself in an unthinkable situation which forces him to become torn between his oath of wreaking revenge and his deep reluctance to spill elven blood.

Chapter 2

The following morning after the wardens' return from the borders, Saeden made his way up to the Lord and Lady's talan to report on all that had happened … or rather, all that had not happened. Upon reaching the required door he knocked lightly, waited and was a little surprised that no one answered his request for entry. Still, it was early afterall. Deciding he would knock once more and then, if no one answered again, he would leave it and return later in the morning, Saeden raised his had. However, his fist barely got within an inch of the wood before he realised something.

The door was unlocked and standing ajar.

How odd.

Under normal circumstances, Saeden would have considered it presumptuous and ride to enter the Lord and Lady's talan without expressed permission. Nevertheless, he argued with himself and finally came to the conclusion that these circumstances were not normal in the slightest.

After pushing the door open fully, the young ellon stepped cautiously inside and glanced around. A fire was crackling merrily in the grate, expelling a delicious warmth that enveloped him and drew him inside away from the chill of the morning air. From what he could tell, there was no one in the bedchambers, and though he couldn't be completely certain, he was not about to invade their privacy further by entering there.

Finally, after much investigation of the other few rooms, Saeden pushed open the one remaining door that led to the small study and gasped in relief. At the desk by the window sat Lord Celeborn, bending over a scroll and apparently deep at work.

'I apologise, my lord,' said Saeden quickly, 'I did knock but there was no answer so I had to come in. Anyway, I just came to give these to you.'

After moving a book and goblet out of the way, Saeden placed the bundle of papers on the desk and then turned to leave. As he did so; he noticed the elven lord had not made a single move toward the papers – infact he had made no sound or movement whatsoever.

'My lord?'

Saeden looked questioningly at the silent figure and spoke a little louder; entertaining the possibility he could have fallen asleep at his work.

Still no response.

A little confused and quite disconcerted, Saeden reached out with a trembling hand and shook Celeborn's shoulder gently in an attempt to rouse him. Upon the fourth shake, Celeborn's head slipped from the scroll end and onto the desk surface.

It was then that Saeden saw Celeborn's face.

It was ashen grey in complexion, his lips white as the purest ivory and parted slightly as though in surprise. His eyes were half open and the light that once shone from their depths was now utterly extinguished and they lay dull, empty and staring.

Lightly, as dread gripped his heart, Saeden reached out a solitary finger, brushed the elven lord's cheek and found it was icy cold and rigid. As though someone had pressed a burning hot poker to his skin, Saeden gave a yelp and stumbled backwards, his hand flying to his mouth in the utmost horror.

In that single moment, the young warden felt his blood freeze over in his veins as he stood rooted to the spot, too terrified to move. His eyes roamed disbelieving over the appalling scene before him and he shook his head slowly, willing himself to awaken from this nightmare.

He knew he could not stay here.

Galadriel. Where was she? Why wasn't she here? Why had this happened now? Why did he have to have been the one to find him? Why not someone…anyone else? He knew Celeborn had not been well these past few days – but, Oh Eru! What now?

As all these thoughts and many more of a similar lily assaulted his mind, Saeden suddenly found himself bolting to the door and flinging it open before rushing down the stairway outside, leaving fallen chairs and scattered papers in his wake. The world span about him. A whirl of blinding colour and incoherent, deafening sounds. His feet pounded oddly heavily as he ran, stumbling and tripping more often than running straight. But he did not care. Only one thing remained clear in his mind and that was to find Galadriel, wherever she may be.

All the ellyn and ellith he passed turned in surprise and frank curiosity at his uneven and most unelflike style of running. Blinded by the onslaught of images of Celeborn's lifeless face and the mere thought of what Galadriel would do when he told her, made Saeden several times almost crash into a tree. Those onlooking would have found this comical had his expression not been so stricken.

After what seemed like a life age, Saeden found Galadriel walking, accompanied by two hand maidens….and….laughing? His stomach plummeted into the very heels of his boots. She looked so carefree and happy. Oh, by the Valar. Saeden hated himself completely at that moment and wished with all his heart it was not solely dependant upon him to deliver the horrible news.

'My lady!' he cried out, running forward, all manners and formality long forgotten.

Upon noting his anguished face, Galadriel's straightened into one of deep concern and worry.

'Saeden?' she said questioningly, nodding quickly in greeting. 'Whatever is the matter?'

'My lady' Saeden repeated, swallowing hard, feeling utterly frantic, 'it's … it's … your husband … he …'

Breaking upon the poor elf like an immense and unexpected wave, he fell forward and threw up, the pounding in his aching head intensifying as one of the hand maidens caught him before he struck the floor. Shivering and gritting his teeth, he looked up and felt desperately hopeless as her clear eyes gazed resolutely into his own as though begging, pleading for him to continue.

'What has happened?' she pressed, laying a hand firmly but kindly on Saeden's shoulder.

The benevolence Saeden heard in her voice at the moment caused hot tears to finally make their appearance. 'He's … he's … dead!' the panicked elf managed to choke out before collapsing into the elleth's arms, sobbing openly.

Galadriel meanwhile simply stared into the distance, her expression stoic, unreadable. Then, she rose without betraying a flicker of the emotion that was fighting for release. 'Thank you' she whispered to Saeden before turning to her hand maidens and adding, 'Take care of him.' With that, she hurried off, and such was her sudden quickness of step, that her garments swirled about her feet and her radiant hair blew like a loose veil behind her.

It can take mere minutes for a spark to evolve into a fully fledged forest fire and spread near and far – and such was the news of Celeborn's passing. Within a matter of minutes, the entirety of Lorien had heard the tragic news, and it took less than an hour for those at the fences to hear. It was also not long that a streak of white and silver issued from the trees and took off at a fantastic speed across the plains. A messenger on horseback making for the city of Rivendell.

Lord Elrond raised his head sharply in response to the short knock at his study door that shattered the peaceful silence. Setting down his quill with a sigh, he looked to the door. 'Come in!'

At his words, a raven haired elf entered, his ebony garbed arms full of scrolls. 'My lord, here are the memoirs you requested.'

'Ah, thank you Erestor,' replied Elrond, his mood taking a definite upturn, 'Just on the table beside you is fine.'

Erestor deposited the scrolls with a nod upon the indicated surface and with a short bow; took his leave of the study.

Yawning a little as he stood, Elrond proceeded to look over the scrolls. He had finally decided that to be in permanent mourning for someone who was firstly not even dead, and secondly, who he would see again in a time for certain, was more than a little ridiculous. And so, much to the delight and relief of the Rivendel inhabitants, he had thrown himself once again into his duties and work and had even begun to make an appearance at meal times. Conversations with the Lord of Rivendell had also begun to become more coherent, helpful and interesting once again and on the whole, things seemed to be to normal, albeit slowly.

Yes. All the scrolls he had requested were present – along with a few others – no doubt a quaint addition of Erestor's own. Elrond had long grown used to the fact that his advisor had a habit of providing "further reading" from the depths of the library, which Elrond freely admitted were often interesting and absorbing. Sometimes it quite amazed him what Erestor managed to unearth and by now firmly believed that there was much to the library that had escaped Elrond's notice, and only Erestor knew about. Privately, Elrond thought it a great pity that the scribe insisted on not being paid for his work, as he sincerely believed the elf deserved a pay rise.

Later, feeling satisfied with his day's work, Erestor made his way down to the courtyard feeling in great need of fresh air. The evening breeze, it seemed, was more than willing to oblige and serve Erestor's need and it blew gently around him, caressing his cheeks softly and toying with his midnight tresses like an unseen lover. Closing his eyes, the scribe breathed out slowly, revelling in the refreshing coolness that the sweet touches of the wind brought to him. Then, the sound of swift footed hooves brought him back to his senses and he looked in the direction of their coming. And soon, a white and grey stallion galloped through the archway and into the courtyard with such great haste that dust and small stones rose up in clouds at Erestor's feet.

The scribe watched in puzzlement as the silver haired rider dismounted and bowed shortly, his face taut and grey eyes alight with supreme exigency.

'Good eve to you, sire, my name is Galaril of Lorien.' The elf spoke quickly as though he though such formal words, whilst necessary, were troublesome and time squandering.

'And to you' replied Erestor, inclining his head. 'What news brings you with such haste to Imladris?'

'I fear the tidings I herald, sire, are not of joy but of a profound and immeasurable woe. A terrible calamity has befallen the Golden Wood and its people, and I request permission to speak with Lord Elrond immediately.'

Erestor's expression darkened instantly. Not in many years had Lorien sent such a messenger. At once, the advisor showed him to Elrond's study and then hurried off in search of Glorfindel.

'Fin? GLORFINDEL!'

Erestor ran through the corridors in search of his close friend, cursing his elusivity. Eventually though, he found him nestled in a large chair in the Hall of Fire, and from what Erestor could tell, was also playing host to an overly fluffy knee rug - that upon closer inspection, transpired to be Anoushka, the ginger cat belonging to the minstrel Lindir. Erestor felt a slight pang of conscience at disturbing them, for the feline was purring quite contentedly as the golden haired elf stroked her fur and absent-mindedly scratched behind on of her large ears – much to her delight.

But Erestor was spared his guilt; for sensing someone's eyes on him and another presence in the room, Glorfindel turned around.

'Erestor,' he grinned, 'what a pleasant and unexpected surprise. I thought you were planning on working into the small hours.'

Taking a seat beside his friend, Erestor nodded solemnly. 'Indeed I was, Fin. But I finished early – though Eru only knows how! I came to tell you though that only a short while ago; a messenger arrived from Lorien seeking Lord Elrond.'

Glorfindel shrugged. 'Most likely due to their festival I'll wager.'

'No, I do not believe so,' Erestor shook his head, 'the tone he spoke in seemed most grieved and he told me himself the news he brought was certainly not happy but terrible.'

Glorfindel opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the sound of the door opening. Looking round, the two elder elves stared in apprehension as Lord Elrond strode silently towards them, his face an alarming mixture of distress and pity. Hanging a little way back as though out of respect, was the messenger, Galaril.

'I am glad to have found you both together. This will save a great deal of time' Elrond said as he reached the area they were seated. Had the situation seemed less ominous, Erestor would have (as was his custom), initiated the conversation by welcoming his lord. However, after seeing the grave expression on Elrond's face – he opted to remain silent.

'You know,' Elrond began slowly, 'that Lord Celeborn has not been faring well since Celebrían's departure?'

They nodded, and out of the corner of his eye, Glorfindel noted Galaril having his back suddenly to them, his shoulders shaking violently. Elrond paused for a moment, his head bowed, and then continued with a sigh.

'It would seem he faded early this morning.'

A ringing silence fell upon the company, only broken by the sound of coughing as Galaril attempted to stifle his sobs. Erestor stared, his own ears and mind not registering immediately with Elrond's words.

'Lord Celeborn … he's dead?' Erestor said slowly, not wholly believing what he thought he had heard.

Elrond nodded and sank into a nearby chair, rubbing his temples. To their eyes, the elven lord's grief seemed now to be greatly beyond tears.

'What about the Lady?' Glorfindel said finally, his voice a mere whisper as warm tears trickled down his cheeks.

'I believe she blames herself' Elrond sighed. 'Apparently, this morning she thought him better than days past and upon his insistence, she left him early to attend to the festival preparations. She had no hint that things might go so ill.'

'But, my lord,' Erestor said, his heart sinking further still at the continuing stream of appalling news, 'Nothing could have prevented … if he had already sunk that deep…'

'I fear she will not see it like that in the least,' answered Elrond, staring determinedly at the wall opposite, but not really seeing it at all. 'If I am completely honest, I do not think she will ever forgive herself.'

For a while, they simply sat there in silence, each lost in their own melancholy thoughts. Finally, biting his lip, Glorfindel spoke what was troubling him most.

'The funeral, my lord. When is it?'

'Tomorrow evening at sunset. That is what I also came to tell you. I ride from here this evening with Galaril, Elrohir, Elladan and Arwen and anyone else who wishes to come. I take it you two wish to come also?'

In sync, the pair nodded.

'Of course we shall' replied Glorfindel.

Elrond nodded, seeming almost grateful; and stood. 'Very well. I leave Imladris in an hour by the Western Gate.' With a final nod to the pair of them, Elrond left the room, talking quickly and softly to Galaril as he closed the door behind them.

Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, Erestor also stood. 'Come on Fin. We must pack swiftly and read the hors - Fin?'

Erestor stared at his friend and felt a great swell of pity wash over him. Glorfindel held his golden head in his hands and his shoulders shook as his grief finally overcame him.

'Oh Fin!' Erestor fell to his knees beside Glorfindel and embraced him close and with as much warmth as he could muster. 'We knew this could happen after all.'

'I know,' Glorfindel replied thickly, burying his head in Erestor's shoulder, his plentiful tears soaking into the scribe's robes, 'But I just never thought he would give up.'

For Lorien, the evening of the 23rd of August, of Celeborn's funeral, seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Garbed in deep greys and the shades of the night, the mourning elves made their way swiftly to the clearing where the pyre had been erected earlier that day.

Gazing up at the sky above as they entered, Saeden shivered. The heavens seemed painted blood red as Anor began to set behind the grand silhouetted mallyrn. Hither and thither lay wispy clouds, each and every one outlined in a hazy crimson as they watched over the sombre gathering below from their heavenly vigil.

Around the clearing, elves from near and far stood assembled, united in their grief. Mingled with the fair hair of the silvan folk were deep mahogany browns and chestnuts – wood elves of Thranduil's realm. Thranduil himself stood their too – along with his son, Legolas. Then there were those who hailed from the valley of Rivendell. Besides Lord Elrond, his children, Glorfindel and Erestor, there were also many who had followed in their wake as soon as the news had spread.

Finally, a procession, headed by the Lady herself, entered through the trees and made its way down towards the pyre along the aisle flanked by elves who, as they passed, bowed their heads in grief and utmost respect. Standing with his brother's, Rúmil's eyes never left Galadriel's face. She looked so regal, so proud - her composure so controlled; and he could not help but hold her in utmost admiration. Not a flicker of distress showed upon her face; and he knew she must be in agony trying to hold everything together.

Behind her, her handmaidens and the sentinels came Celeborn himself. Bourn aloft upon a bed of pure white silk with the elanor blossom and sweet smelling lilies arranged around his form. He was clothed in his finest robes of gleaming white and silver, their tailoring intricate and refined. His hair was spread out beneath his head upon a cushion, gleaming like liquid mithril in the evening's light. His face was strong and proud once more, and he lay as though in a deep and dreamless slumber – his slender hands crossed over his chest and a shining circlet at his brow.

At this moment, choked sobs echoed around the clearing and tearing his eyes away for a mere second, Rúmil saw Haldir's stricken face. His eyes were wide and shining with the onset of tears. Beside him stood Tarwë comforting Orophin and opposite, Erestor and Glorfindel – both of whom were wearing near identical expression of anguish and disbelief on their faces.

As the procession walked through, the clear bell like sound of elven song rose into the air like a delicate perfume, its melody soft and utterly mournful.

(This is the song as we would perhaps understand it. A crude representation, but it suffices.)

Light that once was, has faded.

The eyes that held truth have been vanquished.

The mouth that spoke wisdom has been silenced

And the hands that healed, have been crushed.

"Where, O Where are you now?

My eyes that beheld your light are extinguished,

My mouth that spoke of you has been quelled,

The breath you placed in me has died dry,

And my hands that embraced you, have fallen quiet"

"Yet my soul still searches,

I know you are there,

Your voice is an echo inside my heart

But still I fall apart."

Above the stars

Beyond the heavens

Higher than mountains

Deeper than oceans

Your love for your people endures in our hearts

Your body may be destroyed,

but your spirit remains.

Majestic Lord,

Great ruler of the Eldar

May you find peace after death

As the clear voices faded away upon the cool twilight air, those around the Lady backed away from the pyre, leaving Galadriel standing over her husband, her eyes fixed firmly upon his noble face. Cupping his cheek with her palm as she had done so many times before, she softly kissed his brow, her free hand clasped tightly over his own. Then, as she gazed hopelessly at him, drops of pained water fell from her clear eyes and some settled upon his circlet, gleaming like newly polished diamonds. Leaning over him once more, she kissed him this time upon his mouth, lingering for a while as her tears fell and moistened his frozen lips.

'Sleep well, my love' she whispered, her lower lip trembling as full realisation took her by the shoulders and shook her hard. With that, she fell forward onto him and wept openly, her cries of anguish and sorrow stirring painfully the hearts of all gathered around her. She clutched tight at his silent form, and it seemed she was unwilling to ever let go. Eventually, through sheer exhaustion more than anything else, her sobs quietened and only then did she consent to be led away from him.

Soon, the pyre was lit and it was not long before flames sprang up all around his body. The elves around watched in pained horror as the gold and scarlet tongues engulfed him fully, casing an amber light across the assembly, the consequential smoke rising high above the trees and mingling with the stars above. The heartbroken cries rose with the smoke, growing in intensity as more and more surrendered to their grief – ellith and ellyn alike.

Finally, when the fire died down, all that remained was a pile of ashes.

The once proud Lord of Lorien was no more.