Destiny's Arrow
(The Golden Wood)
The breeze was always comfortably warm in Lorien as it swayed the willowier branches of the monolithic mallorn which supported the high flet. The night was clear and stars glimmered down through the few gaps in the dense canopy. It was a fine evening for dining outdoors.
At one end of the long table sat Galadriel—a radiant, shining, splendid light against the shadowy backdrop of the sylvan nighttime. Celeborn sat at the head of the table opposite her. Along either side, all the guests and members of the household held lively conversation. Glorfindel claimed the attention of those around him with the account of their battle with the orcs. The general good humor of the party grew with the amount of wine that its members had imbibed. Laughter rang out more and more frequently as the meal continued.
At last, gradually, elves began to migrate into the Great Hall. Within, Haldir and Glorfindel, arm in arm and chalices in hand began a song which, it became rapidly evident, they were too drunk to finish. Soon though, voices better and belonging to those who were sober enough to remember all the words rose above. Song, recitation of poems, and laughter carried on late into the night.
After several hours, Celeborn lifted his head from his mistress's bosom where he had rested it and announced that he for one was going to bed. He cast a meaningful and pointed glance at Galadriel as he rose to leave. She smiled a little, but did not follow. Glorfindel and Haldir, still slightly inebriated, continued to speak animatedly as they wandered off together in the general direction of their beds. A few others followed discreetly to ensure that they made it to the ground by way of the ladder. Several couples drifted away together. One by one the hall emptied until only Galadriel, Celebrian and Arwen were left. None of them spoke. The small fire that was left burned down to embers before Galadriel broke the silence.
"Who is your lover?" she asked. Then responding to the puzzled look her granddaughter's face, "I see and know much, but not all," she smiled.
"His name is Legolas…," Arwen fell silent as her grandmother nodded sagely,"…you know of him?"
"Your grandfather has sometimes had occasion to visit Thranduil. He has spoken favorably of the prince—spoken him courteous, brave, of great skill as an archer, loyal, intelligent—not so wise perhaps, but intelligent…and fair," Galadriel smiled once more at these last words. Celebrian smiled as well.
"He is all of those things…," Arwen began.
"And I would be glad to have him for my son, as would your father, I'm sure. Your brothers and he are great friends also, Arwen," interrupted Celebrian.
"That must not be," Galadriel interjected evenly, calming the irritation that showed on Arwen's face. Celebrian looked a little indignant, but kept quiet. "How long has it been since it began?"
"Centuries. And I have craved no other since first I found that I loved him…since first we met. My heart is glad that I carry his child…," the dark haired elf spoke earnestly as Galadriel sighed heavily.
"Then why will you not tell him…?," Celebrian broke in again.
"BUT MY MIND is troubled," Arwen drowned her mother's question out. "I do not know why, for l love him with every part of myself, but I have not told him. I cannot," she finished. Galadriel silently searched in a pocket of her white robe. After a moment she produced a brooch. It was crafted of finest silver in the figure of an eagle. So detailed, so meticulous was the craftsmanship that from the finely hooked beak, to the tips of the wide spread wings, to the cruelly curved talons the miniature bird looked as though it would soar from the elf queen's hand at any moment. But more than that, Arwen was struck by the magnificently cut pale green stone set in the bird's breast. The sight of it sent a shock through her body. Her hand immediately clutched the pendant that adorned her bosom. Her steely eyes widened in question. This stone was obviously the mate to the one she wore, but she did not understand the implications of its discovery.
"The jewel you wear is far more than it seems," Galadriel said simply. "When you tried to tell Legolas what happened?" she asked. Arwen paused in thought for a moment before answering.
"I could not speak. I felt as though the breath were being crushed out of me," she replied slowly, brows knitted. "I was wearing it…always…when I tried…why, grandmother?" she trailed off.
"It is a harbinger of Destiny," Galadriel answered. "It grieves me to tell you of this, but it must be told. Your mother was wise to bring you to me," she sighed again. "I hoped that you would tell me of a foolish, youthful infatuation that could be easily ended, but it runs deeper than that. You love a fine and worthy elf. You carry his child, but you cannot—you must not bind yourself to him. It would be simpler if you never saw him again. You have not promised yourself to him, have you?" she asked. Arwen could only shake her head. She felt as if a great sorrow was, as a wind, rapidly swirling about her. Questions rained down into the troubled sea of her mind, but one floated above all the others. Her voice trembled with quashed tears when she spoke it.
"If not him," hearing the words—not him—from her own lips hardened the idea and a tear rolled down her cheek, but she was determined to finish her question without succumbing to the terrible grief that threatened to overwhelm her, "then who?"
"A son of Man. I have seen him in my dreams. In my dreams I have heard him call you by the name of your ancestor, Tinuviel," she answered.
"And if I refuse? If I lay down this pendant and marry with my dear love, the father of my child?" Arwen sounded strained as she asked this. She tried to disguise the choler that rose up in her like cold fire at being denied her free choice. Celebrian heard it and knew that Galadriel did too.
"Hush, child," Celebrian scolded eyeing her mother, afraid of rousing her wrath. The Lady regarded her granddaughter with dignified detachment for a moment before she spoke.
"Will you look into the Mirror?"
"I will," Arwen nodded.
"Tomorrow, then, when you are not so hot and may receive its vision more objectively. Now, I will retire to my bed. Go in peace and know this: it is a burdensome fate that I would not have wished for you and, when all is said, it will be your choice to accept it or not," said Galadriel. And with that she rose, kissed them both and went from the room. After a few silent moments, during which the crackling of the last dying embers became strangely loud, Arwen rose with forced grace.
"Grandmother gifted this to me when I was only a child. She instructed that I should have it when I came of age, is it not so?" Arwen asked, anger still shading her voice.
"It is," answered her mother.
"'An heirloom of the women of my family,' that is what she called it. 'You should wear it always,' that was what she said. Then it truly is more than it seems. A bauble, a pretty thing meant not to honor and continue the memory of my ancestors, but to manipulate and control!" Before her mother could say or do anything to stop her, Arwen snatched the chain from around her neck, breaking the delicate clasp. She ran toward from the Hall, skirts flowing out behind her, stopping at the very edge of the flet. She hesitated for only a moment before, with a shriek of fury, she hurled the necklace, with all her might, into the darkness.
Celebrian walked outside into the cool night air. She went to her daughter and laid a long hand on her shaking shoulder. Silent sobs wracked Arwen's slender body as her mother folded her into a warm embrace. For a long time, they stood—mother and child. Celebrian held her youngest babe—her only daughter, stroking her dark head and cooing what comfort she could. Celebrian held her until the tears subsided.
"I want him, mother. I want him here with me now, to hold me as he used to. But that will never again be, will it?" Arwen said at last, still trembling a little.
"It will be your choice, Arwen. Your grandmother can only show you the paths before you. It is you who must walk what way you choose."
Arwen said nothing more, but kissed her mother's cheek and went to the ladder. She descended the long trunk of the great tree. When she reached the mossy, leaf strewn forest floor, she removed her slippers. Arwen always preferred to go without shoes. It strengthened her connection to living Earth, to the flow and rhythms of Nature. She stood for a moment, indecisively amongst the mighty roots and, then, she began to walk. Her feet carried her she knew not where. They took her east, out of the heart of the wood toward the place where, in a few hours, the sun would peek over the horizon.
As she went, the certainty that she could never be with the one she loved became real. I may never even see him again. He will never know how I love him—never know of this child…our child, she thought to herself. A shock of realization jolted her. She walked faster then, taking long strides over the uneven ground. Shock became confusion. Why? Why this? Why now? she wondered. The haze that obscured all rational thought began to settle like a cruel frost over all her other thoughts and feelings. Above, she could no longer see the city in the trees. Then, she ran. The rime hardened into a shell of anger that dominated her thoughts. She cannot ask me to give him up—not now, not after five CENTURIES! How can I deny my child a father? It murdered all the happiness she had left as an unexpected freeze bites the tender buds of spring. All she could do was run. Her feet only lightly touched the earth beneath her. Nimbly as any deer, she sped, weaving through the magnificent, smooth, silver-grey mallorn trunks; the pillars that supported the canopy above. Hot tears of rage seared her eyes, blinding her as she tore through the night.
A clearing opened ahead of her. The small knoll in the middle was carpeted with delicate golden elanor. Arwen took no notice as she trod them down. She halted in the center and looked up at the sky where the stars still winked down at her, unaware and unconcerned with her plight. Her sobs became a sort of desperate laughter. Pressure began to build in her chest. To abate it, she took a great, deep breath. Then, with everything she had; with all her frustration, her anger, and all her slighted love—she screamed. The long, high, piercing note that continued until all her breath was spent shattered the tenuous silence. It rang to the heavens and was spirited away on the night wind. Arwen clenched her fists and screamed again. Misery poured from her soul. Very soon, she was hoarse but continued until she was numb to all feeling and she was completely exhausted. Her palms bled where her fingernails had bitten in. No tears were left to cry when, at last, she collapsed onto the ground and sat unable to feel, unable to move, unable to do anything but exist…
Haldir clapped Glorfindel stoutly on the back as they walked, laughing through the forest. They had wandered aimlessly amongst the trees for several hours talking and catching up on the time that had passed since they had seen one another last. The mass quantity of ale and wine that they had jointly consumed lubricated the conversation.
During a brief pause in the dialogue, a sound drifted to their sharp ears. It was a scream—a long unwavering shriek that only gradually tapered off before resuming with identical intensity. It was a cry of anger and frustration, of misery, and it chilled them more wholly than any sound of elvish voice either had ever heard before. It sobered them entirely as they lit out towards the voice.
The sound continued for a disturbingly long time. Haldir led slightly, knowing the landscape better, but Glorfindel followed closely. Through the trees ahead, both could make out a figure in the moonlight. Haldir stopped abruptly at the edge of the clearing when he recognized the figure who sat, silently regarding her bleeding palms, amongst the golden flowers.
"My Lady Undomiel," he called as he rushed forward, closing the distance between them. Arwen did not look up. "M'Lady…M'Lady Undomiel," he cried more urgently when she did not respond to his first hail. "Arwen!" he said again, laying his hand on her arm. She recoiled from his touch and her eyes snapped to his—steely grey, fierce, and empty as a wild beast's, as though she did not know him at all. Glorfindel slid to a crouched halt before her.
"Arwen…Arwen," he called, brushing his fingers over her cheek at last to get her attention. She turned the same unseeing gaze upon him. "Arwen?" it was a question this time. "Are you hurt?" Mutely, she held up her gouged hand. Glorfindel nodded. "Why did you scream? What is the matter, dearest child?" his eyes were wide and full of concern as he spoke. Arwen lifted a hand to his cheek and caressed it, leaving a deep crimson smear on his fair skin. Feeling and soul began to return to her eyes with the contact. At length, she spoke in the whisper of one whose voice is wasted.
"I may not love him that I love," her tone was deadened, but her face ticked as though more tears would reiterate the lines that already stained her face. "I do and I must, but I may not," she said numbly. Her eyes drifted out of focus, becoming hollow again as if she were visibly receding into her own mind, losing herself in a deep chasm of abysmal thought. Arwen turned from them both and lay down on the mat of flora beneath her.
Haldir stayed still as stone, a stunned expression still stuck on his face. He only barely knew Arwen. She had been little more than an infant the last time he'd seen her and he was certainly not used to dealing with hysterics. Elves did not have hysterics—they did not behave this way. He did not want to touch her, he feared to. She seemed so fragile to him, almost as if she were spun from glass that even the slightest breath of wind might shatter.
Glorfindel remained unmoving for only a moment. Then, he crept forward and gingerly wrapped his arms around her and drew her close to his broad chest. She neither resisted nor helped him as he carefully lifted her from the cold ground. Her body was limp and surprisingly light in his arms. Her eyes were open, staring unblinkingly into the dark, but her head lolled back as it would have, had she been unconscious. Slowly, Glorfindel rose to his feet.
"Come. We will take her to her bed and wake my Lady and yours as well," Glorfindel said quietly. Haldir nodded and moved to follow.
"No," croaked Arwen softly. Both the other elves started. Because neither of them had expected her to speak, her distant sounding whisper had the same effect as a shout.
"But…," Glorfindel began to protest.
"No," the quiet syllable silenced him. Glorfindel did not object further. Together, the three of them made their way back toward the acropolis. Only a short time later, Arwen began to come back to herself. She lifted her head to look into her bearer's face. A paternal sort of worry still knitted his brow, but he smiled a little nonetheless. Two dozen steps later, she encircled his neck with her arms and lightly kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered, still hoarse. "Put me down if you like. I can walk now."
"No, child, let me carry you. It warms my heart to hold you…again," this last word was colored with thick layers of connotation. Haldir chose, tactfully, to ignore it. He knew little of their bond. Glorfindel, out of respect, had never been forthcoming with the intimacies of their relationship—not even to such a close friend as Haldir. Only the profundity of his love for Arwen had he expressed.
"Shall I stay with you tonight?" Glorfindel asked when, at last, they reached the ladder where he set Arwen on her feet. No innuendo sullied the question. Arwen shook her head. Glorfindel nodded and turned to accompany Haldir to their adjoining quarters. He had not taken a full step before her long fingers caught his hand.
"Perhaps…perhaps just until dreams take me," she said in her still raspy, but recovering voice. Her tone was so innocent, so childlike that, when he turned, he almost expected to see the little girl who used followed him everywhere he went about Rivendell. Not a child, but a woman stood before him; a woman who, from the look of her, needed not to be alone.
"Of course," he whispered. "Goodnight, Haldir. Sleep well, my friend," he bid, motioning for his friend to go without him.
"Goodnight," Haldir returned smiling politely. "Glorfindel," he nodded, "My Lady. May sleep bring you peace, and the morning's light find you well. Though I do not know them, I am sorry for your troubles." And with that, he vanished into the night.
Neither elf spoke as they made their way to Arwen's apartments. Glorfindel pulled the door shut behind him. She glanced furtively at him as she slipped the gown from her shoulders, removing her arms, but not letting the material fall. Opening her trunk with one hand, the other clutching the gathered material about her chest, she began to rummage through her things looking for a nightdress.
"Let me," Glorfindel offered. He neatly sorted through her fine garments until he found a matronly, white, silk gown. She smiled at him as he took his place once more by the door. He had known exactly what she was searching for. Quickly, she slipped it on over the dress she already wore before letting it fall to the floor.
A silver basin and pitcher she retrieved from her nightstand. After she had seated herself on the feather tick, she placed the basin between her feet and filled it with water. The soles of her feet looked like they ought to have belonged to a hobbit they were so filthy. She began to look forlornly about for a washcloth.
"Let me," Glorfindel volunteered once more. He removed a clean cloth from the drawer in the night stand, went to her, knelt at her feet, and rolled up his sleeves. Carefully and gently, he washed all the dirt and grime from her soft, pale skin and then rinsed her feet with clear water from the pitcher. Then, he replaced them on the stand and procured a towel to dry her. Arwen said nothing, but smiled at him gratefully whenever he locked eyes on her.
Clean now, she crawled under all the many layers of bedclothes and turned to face the wall. The other elf resumed his place by the door. He himself was beginning to doze when Arwen spoke again.
"Will you put out the light and lie with me a while?" she asked, not turning to look at him. He smiled and chuckled to himself at little—just as when you were a little girl. Padding softly across the floor he extinguished the few lonely candles that held the shadows at bay. His tunic he hung on the back of the chair tucked neatly under the matching writing desk and slid under the covers as well. Her body was warm as he lay by her, his whole body cradling hers. She breathed in sharply when he wrapped his arm around her, letting his hand rest on her belly.
"Sh," he whispered. And softly he began to hum. The tune was familiar to her and slowly the words came, warm and comforting also. To the sound of his deep, soothing voice singing an ancient elvish lullaby, nestled safely in Glorfindel's arms, Arwen's dreams found her.
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AN: Again, this was written in a fit of inspiration, so I'm going to have to wait a bit and read it again once it's posted to ferret out all the little nitpicks. Please write me a review…I didn't get many on the last chapter, possibly because it was so short and possibly because ff.net has been broken. I dunno…but here's a nice long chapter (long as mine ever are in any event)…so wrote me one, please please please…don't make me beg *pout*. Hope you're enjoying. ~DR