Destiny's Arrow
(Nightmares and Dark Visions)
That sound. What is that sound? Like a waterfall—but it ebbs and abates only to crash toward me again. What birds are these that I hear? They swoop and glide low over my head, shrilling their tinny screeches into the humid salty, breeze. And that smell? Sodden plants, musty decay, but fresh—clean, like a rainstorm.
"Open your eyes, Legolas. You must open your eyes," a voice purrs.
"Who speaks?" I ask the voice.
"Me," it answers. It is my love. Arwen. Her silken fingertips brush my face and I open my eyes as she commands. She stands before me at arms length on the narrow beach—the tide must be in. Sadness shades her regal brow just as the dreary shades of overcast grey obscure the brilliance of the sun.
From behind, the wind brings another sound to my ears. A cry—a gull's, but different, more urgent it seems. Again, I hear it. A child—a babe? A babe, I wonder as I turn to look.
"No. Only a gull," she says, taking my hand. Her voice is fearful and her hand trembles as she tries to lead me away.
"I did not speak my thoughts," I answer, standing firm, still looking down the endless beach into the wind that bears, again, the baby's cry.
"Come, Legolas, it is just a bird," she assures me. But all the birds are silent now. Only the breeze—the breeze that becomes a wind tugs roughly at my hair. Wind whips to howling gale and the crying babe begins to scream.
"Do you not hear it? How can you ignore a baby who howls so needfully? Come with me, Arwen, and we will find her. We will care for her," I say. When I look at her, her eyes are empty. It is as though the sound that tears at my heart fails to touch hers at all. Everything I am demands that I leave her behind and find the child, but she stands immovable as the mountains and I cannot go from her. "Please, my love. Please come with me," I beg, but she will not. She will not budge.
"Go if you will, but I will not follow," she monotones. Even as I watch with the wind rushing in my ears and an infant's screams reverberating in my head, she slides the gown from her shoulders. It slithers down her body, the blood red fabric pooling at her feet, rippling with the gusts. Locks of ebony play over her clear, creamy skin. I want to touch her, to hold her, but she begins to back away from me. Her heels sink into the wet sand as she nears surf that comes to meet her. I stop. I cannot say why, but I do not want her to go into the water. "I must swim out," she tells me. She moves further toward the waves. They break just behind her, rushing about her hips in their hurry to lap the sandy shore.
"No! You will drown. Please, do not. Please…come to me, I beg you, Arwen," I implore her, the cries on the wind forgotten—overwhelmed by the roar of the waves. I wade out into the water after her. She is crying now.
The waves behind her become stronger, more violent. And then, a swell, of greater breadth and height than any before begins to gather and rise behind her. My soaked clothes seem heavy as lead. They weigh me down and I will not reach her in time. At the breaker's dark blue-green crest, the torso of watery figure emerges. It is as if the elemental sea, as if Ulmo himself surges forth to claim his bride. I can only watch as fluid arms enfold her like a lover's and, as the wave plunges into itself, she is embraced into its hollow and is gone.
I can only stand agape. Still, I am rooted when the sea retreats from the shore. The tide ebbs in an instant, yet further then it recedes, leaving only wet grey sand behind. Slowly, I turn into the wind. Only a faint cry, more a whimper, finds me, but I will seek out this child. I will help her, whoever she is.
As I walk, wet, sand chaffing my skin, stiff wind chilling me to the bone, a movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention. In the distance, a dark line becomes visible. It grows. Steadily, it climbs. Fear paralyzes me. A great wave, a tidal wave, rushes toward me. It crests, taller than the mallorns of Lothlorien. But what have I to lose?
"What have I to lose?" I shout the question angrily. "You have taken my love! Now take my life and be done!" But it does not…
Legolas was thrust abruptly back into consciousness. His arm fell on the empty bed next to him—it was cold.
"Arwen?" he muttered thickly. The dream had disturbed him deeply and he spoke her name more from a desire for her presence than from any belief that she was there. He wanted to lay his head to her breast and hear her heartbeat, wanted to feel her warmth and softness. He wished she were there to hold him, to stroke his hair and comfort him. But she was not.
It had been nearly three weeks since her departure and he missed her sorely. He had had too brief a taste of her love and it only served to whet his appetite for the honey of it. Legolas took a deep frustrated breath, then let it out with a snarl as he heaved himself out of bed. Moonlight spilled across the floor of the room. The roar of the Falls of Bruinen gave no comfort. It reminded him only of the rolling waves in his dream that robbed him of his beloved.
The stone was cool under the soles of his feet. A light nightshirt that fell to his knees, swept softly about his form as he walked to the window. Leaning on the sill, Legolas gazed up at the stars. They seemed distant and cold to him—a feeling which gathered and hung upon his soul. All the loneliness of his life centered and condensed into that moment. He had never minded being alone. In fact, throughout much of his life, Legolas had preferred, sought, and treasured solitude. But at the moment, he wanted nothing less…
In Lothlorien, Arwen slept fitfully in Glorfindel's embrace. He dozed lightly beside her, stirring occasionally to quiet her restless dreaming. At last, she settled into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When she awoke, only a few hours later, he still warmed her bed. Arwen rolled onto her other side and watched him sleep. The childlike innocence that he possessed when he slept was incongruous with his clean, hawkish features. She smiled when the already aged elf began to snore softly. Drink and exhaustion from their earlier ordeal had consigned him to a deep and peaceful slumber that did not break when Arwen slipped her hands inside his untucked shirttail and smoothed her palm gently over the bandage that was still was wrapped around his long torso. She nestled her head against his shoulder and hugged him close. In his sleep, his arm tightened around her as well. She lay awake a while longer. Glorfindel reminded her greatly of Legolas at times.
Wan sunlight penetrated even to this heart of the forest, telling Arwen that it was early yet. Glorfindel stirred when she disengaged herself from him.
"Unhh," he grumbled on the edge of wakefulness as Arwen crawled over him.
"Mmm, shhh," she cooed, tucking the blankets up around him and sweeping his hair back, brushing loose strands from his cheek. Arwen padded across the cool floor planks. She dressed quickly and quietly. Regretfully, she touched her chest where her pendant would have rested. She had been angry and rash when she had thrown it into the shadows, and now she missed it.
Most of the local inhabitants of the court had had a late night and many still slept. Only a few guards, who bowed their heads to her, passed her as she made her way to her grandmother's chambers.
Haldir stood, slightly puffy eyed and grumpy looking, waiting at the tall doors to Galadriel's private apartments. Despite his obvious discomfort, he smiled at Arwen as she approached. Feeling better this morning, she was rather embarrassed by her earlier behavior. She did not meet his eyes as she neared him.
"Good morning, my lady," he greeted her gently. "I believe I have something of yours," he smiled, producing a small, tan, velvet sack. She took his offering gladly, for she suspected the bag's contents. Sure enough, when she opened the drawstring her necklace fell out into her hand. The clasp had been repaired and the few small scratches that had marred its surface had been polished out.
"Thank you," she exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace him. "Where did you find it? How did you repair it? Thank you!"
"I found it on my way home last night. A good friend of mine mended it, and you are most welcome," he patted her gingerly on the back. "Now, will you accompany me? Your grandmother awaits you in her orchard." When they had descended to the forest floor, Arwen took the arm he offered and they made their way toward the densest heart of the wood. It was not darker, but the light was softer. Neither spoke as they neared Galadriel's sanctuary. At the edge of the orchard, Haldir halted. "Here I leave you, m'lady," he said in his quiet, respectful way and then he was gone.
Looking into the orchard, Arwen understood why her grandmother's home was called the Golden Wood. Elanor and nephridil dotted the ground and a light like that that only the Calaquendi have ever seen radiated from all the abundance of trees and flowers. The very air seemed alive with magic and life.
No path showed the way, but Arwen walked on confidently. She felt as though she were being called or following a beacon in the darkness. This feeling beckoned her to the heart of the wood. At last, she came to a clearing, a small hollow in the terrain. High banks flanked it on either side and, at the junction of the embankments, a little stream trickled down a rocky falls. The pool at its foot was clear to the stony bottom. Beside it stood a waist high stone pedestal with a wide, shallow, silver basin perched atop it. And behind this stood Galadriel, radiant and ethereal as the first light of Creation. In her hands she held a graceful silver pitcher full of water from the pool.
"Come," she said simply. Arwen felt compelled to obey and moved slowly, but irresistibly forward.
"What will I see?" she asked weakly as she came beside the pillar.
"Possibilities," Galadriel answered. And, after a pause, she added, "…and consequences. It is fortunate that Haldir returned that to you," she said, her eyes indicating the necklace. "My mirror could have shown you little of what you must know without it." The simple, but pointed, reprimand told Arwen that her grandmother knew of her rather rash tantrum the previous night. She lowered her eyes from her grandmother's penetrating, crystal blue stare. Without another word, Galadriel emptied the pitcher into the basin. "Behold," she commanded.
As the water stilled, Arwen's reflection cleared, but it was no longer her own face that gazed back at her—A young man. His watery image smiles up from the basin. His wavy hair is dark and wild. His mouth begins to form a word. A voice, his voice I assume, sounds in my mind. "Tinuviel"—it echoes, just as Galadriel told me. Then, before my eyes, he ages. White tinges his temples and beard making him seem haggard and old, but the eyes that twinkle beneath his beetle black brow are vibrant and youthful. At his throat, he wears the sliver eagle and upon his head sits the helm and crown of Gondor. Then he fades, leaving the water clear again.
Next, a swan, the carved grey figurehead of one of Cirdan's magnificent ships seems about to sail from the confines of the mirror. I am aboard with Legolas to my left and a lovely, solemn looking, ginger haired elf to my right. My father, Galadriel, and Mithrandir all stand on deck as well, watching the shores of Middle Earth recede.
The man I saw stands on the shore, tears staining his cheeks. Then, he charges forward and dives into the grey-green waters and begins to swim. The easterly breeze bears us westward, toward Valinor and still he follows. He cannot keep pace, but still he swims and in the distance I see him slip beneath the waves. He does not resurface. Part of me is sad; the part of me that knows he sacrificed himself to the sea for my sake. But this too fades.
Imladris, my father's hall, looms before me now, ominous and threatening somehow. It is night…no, not night. Ash and soot burns my throat. The sky is dark with smoke. The forest on all sides is aflame, spewing thick black smoke that chokes out the light of day. Orcs swarm over the white walls of Rivendell like locusts. Their laughter is harsh and ugly. They fight amongst themselves over what we elves have left behind. I can feel an evil presence here, darker and fouler than any orc. Hatred and sorrow tear at my soul, trying to possess my spirit. It grows stronger as the flames that blaze in the trees begins to swirl and focus into the center of my view. A maelstrom of fire whirls before me and then it becomes more. It becomes an eye—lidless and unblinking. It is the source of this darkness that surrounds me now. Despair is all I can feel.
But then, the man is beside me. With sword in hand, he drives away the darkness by the flickering reflection of fire on his blade. The foe is vanquished and all is black and void. I am only aware of a single word—Estel…
The vision released her and Arwen staggered back from the mirror, breathing hard. Now she understood. Estel—hope. This man was the key to hope. Without him, Darkness would come. And it destroy everything she held dear. Without her, he would die, and all hope would die with him.
"And now you understand why you must deny him," Galadriel said, her voice a powerful whisper.
"Yes," Arwen answered. "You were right. It will be simpler if I do not go back. I could not bear to see his face. And only distance will hold my resolve," she continued numbly. Then, her eyes brightened as an idea occurred to her, "And if I left now? If I sailed with Legolas and our child inside me to the West? Can one cheat Destiny?" she asked, an almost pitiful desperation in her voice.
"And what cause would he have to play his own part if not for you? What would his reason be if not love? But, my child, the choice is yours, and yours alone," she breathed.
"May I stay in your house? At least until my child, my daughter, is born? Until Legolas has returned to the Greenwood?" Arwen asked, eyes to the ground as though she were ashamed. Galadriel saw the silent tears that dropped to the earth at Arwen's feet.
"You are always welcome here. I love you, child," Galadriel smiled slightly, but warmly as she went to her granddaughter. "…children," she corrected herself, laying her hand on Arwen's belly and smiling more broadly. Then, she brushed her fingers over the green stone that sparkled at the Evenstar's breast. "We can only honor the memory of our ancestors with our own actions. You come from a line of strength and dignity. You do credit to it," she said softly, as was most often her way. Together, they started back toward the city in the trees.
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AN: I don't know why this chapter took me so long, but here it is in all its splendor. So now we know why she HAS to ditch Legolas. Bummer, huh? Much more to come…Aragorn will be reappearing shortly, but Legolas has to find out about the baby still, right (possible impending smut)? Hehe. Write me a review! It'll make me happy and happy writers write faster! :D ~DR