Chapter Twenty-Three: I Have Missed Your Singing

His mind was overwhelmed at the sight of her. Thoughts and memories from centuries ago came flooding back to him from the time before she had left him. Nearly three hundred years had passed since the day he had stood at the edge of the shore, watching her sail away from him. For nearly three hundred years he had stood at the edge of the shores, the silver sands cool beneath his feet, the salty breeze sharp against his skin, as he watched the sun rise, hoping to see the light of her ship returned on the horizon. It had never come.

He could still remember that day, less than a century ago when he had stood there watching the sun rise and felt the first blow that a foul hand dealt his youngest daughter resonate deep within his soul. He had fallen to his knees and cried out to the Valar to save her but it seemed that she was beyond their reach. For years he suffered, sensing the pain of his daughter in his spirit while his mind told him that as king, he could not go to her. So, he had stayed, watching as broken and hopeless elves sailed to him, none able to give him word of her. It seemed to him that she had never reached those shores and had been lost forever, swallowed up by the sallow sea.

Then came a ship bearing elves from Imladris, one of whom could speak of what he had hoped for each morning as he stood, bathed in the light of the golden sun while tears slipped down his cheeks. The elf's name was Imril and had been one of Lord Elrond's councillors before he had sailed. Imril said that in the years before going to Imladris he had dwelt in Mithlond and knew of the one he sought. The elf told him sadly that a beautiful elleth had washed ashore three hundred years ago among the wreckage of a ship of men. Her hair was the colour of obsidian, her eyes the colour of a starless night, her skin the purest alabaster: he had known it was she.

The elf told him that she was taken to Mithlond and cared for by Cirdan the Shipwright. He also told him that she held no memory before the time she washed upon those shores and his heart had broken to know that the one who used to call him Adar would no longer know him. For a moment he had been soothed with the knowledge that at least she was safe among her kindred but that moment had shattered like glass with the elf's next words. She had dwelt there with Cirdan for two hundred years before leaving to dwell in Imladris and learn the skills of Lord Elrond. On the way, she and those she travelled with were ambushed; all but she were found dead some days later by a search party sent out by Lord Elrond. She was never seen again, though Imril assured him that many still searched for the Lost Lady.

He had walked with heavy steps to his home and told this news to his wife and two elder children who wept with him. That evening as he lay in bed with his wife he told her that a ship was being made ready and that he was going to Middle Earth to search for their child. That he would not return until he found her and brought her home if she were well and if not he would lay her to rest in the Golden Wood and sail from those cursed shores never to return again. He had been startled by his wife's insistence that she would sail with him and again when both his son and daughter claimed the same. So it was that they set sail, just as the sun broke upon the water and turned it colours that no tongue could tell.

For many days they had sailed, the soothing cadence of the ocean's voice their only comfort as they sailed from the light of Valinor, knowing that in Middle Earth a war waged against the Dark Lord. When weeks had passed and Valinor had finally slipped from hindsight, he stood at the bow looking as far as his elven sight could see across the incessant water that surrounded their ship on all sides. At first, he had thought that his eyes were deceiving him but as he watched the diminutive spec upon the water he perceived it grew closer and he saw that it was as he had first thought, a ship.

For three days they watched the white ship grow closer, all those aboard tense with anticipation for they knew by the craft of the ship it was elven and he wondered what news these elves might have. At last the ship pulled along side and ropes were tethered to hold the two ships together as he walked to the portside, preparing to meet more weary travellers but never had he expected what he found.

Elves more like those of Valinor stood waiting for him, their faces light and free from pain with the knowledge of the White Shores before them. Three elves there were, mighty and fair. With them a familiar man clothed in white and at his side a small creature the likes of which he had never seen. The darkest of the three elves stepped forward, smiling broadly, great wisdom in his face as he stretched out his hand.

"Well met, my brother, few indeed are the ships that sail eastward in these days."

"Indeed, they are few while many ships sail to the west, though few with such as you among the passengers. May I inquire as to your name?"

"Of course, I am Lord Elrond, former master of Imladris. This lord to my right is Lord Cirdan of Mithlond, and this fair lady to my left is the Lady Galadriel, of Lothlorien. This," he stated, gesturing to the elder and the small creature at his side, "is Mithrandir, the White, known by those of your land as Olórin and with him stands Frodo Baggins, the Ring Bearer." For a moment all speech was lost to him as he realized that a better group to answer the questions that burned within him could not have been found. "And what of you, who sails to the shores of sorrow?"

"I am King Silmarn, High King of Valinor and one whose house is refuge to all those who come to us, weary of wars and death."

To this the elves and wizard touched their hands to their forehead and bowed deeply. He shook his head, "Please, it is not necessary."

"Why do you travel to the east, your majesty" the lady questioned, her voice soft and kind.

"I seek my daughter who sailed to your shores some years past and has since been lost to me."

"All here know of her," the wizard spoke and Silmarn was startled by the power of this man, one of the five Istari who had been sent to the east millennia ago. "For her looks are akin to yours and she bears the presence of the High House which I once knew well."

"Known well to me you are Olorin, though you are changed since our last meeting. I am glad to see that you survived. What may you tell of my daughter?"

"There is much to tell, but it is a long tale and dark as well. Perhaps if you would board our ship we might discuss it at further length."

The words spoken that day had chilled his heart. Many things were told to him, the tale of the War of the Ring and the falling of Sauron by the hands of the small hobbit that sat with them that day. The telling of the falling of Saruman the Wise, the fading of Lothlorien, the return of the King to Gondor, and lastly, the taking of his daughter. As he stood here in this city of men he understood the pain he had felt as her eyes showed him all that had been done to her, the mending scars that could not be seen by mortals but were plain to elves.

They had sailed to Middle Earth, three of those they had met joined them; their hearts still in Middle Earth despite the pain they felt. Elrond's sons had met them in Mithlond, and from there he had rode with them to Gondor. The others had continued to sail south, to the Bay of Belfalas, where it would be a shorter ride to the White City. His eyes never left his daughter, though none could tell beneath the shadow of the cloak he wore and he could sense those in the room watching him warily.

Finally, unable to stand still any longer he strode quickly toward her and caught her as she ran to him, tears streaming down his cheeks as he pulled her close, the silver hood slipping back, revealing his elven features so much like her own.

"Carynthiel," he breathed, trying to keep his body from shaking as he wept for joy at having found his lost child.

"Adar," she answered and his heart swelled with the knowledge that she remembered him.

He closed his eyes and kissed her head lovingly as he thought of all the horrifying things that had been done to her and wished that he had been there to protect her. He should never have let her leave. He was content to have her stay in his arms but she pulled away from him slightly and turned to look back at the sickly mortal who lay in the bed behind them.

"What is it, my child," he asked her in elvish, sensing her pain as she watched the man draw feeble breaths that would not sustain him much longer.

"He is dying, Adar," she answered, her voice breaking as she buried her face against his shoulder.

"And what is the death of this mortal to you that it should bring you such pain as this?"

She pulled away from him and he was surprised by her sudden strength as she looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears.

"He is my husband, Adar, and I love him."

He could not speak as he remembered what the wizard had told him of his daughter's marriage to the king of men against her will. Although what he remembered most, as he looked down into her sorrow-filled eyes, was the affection in the wizard's voice as he told of the trueness of this king of men; his kindness and wisdom beyond that of other men, his likeness to the elves in both thought and manner. He glanced at the man who lay dying as his elven brothers attempted to stay his journey to Mandos and then back to his daughter, knowing what he must do before he spoke.

"Then I will do all in my power to save him," he assured her, kissing her forehead fleetingly and letting go of her as he strode quickly to the side of the man's bed.

He deftly undid the clasp at his throat and draped his cloak over the man who shivered violently though he burned with fever. Elladan moved aside quickly and he sat beside the mortal, his heart racing as he took the man's cold hand in his own. Behind him he could hear his daughter weeping as the flaxen-haired elf held her and spoke to her soothingly. Those around him watched warily as he dipped a cloth in cool water and washed the man's face with it, murmuring in the healing tongues of the Valar, his heart softening toward this man as he watched him struggle for every breath.

What right had he to condemn this man for past wrongs? Had he not been the one who allowed his daughter to sail to Middle Earth in the first place? No, to condemn this man for one wrong action was unfair. He sensed in this man that lay dying beside him, great wisdom, courage, valour and kindness and knew that Olorin had spoken well as he tried to save the king.

"Do you need anything, your majesty," Elrohir asked quietly as he stood watching intensely, his jaw tight with worry for his mortal brother.

"Nay, young one," he stated, smiling sadly as the man's breath began to even somewhat next to him. "You and your brother have ridden long, you need to rest."

"I can take you to a room, Elrohir" one of the men offered, obviously understanding elvish well enough to know his instructions.

"Thank you," he answered awkwardly in the tongue of men that was so strange to him, to which the man smiled and nodded as he led the twins out and down the hall they had just come.

He turned back to the king, startled to see that the man's silver eyes were open and watching him through the haze of his fever. He squeezed the man's hand tightly and leaned closer to speak to him, his words soft and flowing in the elder tongue of the Valar.

"Elessar, you must stay strong. You must remember all of those who wait for you. You must remember your kingdom, your brothers, and your friends. You must remember my daughter who loves you, I would not have her taken from me by a broken heart now that I have found her," he finished his voice more urgent as he watched the man's eyes slowly shut.

The wheezing stopped and for a moment he was afraid that the man had not heard him until he felt the hand he held press his own weakly. He knew then that Elessar, King of Gondor had heard him and had not stopped fighting yet.


The city had come to life with the return of its Lady for she had visited them in the streets again this morning as the city woke from its state of slumber. He had seen her through the crowd as he quickly gathered bread for their morning meal before returning to his brothers, sister and mother who awaited him anxiously. All through the morning his mind had been filled with memories of the evening that the mighty king and graceful queen had spent with he and his family, partaking of their meagre meal. Once they had finished breakfast he had taken the dagger from its place on the mantle and left quietly, careful that Balon and Airon did not follow.

The streets were busy, the travellers were gathering here as they did every year, eager to see the splendour of the Foreign Council. Yet, they were less joyous this year, having been told of the great king who lay within the palace dying. He weaved his way through the crowd, artfully dodging the shuffling merchants who cried loudly the prices of their wares. As he reached the higher levels, reserved for the nobles and their families things grew quieter although it felt strange not to be among the cram and bustle of the lower levels where he had dwelt since childhood. Finally, he reached the tower where guards stood fully armed, the first line of defence against any enemy.

He felt his knees shaking slightly and he swallowed hard as he caught sight of their spears, glinting coolly in the light of the spring sun. He paused for a moment before stepping forward and walking toward the path of polished stones lined with silver that led to the stairs of the palace. The first two guards crossed their spears and looked down at him menacingly and he suddenly felt very foolish.

"Halt! In the name of King Elessar I charge you, what is your business!"

"I, I wish to see the king," he stammered quietly and watched as the elder guard's eyes lit with contained laughter.

"And what business have you with the king?" he asked more kindly and Trien stood slightly taller feeling less afraid.

"I wish to return something to him," he stated more firmly, holding up the dagger so that they could see.

The elder guard took it from him and examined it carefully and then looked back at Trien, his eyes sharp like the dagger he held, for it bore the mark of the king.

"Where did you get this?" he questioned, his voice hard as flint.

"I-I," he stuttered and became silent at the sound of a soft voice.

"It belonged to Estel many years ago," a soft voice interrupted and Trien looked with the guards to see a fair elf standing just behind the two guards. "He gave it to a man named Sirrius many years ago, when he was first in Gondor."

"He was my grandfather," Trien piped up, somehow feeling safer with the slender elf standing nearby.

The guards eyed him warily but the elf only nodded and smiled kindly. He stepped forward and the guards parted their spears so that he could pass.

"What is it you wish, young soldier," the elf asked quietly, his eyes serious though his face was gentle.

"I wish to give this to King Elessar. I wish, I wish that I could see him again," he answered, his eyes cast to the ground as his cheeks burned.

"It shall be as you say," the elf told him kindly as he turned to the guards. "I shall speak for him."

"Of course, Prince Legolas," the guards answered in unison, handing the dagger to the elf and standing at attention as the elf motioned for Trien to follow him through the arc of guards.

He followed the elf in silence, unable to keep himself from glancing up at the one who led him, now aware that he was royalty and remembered having seen him when the king first came to Gondor. They passed through the doors and walked down the hallways, he stayed close to Legolas, expecting someone to order him to halt or question his presence but they did not. He soon became lost among the halls of white stone and windows of gleaming glass that let the brilliant sunshine into the palace so that it seemed the palace itself was shining. Servants rushed back and forth, preparations for those who would arrive soon being done as swiftly as possible though he doubted that the king was far from their thoughts.

Finally, they entered another smaller hall and here it seemed that all things were done in hushed voices; the quietness was deafening after the easy murmur of the other halls. The elf stopped in front of a door where two ominous looking guards stood, their colours weapons different from the others.

"They are the Dunedain," Legolas offered quietly as he knocked on the door and Trien was slightly unnerved by the elf's perceptiveness.

A quiet voice answered the elf and the door opened, Legolas entered but Trien hesitated, unsure of himself. What right had he to see the king?

"Go on, young master," the guard to his right stated, his face softer and his voice kinder than before so that he looked much less threatening.

Trien took a deep breath and stepped into the room, expecting that it would be all in darkness as most rooms were when very ill people were kept in them, but instead he was met with soft sunshine. He stood for a moment, jumping slightly as the guards closed the door quietly behind him, looking at the room around him. The heavy velvet drapes were drawn back and sheer fabric covered the windows, allowing the light but softening it somewhat so that it was not so sharp. The elf that had led him here waited for him patiently as he took everything in. A large bed stood against the wall adjacent to the windows where a dark elf much like the queen sat, looking at him kindly. The elf's presence however, was much more powerful than his friendly appearance and Trien felt as if the room suddenly grew smaller as he swallowed hard. Beneath the window sat the one he sought, her dark eyes sad despite her smile as she talked lightly to the mighty dwarf who sat beside her.

She seemed to sense his presence however, despite the fact that he had not spoken and touched the dwarf's arm gently ending his speech as she stood and came towards him, her voice just as beautiful as he remembered.

"Trien, it is good to see you again. I hope that all is well," she greeted him, standing before him timidly despite the fact that it was he who was the stranger in this place.

He remembered suddenly that he should bow and did so as his father had taught him.

"All is well, Your Majesty. I-I only wished to bring this to you," he stated as the elf beside them handed the dagger to her. "I-I wanted you to have it, in case, well," he blushed unable to state the reality that the king might pass.

"That is most thoughtful of you, Trien, thank you," she paused for a moment, seeming as unsure of herself as he was which in some strange way made him feel more at ease. "Would you like to see him before you leave?"

He looked up at her gentle eyes and nodded silently and allowed her to lead him to the bed. The grand elf watched him, his face impassive though his eyes were benevolent, as he approached the bed. The queen's hand was on his shoulder, as he stood, unable to comprehend the sight before him. The man on the bed could not be the king he had known. He breathed softly, each breath difficult as he stirred uneasily from the fever that caused him to shiver. His face was ashen and his hands seemed lifeless, like they had not the strength to hold a sword. His eyes were closed but he somehow sensed that the sharp argent eyes that had once burned with life had now grown dim. He felt the first tears and turned away, ashamed to cry in front of these great people.

However, something inside him drew his gaze back to the dying king and he looked more closely. He looked past the weakness of fever, the pain of his wound and saw the still regal features beneath the sheen of cold sweat. He could see the broadness of his shoulders and silent strength in the large arms that were bare above the tight bandage on the king's chest. Somehow, though the king appeared to be sleeping, he could hear the resounding sound of his deep voice and sense his presence that matched that of the mighty elf who sat at his side. He looked back to the queen, wiping away his tears as she smiled at him sympathetically.

"Thank you, your Majesty," he whispered but he was startled when he felt her place the dagger in his hand.

"Speak to him, Trien," she urged softly.

Nervously, he stepped forward, the harsh sound of the king's breathing growing less sharp and more relaxed as he stepped closer. His hand shook as he took the massive hand, calloused by years in the wild, in his own and wrapped the fingers around the dagger before placing the hand on the bandaged chest. For an instant his hand rested on the king's and he watched, unable to find words to describe the emotions roiling within him.

"Please, your Majesty, don't leave us," he pleaded as stinging tears burned his eyes, before stepping back and turning toward the door, knowing somehow without asking, that Legolas would be right behind him.


The sun's flaming light was beginning to fade and its pastel hues of gold and crimson fell on the resting form of her husband. The day was coming to an end, bringing with it the watchful night and the everlasting stars that hung silently in the sky above. She breathed the scent of the spring air deeply as she sat on the edge of his bed, his hand cradled in her own. For the first time since they had returned to the city, she was alone with him. All were in the council chambers, even her father was with them, willing to lend any advice he was able despite his wariness of the men of Middle Earth and their doings.

The soft melody of the songbirds outside told her of the return of spring to this place and she sighed, remembering that a year ago her sorrow had been of a different kind. She looked down at him, studying his face in the golden light of the sun and prayed that Elbereth might spare him. She knew that if he did not survive she would return to Valinor, her heart and spirit wounded beyond even the greatest to mend. Her heart was lightened by the knowledge that the others of her family would be here before the Foreign Council and with them would be Elrond, Gandalf and Frodo. She smiled, her mind drifting to the wondrous times she had had with Elessar in Rivendell, before the others sailed, before the battle with the Haradrim, after her fear of men had lessened, after she had learned to love the man who now lay dying next to her.

She felt the new stirring inside her, her heart light at the thought of the life she carried within her but the shadow of Elessar's death could not allow her to feel all the joy she should. She placed her hand over her stomach as tears fell swiftly from her eyes, wondering if Elessar would ever see the face of his child, ever know of its existence. He had told her how much he longed to have a child and she sobbed silently as she laid her head on his chest and realized his wish might have been granted too late.

The warm breath of spring carried the voices of the city below to her as she lay silent, her throat tight with tears. She ached with loneliness despite the return of her father and all those around her, she longed to feel his tender touch, to be held safe within his strong arms and know that everything would be all right. She tucked her feet up beneath her and nestled close to him, taking refuge in the warmth of his body next to hers. She sang softly as she lay with her eyes closed, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, wondering if each rise would be the last.

Instantly, her voice caught in her throat and her eyes flew open as the deep sound of his voice resonated beneath her and joined her own in song for a moment before breaking and falling silent. She sat up swiftly and her heart soared as her eyes were met with burning silver. She gasped as she sat, staring at him, her tears no longer of sorrow but of joy immeasurable as he reached up and lovingly brushed her cheek with the back of his hand while he looked up at her adoringly.

"I have missed your singing, Melleth," he whispered, his voice rough from disuse as she wept for joy. "Do not cry, Melleth, for I shall never leave you. I love you above all other things on this earth."

"And I you," she answered as she bent down and kissed him gingerly before he gently guided her to lay beside him once more, his hand caressing her as she sang of hope and life to the one she loved before both slipped into easy dreams, secure in the knowledge the one they loved was near.

To be continued…