A/N: If you're a little confused about Aéllanwen's abilities, think Troi from Star Trek: The Next Generation. Aéllanwen's name, by the way, is inspired by the character Eilonwy in the Prydain Chronicles by Lloyd Alexander, one of the best fantasy series out there. Go read them today! g As always, r/r.
Falling Into Grace
Chapter 1
"I recognize the way you make me feel.
It's hard to think that you might not be real."
-Michelle Branch
Aéllanwen jerked suddenly awake, confused, troubled by her dream. For a moment she merely stared at the elegantly carved ceiling of her bed chamber, trying to slow her breathing, and to soothe the erratic beating of her heart. When she was reasonably calm, she got up and moved to the window, pausing briefly to catch up her dressing gown against the chill before she went out on the balcony. The cold autumn night air brought her even more fully awake, chasing the last vestiges of sleep from her so that she could think more clearly.
It had been a strange dream. Aéllanwen had long ago learned to live with the idea that she was unlike most elves. The empathic abilities she had inherited from her mother made her more sensitive than most to her surroundings, and to the attitudes and emotions of others. She was learning to control it, and to block it out when she needed to, but even more than a century of living with it was not nearly enough time to be in complete control. Her mother had smiled at her benevolently when Aéllanwen had admitted that she despaired of *ever* being in total control, saying that most elves were never really in total control of their own minds and reminding her that her own life of more than a millennium had not been enough time to perfect her abilities, then adding wryly that her father had been alive for more than *three* millennia, and he had still not mastered his emotions, even without the added difficulty of Empathy. Aéllanwen knew that Andrenel, though a terribly practical person, out of necessity of her own gift, dearly loved her husband, was in fact often herself given to excessive emotion when it came to her family, and was said to have wept for joy on her wedding day and at the birth of all her children, and so she had simply laughed and given her mother a grateful hug.
Of course there had been other hardships growing up, not the least of which that her gift made her most decidedly different from the other children, and that, from time to time, they were, perhaps a little understandably, disturbed when she would burst into tears for no apparent reason, or that she seemed to be able to read their thoughts. In truth she could not, could only sense their emotions, but an especially strong emotion of any sort left only so many possibilities as to the thoughts of the person feeling it, and so she often merely guessed correctly.
It would have been much worse, she knew, were she not who she was, the only Princess of Mirkwood. Her father, Legolas Greenleaf, besides being the king of Mirkwood since his father had traveled to the West, was a bit of a hero and a legend among the elves of Middle-Earth for the part he had played in the War of the Ring, and it's ultimate destruction, having been one of the original Nine in the Fellowship, and having later helped to lead the men of Rohan against the armies of Saruman. His importance was also somewhat heightened by Mirkwood being one of the few, and by far the largest, of the elven kingdoms still remaining in Middle-Earth after the fall of the Dark, when most of the elves had left to cross the Sea, and only the much younger elves, those who still felt a hold, an attachment, to the land of their birth had remained behind. Legolas's father had remained behind long enough to see his son married and installed in the throne, and then to see the birth of his first grandchild, Aéllanwen's older brother Gryphondal. Aéllanwen herself had never known her grandfather, but she did not grieve, certain as she was that they would meet when she, too, felt the call of the sea.
She pushed away from the balcony railing now, frustrated. She had been going over and over her dream in her mind, and the only thing she was even relatively certain of was that she could expect an arrival, a coming of sorts…and yet she still had no idea whom, nor even if this coming was something to be anticipated with gladness or with fear, for it was accompanied with a feeling that was a truly strange mix of both.
She sighed and climbed back into bed. It was no good losing sleep over it now. She would simply have to tell her mother about it in the morning, and hope she could help.
**********************
If the hunter had entered the portal in the woods expecting to emerge in some sort of terrible hell-dimension, it can be little doubted that he was more than shocked with where he actually found himself. The woods were cool, with a sharpness in the air that he recognized as autumn, or perhaps early winter. The trees were exceedingly tall, the most beautiful he had ever seen, and they seemed to whisper about him and at him. It appeared a most wondrous and beautiful place, wherever he had landed.
But he had long ago learned to be wary of beauty.
He became suddenly aware of light to his right, and he regarded it for only a moment before turning his horse's head in the direction of the source; though he may be suspicious, it was a very long time since he had been truly cautious.
It was not long before he could see his destination, a rather medieval looking walled city in the midst of the trees. It came to him as he rode toward it that he had no idea who or what resided within. Such lack of knowledge would not stop him from riding right up to gates and requesting to be let in, but he did hate that feeling of ignorance. Even with the Barberoi, so many years before, he had had a good idea that he might not be coming out alive, which was in itself somehow comforting, just to know what to expect. But this…
He was aware of their presence even before he saw them, several tall figures, dressed in green and brown, their long, fair hair pulled back behind their ears, which he saw were slightly pointed, like a vampire…and yet he was certain they were not vampires. They were fair, but not pale, the eyes were the wrong colour, and they all sported a bow.
Vampires rarely used "mortal" weapons.
They surrounded him, training arrows at his heart. He did not register surprise. He had expected such an attack. He looked above him and in the darkness he could discern several more figures perched in the branches of the trees, watching him warily.
"Who, are you, stranger, and why do you travel the kingdom of Mirkwood?" asked the one who must be the leader.
The hunter regarded him silently for a moment, as if trying to decide how to answer. Finally he said simply, "I am called D, I am a hunter, and I have lost my way."
The leader looked at him for a long time. These people, whoever they were, seemed weary of him, and yet…it was not for the reasons that most feared him. They seemed to regard him as little more than a stranger passing through their land, to be treated with as much caution as any other stranger.
It was, D thought, rather a strange feeling, not to be instantly judged.
"And what is it," the leader asked, "that you hunt? Orcs are nearly extinct. What else could be of profit for you?"
"Orcs" was a word D did not recognize, but he did not say as much. "I have hunted many things, in my time, but I am, primarily, a vampire hunter."
"Vampire…" said the being slowly, as if testing the word. "I do not know what a vampire is…"
Oh, this was wonderful. Of all the places the vampire could have landed, he had chosen a world that knew nothing of his kind, that was entirely defenseless. D was certain that, having gone through the same portal, they had landed in the same forest, but God only knew where the vampire was now…
"A vampire," he replied, in explanation, "is an immortal and nearly invincible creature, forever in a state somewhere between life and death…not alive, but not exactly dead either. They are confined to the night, for the sunlight will them, and they feed off of the blood of mortals." It was blunt, but there was no point in wasting time or words.
The archer looked supremely disturbed. "We do not know such creatures here." He paused, then took a step closer, lowering his bow, and looked up at D, who was still mounted. "Did you chase one of these vampires into our woods?"
D inclined his head. "In a manner of speaking, yes; though I do not know where he is now…I…lost him about the time I entered your domain."
The being seemed to consider this. "I believe you should speak to our king," he said finally. "He is older than I, and perhaps he knows of these vampires. At any rate, if there is a danger to the elves, he should be informed. Will you please accompany us?"
D simply nodded, old aristocratic ways long ago ingrained in him quickly surfacing. "I would be honoured to speak with your king."
"Dynariel!" called the…elf, D supposed, remembering what he had said before, "a threat to the elves." It was strange. D remembered the images of "elves" that humans had long had, and they were very little like this…
His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of an elf maid. "This is Dynariel," said the first elf. "She will escort you to the city. I wish you luck." He turned and had soon disappeared into the shadows. Dynariel spoke.
"You are very still and quiet," she said thoughtfully, "as if you are waiting for something." She shrugged, and gestured in the direction of the gates. "Well, are you ready to be on your way?"
D merely nodded again, perhaps proving her observation correct, and dismounted to walk beside her, leading his horse behind him. Not surprisingly, the walk was silent, until they reached the gates, at which time Dynariel called up a greeting to the guard to let them in. By now the sun was rising, and the city was beginning to wake up, stores were opening, people were on the streets. The buildings were mostly of stone, beautifully and elaborately carved, etched with vines, and leaves, and other images of nature. There were even structures high above the ground, in the branches of the largest trees. Dynariel led him to the center of town, to a massive, but elegant great hall, more painfully beautiful than any D had ever seen, whether built by vampire or by human. All around him, D felt an almost overwhelming purity, and beauty that went beyond the mere physical.
When the reached the castle, a young elf came towards them. "He will take your horse…" began Dynariel, and then she paused. She looked at the horse, then at D. "He is a very unusual horse…" she trailed off.
A slight raise of one eyebrow. "He is mechanical."
She looked shocked. "Mechanical!?" A pause. "Then he does not eat."
"He does."
It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "I see. Very well, we shall take excellent care of him." She nodded to the stable boy, who took the reins, looking shyly, but curiously up at the stranger. Dynariel was also looking at him very closely. He resisted the unfamiliar urge to squirm. "I think," she said finally. "That you, Hunter, have traveled very far to get to Mirkwood. I pray that you will find your way home."
And she turned to walk through the doors of the Great Hall. He stood for a long moment, silent and still, and then he finally turned to follow her.
*******************************
Aéllanwen awoke to knocking. Groggily, she crawled out of bed and went to open the door. "Hmm?" she sighed.
It was her mother. "Dress quickly, please, a'mael. We have a guest, and I want you there to observe. He should be a bit of a challenge, for word is he reveals nothing with his face and little more with his words."
Aéllanwen was instantly awake. It had been some time since they had had a visitor they knew nothing about, and she was worried she was getting a bit rusty in her ability to read strangers. A chance to test them again was just what she wanted.
Andrenel was smiling. "You slept late today, 'Wen. At least an hour past dawn," she remarked wryly.
"I had a dream," 'Wen replied as she dressed. She shook her head at her mother's questioning look. "I'll tell you about it later." There was a pause. "You said a guest. But why is he here?"
"Dynariel, one of the scouts, escorted him into the city. She said he is a hunter of some sort, and that he has information on a potential threat to us, but would not say more."
"He is an elf?"
Andrenel shook her head. "To be honest, we have no idea *what* he is." She made a face. "That sounds so crude, but…it is the truth. He is not a man, but neither is he an elf, and he is certainly not a hobbit or a dwarf, or even a wizard, for though he is quite surprisingly tall, he has no beard, and carries a sword, not a staff." She shook her head. "He is very much a mystery. We shall have to rely very heavily on my abilities, for we cannot even draw on our knowledge of his race."
By now Aéllanwen was dressed, and had pulled her hair back from her face. "I look forward to the challenge," she remarked. "Well, I am ready, shall we go?" She hooked her arm through her mother's and they were off.
They found Legolas dressed in a simple tunic of light green, waiting in a small antechamber next to the main throne room, furnished simply with several polished wooden chairs of a deep brown placed in front of a large fireplace and a small table in one corner. He smiled when he saw them. "Good morning, lisse'corm," he said to Aéllanwen, giving her a kiss on the forehead.
"Good morning, Atar," she smiled back. "Thank you for letting me be here for your council."
"Lle creoso, Aéllanwen. You are ready. Weiryn," he spoke to his steward, "You may see him in, now."
Weiryn bowed. "Yes, my lord. Shall I take his weapon from him?"
Legolas considered. "No. Let him keep it. It will be a gesture of trust."
Weiryn nodded, and left. Andrenel moved to stand beside her husband, and Aéllanwen stood next to her. She took a deep, steadying breath, beginning to feel a bit nervous. Her mother squeezed her hand gently.
Weiryn returned, leading the hunter. Suddenly Aéllanwen felt an overpowering sadness, a loneliness like nothing she had ever felt or imagined. She gasped when she saw him fully. He was very tall, indeed, taller even than her father, lean, but heavily muscled. Very pale, even white, with steely gray eyes set in a face that was delicate, otherworldly. His hair was long, reaching nearly to his waist, dark, and gently waved, covered by a wide brimmed hat. He wore black armour of some sort, a long cloak, and a blue stone on a chain around his neck, and he was armed with the longest sword she had ever seen. Pointed ears peaked out from under his dark locks, but her mother was right: he was no elf. She had never seen anyone quite like him.
"Welcome, Hunter." Her father was speaking, and she struggled to push aside the painful feelings this stranger brought with him to focus on what was being said.
The hunter bowed his head, unsheathing his sword, laying it flat across his palms and holding it out in front of himself. He moved directly in front of Legolas and kneeled, laying his weapon on the floor at the elf's feet. "I thank you for meeting with me, my lord."
Legolas bid him rise with a light touch on the shoulder, (was it her imagination, or did she see him flinch away just the slightest bit?) then inclined his head in return. "By all means," the king replied gravely, "do tell me of this threat you perceive…"
The hunter was silent for a moment, resheathing his sword, and then he began.
He told the story in great detail; his voice was quiet, and deep. He spoke of chasing his game through what could only be a portal of some sort, he explained that he came from a world entirely different from theirs, and that he did not, now know where he was, only that this kingdom was called "Mirkwood." And then he described the creature he had been hunting, something called a vampire, which was more horrible than almost anything Aéllanwen had ever heard of. She gasped slightly when he described how they fed on the blood of humans. When his story was finished, all three elves were deeply troubled. Legolas turned to look at his wife. She merely nodded. He turned back to the hunter.
"What are you called, Hunter?" he asked.
"D," was the simple reply.
"D, I do not know these vampires you speak of. Indeed, I have never known anything like them. We do not have such things in Middle Earth. Do you know why he would have traveled across worlds to reach us? Surely there are no more humans here than where you come from."
"Vampires are not limited to the blood of humans. They can feed on the blood of any creature. They simply…prefer humans, because they are the most powerful beings in my world." A pause. "No, that is not true. But the vampires do believe that they have the cleanest blood…"
"But you are not human, friend." Legolas observed. He let the statement fall, let the question remain implied, wanting D not to feel as if he were being interrogated. But as hoped, the hunter answered. His voice was even, but Aéllanwen felt a wave of resignation as he spoke.
"No, I am not. Not entirely. I am a dhampir, a half breed. My mother, you see, was human, but my father was a vampire."
He looked rather as if he expected to be thrown out or attacked, but Legolas only observed calmly, "You are half vampire, and yet you hunt and destroy them."
"I destroy cruelty," D replied. "I only destroy those vampires who are guilty of cruelty. A vampire does not have to feed to survive, but the urge is strong. If they give in to it, and if they take pleasure it in…then they must be destroyed." His eyes took on a rather distant look. "I once knew a vampire who had never touched a human. He wanted only to be left alone, to escape. I was hired to kill him, but I could not. As far as I know, he is still alive."
"And have you ever taken blood?" Legolas asked softly. Aéllanwen glanced in shock at her father, then back at the hunter, expecting to feel and to see anger, but D only shook his head.
"Never."
Legolas nodded, accepting this as the truth. "Very well. Do you then, know why this vampire would have come here, of all places? What is he seeking?"
"He has his reasons for hating me," D replied simply. "I am aware that he wishes me dead, but I am…difficult to kill. I believe perhaps he is searching for something to make him stronger. You…" he looked around at the three of them. Aéllanwen felt again a surge of pain—she had to fight the urge to weep with despair—as their eyes briefly met…was it just her imagination, or did he regard her for just a moment longer than necessary? "You are not human," D stated. "And I…I get the distinct impression that you are more powerful than humans. Is this true?"
Legolas gave a surreptitious glance to Andrenel. "In many ways, yes. The Elves
have at least a hint of magic in them that one does not find in humans."
Legolas saw his daughter signal from the corner of his eye that all was
well with the stranger. She sensed no change in his motive and he could feel
that his wife concurred. There was no one alive in Middle-Earth he trusted more.
He had hesitated but the slightest instant during this time but there was no
telling whether the stranger noticed. The king continued, "We are immune to
all disease and infection, and we have lifespans far beyond those of all the
other races."
D bowed his head. "It is as I thought. Your blood would strengthen him. It is cleaner, it flows with magic, and power. He will search out an elf to feed on."
Legolas' alarm showed in his face. "Then we must set up watches. I will not let a single one of my people become victim to this…this thing, this…agaryulnaer."
"No," said D simply. "It will not work. He could easily slip through your defenses. At night, a vampire can move through the darkness like you move through water. The shadows are his allies, he can fade, he can slink…no…we must try to discover who he will attack, and we must protect them…just them…"
Andrenel spoke. "But how can we possibly know who he will target? There are nearly five thousand elves in this kingdom. We cannot post guards at every door."
"Power is his game," said D. "He will find the most powerful among you, and he will single them out. He will not look for power of the body, but inner power. Power of the mind and spirit. The kind of thing that flows like an essence…that flows through the blood. And he will prefer a virgin." It was possible that he looked vaguely uncomfortable at that statement, but it was difficult to be certain. "Do you know of anyone with a particular gift? Something that sets them apart?"
It took a moment to register, but when it did, Aéllanwen felt as if she were drowning. All the hunter's pain was pushed from her mind…she made a small, a strangled sound, and looked up to find D staring at her, his face betraying nothing. The feelings of her parents, however, were frighteningly clear. They looked at her with horror.
"Aéllanwen," her mother whispered. "Ai, Elbereth…"
**translations of elvish**
a'mael- beloved
lisse'corm- sweet heart
atar- father
lle creoso- you're welcome
agaryulnaer- bloodsucker
Ai, Elbereth- sort of like saying "Oh, God…"
