Author note: I'm so sorry it's been a QUARTER OF A YEAR since I last updated. Summer is always really busy for me. Anyway, thank you new followers, favs and reviewers (especially Certh for your flurry of encouraging, constructive and interesting reviews for each chapter). I won't hold you up with more waffle other than to say please keep the reviews coming in! I've missed this story while I've been busy and will be really glad to read people's thoughts on it. Welcome back to Lothlorien. x

Chapter Five - Elunis

The days seemed long in Lothlorien. Keren had thought it was because she initially had very little to do, but once she had several hours each day filled with lessons and tours with the Marchwardens she still found the hours went slower than at home. She tried not to think too hard about it, as the word magic was never far away in her mind, and it unnerved her.

Haldir, Rumil and Orophin alternated their time with her, as each had his duties to fulfil, although Haldir had said that their hours on duty had more than halved since the fall of Sauron. Evil seemed to be retreating everywhere, as if the earth could no longer sustain it.

She had quickly got used to the sound of the gentle breeze rustling the leaves all day, but she had never had to fight the sound to get to sleep, as it seemed to mysteriously disappear with the sun, all becoming still and silent when night fell. The atmosphere was very different when the sun did not shine – on her first night there Keren had not been able to sleep, and went for a walk under the trees, somehow lit by a moon that was hidden from sight. She had found it eerie and unsettling, the image of her mother wandering the silent glades no longer comforting but frightening, and she had hastened back to the talan, shivering.

The strange paradox of night and day, moon and sun, fear and fun stayed with her long after that first night. The hours under shining silver and green were full of laughter, adventure and light. As soon as the sun set, though, she was frightened, for it seemed a different, mysterious land, so very far from home.

One comforting thing she had not expected, however, was the speed with which she was picking up the language. Before, during the rare times she had heard Elvish spoken, she had not been able to glean the meaning of any words, nor even tell that any had been repeated, other than names. But when the three brothers were patient with her, and repeated their phrases slowly, she was able to easily copy the sounds and intonation, until she had developed an impressive accent within a few weeks. It took a little longer to master what was actually being said, however, which was what her lessons with Haldir were for. He often gently mocked her for being able to repeat a sentence perfectly after learning it from his brothers, without having any idea what it meant.

"Just like your mother," he would often say, which would by degrees please and infuriate her.

It was a revelation when Keren discovered her mother had spoken Sindarin fluently. She must have gone to great trouble in Minas Tirith to hide any trace of a Lorien accent, for questions would have been asked on hearing such a voice come out of a woman of Gondor. When any of the Elves Keren had come across spoke Westron it was clear they did not speak like Men. All in Lothlorien shared the curious rolling 'r' that Legolas possessed, but Haldir explained that if Keren listened closely she would notice subtle differences between the Lorien and Mirkwood elves.

"Your prince speaks the same tongue as us," Haldir explained, once Keren had told the brothers of her friendship with Legolas, whom they had all previously met, "but we are many leagues apart, and each land has its own accent."

"But you can understand each other?" Keren wondered.

"Try that in Sindarin," Haldir instructed.

"Di cheniog?" Keren said after a little thought.

"Farn." Haldir half-praised her, then went on in Westron. "Of course we understand, as you could easily understand your hobbit friends. They may have some words that are peculiar to their home, but nothing so far removed that it cannot be easily explained."

"So…" Keren began, then tailed off, suddenly shy about what she had been waiting a long time to find out.

"Ask your question," Haldir said, with a strange look.

"So you could tell me what something meant – something Legolas said to me?" she said quietly.

"If you wish," he replied. "And what did the prince have to say to you?"

Keren wondered at the slightly condescending tone in her mentor's voice, but was it towards her or her friend?

"He – he said…" she paused whilst making sure she quoted Legolas exactly. "Cuio vê, Keren, no gelin idh raid lîn."

She watched Haldir's face carefully, but saw very little reaction other than what was, perhaps, mild relief.

"Well, that is simple," he said. "Your friend said, 'farewell, Keren, may your paths be green.'

Keren allowed the lovely words to flow around her, missing her friend more than ever, but Haldir went on with his lesson.

"Of course, in Lòrien some of the Lady's court would say, 'no gelin in raid dhîn, for they keep the tongue of Doriath alive, but as you see, it would be clear enough to them. And besides, they speak many tongues, including some which..."

Keren nodded vaguely, no longer listening.

May your paths be green. So that was the meaning of those softly spoken words, words he had said to her on two occasions. She remembered the differing ways they were delivered – firstly under the oak tree, with solemnity and the belief that their paths would not cross again; secondly as he rode away from her, with his strange smile and a promise that they would meet in the future, though neither could guess when that would be. It was a nice wish for her: a peaceful, easy future. A strange shiver came over her however, for it reminded her of the fateful green gown that had apparently failed to win Faramir over.

Or had it? She often found herself still pondering the steward's feelings for her in those days. It was as if his head and soul were two very different things – she still believed that they were connected, but just not in the way she had hoped or prepared for. Every now and then he would jolt into her consciousness, sometimes causing a physical reaction as she involuntarily shrugged or shook her head. Haldir had asked for her tale and he had got it, and when these strange moments took her he had learnt to be silent. She did not know what he thought about it.

She knew what she thought, for hadn't Haldir said to her that here, in Caras Galadhon, she would be free? But Faramir had not left her mind, not yet. During the day he was barely granted a second of her thoughts, but at night… Keren blamed the moon, and the all-pervading atmosphere of mystery, but still sometimes those old, wishful thoughts would return, even though they meant little to her now. She was learning that the process of forgetting someone who had occupied a part of her for so long was a slow one, and she was beginning to realise that it may be years until she could think of him with indifference.

But, for the most part, she had far more to occupy her thoughts. She was waiting, every day, for the summons from Lady Galadriel. Surely soon she must call Keren to her side and tell her everything, as she had promised she would. How long was the Lady expecting her to 'settle in' to Elvish life before they met? The only way she could keep track of time was by the changing of the leaves, and by looking up at the now-golden underside of the canopy, she judged that summer must be over, and she had been in Lorien months rather than weeks. The Golden Wood did not have a true winter, and she knew that when the leaves finally fell there would be beautiful golden flowers revealed, heralding the spring. Keren decided that if Galadriel had not shared her secrets by then, then she would march right up to the Lady's talan and refuse to leave until she had the answers.

As well as her Sindarin lessons with the Marchwardens, there had been many meetings – formal and informal – with the elven folk. Keren learnt that elves were much like the race of men, in that none were the same. Some were haughty and proud, some were shy and gentle. They were funny, or bossy, or kind, young by their reckoning or ancient, wise or a little silly. Most sang beautifully, some played the harp or the flute, whilst a very few did not like music at all, and only sang the hymns to the Valar. Some ate meat, some did not. Those who had married or mated would sometimes kiss their partner openly, often with much ardour, whilst others would look on shocked or embarrassed at such licentious behaviour. Some could dance for hours, and some would sit quietly and talk.

But some things they all had in common – long limbs, lithe bodies that moved with grace and ease, and faces of near-indescribable beauty. As much as they dressed Keren up in their style of clothing – fitted and fashioned just for her, long and flowing and nothing like the practical shift and kirtle from what seemed like a lifetime ago in the Houses of Healing – she was not and never would be like one of them. The only reason why she may draw a gaze from amongst a crowd now would be because she was a foot smaller than even the shortest of them. But then she often thought that, even amongst her own kind, she had never been the one that people admired.

Except for one, she silently reminded herself sometimes when she felt a little self-conscious amongst all the supernatural beauty. He could not take his eyes off me, then.

Her plain clothes, which she had set out in all those months ago, lay bundled in the bottom of her never-opened travel sack, a silent memory of her old life. The green gown she had left behind in Minas Tirith, for she felt it had caused enough trouble.

One night, when the leaves had just begun to fall, Keren woke from a dream she could not remember. She felt disorientated and confused, and it took her a little while to remember where she was. It had been so long since she had lain in her tiny bed opposite Palen's, yet she had woken up reaching out for her sister's hand.

"Pal?" Keren whispered foolishly, for she knew her sister could not be there, and was many leagues away in her own bed. And yet her presence had felt so near.

The night was very still, as always. The strange silvery light that appeared to have no source was enough for her to see dimly by. She heard no sounds from the telain above and below, where the three brothers must lay resting. Feeling very awake, and frustrated at the stillness, she shot her legs over the side of the low bed and stood up quickly.

Not knowing where she was going, or what she planned to do when she got there, she stole down the thin steps that ran around the trunk of the great mallorn tree she now called home. If the brothers heard her they gave no sign of trying to stop her.

Her bare feet touched cool grass beneath the tree, but she did not stop, and allowed her legs to take her where they wanted to go. Past many trees she went, not rushing but moving with purpose, and it seemed that no one saw or heard her. It was an area that was not entirely unfamiliar to her, for Haldir had taken her on many walks through the wood, and she had even climbed a few trees as her mother had done. Now, with her feet bare, dressed all in white, she felt closer to her mother and her elvish ways than ever before. She realised, not without a shudder, that she felt as if she belonged to the elvish kingdom for the first time. She was elf-friend, but it was not the warm-comforting feeling she was expecting. She felt almost a stranger to herself.

She had long passed where she had reached on her first night, where she had grown afraid of the stillness. And still she kept walking, until she realised she had come to a place where she had not been before. There was a gap in the leaves, and moonlight shone down, lighting a path through the trees before her. For the first time she paused and took stock of the situation, and wondered what on earth had possessed her to wander so far alone at night.

Just turn around and walk straight until you find a familiar place, she thought, as rationally as she could.

But she did not turn around, for just then she saw someone moving in the shadows just beyond the moonbeam. She was not afraid, for she felt the figure looked familiar, but nor was she entirely at ease. Her skin seemed to prickle with static, and she took another step forward, then another, until she was walking in the footsteps of the person ahead, and following them down the path lit by the moon.

They did not turn around to see who was following them, and Keren had a horrible feeling that she, for it was a she, knew it was her, and wanted her to follow.

She passed through a patch of shadow, and for a moment all was in total darkness. She blindly walked forwards and emerged into a glade, with no sign of the elf she had been following. She frowned to herself, looking around, still feeling watched. Then, at the edge of the clearing, between two small, straight trees, she saw two statues, and froze.

They were carved out of a smooth, light grey stone, two figures in long flowing robes, standing with eyes closed. One was her mother. One was her.

She grabbed at the crystal in its pouch hanging at her waist, as she always did when frightened, but somehow knew no voice would come from it this time.

"Tinunil will not give you an answer," said another voice, although this one was real, and just behind her shoulder.

Keren spun on the spot, and beheld the figure she had been following. It was the elf on the mountain pass, the one who had sat still and silent behind Keren for most of the journey, and had ultimately bored her with her lack of communication. She still did not smile.

"Just look again, without fear, and you will understand." The elf continued.

Keren, not knowing what to say, did as instructed. She walked a little closer to the statues, which were life-size, and standing close beside each other. Her eyes widened as she read the names on the plinths below them: KEREN. ORWEN.

Seeing her mother's name she ran forward until she was within touching distance of them. The faces had become clearer as she approached, and she could now see that the figure on the left was not her after all, although so alike she could see where her initial shock had come from. The face was thinner, and the nose was smaller, but the same high forehead was there, the same gently curved eyebrows and wide mouth. She realised, her heart pounding, that she was looking at the face of her grandmother.

Her eyes were closed, and a gentle smile was on her lips, whilst her hands were cradling a slightly rounded belly.

"She was buried here. Her body lies beneath your feet." The strange, sad voice said, from behind her. "Her fea is free."

"My grandmother," Keren whispered, all she could find to say. "And…"

She tailed off as she looked at the statue of her mother, drinking in the sight of her beloved face. The statue's arms were spread wide as if embracing the air, and her head was thrown back slightly, eyes closed in rapture. The lips were parted and slightly curled at the corners in the start of a smile, revealing tips of straight teeth, rounded cheeks, and slight crinkles at the corner of her eyes. One foot was before the other, as though as she was running or walking quickly into a breeze, and indeed her hair had been carved in strands that appeared to be blowing in the wind, streaming behind her. Keren followed the statue's gaze, and saw it pointed up to the gap in the leaves. When the sun shone it would shine on her face, just like Haldir said she had loved.

"This is…" Keren found it hard to speak. "This is not my mother."

She began to feel strangely panicky. No, this was not her mother. Her mother had been a quiet, lonely, scared woman, who lavished all her pent-up kindness on her daughters, as they were the only ones she allowed near. She had spoken, had told her stories, in a hushed, secretive voice. She had died afraid to even look out of the window onto the dawning day. Her mother was buried along with everyone else in the city, beneath a plain nondescript stone with her name and the date of her death, for no one had known the date of her birth. But this statue looked like a woman who would call her name out to the sky, who would dance and sing and laugh and cry with joy, who would feel.

"This is the Orwen all who dwell here knew and remember," said the elf, still behind her. "She is the woman who birthed you, who loved you. She was just hidden from your sight."

The thought was too painful for Keren, and indeed her mind seemed to reject it, for she heard herself ask an unrelated question.

"Who are you?" She turned on the spot, her back to her forebears of stone, and stared accusingly at the elf before her.

"I am called Elunis. For more than an age I have walked the paths of the Golden Wood, though I have few friends here, for I keep to still places, and speak but rarely."

Keren's brow furrowed at this strange statement.

"Does the Lady – "

"Galadriel knows and loves me, and she and I have had much discourse since she came here."

"But – "

"She would like to see you now, tonight. I shall take you to her."

The strange elf turned and walked back the way they had come.

"How did you know where to find me?" Keren's voice sounded shrill in the quiet glade.

Elunis stopped and turned her head, her golden hair swaying down her back.

"I could ask the same of you, elf-friend," she said, "but find me you did, and now you will know how to find this place, should you ever wish to come here again. For now, though, follow me – the Lady is impatient to speak with you."

Keren turned and took one last look at her mother's carved face. She knew not how to feel about this strange, silent place where her grandmother's remains lay hallowed, but nevertheless she vowed to return – in sunlight.

She watched as Elunis walked quickly through the trees, barefoot and with no sound, and felt the shadows close in around her until she was compelled to run after the elf, despite her strangeness.

"If the Lady is so impatient to see me, why has she waited months to summon me?" Keren asked, a little out of breath as she struggled once again to keep up with elvish pace.

"She was waiting for the right time, and now the time is here she is impatient," Elunis replied. "I am sure you can understand that?"

The elf did not look down at her as she spoke, and Keren studied her profile.

"You look like her," she said. "The Lady."

Elunis smiled, for the first time.

"No kin am I of Galadriel. And yet she is dear to me. As was your mother, as are you."

Keren stopped walking.

"I?" she said to Elunis's back. "But we had not met until the mountain pass."

"Are all those dear to us one's that we have met?" the elf said as she slowed her pace a little to allow Keren to catch up. "Your sister's child, when he arrives, will be dear to you, and yet there is no power in the world that will enable you to meet him before his arrival."

"My – my sister's child? What do you mean?" Keren suddenly felt giddy.

"The friends of Orwen hear many things of her daughters, though they are far away," Elunis replied.

"Palen – Palen is with child?"

Another elusive smile spread across Elunis's lips.

"Why – why was I not informed?" was all Keren could find to say. "How long have people here known? How do people here know?"

"The Lady may explain, if she chooses. But we draw near – "

"If she chooses?" Keren nearly exploded. "It's my family! Who does she think she is?"

"She is the most powerful of her kind in this, perhaps any, Age." Elunis grew stern and cold once more, her voice slightly raised. "Since the First Age on Middle-Earth, and before that in lands you can only imagine, she has grown in wisdom, cast off her pride, and honed her skills. None like her walk this Earth, for she has suffered, and made grave errors, and yet now she is amongst the great. She has sinned and repented. She is loved and feared. Kind beyond all to those who need kindness, fierce and terrible to her enemies. There are none wiser in this Middle-Earth, none more noble nor of such high lineage amongst the elves. And you, daughter of a Gondorian carpenter, will do well to remember that."

Keren felt humbled and furious at the same time.

"Far greater is the lady than I, far more wise and brave it is laughable to even compare us, but our difference in birth is not the reason for that. Humble beginnings do not mean you are doomed to obscurity, to hide in the shadows of others greater than you, to always wish you could be them, or be with them."

And with that comment Elunis broke into a smile of such beauty Keren imagined she could feel a strange power coming from it.

"Well spoken, daughter of Orwen," Elunis said, beaming. "Now you are quite ready to follow your new path. For until now, your heart was unsure."

Keren knew not what to say, nor what to make of the elf's strange comments.

"Galadriel awaits you," Elunis went on. "Follow this path a little further and you will come upon her garden. Pass through the hedge and cross the lawn, 'til you see stone steps, which will lead you down into a hollow. By the stream in that hollow you shall find her."

"Will you not walk with me to see your friend?" Keren wondered.

"My part is done. She summoned me to fetch you, but now you must go alone. Reflect on all that has happened, for she may ask you questions you were not expecting. Keep Tinunil close to hand and have courage. It is not the Lady's part to make you afraid, but to help you learn. Farewell, dear one."

As easily as water flowing from a spring, she knelt and kissed Keren's brow.

"Remember what you are destined for, for I know in these times it is easy to forget."

And with those strange words the elf left her, passing through the trees silent and tall, until Keren could see her no longer.

Masking a little shiver, Keren turned away and set her feet towards Galadriel's garden. It was still full night, but the moonlight reached down and gave her confidence to continue on.

She walked slowly, trying to gather her thoughts. Her meeting with Elunis had been unsettling, and she meant to ask the Lady of her strange friend, but they had much to discuss before she could get around to that. She found she could not think properly, nor devise any questions, although for months she had had many. All had escaped her, and she walked towards the Lady with a strangely blank yet busy mind, busy with nothingness.

A high hedge came into view, and she passed under an arch cut beneath it, into a wide garden, clear of trees and open to the stars. Cutting across the smooth grass, she spied the steps in the shadows at the edge of the lawn. Almost running with anticipation, she reached the top before suddenly taking stock of where she was and what she had come from.

Minas Tirith seemed in another time, another world. She found it hard to remember faces and names, and with a start she realised she could not remember the sound of Faramir's laugh, which she had treasured so dearly. She had forgotten the Warden's name, she had forgotten Ioreth's voice. She had not thought of Beregond or Bergil since…she could not remember. And Palen… was Palen truly pregnant? She had awoken with a certainty that her sister had called her name, and now that awakening had led her here. And yet. She could not place her foot on the first step. She was trembling.

Remember what you are destined for, Elunis's voice echoed back to her.

But she had forgotten. The crystal's prophecy, what was it? What was it?

"Daughter of Orwen, cease the nervous chatter in your mind and you will remember. You will also be better placed to listen. There is nothing to fear from me."

A low voice called to her from around the bend of the stream in the glade below.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Keren placed one bare foot on the cold stone steps, then another, and slowly, methodically, set a foot on each step, following the gentle curve, until, after what felt like hours, she was at the bottom, and she could take in the sight before her.

The Lady Galadriel stood alone, all in white, and a light seemed to shine from her, so that all around was lit as much by her as from the moon. Keren almost bolted at the sight, but she was held in place by what happened next.

Still your mind and your body, or you will learn naught of use. Nothing I do or say is to frighten you, but to help you.

The Lady's voice, echoing her head, as only the crystal's had done before. And yet it was not the same – this was far more direct, almost invasive.

She was held in place, almost spellbound she felt, and in such a state she was able to look around properly.

There was the lady, stood still and proud. There was the stream, rippling silently at her feet. And there, atop a small pedestal carved like a tree with broad branches, was a shallow bowl, with a silver jug beside it.

Author note: So we all recognise that particular image and know what's coming, right? Eek.