Finally. I'm so sorry this chapter took so long. I know I normally at least have a new chapter out around Christmas, and last year I didn't. I had grad school applications I was trying finish up (which sadly didn't lead to anything - but don't worry, I'm not giving up on going) which kept me really busy until January. I planned to throw myself into finishing this chapter when I was done, but almost immediately after that, I was in a car wreck. A drunk driver ran a red light and totaled my car and put me in the hospital. I was okay, just in a lot of pain. Then a week later I got sick. So basically, I spent the first part of this year on a bunch of different medications, which is not really conducive to decent writing. Also, as you may have noticed, this chapter is super, super long. BUT I wanted to get this part of the story done, so we can get on with the plot.

I do want to thank everyone who sent messages asking about this story, both for your interest and for being super polite and nice about the delay. I really appreciate it. Also sorry again it's so long. I hope you like it.


Chapter 3: With One Star Awake

She awoke with no pain and no sensation save that of the cold light of the stars now embedded on her soul. Then the pins and needles came, as though her soul had only recently settled back into her body and was beginning to reorient itself with corporeal existence. Warm air pushed itself in and out of her lungs. She smelled burning wood, wet grass, and smoke. She heard harmonious sounds from far away and chattering in a language she did not know. A fire crackled nearby. She opened her eyes.

Leaves fluttered above her in a silver and purple mural, broken by shards of moonlight. She lay on a bed crafted right into a gray-limbed tree and covered in soft linen and down. A tall thin woman stood nearby, clothed in white samite and silver-specked linen. Her hair was the color of quicksilver and flowed down her shoulders. Her eyes were deep purple gems in her unlined face. Tiny pinpricks of light shone in each pupil, and her skin seemed to glow. Her ears were pointed.

"Where am I?"

"You are in Elbereth. Night has fallen, but you will live to see another day."

The name meant nothing to her.

"Who are you?"

"I am Lady Varda. This is my realm."

Every answer only gave her more questions.

"What happened to me?"

"Do you not remember?" asked Lady Varda placidly.

"I remember falling. And pain. Terrible pain and a bright light. Then nothing. I don't – I don't even-"

She shut her eyes against the hulking void in her memory. She opened them again and saw the unmoved face of Lady Varda.

"Who am I?"

Lady Varda smiled at her kindly and laid a hand on her face.

"You will remember. When your heart finds its home, you will remember."

"Please tell me what happened to me."

"An evil man tried to murder you. He nearly succeeded. In a way, he did. But I have restored you."

She trembled. A tear fell from her face.

"I don't even know my own name."

"Then we shall have to provide you with a new one," said Lady Varda airily.

"I wouldn't even begin to know what to call myself."

"May I propose one for you?"

"Please."

"Minariel."

She repeated the name twice, rolling it over her tongue and tasting it in her mind.

"What does it mean?"

Lady Varda smiled enigmatically.

"It means 'Maiden of the Tower'. I think you will find it suits you rather well."

Her brow furrowed as she pondered the meaning of that.

"Where is this place? I don't know it, and I am confident that I never have."

"It is far away from the place of your birth," Lady Varda admitted.

"How did I come to be here?"

"I had you carried to this place. Your body was broken. Now it is mended. You are no longer as you once were. It may take some time for you to grow accustomed to this form."

This pronouncement was strange to her, for she felt no different. Then again, she could recall little of any experience prior to waking beneath the purple-dappled forest, so she had little frame of reference for the changes of which Lady Varda spoke. She held up her hands and looked at them. She turned them over and examined the palms. The skin was quite fair, and the moonlight painted them nearly silver. A strand of hair fell in her face. She held it between her fingers and gazed at the straight chestnut wisp, somehow secure in the knowledge that it had always been so. She touched the rest of her hair tentatively.

"My eyes are grey, are they not?" she said slowly.

The Lady smiled at her. She continued to slowly run her fingers through her hair with growing familiarity. Then she realized something did feel, not wrong, but out of place. Her hair, she realized, was normally drawn up when she was dressed. She instinctively began to pull it back, running her fingers through the hair at her temples, when she felt them.

Her ears were quite pointed.


Near a fortnight passed before Lady Varda permitted her to rise and walk further than her room. Varda's people left out clothing for her to wear, a white tunic in a light woven material, grey leather breeches, and black leather boots and a wide matching belt. She donned the clothes slowly. She still felt unaccustomed to her body, as though her mind was unsure it belonged to her. The fingers and toes, shoulders and thighs, torso and skin all held a distant familiarity to them like looking upon a far removed relative. In the looking glass, her face knew itself, though she couldn't say how. The clothes were foreign, yet comfortable, and fit as though she were measured for them. She took a breath and walked from the room.

She emerged into a great courtyard. The sun shone through gaps in the canopy like darts. Trees over one hundred feet tall twisted and turned toward the sky, their grey bark as smooth as leather. Elves milled about as they went about their morning. Some carried large tomes in their arms on their way to study in seclusion, a trio stood in one corner playing instruments, some carried urns of water and trays of food. As she walked through the courtyard, many of them turned to look upon her. Those that paid her any attention seemed perplexed by her presence, though not hostile. Nevertheless, she felt exposed and very obviously out of place.

"Minariel," said the voice of Lady Varda. "This way."

The Lady led her into a great hall, where the trees had wrapped themselves around each other so tightly, that they formed a natural roof. Beneath this canopy, many long tables sat with benches to form a great communal dining hall. Lady Varda led Minariel to the end of the hall and onto a raised platform in front of the tables. As they stood before the elves congregated for the morning meal, a hush fell upon the crowd.

"Thank you for your attention," announced Lady Varda. "It pleases me to introduce to you the newest member of our company. Her name is Minariel. Please treat her with all the courtesy and respect you have bestowed upon me. Thank you."

A murmur of confusion swept through the crowd which did nothing to ease Minariel's discomfort. She still felt out of place and was now more confused than ever at how she came to be at this place. Yet the elves seemed to obey Lady Varda's orders without question. No one objected or even raised an eyebrow as she sat amongst them to eat.

Food in Elbereth, especially for the morning, was light fare, mostly consisting of bread, cold meat, and fruit collected from throughout the woodland. After the meal, one of Lady Varda's attendants brought her back to the courtyard and instructed her to remain there until the Lady arrived. She stood in the court watching the leaves float from the trees and flutter to the ground. Several minutes passed before Lady Varda reentered the courtyard, and Minariel heard her arrival before she appeared. She seemed to be in a rather one-sided argument with a male elf, who spoke insistently as they made their way toward the court.

"But my Lady, it is a story, a myth. A fantasy we tell children so that their dreams are not filled with the sight of their own terrible deaths."

"Is that all it is?"

"There is no proof of such a thing!"

"Gilrohir, we have had this conversation already. I know you do not agree, but rest assured, I do not make these decisions precipitously. I will remind you that I played a far more prominent role in the event than you did."

He had no answer to that, because on entering the courtyard, he immediately realized their argument had an audience. Seeing Minariel watching them, he stood at attention with his hands clasped behind him. He was tall and slender and coated in light armor. Straight blonde hair felt beneath his shoulders, and dark blue eyes gazed out of his coldly perfect face. In them, Minariel saw shadows of ancient wisdom and the cruel truth learned from millennia of experience.

"Minariel, this is Gilrohir. He is one of my finest warriors. He and a few others are going to teach you our ways. I want him to train you."

"Train me for what?"

"From Gilrohir you will learn combat training. The others will teach you the rest."

"Combat? I don't understand, my Lady."

"All will be revealed in due time. You have my word. Gilrohir, you do not object to your assignment, I hope?"

"I am bound to your orders, my Lady."

"Then all is well."

"But my Lady, why?"

"You are a soldier. Your job is to do as you are commanded. Train the girl. Help her learn the ways of our people. Make her one of us."

"But my Lady-"

"She must be protected in the coming days. Now do as you are instructed."

Gilrohir looked confused and like he very badly wanted to be annoyed. Instead, he set his mouth in a firm line as he clenched his jaw.

"Yes, my Lady."

"You will not be alone in your task," said Varda with a placating smile. "Your companions have already been given their instructions and await you outside."

Knowing he had just been dismissed, Gilrohir gave Lady Varda a stiff bow. She smile placidly at Minariel one last time and drifted away. Gilrohir looked upon his new student with his piercing gaze. He walked around her in a circle as though sizing her up. Standing behind her, her gripped her arms tightly, taking inventory of the musculature of her upper arms and shoulders and assessing what he had to work with. He did not seem impressed with what he found, nor did he seem displeased. He returned to stand at attention in front of her and stared at her up and down for several seconds.

"Come," he said and turned on his heel and marched away without looking back.

He led her out of the courtyard to an outdoor range. Rows of targets stood at intervals of ten, twenty, and thirty yards away from a rope line embedded in the ground by wooden stakes. Two people awaited them when they arrived. One leaned leisurely against a tree, while the other stood gazing at the targets, hands clasped loosely behind his back. At the sound of their arrival, both moved to stand at attention. Gilrohir moved forward to stand between them.

The person standing on Gilrohir's right side was barely an inch shorter than him but nearly twice as wide. The leather pauldrons fitted a set of very broad shoulders. Wild black hair hung in a braid to the elbows and curled in a frame around a wide, squarish face with high cheekbones. Wispy black hairs formed a short beard on the chin that was arranged in a short braid set with beads. Hands thickly corded with muscle clutched the handle of a hefty pick-axe, and a roguish smile stretched across her face.

"Orëna Copperfury."

She introduced herself in a deep, melodious voice, and indeed unlike the other elves, whose eyes ranged from grey to green to blue to deep violet, Orëna's eyes were a bright, fiery copper. Orëna's appearance contrasted so starkly with the other elves that Minariel could not help staring. Orëna quirked an eyebrow.

"Dwarf."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You were wondering why a person with such a magnificent facial arrangement as mine is mingling with these hairless cretins."

Beside her Gilrohir closed his eyes in a look of impatient annoyance that clearly said he was tempted to lose his temper if he did not think it would set a bad example for his new protégé. Or perhaps he was afraid Orëna would be simply amused by such an outburst. In any case, Orëna paid him no mind and continued.

"My mother was a dwarf. Me old dad's an elf. I'm gonna help Gil here teach you to look after yourself and see if I can't teach you some other things."

Orëna leaned forward and whispered in her ear, though loudly enough that without a doubt, Gilrohir heard her.

"See, I'm a healer, and I'm a smite bit better with magics than he is."

At that, Gilrohir stepped forward and put his hand on Orëna's massive shoulder.

"Yes, thank you, Orëna."

Atop her pauldrons, his hand looked small and gracile, even delicate. Nevertheless, she backed off with a shrug.

The person to Gilrohir's left stepped forward. He was clearly a full-blooded elf. He had high cheekbones and umber colored hair. He was dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, but beneath the linen, Minariel could see he was leanly muscular. His clear green eyes held a pleasant smile.

"I am Elrodan. History and literature are my areas of expertise. I shall teach you our language and our writing, and perhaps a little magic of my own. Well met, Minariel."

Elrodan gave a short bow, and Minariel felt herself more at ease than she had been solely in the company of the stern Gilrohir.

"Now that our introductions are complete," said the soldier, "come, Minariel. We must begin."

Gilrohir handed her a bow and a quiver full of arrows.

"I don't suppose you will have ever used one of these?"

Minariel held the bow in her hand. The wood was a light ash color and almost weightless. The string pulled tight between the limbs. She plucked an arrow from the quiver. The arrow-point was made of a very sharp, pearly crystalline stone, and white feathers twisted around the shaft to form the fletching, save for the cock feather, which was black. She knocked the arrow and drew it back. The draw weight was very heavy, but she drew the string back to her brow. In the space of seconds, she anchored her stance, looked down the shaft of the arrow toward her target and released. Without dropping the bow, she watched as the arrow flew through the air and struck in the innermost circle.

A raised eyebrow was the only reaction Gilrohir gave.

"Again," he said.

She repeated the steps and the next arrow landed an inch away from its predecessor. Orëna and Elrodan shared an incredulous look.

"Where did you learn to do that?" demanded Gilrohir.

"I haven't the slightest idea," said Minariel, just as mystified as they were.

Archery turned out not to be her only mysterious talent. She immediately took a shine to the horses and rode competently, at least until Gilrohir put a sword in her hand and demanded she begin lopping sacks of sand off the shoulders of hay bale targets at full gallop. Despite her initial prowess, Minariel's training was anything but smooth. If anything, Gilrohir interpreted her unexpected talents as an invitation to raise his expectations of her to unreachable heights.

"You are distracted!" he shouted one day after three rounds of arrows fired from atop her horse failed to meet his standards.

"I am tired," she said limply.

"Your enemies will not wait for you to be wakeful!"

"What enemies?" asked Minariel in consternation. He had no answer all the other times she asked, and she did not expect an answer now.

"Five minutes," he barked at her a she climbed off her horse and threw herself to the ground. She wiped her brow with her sleeve then rolled both of them to her elbows.

"You not sleeping?"

Orëna landed beside her with a thud.

"I had dreams. Or rather, one dream. Again and again."

"Go on."

"I dreamt of a boy, a dark haired boy with old eyes. He's frightened. I want to help him, but as soon as I reach for him, I fall back into a dark pit. Who is he? Why can I not remember?"

"He an elf?"

"I don't know."

"Dwarf?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Ah. No majestic beard then?"

Minariel gave a tired laugh.

"No. He's young. Barely out of youth. He has dark eyes, dark curls. He's very sad. I want to touch him, to be near him, but I can never reach him."

Orëna looked at her with an unfathomable expression. She seemed about to say something.

"Minariel! At the ready!"

Orëna shook her head.

"Back to it then. Best of luck."


Minariel soon grew accustomed to her new home. At night, silver fire danced in glass orbs hung from low hanging branches in the trees. The elves all seemed to hum the same low melodies that wafted through the air like incense. They too began to gradually accept the strange newcomer into their fold, treating her cordially and often greeting her by her new given name. She found companionship in Orëna and Elrodan, especially the former, who seemed determined to take her under her wing and rescue her from the rigidity of Gilrohir's teachings.

"I know what it's like, being half one thing and half another, not knowing where you belong," was what Orëna had said one day just before their evening meal, sharpening the blade of an axe as Minariel dropped exhausted into her seat.

Yet it was not only the feeling of displacement that troubled her. Minariel began to notice a sense of comradery that bound her three tutors to one another. Orëna's ribbing of Gilrohir seemed to serve not to humiliate him, but rather to keep him grounded, and he took it in stride as such, never growing angry in the face of her teasing. Elrodan would gladly share a laugh with her regarding the stern warrior, but neither the soft touches between Elrodan and Gilrohir nor the clasped hands they kept under the table during meals were often lost on their young protégé. Something about the ease and subtly of their companionship kindled an emotion in Minariel's mind, but she could recall no memory or face to attach to it.

Despite the intense rigors Gilrohir foisted upon his student, magic proved to be a far more difficult skill to learn. A year passed before Minariel could master even the simplest of incantations. Nevertheless, Orëna was a far more patient teacher. She explained that elves derived their magic from different places, that the elves that once lived by the mountains took their magic from the earth, whereas the elves of Elbereth took their magic from the stars. Minariel had been attempting to make a glass orb glow for over an hour without success, and her frustration was palpable.

"Elven magic is not so simple as waving a wand and reciting a word or two. It is ancient and complex. You are handling things fine. Besides, I know how Gilrohir is driving you to distraction with your training. Do not be too hard on yourself. How is that going anyhow?"

"Every time I think I've done something right, I'm wrong."

"That's Gilrohir for you. I've seen you at work. You're doing fine. What about the dreams?"

"The same. Is it normal to only dream of one thing? Orëna, I dream of him, almost every single night, and I haven't the faintest idea who he is."

"I think you will know when it is time for you to know."

"You sound like Lady Varda. What's worse is when I don't have them. When I do, I wake up exhausted, but when I don't, I wake up, and I'm disappointed. I want the dreams. I don't want them to stop. Is that terrible?"

"No. You told me you remember nothing of your time before you came to us. If your mind is so fixated on him, there's probably a reason. Come. I want you to try again. This time, think of this young man as you feel the light flow through you."

"You want me to focus on him?"

"It's worth a try. After all, he is the boy of your dreams, in't he?"

It was an awful joke, and they both knew it. However it turned out to be an excellent idea. Minariel closed her eyes, and let the image come forth in her mind. She imagined his face clearly, but when she tried to remember his name or the sound of his voice, there was nothing. He was afraid, calling for her, but she heard nothing. She frowned. She knew without opening her eyes that the globe remained unlit. She kept them closed and tried again. There was a breath of snow on her face and a hand in hers. Far away in her mind, she felt them as clear as the present. She opened her eyes to see the bright light of the orb illuminating Orëna's smiling face.

"See?" said her teacher with a hint of mischief. "You're not completely hopeless."

For the first time since she had awoken in Elbereth, Minariel agreed.


Though her memory of her time before Elbereth still evaded her, she felt certain her hearing was far sharper than it ought to be. She often found herself eavesdropping on conversations without meaning to.

"You are too hard on the girl. You were never so strict when you trained me."

"I could be, if you like."

"Later, perhaps," replied Elrodan with a hint of cheek.

"Time is short, Elrodan. She must be ready."

"Short for what, exactly?"

"Just see that she learns to string together a proper sentence."

Her fluency in the Elven language did indeed improve until she no longer even dreamed in her parent tongue. She read elven poetry, epic tales, and magic texts with ease, and even her penmanship earned her praise from Elrodan. Her skill with her weapons also improved remarkably, yet Gilrohir was never satisfied. Years passed and turned into decades. Those decades turned into a century, and time marched onwards and forwards for a few more decades still. Minariel began to feel tension condense in the air and creep through the forests like fog. One day, she happened upon Gilrohir and Lady Varda standing alone in the middle of a heated argument.

"The time has come, Gilrohir."

"She is not ready, my Lady!"

"You have had a century and a half, nearly one hundred times the lifetime that was allotted to her before."

"A proper Elven warrior would be in training for centuries before she took to the battlefield."

"And you have pushed none of your trainees half so hard as you have pushed her. And I am not sending you to war."

"No, my Lady, you are merely sending us to track down and destroy our greatest enemy."

"A task secondary to your main mission, which is to find the Children of Hollin, and for that we will need the girl."

"How shall I find them, my Lady? Forgive me. I did not mean to eavesdrop."

"Yet you did it anyway," growled Gilrohir.

Varda silenced him with a look.

"Come with me, Minariel."

Varda brought her into a room she had never seen before. The room was circular with a vaulted ceiling, and the floor and walls were covered in shining translucent tile. In the center of the room stood a pedestal atop which was a massive orb made of glass. Inside it, settled at the bottom, was a pile of fine, black silt.

"Come closer, Minariel. There is something I must show you."

She stepped up to the pedestal.

"What do you know of our history?" asked Varda.

"Very little, I'm afraid. Elrodan and I have only covered the very ancient histories. We haven't reached the less distant past."

"It's all right, Minariel. But I have much to teach you today."

Varda placed her hands on either side of the orb and closed her eyes. She breathed deeply as though focusing strongly on one thought, one image. Then she said dreamily,

"Watch the orb."

Inside the glass sphere, the dust rose up and swirled about. Images began to take shape in the dust. First, strong forms became structures, then wisps became trees, until the material within the globe took the form of a city made of stone. It lay in a valley with mountains surrounding it in almost a complete circle. On the outskirts was a shimmering lake, and beyond that, a flat meadow and a vast forest. Looking close, she say tiny shapes moving, people and animals, bustling about in the city. Then suddenly, wisps of dust rose in columns from the city as it burst into flame. Giant humanoid shapes pounded through the burning wreckage, slamming their fists into fleeing people and sending them flying into walls. Minariel felt she could almost hear the screams.

The image swirled away and was replaced by a single man standing in the ruins. He was in armor with a circlet atop his long dark hair. Rage and sorrow waged war upon his face.

"Who is he?"

"He is King Bayard, Lord of Hollin. He ruled over that great city until its destruction."

"Destroyed by whom? The enemy that you spoke of?"

A glare from Gilrohir reminded her that that conversation had not been meant for her ears.

"Yes. Look."

Minariel turned her eyes back to the orb. Some of the dust swirled, and another shape took form. A humanoid shape, another elf perhaps, stood in the dust. It was exceptionally tall in proportion to King Bayard and quite thin. Yet it had no distinct features other than a tall pointed crown atop what must have been its head. The dust of the orb swirled erratically around bright light without ever taking shape.

"I do not understand."

"The Enemy. Since he began his path of carnage, none who ever crossed his path have lived to describe him. Bayard was the first to stand against him and the first to defy his reign of terror. Had Elbereth stood beside him, perhaps…."

Lady Varda trailed off mournfully. Gilrohir looked to Minariel, his eyes dark with his hatred.

"He is called the Erlking," spat the soldier.

Strangely, the name felt familiar to Minariel, though she could no more place it than reach out and touch the figures inside the orb. Lady Varda recovered her poise and continued.

"Bayard's forces held the city as best they could but to no avail. Hollin was completely decimated and its inhabitants slaughtered. Afterwards, the elves, dwarves, and goblins finally set aside their differences to drive the Erlking away. He was not destroyed however. He managed to escape and disappeared."

Minariel looked away from the orb. Lady Varda's eyes looked far away, her mind carried to the past. Gilrohir was a statue, his features stony and emotionless.

"Where could he have gone?" she asked, but silence was the only answer she received.

"We scoured the wreckage of Hollin," said the Lady. "We recovered and buried the slain but amongst them were no children."

Minariel blinked at that.

"Where did they go?"

Gilrohir's gaze pierced hers.

"That is the very question we hope you can answer. Or at least, Lady Varda believes you can. You see, for centuries rumors have persisted that the children were evacuated before the Erlking's attack and secreted somewhere beyond his or Lady Varda's sight. If this is true, they have never been found."

She shook her head. "How could I possibly know where they are?"

Lady Varda tore herself away from her memories and came reluctantly back to the present.

"Bayard warned us of the Erlking's lust for power," she insisted. "He and Queen Miriel realized before any of us the threat he posed. With the alliances they made, it is possible they evacuate sent the children into hiding before Hollin was destroyed."

"I don't understand, my Lady," said Minariel. "If you have been unable to find them for centuries, how will I?"

"You know. I believe that as much as I ever believed anything. Deep inside you with all your memories of your past life, that is where the answer lies."

"But I do not know the way."

"You will."

Varda turned to Gilrohir, who was at once at attention. "Go to Hollin. I am confident you will find your way from there."

"I have already alerted my best warriors and told them to assemble at daybreak. We shall leave at dawn, my Lady," said Gilrohir with a bow. He and Lady Varda then departed, leaving Minariel alone and confused.


Sleep evaded Minariel that night. Not even her dreams plagued her, since she did not rest deeply enough to have them. So it was with tired eyes and a back sore from tossing and turning that she awoke before the sun rose the day of their departure. Just before dawn, two dozen elves, including Elrodan and Orëna assembled on the outskirts of the woods of Elbereth. A small gathering of elves congregated at the border to see them off and wish them well on their journey. Lady Varda stood amongst them. She approached Minariel, who sat nervously astride her horse. The Lady reached a hand toward her, and Minariel clasped it in hers.

"Do not be afraid. You are ready, and you will know the way. I have faith in you."

Lady Varda released her hand and approached Gilrohir. The words spoken between them went unheard by the others, but by the quick glances Gilrohir shot Minariel's way, she could guess at their subject. A moment later, Lady Varda stepped away from Gilrohir and addressed their entire group.

"Best of luck to you all. May your journey be peaceful, your arrival safe, and your mission a success. Be well, my friends."

She raised a hand to them in a final farewell, and the farewell party followed suit. Gilrohir commanded his horse forward with a single spoken word. The mounted elves followed, and they left Elbereth behind as the sun peeked out over the horizon.

The road to Hollin was long but uneventful. For a week they held a steady pace out of the forest and onto a vast plain. Once on level ground, they kept their horses at a canter and stopped only once in the middle of the day to let the animals rest in the high sun. Soon, mountains began to project out of the horizon into the sky. They kept their pace, and a few days later, they caught sight of large stone structures jutting out of the ground.

Their party fell silent as they approached the ruins of Hollin. Many of the elves were in their adolescence when the city fell under attack. Most of them had never seen the city, either in its glory days or after its demise. As they crossed the meadow into Hollin, they felt as though they had walked into a tomb.

In the flesh, the sight of the city naturally bore far more detail than the vision Minariel saw of it within the orb, but it was no more colorful than it had been in the black dust. Many of the archways and flooring that remained were as charred black as when they burned all the centuries before. In some areas, very little remained of the architecture. Only masonry columns still stood, jutting out of the earth like a giant skeleton, blackened by fire. Other areas appeared mostly untouched, ravaged only by the slow and constant onslaught of time and neglect. Inches of dust had settled on furniture, books, statues, and even musical instruments that had been left behind in the haste of the occupants' departure. The elves of Hollin had either fled without their belongings or died before they could plan their escape.

The travelers were solemn and quiet as they explored the wreckage. Unwilling to make physical contact with items which held such despair in their past, they touched nothing. They kept their eyes downcast, some filled with unshed tears, as they walked amongst the ruined city.

"Anything?" demanded Gilrohir. Minariel shook her head.

"No. Nothing looks familiar, except for what I saw in the orb. I don't know what I'm meant to be looking for."

Gilrohir sighed.

"Everyone spread out," he commanded to all the elves. "Be on the lookout for anything out of place."

The elves complied and took off in different directions. Orëna dropped her hand on Minariel's shoulder.

"Come on, Minariel. You're with me. You don't object to that, do you Gilrohir?"

Gilrohir frowned at Orëna, clearly annoyed at her presumption, but he did not protest as Orëna slung an arm around Minariel and led her away from the group and toward the rocky terrain beyond the ruins.

"How are you holding up?" she asked.

"All right, I suppose," said Minariel. "I still don't know what I'm meant to find here."

"Maybe it'll come to you."

"What if it doesn't?"

"Then we all go home and have wasted a few days. And what are a few days to this lot?"

"Gilrohir will have wasted all that time training me. I'd say he would a bit put out."

"Eh, a century and a half is nothing to that one. He'll get over it."

Minariel looked at the ground unconvinced. Orëna elbowed her in the side.

"Never mind that. Let's look around. See if we can't stir up a memory."

Once again, Orëna clapped a massive hand on Minariel's shoulder and led her toward the rocks. They had not been walking long when Orëna began to wade through memory and the history of her people.

"It wasn't just Hollin, you know. There was once a great dwarf kingdom beneath this mountain. My mother was born there. King Bayard had an affinity for the dwarves. His friend and advisor came from those hills. Now the dwarven kingdom has dispersed and scattered, their home as ruined as this city."
With that proclamation, Orëna spat onto the ground in disgust and hatred for the Erlking's carnage.

The pair walked along the mountainside for a few minutes. Now and then, Orëna would pick up a stone and show it to Minariel, explaining its name and its use in her mother's culture. She was describing the efficacy of a grey and brown banded rock in the use of kitchen utensils to Minariel, when she gasped. The stone fell from her hand, and she darted forward passed Minariel. As she ran toward the rocky terrain, she cupped her broad hands around and her mouth and shouted.

"Gilrohir! Over here! Come quick!"

All the elves heard her cry and joined them where she stood examining a gap in the rocks. It was over eight feet wide and twelve feet tall and covered completely in translucent grey and pink crystal. The elves stopped before the gap, and several gasped at the sight of it. Gilrohir, on the other hand, glared at it, staring it down as though it had just said some deeply insulting about one of his relatives.

"What is it?" asked Minariel.

"The barrier between the worlds," said Elrodan breathlessly.

Orëna approached the barrier and laid her palm across it.

"This was erected by my mother's people thousands of years ago to close off communication between our world and theirs."

"Whose?" asked Minariel.

"Humans."

At that single word, several images flashed inside Minariel's mind. A man, a woman, and two small girls seated around a large table, all smiling and happy, then the sound of their screams cutting through the roars of a terrible fire. An older man with a warm smile and sad eyes. A drunkard grinning cruelly through a flurry of snow and blood. She felt dizzy.

"There are only a few gateways like this," said Elrodan. "I am not sure where the others are."

Orëna examined the wall closely. "It's weaker than it ought to be. As though it were torn down then hastily repaired, with magic probably."

"Can you open it?" asked Gilrohir.

Orëna's lip quirked up in a half-smile. She hefted her hammer in both hands. She swung hard at the glassy barrier, and a mighty clang sounded throughout the woods as the crystal vibrated at the impact but remained intact. Several elves clapped their hands over their ears. Gilrohir glared, but Orëna's half-smile turned to a full-on grin as she continued cheerfully hammering against the crystal wall. Then, at last, they heard several cracks. Orëna pounded upon the barrier a few more times, when finally, it shattered into pieces on the ground.

Beyond the ruined wall stood a long tunnel, lined in the same crystal as the barrier. It wound deep into the mountain until the corridor was bathed in shadow. The elves looked at each other uneasily. Long lived as they were, this barrier which Orëna had torn down so easily predated all of them. None of them even knew precisely the reason it had been erected in the first place, not even Elrodan. Yet to cross it now seemed an act of sacrilege.

Gilrohir was the first to stir. He dismounted and instructed the others to do the same. One by one, they led their horses into the tunnel. Orëna conjured a light in her hands to illuminate their path, but unbidden by her, it shot from her hand and into a sconce on the wall beside her. Then all at once, dozens of identical sconces evenly spaced along the wall burst into luminescence after it.

They walked along in silence for hours. Each elf felt they could hear the soft thudding of every heart in their company. No member of their kind had set foot on this path for millennia. Or had they? All of them, save Minariel, had heard whispers of the legendary Children of Hollin for centuries. Could they have disappeared along this road? What fate awaited them in the human world? They shared not a murmur of a question or a thought as they walked along the corridor.

At last they saw faint light ahead of them and the cold air of a breeze outside. Gilrohir called them to a halt some twenty feet away from the entrance. A similar barrier to the one Orëna had destroyed lay in shards at the opening.

"Someone busted it open and left it," said Orëna as she examined the pieces. "They didn't even bother to close it behind them. These pieces are old too. There aren't nearly enough left to make up the entire barrier. Whatever happened here happened centuries ago."

Gilrohir looked at the crystal shard between Orëna's fingers. For a brief moment he seemed uncertain, even unsettled. He turned to look at Minariel. His expression was strange, as though after over a hundred and fifty years, he had just seen her for the first time. Yet Minariel had no idea what to make of anything she had seen and no explanation for the destruction of the barriers. Gilrohir shook his head, and at last, he guided the elves out of the mouth of the tunnel and into the open.

They had emerged into the world of humans. Night had fallen. A crescent moon hung high on blue velvet. Pinpricks of light dotted the sky in patterns strange to the elves.

"I know these stars," said Minariel. The elves turned and looked at her. For the first time in over a century, she had spoken in the language of her ancestors.

"Minariel?"

"The sailors used the stars to navigate on the open ocean," she continued.

The patterns made by the stars began to take shape as she recognized them. She had stopped walking in order to take in the forms of a mother bear and her cub as they leapt across the sky.

"My uncle told me that."

"Minariel, we must move on," urged Gilrohir.

"No," she said. She stared at the stars then pointed to one in particular.

"That one. That is Polaris, the North Star. We must go north. As far north as possible."

With a confidence none of the elves knew she possessed, she took off at a canter without awaiting further orders. The remaining elves stayed where they were. None of them even knew where north might be in this strange world, let alone how their comrade knew how to find it or even where she thought she was going. Even Gilrohir looked uncertain. Reticent as he was to lead them by the intuition of his amnesiac protégé, he knew his orders. They were to follow Minariel where she would lead them. He signaled to the two dozen elves to move ahead after her.

For hours, they followed her northward. The weather grew colder and colder. Snow fell upon the ground, though the elves had no idea what season it might be in this place. Hardy as the elven warriors were, even Orëna was eventually forced to don her cloak and huddle into it against the bitter winds. The night vexed them as well. Hours and hours passed without sight of the sun. The travelers were cold, confused, and tired, yet they could not glean any answer as to their destination or even a hint as to why the night lasted so long out of their leaders.

Then, when the elves were all but ready to mutiny, one of them gasped. Soon every last one of the elves stared into the sky. Whips of purple and green swirled across the sky like rainbow flames.

"It is beautiful," whispered Orëna.

"What is it?" asked Elrodan. "What makes it?"

Minariel shook her head.

"I don't know. I think it's called aurora," she said uncertainly. "We're almost there."

At that, the elves regained some of their old energy. The aurora hung in the sky above them, shimmering like a mirage. Beneath that spectrum, the elves found they did not mind the cold as much as before, and instead they kept their eyes upward, letting the wind breathe on their faces as they rode through the snow.

A few hours later, seemingly out of nowhere, appeared a village. It stood isolated in the arctic, yet the lights and smoke and distant sounds of activity confirmed that the settlement was very much occupied. The elves looked at each other stunned. Murmurs of shock and excitement swept through the group. Minariel stopped her horse. She sat stationary in the saddle for nearly a minute, her breath coming hard in clouds before her face. She dismounted and turned around to face the elves.

"I have to go alone."

"What?" said Gilrohir.

"You'll frighten them. They won't remember."

Even she was not certain what she meant by that. She was only certain that she had to make the next phase of the journey alone.

"I'll explain to them. I'll come back for you. I must go alone."

She began to walk forward, letting her feet carry her to a place she could neither name nor imagine in her mind. She could vaguely hear Gilrohir continue to shout her name only to be shushed by Orëna. She kept going.

A thousand smells and sounds flooded her mind. The snow smelled crisper here and mingled happily with the scents of pine and burnt sugar. Laughter hung in the air with the pattering of feet and the metallic clinking of hammers. She watched the crowds of people running about with joyous faces red with the cold and alive with youth. None of the paid her the slightest attention.

Then she saw him.

Inside the village, walking across the snow laden ground. He wore the same velvet embroidered tunic with the same beret atop his dark curls. The same dark eyes held a distant gaze as though he were lost in thought.

Notice me, she thought.

He did. He saw her, looked straight through the crowd toward her. She ducked away, heart pounding.

"Bernard…" she said quietly.

His name had no sooner passed her lips when her mind was assaulted by image after image, memory after memory, until she nearly dropped to her knees with the sensation of it. She recalled every moment and every detail. Every conversation, every glance, every touch replayed in her mind at once. She felt sick. Her head spun. Then the sensation slowly began to fade. Her mind grew calm, and she smiled. A new purpose overcame her. She had to see him, to speak with him.

How well she knew the way. Her memory guided her through the village as at last Lydia Hightower walked with steady stride toward the chambers of her old friend.


A/N: A shout-out and sincere apology to Tolkien for hijacking his language and names. I plan to include the meanings of the elves names as they appear.

Gilrohir - "Star Horse"

Orëna - "Fire Heart"

Varda - "The Exalted"

Miriel - "Sparkling Jewel"

Bayard is a human name, and I have no idea where I got Elrodan. The best I can get out of my elven dictionary is "Elf horseman" which works I suppose.

Chapter Title: "She Moved Through the Faire", a traditional Irish folk song.

Thanks for reading and your patience with me! I hope you enjoyed it.