Author's Note: Hey folks. I wanted to have this chapter out by last Friday, but that did not work out. In all honesty I was having trouble with the end, but I think I was just trying to say too much and it works better like this. It's quite a short chapter, I apologize, but I didn't want to overload it with too many events or go and describe too much of the Council. I'm not here to retype everything Tolkien wrote ;) I'm still on the line with the chapter, but I'll put it out there. Please let me know what you thought. And just a reminder that I have no beta reader, so all mistakes are mine - sorry.

Chapter 12

"The truth is rarely pure and never simple."
Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)

The light entering through the bedroom window was soft and warm. It cast playful shadows along the floor as a soft breeze rustled through the thin silky curtains. The sound of gentle voices filled the entire house and mixed with the songs of nearby birds in perfect unison. But to all of these joyful details, Melina was oblivious. She only saw darkness, which was in large part due to the fact that her face was buried in her pillow and her duvet pulled high above her head.

She had skipped breakfast, unable to find the strength to leave the comfort and security of her bed. She might have felt silly and childish, were in not for the fact that she could feel nothing. Numbness filled her heart and soul.

No one had come looking for her, not yet. She harbored the deranged hope that Gandalf would forget about his request, or rethink its logic. She was weak and fragile and it would be devastating for her to go through a retelling of her past in front of an audience full of strangers. But she knew they would come for her when it was time. He would use her as proof. She was a piece of evidence supporting his accusation of the white Devil. A tight knot formed in her guts at the thought of the creature that had ordered her torture.

It had been easier, somehow, long ago, to think that what she had been through had been purgatory. That she had received her just punishment for her sins. Her greed, anger and selfishness. To have had a hand in the pain that had been done to it. Because the only thing worse than being raped, was the daunting task of accepting the fact that you had done nothing to deserve it. And she was not there yet...she could not even contemplate the idea that her presence at the Tower had been nothing more than bad luck. That there was no Devil, only a man gone insane who would have tortured anyone he had encountered that day.

It was a sad day when one had to admit to themselves that they were not the lead actors in their own lives. That they were nothing more than collateral damage in something that had nothing to do with them. But she was not there, she could not accept it. She would never...

"Melina..."

A flood of sunlight accompanied Serien's soft whisper along with a delicate hand on her shaking shoulder. It was only then that Melina realized she had been sobbing. She lifted her head and stared at the wet circle on her pillow for a moment before turning to her friend's worried face.

"Searien...I cannot..."

She so dearly wanted to be gathered up in friendly arms and told she would not have to go, but Serien only fell to her knees by her bed and asked:

"Why not?"

"Because! Gandalf uses me for proving something to the Council. I not want to be used Serien!"

"Melina. I do not pretend to know what you have been through. Or to understand why you are so troubled about the council. But I know you. You are strong." she ran her smooth thumb across Melina's cheek to catch a falling tear, "Stronger than you think. There is something inside of you that begs to come out, but you are so afraid of it that you keep it tightly locked behind your pain and secrets. Gandalf is a wise man Melina. And respected. Lord Elrond, and most present at the council, trust him beyond any..."

Melina was listening, waiting for Serien to continue, to make some sort of point, but she left her words hanging and only looked at her. Then she frowned.

"Gandalf does not need me...?"

"Melina I know nothing of this, I am no one's confident. But it is my belief that Gandalf does this for you. Because it will help you."

There was a pause. Melina was about to let off a rant on Gandalf, share her frustration and anger at being handled this way, but Serien was not done. She seemed to be considering her next words, weighting them on her tongue. Finally she said firmly.

"And I agree."

Friends gossiped. Friends shared tea and biscuits. They gave each other gifts and exchanged pleasantries. They offered shoulders to cry on and support in time of need. But perhaps the most important role of a friend, was the hard shove in the right direction. The one which the other person might despise you for.

Serien stood up and offered a hand which Melina took after slowly sitting up.

"Serien, I am scared."

"I know. I will be here after, if you need me."

Melina nodded.

"We have to hurry. Use a cloth to freshen yourself up, I will deal with your hair."

"Is it a...big event? Like last night? Or simple clothes is good?"

"No, it is not formal. One of your everyday wear will do."

They were silent for a while as Serien concentrated on braiding her hair and Melina rubbed the signs of sleep off her body. She chose a brown dress she was most comfortable in and which covered most of her body and then stood in front of her mirror.

"Black would be better..." she mumbled to herself. She felt as if she was about to attend her own funeral.

Serien sighed impatiently behind her.

"Come. It is time."

They walked hand in hand out of her room, down a series of marble stairs and through a beautiful corridor roofed with a flowering ivy. Suddenly she could hear the low hum of nearby voices. They turned a corner and there it was, a large stoned garden currently occupied by two dozen men sitting in a circle. She paused, then took two more steps and felt a tug at her hand. She turned to Serien.

"I can go no further. This council is secret Melina, do you understand?"

"I think so..."

Serien smiled.

"You cannot speak of what you hear today. Not to me, or anyone else."

Secrets. She turned to the council seemingly sitting out in the open and thought they did not look secretive at all. But she nodded to Serien and watched her friend turn her back and leave, promising to be there when the time came for Melina to leave. And then she was alone.

Thoughts of running away crossed her mind, but some of the council members had already spotted her and she saw them whispering amongst themselves. So she gathered up what little courage was left in her and slowly walked to the assembly. The first thing she noticed as she arrived was that she seemed to be the only woman present. The second, and more horrific, thing she saw was that almost every single person she knew was present.

Her heart sank as each familiar face turned to her, their expression serious – Legolas, his amused smirk replaced by a tight frown; Elrond, sitting tall and regal on a great chair like a throne; Glorfindel nearby, his eyes piercing through her soul; Gandalf to her left who stopped speaking as she approached, sadness and exhaustion his ever loyal companions; and to her horror a tiny head stretched out and Bilbo looked over at her arrival curiously.

She found it difficult to breathe. Her hands were cold and clammy, her stomach a hard knot. Through blurry vision she saw Elrond stand and extend his hand toward Gandalf. She followed with her eyes and saw that an empty chair had been placed for her at his side though not directly part of the circle. The message was clear, though she was present, she was not part of this council. She moved quickly to her seat, aware of every gaze following her movements.

As she passed by him, Gandalf reached out and squeezed her hand quickly. She wanted to smile for him, but could not find the energy for it. She was too terrified to put up a face, to pretend that she was strong. So she sat behind him and tried to make herself as small as possible. After a moment Gandalf began to speak again, and to her dismay she could not understand a word. She wanted to cry. Not only would her story be told for her as she sat idly by, but it would be done in a language she did not know.

And so she did the only thing she could. She sat quietly, head bent down and peered secretly at the faces around her, waiting for their reactions. They were mostly blank at first, a frown here and there. Sometimes a member would turn to the other and whisper, but none of them looked disgusted or shocked yet. She noticed for the first time two beautiful identical Eldars sitting near Elrond. There was no doubt in Melina's mind that they were somehow related to Arwen and Elrond. They were both engrossed in Gandalf's story, though they showed very little emotion.

The dwarves were not so subtle, but their beards made it difficult to make out what they could have been thinking. Still no one looked at her, and she wondered what Gandalf was rambling on about. But slowly she noticed a difference in the atmosphere. Everyone seemed to become somber, frowns of confusion and shock settling in their brow. A few seemed to want to interrupt, but kept their lips tightly sealed. Besides her she saw Gandalf's shoulders slump and he passed a tired hand through his beard.

It was coming. She could feel it. Unsure if to stop him or encourage him, Melina reached out discreetly and pressed her hand against Gandalf's lower back. He turned to her and for a brief moment their eyes met and the strangest thing happened. It seemed to her that the unintelligible words flowing from his mouth began to paint a picture, and the more he spoke, the greater the image became until it filled her vision.

She was in a room all too familiar to her, discussing with none other than the Devil. He stood tall, proud and insane waving a hand in the air in the direction of...herself. Seeing herself from Gandalf's perspective was shocking.

She looked terrible. Terrifying in fact. Nothing but bones with a translucent skin stretched over them. Patches of hair was missing from her skull, most of her fingers were crooked in painful angles and where her fingernails should have been there was nothing but bloody flesh.

Feelings that were not hers filled her heart. Sadness, compassion and terrible anger at the man known as Saruman. This was how Gandalf had seen her, how dismayed he had been, how the feeling of betrayal had been so great he had feared to drown in it. Saruman screamed for attention and for the first time she understood what he had said.

"Oh do not look so surprised Gandalf. You came here pretending to seek council, offering unwanted advice and wisdom. But secretly you send spies to my home."

"Saruman, what have you done?" it was barely a whisper.

"Do not play daft."

"Saruman! I have never seen this woman in my life! That you have fallen so low as to be able to inflict such pain on an innocent soul...Your thirst for power has blinded you."

"Oh you have seen her before. You do not recognize her? Well, I shall not apologize for she only received what she deserved. What others were too weak to give her."

Gandalf was confused, he turned to look at the woman once more, searched her eyes, but only ascertained the fact that he did not know her. Saruman had lost his mind. Saw enemies where there were none.

"No matter. You will have plenty of time to get reacquainted. Maybe you can even get her to speak more than gibberish. Though I doubt she will survive upstairs..."

And off they were taken. Helpless, Gandalf could only obey and watch. Melina felt his dismay at the scenery under him and his anger at this currently unsolvable impasse. She sensed the urgency of her situation through him, saw how he picked up her mutilated body and his tender whispers in her ear. Watched how she fell in a deep sleep, cocooned in his grey cloak.

The image then began to wane. She thought she saw an eagle at some point, long after they had been carried upstairs, but as it took flight reality came back.

She gasped, unknowingly having held her breath through most of the scene. After blinking away her tears and whipping her face with her sleeves, she looked at Gandalf, but he did not turn to her. Then she eyed the council fearfully. Pity, sadness, even anger...She could not look at any of their faces directly, though most of the members tried to catch her eyes. She wanted to leave now, but her body felt cold and heavy. She had done what Gandalf, and Serien, had asked, her presence was not required anymore.

Finally the heavy silence that had settled in the garden was broken by Gandalf. It took a moment, but one by one the faces turned away from her and back toward him. He was continuing his story. This was her chance to leave. She wondered if it would be rude of her to simply stand up, then wondered if she truly cared about politeness. Both deciding that she did not care at all, and receiving a quick nod from Elrond as she stood, Melina quickly made her exit. She kept her head low as she left the circle, but could not help turning her head one last time as she stepped out.

Something had caught her eye. Something she had not noticed when she had first arrived. What she had thought to be a lone and empty pedestal in the middle of the circle seemed to actually be carrying an item. It was difficult to see from where she stood, but she saw a glint of gold in the sunlight and shivered. Unable to stop herself, she took one step back towards it, but then froze. She raised her gaze slightly and stared directly into Glorfindel's face.

He was watching her, his eyes stern. She wanted to go to him so badly at that moment that her heart ached. But this was not the time and place. She waited for him to turn away, to return to Gandalf's storytelling. He never did. His eyes were locked to hers, forcing her to move and break away. Fresh tears were running down her face by the time she encountered Serien again.

Her friend did not ask how it had went, or how she felt. In fact, Serien said nothing at all. She simply took Melina's hand, squeezed it tight, and led her away from the council. They walked in silence for a long time. It took quite a while for Melina to realize that they were not heading for her chambers, but rather seemed to be roaming the house.

Slowly her tears dried and her feelings settled. It was over. And yet it was just beginning. No one at the council had asked her any questions, but she expected them to come at some point. She lifted her head and began to look about. The sun was high in the sky, lunch time would come soon. To her surprise Serien had led her to the Luthien garden. They stopped walking and after a moment Melina whispered.

"She is beautiful."

"None so beautiful has ever lived," Serien answered. "Do you know her story Melina?"

She shook her head slightly, not taking her eyes off the marble woman.

"She was a princess. A long, long time ago. She was most precious to her people, but she fell in love with a mortal man, Beren."

Melina frowned and turned to Serien.

"I not understand "mortal"."

"Mortal means they die."

"And Luthien was not mortal?"

Serien chuckled.

"No, Luthien was an Eldar. She fell in love with Beren, a Man, but her father was..."

"Eldars are not mortal?"

An awkward silence overcame the small garden. A somber shadow seemed to settle on Serien's face, she opened her mouth, but closed it again without speaking.

"Serien...I not understand."

"Melina," she said carefully, "where you come from, there are no Eldar?"

She shook her head.

"No. Only people like me."

Serien took a breath and smiled slightly.

"How old are you?"

Melina held her breath. She looked at Serien's beautiful face, but saw nothing other than friendly curiosity. She was not ready to confide about her resurrection, and yet she could not lie to her friend.

"Old," was all she answered with a smirk.

Serien laughed at this, but this not press the matter.

"I am over 3000 years old."

Melina's smirk disappeared. Then she clicked her tongue and gave a dry chuckle, Serien was pulling her leg. But the woman did not laugh. Suddenly it was not funny anymore and she retorted sourly:

"You lie."

"I do not."

There was nothing to say. Bilbo had spent hours showing her a calendar and going on and on about hobbit holidays. There were as many days in a year here as there had been in her world. A year was a year. Angels. She had given them the name because of their beauty and eery auras...

"You do not die?"

Serien's voice was now little more than a whisper.

"No."

And once more the world around her seemed to collapse. Not with demons are darkness this time. Only the simple image of what she would one day look like once more, old and wrinkled while he stood besides her in eternal youth and beauty.