A/N: And now from Celírion's point-of-view. I spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to get his perspective right so please let me know if you think I pulled it off or not. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the matter.
Edit: I'm sorry this rewrite took so long. I've had horrific shoulder pain lately and all of my free time has been spent going to doctors, chiropractors, and massage therapists trying desperately to fix/ease it. Writing ceases to be fun when you're in pain all the time. :(
History Will Be Kind To Me
From Lands Beyond
"The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long." - Lao Tzu
02. In Which Much is Lost in Translation
Lothlórien, 2998 of the Third Age
Celírion had never seen anything like her.
He hadn't been there when Ruinthir and his scouts had brought her into the city, he himself having been away with his fellow wardens out in the borderlands, but he'd certainly heard the gossip upon his return. The moment he stepped back into Caras Galadhon, he had heard tales of the strange mortal woman who had taken up residence there. They said she spoke in a queer tongue, one that was neither Sindarin nor Westron, and that she had arrived half-starved and nearly nude like a savage. It seemed the more Celírion heard of her the taller and more fantastical the tales became. Which is why it came as a shock to finally see the object of such tales in the flesh.
She was fascinating.
She reminded him of a doe; skittish and wide-eyed, her skin the same bronze-brown shade as a deer's pelt. Though with the way she stumbled around on those spindly legs of hers, Celírion thought she might've made a better fawn than a doe. And that hair! It was like sheep's wool! More than once he caught himself wondering if it was as soft as it looked…And yet, there was something…else. Something that drew him to her like a moth to candle flame. Something…
"This is the first time you have glimpsed one of the secondborn."
A familiar blonde head appeared at his side. Celírion colored slightly, realizing he'd been caught spying. He lowered his eyes, murmuring a hasty, "Lothlaer," before unconsciously glancing back up at the pair seated by the pond. Faendis gestured encouragingly at the girl before her, clearly attempting to teach her Sindarin.
"She is so very bright, that one," Lothlaer said, eyes joining Celírion's upon the pair. "Too bright."
At first Celírion did not know what it was that she meant. Surely she was mistaken? The girl was dark, not bright…but then he saw. And just like that, he couldn't look at her without seeing it. There was a glow that pulsed just underneath her skin, a light. It was as if her heart had been replaced with a miniature sun and her veins flowed with sunshine.
"She is mortal," Lothlaer explained. "And mortal spirits burn brightly." Her voice turned pitying then, and Celírion couldn't help but peer over at her curiously.
"I do not understand."
"It is why men die so soon. The brighter the flame…the faster it burns out."
Lothlaer left then, leaving the ellon to ponder over her words as he watched Faendis and her charge make their way back to the Hall of Rest. Her words made some measure of sense of course. Edhil fae, while bright, were more akin to the soft light of the stars; muted but eternal. This girl's fae though...it was like the sun. And like the sun, she burned.
Yes, she was most definitely fascinating, but Celírion was ever the curious creature and he was hungry to learn more. And so he watched her disappear back inside and wondered…and wanted.
Celírion was positively humming with excitement.
They had been tasked by the Lord Celeborn with ridding the western edge of the wood of any and all goblins and orcs, both of which had become increasingly bold as of late. With the shelter of the shadows and caves of Hithaeglir just beyond the boundaries of the Golden Wood, they were able to easily wreak havoc upon the land at night and slink back into their murky dens before daybreak. And even with the cloak of Lady Galadriel's magic to keep them at bay, they had become exceedingly troublesome and their taint upon the area was reason enough to see that they were forcefully removed.
"When do we strike?" It was not the first time Celírion had asked.
Dúrferil gave him a withering look...It was not the first time she had given him that look either.
"When I say it is time," she responded, pursing her lips. "And not a moment before."
Dúrferil was a a deceiving leader. She was as slight and delicate as a reed and as beautiful as any of the firstborn, but she was also the most ruthless and savage warrior he knew and she was not likely to let their quarry leave unscathed.
Or alive, he thought grimly.
Dutifully, Celírion fell quiet once more and glanced down from his perch in the trees. They were all well-hidden up here. Now it was only a matter of waiting until their quarry appeared. Thankfully, they wouldn't be waiting much longer. The sun had already long set and Celírion watched as the day slowly morphed into night with a restless sort of interest.
Soon.
They heard them long before they saw them.
They made a tremendous amount of noise. As he knocked his arrow into place, Celírion wondered if such creatures even knew how to be quiet. On the branch above him he felt Aegol tense as the commotion drew closer. No one made a sound as everyone waited for Dúrferil's signal. When the creatures finally did come into sight, they crashed through the undergrowth like frightened animals, grunting at one another in that ill-sounding speech of theirs. It was when they reached just under the patrol's hiding place that Dúrferil finally let her arrow fly. Her target toppled to the ground.
And then pandemonium ensued.
The creatures let out a foul cry of alarm as Celírion's companions fell upon them one by one. While he himself stayed in the trees, picking away at his targets from above, Dúrferil dropped to the ground, pulling her sword from its sheath just in time to bury it in an unsuspecting goblin's skull. She was magnificent, slashing and dodging and stabbing at her enemies like some sort gruesome dance. Above, Aegol loosed an arrow into one of the goblins eluding Dúrferil's sword. Celírion glanced up at his friend to grin at him…only for his blood to run cold as he caught sight of him just in time to watch an enemy arrow lodge itself into his shoulder and cause Aegol to stumble…
And fall out of the tree.
Celírion didn't think as he dove after his friend. He swung from the bough and landed on the ground, hard, before immediately finding himself fending off enemies on either side. He smashed his bow across the face of one and unsheathed his dagger only to plunge it into the throat of another. Several paces away, he saw Aegol's crumpled form shudder. Relief flooded his features. He was alive then. Forcefully, Celírion shoved the last of his attackers away and swiftly moved to his friend's side.
"Serves you right for not watching your left." Celírion chastised as he examined the arrow still protruding from the other edhel's shoulder. It was buried deep and they would need to wait until they could get him to safety before they could even consider pulling it free.
Aegol grimaced. "You worry like my mother."
"Well someone needs to keep an eye on you for her."
"Celírion!" Aegol cried out suddenly and Celírion whipped his head around just in time to catch sight of the orc behind him before the creature slashed deep into his arm. He hissed, feeling the foul weapon hit bone. Before he could retaliate however, a familiar silver blade suddenly jutted out of the the creature's chest before disappearing again as it slid out from the other side. The orc collapsed in a heap, revealing Dúrferil who kicked the corpse aside with a scowl.
"I thought I told you to stay in the trees."
Celírion didn't reply and the elleth crouched down to examine his wound. She untied the sash at her waist and deftly wrapped it around his arm to staunch the bleeding. Beyond he heard the dying moans of the creatures around them. The battle was over.
Dúrferil finished tying the ends of the sash tightly enough to make Celírion wince. She scoffed. "You will live."
Another edhel appeared, dropping from the trees to assist Aegol and Celírion breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized the pale blonde head of Aphadon, their healer. He shifted aside to let him see to his friend but Dúrferil clicked her tongue at him when he attempted to rise.
"No. Aphadon will see to you both and then we must leave." Her eyes shifted, surveying the bodies strewn about them critically. "Leave the dead for the crows."
A wolf howled in the distance. Dúrferil grinned menacingly before adding, "And for the wolves."
Due to the wounds taken on their mission, both Celírion and Aegol were confined to Caras Galadhon while they healed. Neither minded overly much, but it was obvious to all that Aegol, more so than his companion, missed the whisper of the trees and the solitude of the outer wood. Celírion on the other hand, was eager to catch a closer glimpse of the human girl in the Hall of Rest now that he had a proper excuse to be there. However, upon his arrival, he found the place to be vacant.
"The Lord and Lady had her moved when Brandir and Tinuthel offered to care for her," Faendis explained when he had asked where the girl had gone. "In light of her current condition it seemed the best decision."
Celírion blinked. "Her condition?"
"She is with child."
"…Since when?"
Faendis gave him an amused look. "Since before she came here I imagine."
Celírion's curiosity grew tenfold.
He didn't see her at first. According to Tinuthel she had holed herself up in her new room immediately upon moving in with she and Brandir. Celírion couldn't fathom why she was so frightened of everyone. If anything her newfound pregnancy seemed to have softened his people's concern for her even more. If the edhil loved one thing more than any other in this world, it was children. But for the moment, the girl seemed stubbornly bent on hiding away and so Celírion kept his distance. After all, if she truly were a doe, the last thing he would want to do was startle her.
For the most part, his days in the city were slow and peaceful. His mother did her best to fuss over him and his father brought him news from the other march-wardens out at the border. And then, one day, a letter from his sister arrived.
Due to the ties between Imladris and Lothlórien messengers were periodically sent over the mountains to ferry letters between friends and kin. And so when this particular messenger arrived Celírion was one of the many people to accost him in the hopes of receiving a correspondence from a loved one. As it happened, this time he had one for him.
"Your sister sends her regards." The messenger handed over a little stack of letters tied neatly together with a length of twine. Celírion thanked the ellon, handling the parchment as if it were gold, and then hastily made his escape from the steadily growing crowd.
At the bank of a stream, he settled down and attempted to rip away the twine, an endeavor that proved to be far more difficult with one of his arms in a sling. Eventually though, Celírion was able to pull the heavy string free and flatten out the letter addressed to him.
My Dearest Brother,
I hope you are well. As always life in Imladris proves to be far more busy than fair Lothlórien. Túrgil is kept busy with his work though I do not mind overmuch. He has begun work on the Lady Arwen's rooms and hopes to have the mural finished before her return. How is she? The twins miss her. They pretend they are unbothered but I know better. They always mope when she is not around.
Two visitors arrived in Imladris a fortnight ago, Lewsindë and Ilvanandil. Ilvanandil is a Vanya from Valinor. He looks like Glorfindel though far more dour and serious. I think I prefer Glorfindel. He makes me laugh. Lewsindë is one of the secondborn though she is not at all like any of the edain I have met. She is…very strange. Sometimes I think I can see the same light in her eyes as Glorfindel's or Ilvanandil's. But…that cannot be right. Perhaps she has just spent too much time around that Vanya? Thankfully though, she is not nearly as humorless as her companion. In fact, she is very kind. She gave me a pearl from Mithlond. It is blue. I did not even know there were blue pearls.
But enough of me, how are you faring? Did you ever catch that hart you spoke of the last time you wrote me? How are mother and father? Lindir has been asking after mother. He says the Hall of Fire is not the same without her voice to fill it in the evening. I think he is right. Perhaps you might be able to visit soon? Or Túrgil and I could visit you? I do so miss you all. It has been too long since your last visit.
As always, I send my love.
Gwalothiel
Celírion smoothed his fingers over his sister's name, easily envisioning her signing the parchment with an elegant twist of her wrist.
She had met an artist visiting from Imladris when he was still a child and they had married less than a century ago. Afterwards she had moved away with him back to Imladris and at the time Celírion had felt like a piece of his fae had gone with her. He could still feel her there at his core, a quiet glow like that of an ember in a hearth.
I miss you too dear sister. He thought. Very much.
She was…she was outside.
Celírion blinked owlishly, not quite believing the sight before him. It had been weeks since the girl had locked herself away in her proverbial tower and no one had seen neither hide nor hair of her since. And yet here she was, hanging laundry with Tinuthel by the pond.
Should...should he say something? Would she even understand him if he did? Then again, it would be rude not to say anything. Perhaps…
It was Tinuthel who saved him from his internal dilemma.
"Celírion," She called, easily spotting him as he loitered nearby. "Be a dear and help us hang these."
Ever the dutiful one, Celírion jumped to assist her. She handed him a damp wad of linen and he tried his best not to stare as the girl by her side peered over at him curiously.
"She is not going to bite you." Tinuthel exclaimed, her eyes focused on the dress she was hanging up on the line.
He ducked his head, embarrassed. "I did not think she would."
The elleth laughed before glancing between the human girl on her right and the awkward ellon on her left. "Introduce yourself. She may not understand everything you say but she has learned that much."
Celírion's hand dropped from the line, the sheet he had hung askew. Tinuthel fixed it for him as he turned towards the girl on the other side of her. He bowed formally, his uninjured hand at his breast.
"I am Celírion."
The girl tilted her head to the side like a cat, her eyes squinting strangely, as if attempting to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. Then…
"Me...Alice." She copied his gesture, placing her palm upon her breast and Celírion admired the contrast her skin made against the bright green color of her dress.
"Al...eese?" He tasted the strange name on his tongue.
Alice scowled, her ire raised. Celírion decided then that she didn't remind him of a doe at all. Clearly, she was much closer to a badger.
"Al-iss," she corrected, exaggerating the last syllable and hissing through her teeth like a snake.
"Al…iss."
She smiled then and Celírion marveled over the way her entire demeanor brightened. He could almost feel the light that radiated from within her. He couldn't help himself.
He smiled back.
Celírion returned to his duties less than a sennight later. He was glad to be back under the trees again, and his friends were happy to welcome him back amongst their number once more.
"It has been quiet since you left," teased his friend Rhovangur. "We all thought the enemy must have followed you home!"
Celírion grinned good-naturedly. "If they had then you must not have done your job correctly."
They were camped out in the trees on one of the many open-air platforms strewn throughout the forest for warden use. They were nothing like the elaborate dwellings back in Caras Galadhon but they had room enough for a group to eat and rest after the watch rotation. Mostly though, the wardens just used them to gather and gossip.
"So what of this girl I hear who was brought to Caras Galadhon?" Gladhron asked as he carefully oiled his bow. Unlike Celírion he had not been back to the city in months.
"She is…" Celírion trailed off, trying to find the right word. "Peculiar."
Off at the edge of the platform, Ruinthir snorted. Another ellon noticed and remarked, almost slyly, "It was you who found the girl, was it not Ruinthir? What was she like?"
Ruinthir grimaced. "Indeed. And what a nuisance she was!"
Celírion peered at his superior curiously. So far everyone he'd met who had come into contact with Alice had only kind or sympathetic things to say about her. As such, he was almost startled by the clear distaste in the elder ellon's voice.
"How so?"
"She ran about like a frightened rabbit and alerted our quarry," Ruinthir's fair face crinkled with disdain. "She nearly ruined our ambush!"
Celírion hastily tried to jump to Alice's defense. "Surely you could not have expected any different? Orcs are foul creatures. I am sure she was frightened."
"Pay him no heed Celírion. Dear Ruinthir is just bitter because the girl vomited all over his favorite boots!" One warden remarked with a wry twist to his lips. Several wardens burst into laughter at this.
"It took him a sennight to wash to the stink out!" Another edhel chimed in joyfully, inducing another round of laughter.
Ruinthir's mouth set into a grim line and he stood suddenly, moving towards the rope ladder coiled off to the side. Without a word, he nudged the mound of rope off the edge of the platform and watched it slither into the darkness, unraveling like the coils of a snake. And then, silently, he climbed down the ladder and out of sight.
Celírion suddenly felt very foolish and ashamed.
"I will go with him," he declared and before anyone could protest, he clambered down the ladder after his superior.
It took only a moment to catch up with the other ellon, but he was slow to approach him, sensing Ruinthir's dark mood as his fae simmered angrily under his skin. It was a long time before either of them spoke.
"They were cruel to you."
Ruinthir didn't turn, his head twisted up and away towards the starlight peaking through the trees. "They only spoke the truth."
"And yet they did not need to be so callous about it," Celírion said earnestly.
He turned then, the gray-blue of his eyes shining brighter than usual, evidence of the flickering spirit behind them, before they dimmed once more. Ruinthir sighed. "I do not fault the child, though I was certainly not impressed with her either."
Celírion was silent for a moment, and then, "She told me her name was Alice."
"Oh? Does she speak now?"
"Not well," he replied with a small smile. It fell though and morphed into curiosity when he add, "I have never heard such a name before."
Ruinthir hesitated a moment before saying, "Nor have I."
"Where do you suppose she came from?"
Ruinthir was quiet at first, almost introspective. Celírion stared up at the stars and listened to the breeze rustle the leaves overhead as he waited for the other ellon to speak.
"I have only seen people of her like once," he began slowly. "Long before The Deceiver ever came forth to ravage the land, before the Alliance, I traveled far to the south with my father. We came to the mouth of the Anduin until all that could be seen was the endless blue sea beyond, and on our way there we stopped at the a mannish port. There were traders there, men that came from even further south. They had skin as dark as night and strange hair. I had never seen anyone like them before."
"So you believe that she came from the south?"
"Wherever she came from, it was not from here." Ruinthir looked away, head turned southwards. "She is from lands far beyond our own, of that we can be certain." He stared into the distance some more before finally turning back to the younger warden and added, "Go back to the others." It wasn't a request.
Celírion obeyed, turning away from the elder edhel to rejoin his friends, but not before he saw Ruinthir stare longingly into the south once more, his eyes full of memories unseen.
A/N: This chapter was a pain in the ass to write. Ugh. As Alice would say, fucking elves man! I promise the third chapter will come sooner. Most of it is written already and Alice's head is much easier to get into than Celírion's. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts. :)
Chapter Timeframe: June 29, 2998 T.A. - July 22, 2998 T.A.
Today in "Middle Earthean History, Culture, and Geography Notes AKA Stuff I Feel Like Talking About":
- In my own personal headcanon, the spirits of men shine like flames whereas the spirits of elves shine more like starlight. Elves (and some humans) can see the souls of the Children of Ilúvatar and since Celírion has never seen the soul of a human before he ends up being completely dazzled by Alice's. To be clear though, Alice's soul isn't necessarily brighter or even particularly special compared to any other human's, she's just the first one Celírion has come into contact with.
- Firstborn and Secondborn are one of the many names the elves gave to both themselves and the race of men. The elves call themselves the Firstborn because they were the first of the Children of Ilúvatar to awaken in the world, thousands of years before humankind. When men finally showed up in Beleriand many elves dubbed them the Secondborn (for obvious reasons) and the name stuck.
- Hithaeglir is the Sindarin name for the Misty Mountains.
- Fae is Sindarin for 'soul' or 'spirit'. Edhel is the Sindarin word for 'elf' while Edhil is its plural form, meaning 'elves'. Ellon is the Sindarin word for an elven male and elleth is the word for an elven female.
- Edain is the name given to the descendents of the Numenoreans (a.k.a the Men of the West) by the elves.
- Gee, I wonder who this Lewsindë person could be? This is the part where I tell you to start reading The Road Goes Ever On. Trust me. It'll all start making sense soon. Needless to say this is definitely not the last we'll be seeing of either Lewsindë or Ilvanandil.
- The light Gwalothiel mentions seeing in Glorfindel, Lewsindë, and Ilvanandil's eyes is the light of the Two Trees of Valinor. Only those elves born during the Years of the Trees in Valinor have a leftover 'memory' of the light from Laurelin and Telperion shining in their eyes. Elves like Galadriel and Glorfindel have it, but elves like Elrond and Legolas (who were born in Middle Earth) do not.
- Alice has learned a little Sindarin by the end of this chapter though not nearly as much as Celírion might like her to. It's only been a month or so. Give it time.
- Just so you know, a fortnight is two weeks and a sennight is one week.
- I shamelessly title-dropped at the end. Sorrynotsorry.
Sindarin Names and Their Meanings/Pronunciations
Celírion - Brilliant Son (kell-ear-ee-on)
Ruinthir - Fiery Expression (roo-in-theer)
Lothlaer - Snow Song (lawth-lie-er)
Dúrferil - Dark Hunter (dew-feh-reel)
Aegol - Bird Cloak (ay-gull)
Aphadon - Follower (aff-uh-dawn)
Brandir - Noble Male (bran-deer)
Tinuthel - Star Sister (tin-oo-thell)
Gwalothiel - Blossom Daughter (gwaw-lawth-ee-ell)
Lewsindë - Lucinda (loo-sin-day) [Pseudo-Quenya]
Ilvanandil - Perfect Servant (ill-vawn-on-deel) [Quenya]
Rhovangur - Wild Heart (row-vawn-goor)
Gladhron - Laughter (glad-hrawn)