The earth was cooler than usual. Her fingertips explored the texture of it, rubbing tiny pebbles and dark soil between her palms. It was as if the elves had taken a bit of its life energy with them. Ainë closed her eyes and delved deep into her soul, past thousand of years of memory and emotion and knowledge. Her being had become shadowed with loneliness and age. She searched until she had reached the core of her being. Her elf magic, that which had been first placed in the souls of her ancestors by the Valor.
She had always seen it as a throbbing little ball of golden light, pulsing with her heartbeat. Tentatively, she drew a bit of that energy away from herself, feeling the loss instantly with a chill down her spine. She gave the magic into the earth, into the forest and the flowers and the trees. She knew that they would need all the magic and love she could gift in the short period she was there. She hoped, as she gently pulled herself back to consciousness, that Lorien would hold the memory of the Elven presence forever…though this seemed far-fetched to her disenchanted mind. Everything seemed to change so quickly, so constantly.
Ainë walked leisurely towards Celeborn's library, brushing the dirt from her hands onto a fresh pair of green trousers. As soon as their riding party had entered the heart of Lothlorien, ten or so ecstatic elves had rushed out to greet them. The Men had been spirited away to the guest pavilions, while three elleths had rushed Ainë to a gossamer-covered talan, insisting on providing her with a hot bath, warm lembas bread, and fresh clothing. Ainë had had to refuse the gauzy yellow gown that was offered her, telling the broken-hearted Ladies- Halliel, Telperien, and Alcarie-that she was forced to insist on practical clothing.
"But we've an abundance of beautiful dresses!" Telperien had exclaimed in dismay. "All stitched and embroidered to brilliant perfection, in any color you like."
"What do you think we spend our time doing, in the winter months?" Halliel had asked dubiously. "Or in any month, for that matter?"
"Soon, we shall be inclined to give our garments into human hands," mused Alcarie. "Oh, how far we have fallen."
Ainë had simply been glad to be in the company of females again, especially her friends. Alcarie was a distant cousin, and she had known Halliel and Telperien for several centuries. Besides, elleths were so much more confident than the human women she had spoken with. They conveyed their true feelings unabashedly, without fear of reproach. In fact, most women she'd known had bowed to their husband or father's wishes meekly and unquestioningly. The strongest daughter of Men she had ever met (and liked) was Eowyn of Rohan.
She walked between the grey stone columns, into the cavernous chamber of books. The circular walls were lined with books of every color and binding, in leather and cloth and silk. There were several tables spaced throughout the room, each supporting a number of ancient tablets that contained the writing of Men, Dwarves, and even a bit of Elvish in the Old Language.
"Dear One, so good to see your face again."
Ainë smiled. "Poldon. It has been too long." She strode to the austere-looking elf and kissed him softly on each cheek. Her heart thrummed with the gladness of being in a familiar place. "How fare you, Bookkeeper?"
"Entrenched in battle with the same two scoundrels. They loosed Surion's covey of doves in this very room. It took me weeks to get the last feathers out of the shelves." He looked her over. "And how have you been, Keeper of Men?"
Ainë winced.
"That well?"
"For one of the Eldar," she said, walking along the nearest shelf and running her hand along the spines of the books, "I am extremely resistant to change. I feel that I take my eyes off of a man for one second, then look back to see his grandson in his place." She sighed. "The land here is cold."
"It has been so since Galadriel left. Frigid, wilder-a bit more like Mirkwood." Poldon fell into step with her. "But if you wish for her presence, all you need do it have a lie-down in the elanor, or take a walk in her rose garden." He glanced at her sagely. "She is still here. Celeborn himself told me that she would always be here."
Ainë gave a ghost of a smile. "Of that, I have no doubt." She continued to scan the shelves, taking comfort in the opulence of the old tomes.
"What are you looking for?"
"The Second Age of Númenor."
Poldon quirked a nearly-white brow. "Twenty steps forward, one shelf up. A bit of light reading, eh?"
"I need it for reference."
"So that searing wit of yours is failing you at last." Poldon tsked. "And you are not yet half my age. What shall become of the race of Man?"
"Ha," Ainë said without enthusiasm, preoccupied with her search. At last, her pale hands wrapped around a worn leather book, dyed green with golden lettering.
Poldon stared at Ainë for a moment, watching her as her attention turned fully towards the book, seeing the reverence with which she opened the cover and gently turned the pages. Her eyes narrowed slightly, scanning for some unknown prophesy or counsel. He wondered briefly if he had ever seen another female so rapt, so enamored with a book as he had seen Ainë.
Turning silently on his heel, the bookkeeper left her to her reverie.
Ainë had forgotten how an elven book lay perfectly balanced in her hands. Her fingers itched to stroke the silky paper, her nose already detecting the organic, spicy smell of the ink. She easily lost herself in the words, scanning every paragraph, every footnote. She knew not exactly what wisdom she needed…But a soft undercurrent of urgency drove her to look to the past for answers to her questions about the future of the Men that she watched over.
"Why are they forgetting?" she thought, flipping several more pages. "Why are the Kings allowing their people to forget the Elves?" The words began to blur slightly. "Why do I not know what must be done?"
Her mind raced. The Elven race was waning in Middle Earth. Ainë did not know if any would remain in another thousand years…or even in another two hundred. Many were bored with the lives that they now led, in the ruins of what their people once were, with ignorant humans. What tied them to the land anymore, other than a worship and adoration of the forests and former homes of elven kings and warriors long gone?
A hideous thought occurred to Ainë.
"Should the elves be forgotten?"
A cool wind stirred the curtains, bringing her closer to reality. Her breathing had become a bit labored, and several strands of hair had fallen across her face, unnoticed.
She dropped the book on the nearest table, unable to read any further. Nothing she'd seen had been of use. The trip to the library seemed like a mistake to Ainë…an unwelcome chance to think too much on an unpleasant topic. One that she knew she would have to address in the very near future.
She leapt down the white marble steps and bounded into the forest, knowing that nothing else would lessen the heaviness she carried in her chest. The feeling had built up from a muffled throb that began before the War of the Ring, and had risen to an acute pain just behind her heart. She'd suppressed it out of necessity and an unwillingness to deal with emotions of her own. "If you are feeling badly inside, look to the misfortunes of others, and help," her misguided mother had advised her since childhood. "I knew she was wrong," Ainë thought desperately. "Why did I listen?"
The green of the leaves seemed to jump out, the gold in them sparkling as Ainë propelled her legs faster. She wove wildly around the trunks, as she had in her childhood. The bark brushed her shoulders and arms, like the eager hands of a child, grabbing at her cream-colored tunic. She willed her braids to unwind as she sprinted, savoring the rare moment of perfect freedom and clarity.
She did not stop until she reached a place wholly unfamiliar after an hour or so of running. She allowed herself to fall to the ground, arms flung out. The grass under her was fine, almost silken. The strands brushed her cheeks, now tinged with a hint of rose.
Ainë felt something wet on her face, and swiped at it with the back of her hand. She tasted the drops, feeling her heartbeat accelerate. "It is nothing," she whispered, more tears sliding down from her eyes, across her temples, to water the ground. "It is nothing."
She was secretly disgusted with herself. "There is nothing to be crying about. You have remained on this Eastern shore to do your duty, and you have been content. You still have some friends here. You will know what needs to be done when the time comes."
Images of an empty Imladris and Lothlorien flitted across her mind, pictures of a grey and empty world. The blood drained from her face. She saw herself standing alone among the cold trees, her eyes glassy and dead.
Ainë rolled onto her side, drawing her hands to her chest. She felt hollow and filled to bursting at the same time. She shuddered. "Elves cry only to mourn," she thought, trying desperately to stop the tears. A quiet, significant thought occurred to her. "When have I last mourned for my people…or Middle Earth?"
Her chest and hands clenched as a sob wracked her body. She buried her face in the grass, smelling the damp, warm earth and crying silently.
"My child."
Ainë's head was clouded. All she could see was a blanket of snowy mist. The cool moisture coated her face. She touched the valley between her nose and eye. The tears were gone.
"My child, you must seek peace."
"There is peace," she said to the voice, peering into the whiteness, knowing what the words really had meant. "Men have lived without war for centuries, now."
"You must seek for peace within yourself." Galadriel's whisper soothed Ainë. She continued, "A lack of war does not mean that Men treat their women and children with respect, or they do not hunger for more land and wealth with every new generation. A lack of war does not mean that they are growing in knowledge of this sacred land and all of the ancient peoples who inhabit it. You have sensed that something is wrong."
Ainë closed her eyes and sighed. "I have felt it since Eldarion's death…though I never thought that Aragorn's blood would fail so quickly."
"It has not," Galadriel chided gently, her voice filling the space surrounding Ainë, growing a touch stronger. "The sons of Estel and Arwen will always possess strength, wisdom, and bravery. But beware, child. There is a poison in Gondor."
"A poison," Ainë echoed. "What must I do?"
"Act as you are. You are on the correct path, and you know what is right, in your heart. Trust your instincts and your old friends."
Ainë could not shake the lost feeling in her gut. "Lady, could you not give me some indication of what the future holds?"
"You need no such help from me. You underestimate yourself, Ainë Calliel. Be well. And wake up."
"Excuse me?"
"Wake up," the voice hissed, suddenly low and terse, and close to her ear. Ainë whipped around.
Haldir dodged her hand, hoisting up the soggy elleth by her arm. He'd found her on the ground, unconscious, seemingly feverish…Odd, considering he'd never known an elf to become sick, at least not in any of his five thousand years.
He could see her beginning to come around, murmuring. The small knot of concern around his heart loosened, giving way to anger. If any marauding humans had found her in such a vulnerable state, she could have been easily carried off.
"Wake up," he said again, his voice rising. He resisted shaking her.
Her eyes flew open. "Where am I?"
"In the woods, and alone, as well. Foolish of you, I should say."
Ainë straightened, pulling her arm from his grasp. "I'll thank you to keep your hands off of me, Marchwarden." She layered the last word with enough sarcasm and mockery to anger him. She almost smiled at the look on his face. Brows knitted together. Eyes blazing. Lovely.
"Have you been among humans so long that you've lost your sense and your respect?"
"Perhaps you have been isolated for too long."
"When is it that you are leaving Lorien?"
"Oh, not soon enough, my lord." Ainë turned and strode towards her guest quarters, having had enough of their childish spat. Her hair and clothing were soaked, and her arm still burned where his hand had held it.