Chapter 3: Acquaintance Renewed

Time lost all meaning for her as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes she thought she saw a bright shining light; mostly there was only darkness. Once she heard her brother calling her desperately, but when she tried to answer her mouth filled with water. Terrified, she flailed for air, but to no avail. Then a voice spoke to her, deep and resonant, yet soothing. Every word seemed to penetrate her mind, alien yet beautiful. Though she did not understand their exact meaning, the words told of peace and renewal. At last she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

She woke to a strange half-light filtering in from above. For a moment, she panicked, thinking she was still in the river; before the bed she was lying in convinced her otherwise. She lay still, slowing her breathing, and took in her surroundings. Her attention was caught by a chair in the corner of the room; the delicacy of its carved back made her heart sink. Elves. She did not know why the realisation should trouble her so: for years she had been captivated by the songs minstrels sang of past Ages, and the Elves who had lived and fought and loved in those distant times. But now when it seemed inevitable that she would meet the Firstborn in person, she found that she did not want to.

A door opened in the next room and she heard Nat speak. An unknown voice answered him. She strained to listen but they spoke too quietly to be overheard. No doubt Nat thought she was still asleep and was trying not to wake her. As she looked around the room again she noticed the clothes that had been laid out on the couch. With a start she realised that she was naked beneath the sheets. She felt suspiciously clean too; someone must have bathed her while she slept.

She decided to take the risk and get dressed, hoping she would not be disturbed. The fine gown was decidedly not her own; her clothes must be being washed. The material was of superior quality to anything she had ever worn; she felt she did not suit it. Pushing such misgivings aside, she dressed hastily, and was just struggling to fasten the ties at her back when Nat came in.

He smiled to see her awake again – before his eyes widened at her gown, despite his own elf-made tunic.

She could not help laughing. 'Do you still recognise me?'

'Only just. It might help the overall effect if you brushed your hair.'

'Oh it might, might it?' She pretended to smack his head.

He ducked, then picked up a comb from the dressing table and threw it to her. Catching it, she began to tidy her hair.

'You slept for nearly a whole day – though you might have slept longer if the elf-lord had not healed you. Do you remember what happened?' he asked.

'I remember trying to cross a black river – the Enchanted River. You got across safely but when I tried the bridge collapsed and I fell in. After that I can remember nothing.'

He hesitated before asking carefully, 'And you don't remember why we came to Mirkwood?'

The question unnerved her because she knew that she should know – all the more so because he clearly did not know himself. It must have been important if she would have kept it secret from him. 'No, I do not.'

He nodded, disappointed. 'Well, it must be the effect of the river. The elves told me its waters carry a spell of amnesia. They said the effect wears off after a while.'

'Tell me what happened after I fell in.'

'I ran to get help. I came across an elf-lord, tall and dark. He came at once when I told him what had happened. He managed to get you out, and then other elves arrived and they took us both here, to the halls of the elf-king of Mirkwood.'

'I thought that might be where we were.'

He frowned at her tone. 'Are you not glad to be here? I know how tales of elves have always fascinated you. Why would you not want to see them when at last you have the chance?'

She wondered what he would say if he knew that long ago, she had met one of the Firstborn. She rarely dwelt on her memories of him. Knowing she would never meet him again, she sought at least to keep him from her thoughts, even if she could never forget him.

Nat was watching her. She spoke quickly, deciding not to mention the elf or the apprehension that weighted her thoughts. 'There is no reason. It must be the river. I am curiously out of sorts this morning – it is morning now, isn't it?'

'Yes. An elf brought breakfast just now, if you would like some.'

They went into the next room together and found plates of bread and honey, with forest berries at the side, and a jug of fresh milk. All the while they were eating, Astrid felt a pressure growing in the back of her mind. She knew they had come to the forest for a purpose – something she had felt was urgent or she would not have risked crossing the decaying bridge. But try as she might she could not remember what it was. When Nat glanced at her in concern she forced herself to smile. She asked about the elf-lord who had rescued her but he could tell her little, only that he also had powers of healing. As she ate, she tried to think of a plan. They must leave soon – but first they would have to restock their provisions – especially since she had lost her pack to the river – and they would need to thank their hosts. But where would they go to when they left? If only she could remember why they had left Dale.

They were just finishing the meal when there was a knock at the door.

'Come in,' Astrid called, hesitant. She was not usually shy, but it was not every day one met an immortal.

The door opened and an elf-lord entered, smiling at Nat before turning to Astrid. 'Greetings, my lady. It gladdens me to see you have recovered. I am Lindir, counsellor to the Master of Imladris. If you are ready, I would take you to him. Lord Elrond wishes to speak with you.'

Yesterday afternoon, caught in the thrill of riding through close-set trees, Thranduil's spirits had been the most uplifted Elrond had yet seen. But that cheer had soon faded; even at last night's feast he had been distant. Now, as they edged around the topic of renewing contact with the Lothlórien elves, Thranduil's voice was almost cold. Elrond was almost reminded of the proud moodiness of Oropher. Despite having often been told that he was adept at diplomacy, Elrond found himself hesitating to speak, fearing to offend his host unintentionally with only the slightest verbal misstep.

Early that morning news had come that the Harad was walking north in order to find more secure passage across the river, having come to the broken bridge. The orc pack had now passed south of Thranduil's halls, but Elrond would not feel easy until they were out of the forest altogether. Of all dark creatures, he hated orcs the most, almost as much as his sons did. Always he feared that Elladan and Elrohir might disappear one night to hunt the orcs themselves, in vengeance for all the pain the foul creatures had caused their family. And then there was the ever-present danger of the so-called Necromancer, who had become a frequent topic at the meetings of the White Council.

Yet Thranduil remained seemingly impassive in the face of these troubles, and showed little inclination to renew acquaintance with the elves of Lothlórien, or Imladris.

Once he enquired briefly of his mortal guests. When Elrond said the woman still slept, Thranduil had only said, 'No matter,' before speaking of other things.

It was a relief to Elrond when their meeting at last ended, and he was able to leave, walking swiftly to the room he had told Lindir to bring the woman to. After a long hesitation, he had decided it would be best if they met privately, hoping to lessen her shock when she recognised him.

To his relief the room was empty. It was fairly small, and better lit than many in Thranduil's realm. The book-lined walls calmed him, reminding him of his library in Rivendell. He took down a book and sat, trying to focus his mind on the pages.

It seemed no time at all had passed before he heard footsteps. He frowned at the page he was reading, composing himself.

'My lord Elrond.'

He raised his head. Lindir was walking towards him – and at his side was the woman.

She faltered as she recognised him, and her face turned white. His eyes were caught by hers, and the years fell away.

With an effort, he looked away, rising to his feet.

'Gi hannon, Lindir,' he said. 'You may leave us, now.'

Lindir's footsteps faded away. They were alone.

She remained utterly still, breathing shallowly as she recovered from the shock of seeing him. He wished he had thought to send her a note to prepare her. He wanted to apologise, but found he could not speak. Their eyes met. She was looking at him intently, as though to convince herself it was truly him. Abruptly she turned away and put her hand against a nearby pillar for support. She lowered her head, closing her eyes briefly.

He wanted to go to her, but was unable to move. He had planned to greet her, to say something about how long it had been since last they met, but words felt inadequate. Instead he could only watch her as she remained motionless. At last she drew upright and looked at him. Her face was calm now, though a trace of uncertainty remained in her eyes. He had never seen her like this – when last they had met she had been distant and proud. Though some of that pride yet remained, it was softened; and there was an openness to her face that had not been there before.

Her voice was low when she spoke.

'I never thought to see you again.'

A/N: Please do leave a review. I would love to hear your thoughts on the story so far.

Gi hannon is the informal Sindarin version of 'thank you' (I hope!)