Hey! Thank you to those who reviewed and also to those who followed and favourited the story!
DivineHazex – First of all, thank you so much! I'm glad you're enjoying the story and you like how the characters are written. As for the meeting with Galadriel, we may reach that in this chapter and I hope it is to your liking!
Tibblets – Absolutely, I intended to use the Arkenstone as a Silmaril. More particularly, the one which Maedhros jumped into the chasm with since, due to plate tectonics / moving of the lithosphere, the stone would have shifted. Also, you'll definitely see the results of the kinslaying as a recurring theme in this story 3
Irina – Ah, I'm so glad you think that! That's exactly what I was going for!
Guest1706 – Wow, thank you for such a detailed review, these are all points I took great care with and I'm so happy you noticed this! I hope you enjoy this chapter 3
~ This chapter has a large flashback that will help shed some more light on Araniel. You'll hear more of the Kinslaying at Alqualonde here! You'll also get Thorin's point of view!
CHAPTER THREE
Mithrandir had made quick work of helping the Dwarves out of the captive sacks and with no small amount of contained amusement, he had cut hers open too.
Nenar was still on the Troll trodden soil, and she wiped it on a bush before sheathing the steel sword back.
Most of the Dwarves seemed unharmed save for two but the injuries sustained had been minor.
There was a healer among the Dwarves, she had learnt. He was hard of hearing, however, but he had requested her assistance and she was more than eager to help.
Araniel examined the wound on the wild haired Dwarf.
"Does it sting?"
The Dwarf shrugged, "Not much, I didn't feel it before."
Araniel pursed her lips, "It's the rush of battle, hold still." She tied the ends of a bandage together and patted the Dwarf's arm, "Much better."
She studied the Dwarf, "Are you related to Fili?" They shared the same brow and the same upturned mouth.
The Dwarf laughed and Fili, himself, appeared. "Miss, Kili's my brother!"
Araniel nodded, "I see."
Kili prodded Fili, "I'm just the better looking one that's all! I can see why there would be confusion."
Araniel laughed, the two antics of the brothers helped relieve the tension after the Trolls. Kili reminded her so much of Eatarmo.
The Dwarves were all starting to move out of the clearing and she jogged up to catch up with Mithrandir.
"Are we heading out?"
Mithrandir shook his head, "The Dwarves seek the cave of the Trolls."
Araniel frowned, "Why would they do that?" She knew that Trolls stayed shy of sunlight lest they befell the same fate as the three Trolls who had waylaid the Company. But what would they keep in such a miserable place?
"Trolls collect riches, I believe there is some common ground then."
Araniel scoffed, but her curiosity was piqued. She followed the group down a decrepit tunnel and a strong stench hit her. Her senses were overloaded by the foul smell of rotting flesh and she covered her nose as she entered.
It was rather spacious and old racks filled the cave. The glint of gold and steel caught her eyes as did the chest overflowing with coin. And judging by wide eyes of her companions, they had noticed it too.
She rifled through a barrel overflowing with fabric. Lifting one up, she unravelled the dark blue roll of thick fabric, to reveal a tattered and heavy standard, a glittering standard of a diamond and woven thread.
Araniel stumbled back, it was not possible. It was impossible that the banners of Turgon, son of Fingolfin and King of Gondolin could have survived the sack of the Hidden City and a land that had sunk beneath the sea.
But it was there and, in her hand,, she let the fabric fall. Peering over the barrel again, she lifted over a glittering concoction of shimmering white stones, each a delicate as droplets of water and underneath the largest pendant, a seal.
The seal of the Lord of the House of the Mole. Maeglin the traitor, son of her cousin by marriage. This was the famed necklace he had forged to earn the affections of Idril, daughter of the King.
These were relics of the First Age and how the Trolls came by them, she knew not!
She ran the jewels through her fingers, the stones travelling and falling further before slipping the necklace into a pocket of her tunic.
Elrond would want to see it.
It seemed the Dwarf King and Mithrandir had also found old relics of the White City.
Mithrandir had turned his head towards her, "Confer with Araniel. She may know the origins of the sword."
The Dwarf King had came to her, a curved blade in his hand, topped with a hilt of a dragon tooth. "Gandalf said you may know where this sword came from."
She had lifted the blade, it was perfectly weighted and the make of the sword was undoubtedly of the skill of High Elves.
Araniel flipped the hilt so she could see the seal underneath the hilt It was one similar to that of the Gondoldhrim but she could not place the owner.
"The sword was forged in Gondolin, Master Oakenshield. But aside from that, I cannot say further."
The Dwarf's mood darkened, "By Elves?"
Araniel turned her nose up, "It would not be wise to discard a High Elven sword."
He took the sword wordlessly and to Araniel's own surprise, he strapped it to himself, while the scuffle of the Dwarf with the hair of fire kneeled in the soil, hastily covering the soil resonated through the cave.
"We're makin' a long term deposit," the Dwarf reasoned and the others scoffed in mirth.
Slowly, the Company started making their way out from the dark cave and as sunlight hit their faces again, they relished the clean air.
She could feel the necklace through the tunic and her mind reeled at how thousands of years had passed and still, heirlooms of the House of Finwe had survived.
A rustle in the trees drew the Company's attention and the distant sounds of yelling caused them to all draw their weapons, Araniel included, Nenar slipping out of the sheath.
"Thieves!"
"Fire!"
"Murder!"
Someone, the shyest Dwarf with the scarf, whispered, "So what did we actually do?" And an odd moment fell upon all as they held their grounds on these bold claims.
A figure emerged from the trees. A bearded man appeared atop a sleigh pulled by…Araniel had to squint. Rather large rabbits?
He was incredibly decrepit and wild looking in his fashion, robes the colour of the woods, a tattered hat atop his head and a tangle of grey hair.
But Araniel knew not to underestimate him, underneath the strange exterior, his eyes were sharp and clever with bright light that shone beneath them.
The Company was saved from an awkward meeting with Aiwendil, one of the Istari, when Mithrandir approached his companion followed by Bilbo who had acquired a new weapon, it seemed.
The others started milling around, comparing the treasures that they found, and she listened politely as Nori detailed his rather grandiose plans and new financial schemes regarding the gold.
"Araniel!" She looked up and excusing herself from Nori, she saw Mithrandir gesturing for her.
She approached with a sort of trepidation, two Maiar were a intimidating force. "Aiwendil," she greeted, adding in the customary greeting and a bow.
"Araniel…" Aiwendil seemed far in thought, before suddenly a thought of some sort hit him, "Araniel! Surely not the daughter of Nandion, why, he used to visit me often in Valimar! It has been a while!"
How the Maiar had known her quiet, unsociable father, she knew not but she smiled none the less. "You are correct in that, Nandion is my father."
Aiwendil waved his hand in a quick gesture, "Ah, ah! And how is he? It has been far too long, in my opinion! When do you plan to sail West, again?"
Araniel froze, she had not seen her father in thousands of years. Nay, not even as she left Valinor. That is, if he had not been killed in the Kinslaying on the quays of Alqualonde. She allowed herself not even the slightest inkling in that thought. She had not anticipated that
And sailing back? The Ban of the Noldor lay on her too, she was now, and had been for thousands of years, of the House of Feanor. No, the Exile would hold still after millennia.
She faltered, " I – I know not."
Aiwendil paused, "Oh dear, you came with Finwe's sons, did you not?"
Araniel nodded. Out of all the conversations she could have with an all knowing Ainur, one of the Doom of Mandos was not one she anticipated.
Mithrandir coughed as he shot her a look. "Radagast, my dear fellow. I have some matters to discuss with you," as he ushered his friend away.
Araniel stood alone for a minute, watching where the wizards had left. She grumbled, they may look like flighty old Men but they were all Maiar and she was still not so mighty in their face.
She perched on a outcrop of rocks and observed the Company. She had once been taught that Dwarves, the Naugrim, were all traitorous, greedy beings. But she had taken a liking to this troop. Perhaps, the old ways and the old tales had been wrong, these Dwarves were loyal and they stuck together like a family. There were many who, yet, she knew not who they were, but it was their distinctive personalities and traits that helped Araniel understand them better.
Fate had accordance with her thoughts, it would seem. For the smallest Dwarf, the one who carried ink and paper and had two older brothers, one of them being Nori, approached her.
"Excuse me?"
Araniel looked up, "May I help you?"
She shifted over the rocks, allowing the Dwarf space to sit down. The twisted feeling in her stomach remained after her conversation with Aiwendil and the sense of unease over the past would not disappear so easily but perhaps she could try.
The Dwarf sat hesitantly, "Bilbo said… he said you were a Teleri Elf."
Araniel felt her mouth twitch, she searched for the right words so not to discourage the Dwarf. "You know of the Elven clans?"
"Some of them. I've read the old tales."
She tipped her head, "Well, Bilbo is right. I am of the Teleri."
The Dwarf sat straighter, as if eager for more information, "From the Grey Havens or out of the West? I've heard there are Teleri who live along the coast."
"The Grey Havens are the dwelling of most of the Teleri in Middle Earth. And their lord is Cirdan of the Falas."
The Dwarf frowned in thought, "Cirdan? The shipwright?"
Araniel nodded. Cirdan was a cantankerous looking Elf but she knew he was skilled and wise in all aspects. He was as old as her grandfather, Olwe, and they had been good friends before they parted ways and the Falmari left the shores of Arda. After the events of the First Age, he had been kind to her and allowed her to stay in the Havens but she had pardoned her leave and left, mostly out of respect for the Teleri who held an immense dislike for the Noldor, following the slaughter of their kin.
The most disconcerting thing to see the ancient shipwright stroke his lengthy, silvery beard. It was odd, and it had caught Araniel incredibly off guard to see one of her kin with facial hair.
"Yes, he has ever lead his people. But I sailed out of the West."
That was partly a lie. She hadn't sailed at all, but crossed the Helcaraxe with the House of Fingolfin.
Following the First Kinslaying, those who had supported Feanor had climbed onto the stolen Telerin boats and had sailed to Middle Earth. Many had been grieved at the actions and Finarfin, now the High King, had turned away but his children remained for a desire to see Arda.
Araniel remembered the aftermath of the Kinslaying at Alqualonde.
Her own people, her mother's own, lay bloody and broken upon the quays of the city. They had only been defending their own and she had helped their murder. She desperately wished she could find her parents and her brother, Eatarmo, and beg for forgiveness.
Screams of the dying still resounded and many of the Noldor joined the fallen.
Namo, Lord of Mandos, himself, had come and cursed the Noldor. The Kinslayers and had thrown them into exile for eternity.
Feanor had started pulling the great, pristine ships of the Teleri out of the harbour and she had turned a finger upon her father in law and cursed him.
"Fell you have become, Feanaro! Can you not see what you have caused, all for greed and desire! I renounce the day I swore to follow you!"
He had turned his head to her, cropped hair blowing in the breeze and a fey light in his bright eyes.
"You mourn for your people, Vayanis. But I am not your enemy and he still dwells with my heirlooms across the Sea," the greatest of the Noldor spat, "Stay here and weep if you must and clean up your kin's blood, but I am not to be swayed."
She had almost made her mind to stay behind, to detach herself from the cruel deeds that had marred the name of the Noldor. But Káno had approached her and held her as time passed. She could see the hurt that had crossed his face when she had tried to break free from his grip, but she knew how much Káno's own gentler spirit grew pains at what his father had done. And the oath he had sworn.
Many of Feanor's followers were boarding the ships and Káno offered his hand to her to help her rise to her feet and she had taken it but would go no further.
Not with Feanor.
Káno's expression had crumpled, but he took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead.
"Wait here, with Nolofinwe. We will send the ships back for you." He had left, a promise quickly blown away with the wind. She watched him walk to his brothers and as he turned around one last time, his blue eyes piercing and dark hair picked up by the gales, he had lifted his hand in farewell.
Nolofinwe's House had waited, it had been several hours and Feanor had to have reached the shores of Middle Earth by now. The boats should be sent back soon. She had stood with Artanis and Findarato, her kin on both sides of her family. They too, would have felt the grief of the Kinslaying. Their mother, Earwen, the Swan Maiden of Alqualonde, had been her mother's elder sister.
A cry drew everyone's attention, Findekano stood atop a rock, pointing out at the horizon, at the shores of Arda.
A great fire bloomed in the distance, its flames licking the water and painting the sky.
Fingolfin had stood with his son, and Araniel saw what had happened by the defeated expression on his face. Murmurs ran through the crowd and the dismay was plain to see, Feanor was burning the ships. They had been betrayed.
The decision for Finwe's second son was the hardest. Was he to turn back and face shame and the charges for the Noldor's crimes in Alqualonde or pursue Feanor to Middle Earth by crossing the Helcaraxe, a deadly pass of sliding ice and harsh weather?
Even now, thousands of years, Araniel remembered the brutal consequences of the Crossing. Hundreds perished, their screams ringing over the Grinding Ice. She remembered finding Elenwe's body, frozen and crushed underneath a slab of ice and the screams of Turgon upon seeing his wife's corpse and the cries of her young daughter, Idril. Fingolfin had told them darkly that they had no time to turn back for Elenwe and he had pursued through the snow, a dark cape drawn out and pulled atop his head.
The Elves who had crossed the Helcaraxe had not been the same as those who left Valinor and when they had arrived, they were utterly changed. She remembered the warm rush of air as she set foot in Middle Earth for the first time, flowers bloomed underneath Fingolfin's feet as they crossed over into a new world. It had been weeks since any of them had seen warm light or had even had a proper meal. A horn sounded and blasted through the air, alerting all of Arda. The Noldor had come.
They had spent days crossing over the Mountains of Shadow, Ered Lomin and over the pass of Ard-galen. And she had seen Angband for herself, it towered and covered the horizon, rock passes that sprawled over the land. Then Fingolfin had led them over to Lake Mithrim, where the Sons of Feanor dwelled.
She remembered Findekano baring his teeth at Tyelkormo, demanding that food be brought before them, lest they resort to other measures. The threats that lay in the air as Fingolfin strode forword and declared that unless the Noldorin of his house where not compensated for all that they had lost, there would be bloodshed.
The fear in Káno's eyes had been plain to see as his father's brother towered over him, a hundred-armed Elves behind him, all hardened by the brutal weeks on the ice.
She had rushed forwards and he had turned in shock at her voice, the stark changes seen in all the Elves. Her hair brushed her collarbone, she had hacked it off with Nenar, the ends choppy where the cold had caused brittle damage. Her cloak was now tattered and the remains of reddened skin remained on her cheek where the ice had done it's damage.
Discarding all the pent-up feelings she had harboured over the Helcaraxe, she had run for Káno and he had taken her in his arms, it was all right now. They were together again. And they would heal later.
As she spoke to the Dwarf, Ori, she told him tales of the Undying Realms, the city of Alqualonde and Tirion, the gleaming towers prisitine in the morning light of Laurelin. He listened openly and she was glad to speak of happier days.
It seemed that the matters that Aiwendil and Mithrandir strove to speak of had been concluded. They had reached a conclusion of sorts and Aiwendil had bowed his head in farewell to her, a bright and knowing light in his eyes.
A howl rung through the air followed by several more resounding in response.
Mithrandir whirled around to the Dwarf King, thundering, "Who did you tell?"
The Dwarf scowled, "No one!"
The Maiar shook his head, frustration flooding his face, "Who did you tell?!"
"No one, I swear!"
The Halfing wrung his hands, "Are they wolves?"
Araniel shook her head, drawing Nenar. "No, those are Wargs."
The Dwarf King barked out some orders and all shot to their feet, as Aiwendil spoke.
"I'll draw them off!"
"These are Wargs, they will catch you!" Mithrandir countered.
Aiwendil snorted, his robes flowing behind him. "These are Rhosgobel Rabbits, I'd like to see them try!" He climbed his sled and before anyone could speak further, he had shot fled away.
Perhaps it was the absurd notion of a Warg being outrun by a rabbit or the coming onslaught of battle, but Araniel let out a piercing laugh.
"As he says, Mithrandir!" She turned to follow the Dwarves who were making away, "We must run!"
The Wizard took to the front first quickly, leading the Company through the thickets of clumps of trees bushed together.
Araniel followed, she had let Voronwe go earlier, a single instruction to meet her in Imladris. She hoped that he had been safe from the Wargs and she swiftly ran after the Maiar and the rest of the Dwarves.
They had been led into a open clearing, now in plain sight of the prowling Wargs and worse, their riders. Orcs rode the approaching Wargs, and Araniel picked up their heinous language hissing out, giving orders.
She caught some words, lûg and gimb. Fortress and find, they were looking for something, or someone, specifically. This was no rampant Orc attack, this was a hunt.
An arrow fired out from Kili and it struck a Warg in the eye, toppling the foul beast. The Orc that had been astride the Warg, snarled and approached. Araniel wasted no time in dispatching the creature, Nenar glinting in the sunlight.
Many of the Orcs had now come off their beasts, their own jagged swords raised in challenge and ambush. The Company was now surrounded and Mithrandir had disappeared.
Araniel took a breath, tension had now rolled through her shoulders and she exhaled again.
They were clearing taking their time in approaching, the Orcs, enjoying the terrified anticipation of the Dwarves with their weapons.
Those who came too close where taken down yet, taking no heed of their companions, the others stalked slowly.
Mithrandir's gruff voice sounded out, "Quickly, you fools!"
Araniel saw the Maiar's head appear from behind a rock perch, and she ran past over the thin grass.
It was a small jump into the crevice and she slid down the dusty slope, the Dwarves scrambled down behind her.
Shortly after the Dwarf King and his nephews joined the rest of the Company, she heard the snarling of a Warg and it's rider peering over the edge. She raised Nenar but an arrow from Kili sent both rider and beast tumbling.
But they weren't Kili's arrows. The wood was polished, the fletches trimmed. The arrows belonged to…
"Elves." The Dwarf King spat as he yanked the arrow out of the Warg.
Araniel breathed a sigh of relief as the horn of a hunt rang out. With luck, all would escape unscathed.
The bald Dwarf peered down the path they were on. "Do we follow it or no?"
Bofur nodded eagerly, "Follow it, of course!"
As the Dwarves filed along, she saw a flash of distaste cross over the Dwarf King's face. But Mithrandir seemed awfully pleased with himself.
The walls of the crevice seemed to close in around Araniel but this rock, it was not natural. The heavy tinge of magic hung in the air and a sneaking suspicion seemed to grow in her mind. Why, she would have words with her foster son when they arrived in his valley.
And she was not the only one who seemed to notice this, the Halfing had turned to Mithrandir.
"This place…", he started. Mithrandir had nodded, "You can feel it?"
The Halfing had bobbed his tawny head, "Yes, well, it feels like … it feels like magic." The word hung limply in the air before the Wizard spoke.
"Well, that's exactly what it is," Mithrandir spoke, sending a nigh imperceptible nod in her direction.
There was light at the end of the path and Araniel could not help but grin as the path widened into the rock croppings.
Light streamed through the valley and illuminated the clear water of the Bruinen that flowed underneath stone bridges leading up to the graceful arches of Imladris.
Here, Elrond had built a Haven for all Elves following the deceit of the Enemy in the Second Age. They both knew, though rarely acknowledged it, that this Valley held a special place in their hearts. For this was not always a gleaming paradise but once, in the First Age, it had been crumbling ruins but it had been a home. A home as three kinslayers, two exiled Noldorin princes and one disgraced Teleri princess, had raised the sons of Elwing and Elrond had remembered it. And he had come back and made it his home.
It was worth noting the Dwarf King's face. A resigned and displeased look graced his features and as Mithrandir walked in front of the Halfing, he turned and hissed something at the Wizard.
Ori took in a sharp breath, "What is this place?"
Araniel opened her mouth to speak, but the Halfing beat her to it.
"This is Rivendell." The Halfing's voice was full of awe as he took in the magnificent sight.
She gave him an amused look, "You've been here before?"
The Halfing shook his head, "No, but I grew up on tales of it. My mother visited here once."
The Company descended on the great steps that led to the bridges over the Bruinen. It seemed the Valley was being met with mixed reactions from the Dwarves. She could feel the awe of some but the distaste was not to be missed. She just hoped that her foster son would take to the visitors kindly. And there was also the matter of her not informing Elrond of her new Company.
The Valley was as glorious as ever and as they entered the courtyard, two large creations of stone stood proud. To many, it would seem to be a statue of an ellon, guarding the Homely House.
But the ears were rounded, the features similar to Elrond's but slightly broader. The hair brushed past the shoulders and the symbol carved into the armour of the figure was one of Numenor.
She knew how painful the memory of Elros was to Elrond. His twin brother was always held dear in his heart and they had been inseparable for many years. She remembered vividly that Elros had always been the slightly larger one, with a more fiery temper, and as Maglor had tried to reach Elrond after the Kinslaying at Sirion, Elros had rushed forward and swung his fist out in an attempt to protect Elrond.
Now his statues stood and he had passed beyond the Circles of this world for thousands of years. But the memory remained.
The Company stayed in a huddled sort of circle as an ellon crowned with a circlet descended the steps gracefully. Lindir was one of Elrond's most trusted confidants and rather efficiently ran the household.
He bowed his head at Mithrandir in respect for the Maiar and then politely turned to Araniel, nodding his head. This was followed by Lindir's brows almost reaching his hairline at her present company, sour looking Dwarves and a hapless Halfing gathered close.
"Lord Elrond is not here." Lindir smoothly spoke, his voice betraying no thoughts on the Dwarves.
Mithrandir gave him a amused look underneath his considerably bushy brows, "Then where is he?"
Lindir moved to answer but a horn rang out once more, the very same that had been heard over the plains.
Mithrandir shook his head in mirth as he turned to face the oncoming company, the gallop of hooves heard atop stone.
Araniel gave Lindir an apologetic look as he hid a look of grouching, such disturbances in the household ruined his schedule and anyone from Imladris knew how much he hated that.
The Company of Dwarves did not seem to be taking this new arrival well, they bunched even tighter, weapons drawn as a dozen riders clad in gleaming armour and atop high horses circled around them.
She caught the mischievous faces of Elladan and Elrohir as they made a point of encircling the fierce Dwarves. They caught her eyes and grinned at her unimpressed face. The twins were ridiculous in her opinion and they needed to be kept in line but she would never admit how much entertainment they were.
The rider in the centre came to a stop and dismounted his steed, an orc's weapon in his hand. He wore enveloping armour of deep red, his grey eyes twinkling.
He first came to Mithrandir and greeted him, before sweeping Araniel in an embrace.
"Amil, a laite te!" She laughed at her foster son's enthusiastic Quenyan before letting go of Elrond.
Elrond propped the sword in his hands, "Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders! Something," he titled his head, "Or someone, must have drawn them near."
Mithrandir bowed his head, "That may have been us." He stepped aside to reveal the Dwarf King.
Elrond nodded, "Hail, Thorin, son of Thrain."
The Dwarf's expression seemed to sour further, "I do not believe we have met."
Her foster son did not seemed deterred by the bitter Heir of Durin, "I knew Thror when he ruled under the Mountain."
The Dwarf raised his brows, "Indeed, he made no mention of you." He spat out the last word and Araniel restrained from rolling her eyes.
Nevertheless, Elrond took no heed of the Dwarf's impolite manner.
"Nartho i noer, toltho i viruvor. Boe i annam vann a nethail vin." Elrond spoke without taking his eyes off the Dwarf.
One of the Dwarves, the one with the hair of fire, gripped his axe tighter. "What is he sayin'?!"
"Does he offer us insult?!" The Dwarves grew bellicose and they rose to a roar, before Mithrandir interjected with his voice full of exasperation.
"No, Master Gloin. He is offering you food."
The Dwarves grew once more to a huddle and seemed to confer among themselves.
Gloin stepped forward once more, "Well, in that case, lead on," he gruffly admitted.
As the Dwarves moved into Imladris, she fell into step with Elrond.
"Amil, when you left, I did not believe that you were going to stay in the company of Dwarves."
"Not what I intended at first, yonya." She was not certain that she would reveal to Elrond her purpose but perhaps, in due time.
Then she frowned, "Elrond, did you even brush your hair this morning?" She took note of his dark locks sitting in tousled piles over his back.
"Amil!" Elrond stifled a groan, "I was hunting!" And suddenly, he was an elfing once more and Araniel, the scolding mother.
"Lies, yonya, all lies." Araniel swiped her hand out lightly at Elrond's head which he grinned and ducked.
Araniel had immediately excused herself as the Dwarves themselves retired to assigned quarters at the expense of Lindir's temperament as well as a scowling Erestor who scoffed as soon as he saw the guests.
Her rooms were closer to the waterfall and the view was serene and the balcony open. It seemed, that in complaining about Elrond's hair, she was quite the hypocrite, as she snagged a brush through her own tangled hair, withholding several curses as she felt hairs forcefully remove themselves from her scalp.
Still, a bath did her mood quite a good change and she clipped the front strands of her hair behind her head and left the rest loose before slipping on new clothes that were far more welcome than her soiled tunic.
Now dressed in a loose grey top and casual, wide pants of the same colour that gathered in at the ankles, she felt far lighter than she had in weeks.
Elrond had called them all to a meal in an open pavilion and it was well, for she was incredibly hungry.
Two separate tables had been set up, one where the Dwarves sat awaiting food and the other with Elrond, now dressed in softer, orange robes and Mithrandir…who had not changed at all. Joining them was Erestor, the Head Councillor of the household and next to him, Glorfindel, once of Gondolin and now of Imladris. And looking incredibly uncomfortable sitting in such company, the Dwarf King, his newly acquired sword in Glorfindel's hand.
"Aiya, Vayanis." Glorfindel held the sword as if it was pure gold and a nostalgic crossed the Balrog's face.
"Aiya, Laurefinde." She slipped into the seat next to Erestor who nodded once before turning his attention to the sword too.
Erestor spoke, "How did you come by this, Dwarf?"
The Dwarf King scowled, but before he could speak, Mithrandir spoke, "We came upon them in a Troll hoard."
Araniel spoke, "Do you recognise the sword?"
Glorfindel nodded, his golden hair gleaming in the light, "This is Orcrist, sword of Ecthelion of the Fountain."
Ah, that would explain it then. Ecthelion was a name of legend and though she had fought alongside the Lord several times, she had never met him but he had once been Glorfindel's closest friend.
Araniel tipped her head towards Mithrandir, "He found a new sword too."
Mithrandir nodded, before drawing his own out. It was different from Orcrist's curved blade, far slimmer and lengthier.
Erestor's expression turned slack, "That was Turakano's own, forged for him by the traitor." Erestor was Turgon's brother, he had been Elenwe's brother.
That was enough for Araniel to set down her fork, "I – are you sure?"
Glorfindel nodded and the sorrow was clear on his face, "There is no mistake. That is Glamdring."
The Dwarf King frowned and she heard him mutter in confusion and he turned to her, "You said the swords had been forged by High Elves."
Araniel nodded and a lump grew in her throat. There was a difference when finding relics of the First Age when she knew not who they had belonged to. But Turakano had been her cousin through marriage and she spoke, "Yes, your sword was used to help slay the Lord of Balrogs in the Fall of Gondolin," she saw the Dwarf's eyes widen, "And Mithrandir's sword once belonged to it's king."
Elrond shook his head, for him, Turgon was his grandmother's father, a name of legend. "These came from Gondolin?"
Araniel nodded, "The Troll Hoard had much from that time," she turned to Glorfindel, "Turgon's own banner lies there." She needed not to mention that it was bloodied and ripped.
Erestor shook his head, "We must go, send out a party. They are the heirlooms of our people!"
Elrond nodded, "But what were you doing in a Troll Hoard?"
It seemed this was enough for the Dwarf, he excused himself and stalked back to the rest of his Company.
Mithrandir decided to take this question, "We were on the Great Eastern Road."
"And what were you doing on the Great Eastern Road?" Elrond prodded.
It seemed Elrond would not receive his answer just yet as Bofur, the Dwarf with the large hat, climbed onto the table that stood in the centre.
The soft harp playing had turned to a jaunty tune, an old drinking song, perhaps?
It seemed any High Elves in the presence of the now Dwarves had been stilled into shock and the expression on their faces was worth a helm of silver steel.
But that was not all, it was not long before food started flying and as a soft bun splattered on yet another statue of Elros, Araniel shrunk weakly underneath the combined gaze of Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor. Mithrandir seemed to do the same.
Night had fallen and Araniel had retired to her quarters. Elrond had left with Mithrandir, the Dwarf King as well as the Halfling. Balin, the elderly Dwarf, had also joined them. Later, Elrond had given a quizzical look and she could tell he knew about the Quest and he had some questions.
She excused herself, after all, she was overcome with tiredness. Elrond would understand but he would understand later.
But she left her chambers, a walk would do her well. The scent of jasmine was carried on the breeze and she stood over a balcony overlooking the large terrace underneath.
Araniel heard her presence before seeing her. And she heard it in her mind.
Vayanis.
And there behind her, in a gown of pure white and her golden hair unbound with a crown of stars atop her brow stood Artanis, Galadriel. The Lady of Light.
Grudgingly, Thorin Oakenshield could admit that Rivendell was beautiful. It was beautiful in a way that made Thorin and all those the elves deemed 'lesser' than their own crude, ugly. Mishapen.
The wizard had brought them here to stay and seek rest in the halls of Lord Elrond. the only reason Thorin had even considered to comply was the map, one that had belonged to his grandfather and would seek to restore him to the throne of Erebor.
Lord Elrond had been civil enough. he had granted sufficient supplies, food and shelter for his company. But behind the lord's back, he could sense the feelings of those who stayed there. Elves, curious and condescending alike, would poke at the dwarves' tempers with questions and snide remarks. It took all but of his temper and the desire to stay calm in front of his nephews, who were positively (ridiculous, silly) interested in all this (damned) elven culture.
The elves had talked about him, there was no doubt in that. Whispers flew down the warmly lit halls and they spoke of madness. How insanity plagued their race and how it would reach them again. He stopped in front of a painting that was hanging near the display of the broken shards of Narsil (when he had learnt of their existence it took Gloin and Bofur both to pin down Balin who had wanted to see the shards and study them in the middle of the night).
The painting loomed above him, a masterpiece of brushstrokes that invoked a sense of darkness and something else Thorin hated, inferiority. it was a recognisable scene, well enough. The fall of the Dark Lord, he dared not speak the name, hundreds of years ago on the plains of Mordor, Dagor Dagorlad. A battle where the Elves and Dwarves had fought together for the fate of Arda.
He stared at the Dark Lord's visage where the Ring was a glowing glint of gold, visible on his hand. He moved on, one should never dwell on these dark memories of the past.
There was another painting next to the frame. He would not have noticed it at all had it not been hanging askance. Moving forward, he leaned in to examine the artwork. There were two elves, no four. Two grown and smaller elflings. Strange, he had never seen an elven child before but he guessed even the coldest of beings felt love for their children.
The two elves at the back were clearly related through their features while one, with the most striking hair, the colour of the purest fire, swept up with a single strand woven with gold. And the other far shorter with sharper features and dark hair, long and silky. But it was their eyes that stuck him. They shared the same eyes that held light and were the colour of the purest water frozen in ice. They wore finery with an emblem of an eight pointed star, a gold one for the taller one and a silver one for the other.
The smaller children were twins who shared the same grey eyes and dark hair as they clutched the two elder elves. Everyone looked so happy and content in the photo with each other, Thorin couldn't help but allow a soft twitch of the lips.
A smaller portrait also hung there, the brushstrokes identifying the same artist as the previous. This time, one of the Elven children was balanced on the hip of another Elf. Leaning closer, he realised it was Araniel, her dark hair swept up loosely and wearing the same star emblem on her tunic as the other Elves.
A cough behind drew his attention. He was face to face with Lord Elrond who, too was staring at the painting with incredible fondness in his eyes, the grey starlight not so dimmed. Something struck him.
"Is that -?"
The elf moved forward, "Yes. These was painted a long time ago, when my brother and I were still young."
Thorin glanced at the portrait, "You had a brother?'
If Thorin did not know better, he would say the elf had mournfulness etched over his ageless, smooth face. "I did. but Elros chose the Gift of Men two ages ago."
Elros. The name sounded so familiar. A legend out of his old history lessons when he was just a young dwarfling who would have much rathered be out on the battlements with his grandfather than with a tutor who spoke of things that happened thousands of years ago.
"And you knew Araniel?"
Lord Elrond nodded, "She helped raised me, and she grew to be like a mother for Elros and I."
"Who are the other two elves?", he asked as delicately as he could (a rare feat, one might say), out of trepidation that they might be two other dead elves who the lord knew. Did elves even cry?
Too late. The elf grew even quieter and Mahal, were all elves this tragic? At last, Elrond spoke, "They were my foster fathers. They raised my brother and I when my mother jumped to her fate where she would rather lose her sons than the possession of a jewel that could have spared her people from their fate."
Thorin knew vaguely of what he spoke, the three Elven jewels that had caused catastrophe and endless bloodshed in the First Age, a time when not even Gandalf had walked the earth.
"What were their names?" something had clicked in his mind, the taller one's hair and the star. But he couldn't place any recognition to any of the old tales that would have so excited Balin and Ori to hear about.
"Maedhros was the elder one and Maglor, the other. Maedhros was sterner and much more reserved with us. He had suffered much and it had not been in his heart to take us in at the start. Maglor was more open but just as melancholy, they had seen battles and had lived through far more pain."
Thorin paused, he had heard of the elves that Elrond spoke of, but he still could not understand, nor remember who they were and why they were important.
He faltered, his voice tripping over the unfamiliar syllables, "Who were – who was Maedhros? And Maglor?"
Lord Elrond fixed him with his piercing Elven gaze, "Maedhros was the eldest son of Feanor, greatest of our race. And Maglor, his younger brother."
"What happened to them?"
"Maedhros, burdened by the pains and guilt of his past, jumped to his death over a chasm of fire." Elrond paused, a shadow of grief over his face. Thorin drew a breath, he had never heard, no, imagined that one would take his own life, most definitely not an immortal elf.
"And Maglor?"
"He wandered the shores for an age, mourning the loss of his family, his house and his people. And -" suddenly, Lord Elrond stopped. "Ai, but Master Dwarf, I would be boring you with these tales and woes of an old heart. I bid you take some rest with your kin, for they would be in search of you." And with that, he bowed low (alright, the Elf did not have any need to make a point of his height, the damned elf) and took his leave, a swirl of silk and robes.
Thorin stood alone there for a moment as he took in what Lord Elrond had said. He allowed himself to feel some sympathy for the elf. What parent would forsake their children to a stone? Any sort of treasure? No, not even a dwarf would allow that which he crafted most to take such a hold over his own heart.
Silently, he made his way back to the Company who peppered him with questions and he told them he had just taken a walk, speaking nothing of his meeting with the Lord of Imladris. Instead, he bid his leave and went in search of the Elven Lady, Araniel.
The silence was now growing prolonged as the two High Elves stared at each other.
Galadriel, as radiant as ever, pinned her with a bright gaze, "I know why you go with the Company."
"Get out my head, Artanis." Araniel snapped. She did not dislike her husband's cousin in the slightest but prodding her mind was not appreciated, not now.
It seemed Artanis paid no heed to her. "I also know what you seek in the kingdom of Erebor."
Araniel groaned, "Of course you do."
The elleth's expression softened, "Why?"
She ran a hand through her dark hair, "Why? If their precious stone is really -," she hesitated, "If their stone is what I think it is, you know what that may mean. By the Valar, it's been lost for so long, they've all be lost for so long. Save for the one that graces Earendil's brow."
Artanis paused, "You swore no Oath. It is not your duty to recover a Silmaril."
Araniel frowned at that, "I know. But I could retrieve it for…," she shook her head, "I could retrieve it for Káno."
At that, the Lady of Light, stopped, "You think he is still alive."
The Teleri elleth heaved, "I know he is. I can tell, I know the bond has weakened over time, but if he were not, I would know. I would know."
The sun rose, it's soft hands caressing the sky. It cast golden light far over the horizon and Araniel prepared herself for the day. The Company was to stay in Imladris for a week further for rest and they would cross into the Wilds after that.
In a cream coloured dress, a slit above each knee, to allow for easy movement and pale brown pants underneath, Araniel allowed herself to relax for a short while. After last night's conversation with Artanis, she needed to relieve the unsettling doubt that had gnawed at her.
She approached Elrond's study, her hand faltering above the door as she moved to knock.
"Enter."
She pushed open the oak doors to find Elrond at his desk, some papers spread over the table and a quill in his hand.
"Amil."
Araniel paused, "You have questions."
Elrond raised a brow, "Indeed," his voice distant.
"I – you aren't pleased," Araniel didn't even raise the question, it had been a statement.
Her foster son's cold mask split, "You could have told me. I would have helped. You know how I too want to see Atar again." His voice was so raw and she knew they had both taken the loss of Maglor hard, no matter how long ago it was.
"The White Council convened yesterday. The Lady Galadriel told me everything, she said you sought the stone."
Araniel hovered over the desk, "I know, yonya. But I can't be sure, and the Dwarves – I've heard them speak of the stone. They treasure it too. The hold of such a jewel won't be broken with a simple request."
Elrond frowned, "A simple request did not work in front of such Kinslayings."
She scoffed, "I'm not planning a slaughter of Dwarves over the stone."
The Lord of Rivendell spread his hands, "That's good news."
It was unknown to both Elves that outside the great doors of Elrond Peredhel's study, Bilbo Baggins stood, his ears catching onto every word that was spoken.
Notes and Translations
Quenyan
Amil - mother
a laite te – bless you!
yonya – son
Aiya - hail
Sindarin
Nartho i noer, toltho i viruvor. Boe i annam vann a nethail vin – Light the fires, bring forth the wines. We must feed our guests.
Notes
Feanor – This fiery mad lad made the Silmarils and then when Morgoth took them, he swore a really bad Oath to get them back and so did his sons. He was Middle Earth's original idiot but he was also super talented. He invented Tengwar and he also made the Palantir that appear in LOTR. But still, he started the First Kinslaying, burnt ships and was an all round goose.
Maglor – So, for all those who didn't know who Araniel's husband was as I just referred to him as Kano (derived from Kanafinwe ), it's Feanor's second son, Maglor! He was known as the Minstrel for his mighty voice and his story is super sad!
He followed his father to Middle Earth but he lost so many of his people and land in the Battle of Sudden Flame. He was there at the other Kinslayings and it was his idea to take in Elrond and Elros.
After the War of the Wrath, the other two Silmarils ( one was in the sky with Earendil, Elrond's father, and that's another long story ) lay in Eonwe's camp. Maedhros was growing super tormented under the Oath and he convinced his brother to join him to steal the Silmarils to hold the Oath fulfilled.
Never swear Oaths y'all.
Anyway, Maedhros killed himself, the pain was way to great and Maglor, long suffering, cursed everything and threw the Silmaril into the Sea. And then he was never seen again, but legends say he was seen wandering the shoreline and singing of his regrets.
Laurefinde – That's another name for Glorfindel, the OG Balrog Slayer.
Erestor – You probably know this guy but you'll be wondering what's up with his story. In this story, he's a half Noldorin and half Vanyarin High Elf who also crossed the Helcaraxe and he was the older brother of Elenwe, Turgon's wife and Elrond's ancestor too! He lived in Gondolin but fled after it fell.