Numb. Dull. Dead.

That was how she felt, if that was a feeling. The wind blew loud and cold, howling through the keep, causing the bits of snow to swirl in delicate spirals. But even the sight of one of her favorite things could not bring a smile to her face as she stood next to her mother, dressed in black. Her small hand gripped the larger one, giving squeezes back and forth as if to reassure themselves that the other was still there, still alive. Her tiny hand in her mothers looked nearly as white as the snow that covered the ground at their feet. A vast contrast, the black of their mourning clothes and the pure, unsullied white of the fresh snow that had fallen the night before.

Assembled around them, huddled in tight groups, was her family. There were not many on her father's side who attended, some distant second or third cousins of hers, most of whom she had never met. Her Grandfather, Adrahil stood next to her mother, an arm wrapped around her fragile looking shoulders. His white hair contrasting with his dark clothes, even the bright silvery swan that typically shone brightly on his ceremonial robes was missing, stitched all in black silk thread on a velvet background. His wrinkled face looked tired, worn out.

Her cousins clustered around their father, Uncle Imrahil, looking much more sober than she ever remembered seeing them. They sent her sympathetic glances, the boys undoubtable remembering another funeral that had happened on a cold day years before. Lothiriel was crying, snuggled close to her father's side, her pale face red and puffy. They looked wilted under a heavy weight. Her uncle wore no expression at all, but she could read the grief in his eyes, could see that he longed to reach out and hug them, drawing them all into his warm embrace.

There were no more tears from Mariel. She had cried and cried after they had laid her father on his bed, the keep's physician having been called to examine him. She had thought it silly to have the old man look at her father, since it was obvious that he was already dead. Why try to diagnose a cold body. She had sat there holding his hand, trying to comprehend how her father, so alive and cheerful one minute could be so still and silent the next.

She and her mother had been inseparable, clinging to each other in their grief. She had barely remembered when she ate or slept, just living in the constant state of shock for what felt like an age. She remembered the servants all weeping, and giving their condolences, telling their mistress how sorry they were. It had made her cry more. Her father was loved by all. If anyone had ever doubted that he didn't care for his servants or wasn't fair in his ruling over the estate, the amount of people, lower and upper class, at his funeral proved that. He had never put much distinction on difference in station, treating his tenants with the same respect that he treated those of a higher station.

But none of that mattered now. He was gone.

The priests slowly pushed the bier into the crypt, laying her father's body next to those of his father and grandfather before him. Then, between the three of them, they rolled the great stone over the opening, sprinkling it with pine needles, pieces of burning sage, and dirt. Then they placed a flagon of wine, a loaf of bread, and a small jar of honey in front of the stone. More sage was set aflame and laid in a bowl beside the offerings. The priests began to chant a prayer in Sindarin, the words flowing over the mourners.

"Give rest, O Eru, unto your servant,

and appoint him a place in paradise;

lead him on paths of light,

to his final resting place."

Then they began to cry, beating their chests, and pulling at their hair. This went on for a minute, then two, before the head priest placed a hand to his chest, then raised it to the sky. Unfurling his fingers, he blew on his hand, as if releasing the soul into the air to be led away by one of the Valar. He then looked over at Mariel, nodding his head.

Taking a deep breath, her childish voice rose, singing another short song to honor her father, her voice shaking with each word.

"For bam nedfere naeni wyrbeb bances snotera, bonne him bearf sy to gehicgenne aer his heonegange hwaet his gaste godes orbe yfeles aefter deabe heonon demed weorbe."

A single tear slipped down her face as she turned into her mothers side, guilt washing over her. Her mind wandered back to that garden, to the dark eyes that had stared down at her. She wondered again and again if she should have resisted Abdul like she had, the Haradrim had strange ways, and many said they used dark magic, it was completely possible that he had somehow cursed her and her family without her knowing. Why had she so flippantly disregarded what he had said? She had forgotten all about the words they had exchanged over the past few months living in her father's keep, but now she wondered, should she have been more careful? Should she not have told her parents what he had said? Would her father still be alive if she hadn't?

With the burial complete, most folks went their way. Her grandfather, uncle and his children all remained at the keep to spend a week of mourning with them. Mariel spent many of the next days vacantly staring out a window, not even tempted by the books that her governess, Lydia, would present to her. Her mind kept replaying her father''s moment of death again and again, each time the voice of Abdul would taunt her, threaten her, till she would pass out from exhaustion or one of her cousins came to sit with her and chatter to keep her mind busy.

"Nooooooo!" Mariel jumped in her bed, waking from a deep sleep. Shaking, she rubbed her eyes and looked around, sure that she would find Abdul lurking somewhere in her room, his dark eyes glinting maliciously. She gave a shuddering sigh, before laying back against her pillow and staring at the ceiling. She had had the same dream over and over again since the day of her father's funeral, and nothing seemed to be able to shake it. Not moving back to Dol Amroth, taking up their rooms in the royal wing once again. Not getting to learn to sail with her cousins, or spending copious amounts of time reading in the palace library so that she wasn't thinking about her loss or Abdul's threat. They had continued to come again and again.

It always started out that she was running through the garden, dancing around before being caught in the arms of Abdul. She could smell the scent of citrus and cloves, then he would lean down towards her, his face mere inches from hers, his breath fanning out and caressing her eyelashes. Then he would try leaning closer, she would struggle, and he would growl at her.

"Don't fight me," he would say.

And she would keep fighting him, struggling against his strong grip and listening to him laugh. In an instant he would flip her around, her back against his chest as he pointed towards something in the distance. She would watch with bated breath as her father would stumble towards her, a pained look on his face. His greying hair was always matted, and he looked like he had lost weight as he teetered towards her, hand outstretched.

"Mariel!" Her father's deep voice would call, a pleading look in his eyes as he looked between her and Abdul.

"Father, Father!" she would cry, struggling harder against Abdul till he finally released her.

She would run as fast as she could away from him and into her father's arms to blink and find herself laying on his unmoving chest. Then she would scream and rail against him, telling him to wake, and that all would be well. He never replied.

Abdul would always be lurking behind her, whispering in her ear, "If you had just listened to me, if you had just been willing, this wouldn't have happened."

Then he would grab her and she would wake up.

Twisting a strand of hair around her finger, she willed herself to breath slowly, closing her eyes as she listened to the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs of the bay. In…and out. In…and out. Slowly, her frantic breathing returned to normal and she opened her eyes. Everything would be okay, there was no one here that could harm her, and her mother was in the next room over. With the calming, repetitive sound of the waves, her heart settle beneath her breast as she hugged herself. Slipping from the bed, she wiggled her toes into a soft pair of slippers, her favorite ones, and drew her shawl from the chair beside her bed, wrapping it around her thin shoulders.

She pattered across the floor, and eased the door to her bedroom open, stopping to listen for any other movement besides the guards posted at intervals, or walking their rounds. Nothing. Tip-toeing out the door, she let it click shut behind her, muffling the sound with her hand. Without making much of a sound, she made her way through the vast halls of the palace, and slipped into the library. She grabbed a candle off of the shelf by the door, lit it with a match, and held it up high as she trotted through the many shelves of scrolls and tomes. Like a knight on a mission, she walked up and down the aisles, reading the spins of the books, and the little notes on the metal plates that were screwed into the shelves beneath the piles of scrolls. Finally, she came to a stop before a very small section of books on magical things. Not knowing where to start, she picked the first one that she could reach and walked out from among the shelves. Her feet drew her towards the large windows where the light of the moon shown down illuminating a cosy sitting area, a desk to one side, and a large table on the other. Ignoring these seats, she walked past them to a small bench set into the windowsill and plopped herself down. It was not nearly as comfortable as her seat in the school room at Halmond's Keep, but it had a descent cushion for her rear to perch on. Leaning back, she began to read.

The book, "The Nature and Effects of the Use of Magic," while interesting, was not what she had been looking for, and so, since she couldn't sleep, she had gone back and retrieved another book from the section on magic. And another. And another. They were filled with fascinating information, but nothing that she could connect to what she felt must surely be a curse or something similar. She skimmed through the books as quickly as she could, but if she didn't find anything, she simply skipped to the next book. In all likelihood she would have continued if not for her Grandfather who walked out between the shelves with his own pile of books carried under one are just as the sun was rising in the east.

"And what are you doing up so early?" He stopped, noticing the large stack of books that sat on the floor, reaching to the top of her seat, "Or rather, has you up so late…" he set his own stack down on the desk and came to look over her shoulder. "Hmmm….'Water Nymphs, Mermaids, Sirens, and the Magics Associated with Them', sounds like an interesting read, oh, this one sounds fascinating, 'The Life and Works of Grimbold, a Wizard in the 23rd Century." He looked down at her, a white bushy eyebrow raised. "What is all this about? You weren't ever fascinated with this topic unless it was involved with a fairytale you were reading."

She tried not to blush, letting her hair hide most of her face, embarrassed with being caught. "Well…ummmm…I've been having a dream…"

"Oh, a dream? What type of dream?" Her Grandfather asked, genuinely interested, "My own grandfather had dreams that would often come to pass, not often mind you, but it was always interesting to hear about."

"I'm not sure it's that type of dream…" she said, looking up into his wise eyes.

"Well, have you learned what type it might be?"

She sighed in frustration, her hands clenching into fists, the nails leaving little crescent moons on her palms, "It sounds like it must just be a dream, nothing I've read, and that hasn't been very much, has seemed to point towards just a normal dream. But it's got to be some type of prediction or something. I just sense it." she grumbled at the end, rubbing her tired eyes.

He laid a hand on her shoulder, "Well then, why don't you tell me this dream of yours and see if I can figure it out, I do happen to have a lot of experience." he teased, stroking his thinning beard contemplatively.

"Grandfather!" she chided.

"What? I'm old, and I've done and seen, and dreamed much in my ninety years," he chuckled, ruffling her hair with stiff fingers. "No come,' more seriously, 'Tell me about your dream."

And so, after a few false starts, she was able to convey what she had dreamed and the terror that she felt upon waking each time. Her grandfather listened with rapt attention, humming when she said something that seemed important. He held her hand as she told him the terrifying emptiness that always begun the dream, and squeezed it comfortingly when she told him about the threatening manner of the prince. He squeezed it very tight, painfully so, when she mentioned the way he spoke at the end, the image of her father's still chest frozen in her mind.

Finally, when she had finished everything, with some tears, he gathered her into his arms. She snuggled into his warm body, feeling somewhat exhausted having relived the nightmare all over again as she retold it. His hand stroked her long hair as he rested his chin upon her head. She felt safe for the first time since her father had died almost nine months before. There had been so much change and uncertainty in the days and weeks after he had been laid to rest that had left her floundering like a drowning animal. Her mother had withdrawn into herself and seemed so very distant compared to her normal demeanor, providing little assurance that they would make it through this season of their lives.

The hand stroking her hair stilled, and she jumped, blinking her eyes open. She must have started to doze off. A finger turned her face upwards, and her Grandfather smiled kindly down at her.

"I don't think you need to worry about your dream, gwinig. I think that this is the way your mind is trying to process what happened. It is unlikely that Prince Abdul actually cast a curse upon you or your family, I'm sure that he's not a wizard or anything like that.' he kissed her forehead, 'Unfortunately things like this do happen. Accidents, or someone comes down with an illness and passes away. It's the nature of life. You can't have life without death."

"But why? My father's wasn't that old. You're much older and are still alive," she replied, leaning back and looking at him questioningly.

"Yes, but not everyone lives the same amount of time. Only the Valar know how long we will live, and there is nothing we can do to change that. There is always a hidden reason for everything that happens, even if we can't see it till years later," He comforted.

"What do you think the reason for Father dying was?" she instantly asked.

Her grandfather shrugged his shoulders, "Perhaps to teach you to persevere even when life asks hard things from you or to learn to find joy in the sorrow and bring light to the darkness of grief. Or perhaps you will be able to speak to someone else and comfort them when they are grieving because you have had a similar experience. Who can say? Life is full of possibilities."

"But-

"But nothing, I think it's high time you went to bed," he said, scooping her up in his strong arms as if she weighed nothing. She could feel the muscles in his biceps tremble, but he didn't put her down as he walked through the shelves to the entrance of the library.

Figuring that it would be silly to fight his decision, she snuggled into his chest and sighed. Her eyes grew heavier with every step, surrounded in her grandfather's love, she felt at ease. Before she knew it something soft was beneath her head and a light, feathery kiss was placed upon her head, a whisper of, "Rest well, my child," and she remembered no more. Nor did she dream.

Translation- Before the necessary journey, no-one will be wiser in thought than he needs to be, to think, before he goes from here, about what of his spirit, of good or of evil, will be judged after his death-day."

gwinig-little one, or little young one

Note-

The first twelve-ish chapters of this fanfic are story building, and for the way my mind works, necessary to the character building of Mariel. We will get to meet our other main character around chapter thirteen, give or take a chapter. I'm almost finished writing chapter sixteen, but my goal is to go through each chapter before posting it, and also having a beta read through it and suggest changes.

Please review! It gives the muse courage!