INNOCENCE
by Soledad
Disclaimer:
The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I’m only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun. Fíriel still belongs to Deborah. Only Haldir’s parents belong to me.
Rating: PG-13 for implied het content. That’s right, people, I occasionally pay my debts to the straight part of this planet’s population as well. <g>
Please read Warnings before the Prologue.
Author’s Notes:
Time: (641-700, 3rd Age)
Summary: Lindir and Erestor visit King Amroth in his home. Amroth considers a marriage with Arwen. Fíriel and Haldir make some choices.
Tolkien had several different concepts about Amroth’s heritage, one of the him being the son of Celeborn and Galadriel. Another one made him the son of Amdír, King of Lothlórien, who was slain in the Battle upon Dagorlad. The Unfinished Tales simply tells that he was of Sindarin descent.
I opted for the son of Amdír (whom I made a Sindarin Elf) and a so far unnamed Silvan woman, native to Lothlórien. That would explain both his choice to live like a Wood Elf and Nimrodel’s reluctance later to bond with him.
Haldir’s personal background is completely made up by me. Malgalad was an alternate name for Amdír, used once only – I borrowed it for Haldir’s father.
Originally, this was not supposed to become a separate chapter. But certain parts of Chapter 7 came out too long, so I decided to break it in two parts. As in the previous chapter, I follow the descriptions of Lothlórien according to ’’The Treason of Isengard’’ (HoME 7), this being an earlier time than LOTR, so an earlier concept seemed appropriate.
One more thing: the spiral stairways are taken from the movie – I found the idea of Celeborn or Galadriel climbing rope ladders to reach their home undignified, no matter how much I usually follow the books –, but I thought that fixed stairways may prove dangerous for the tree-houses; hence the idea of the moveable ones. Please, ask me not how they worked – I honestly have no idea!
And, as in chapter 7, a thousand thanks to Isabeau of Greenlea for beta reading!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
’’Passion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping, waiting, and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir.[…] It speaks to us, guides us. Passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have?’’
(Angel in: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, season 2, episode: Passion)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 8: Stirring of Hearts – Amroth
[The 12nd day of tuilë, in the year 641 of the Third Age]
The feast Celeborn had spoken of was held on the green grass of Calendil(1), the Green-tine between Celebrant and Anduin, where they had reached Lothlórien’s eastern border upon their arrival. A merry fire had been built in a shallow stone ring in the middle of that green tongue, and the Galadherom who had chosen to remain in Celeborn’s service were all present, save the Marchwardens who watched the borders.
Celeborn had the decency to invite the young King of Lothlórien as well, but the new ruler of the greater part of the Golden Wood politely declined, sending instead an invitation of his own to Arwen and Elladan, to visit his high house in the very heart of Lothlórien. Orophin, Haldir’s youngest brother, who had brought the message, was also instructed to escort Erestor and Lindir to the house of the King.
The feast lasted until well after midnight, with songs and moonlight dances and lots of feywine, so every one was either too tired or too drunk to make another leagues-long walk through the Golden Wood afterwards. Therefore, Erestor and Lindir spent the rest of the night in one of Amroth’s boats, talking with Rúmil, while Orophin – young, shy, pale-haired and very fair in face – only listened to them, without partaking in the conversation.
On the next morrow, they left Calendil, led by Orophin and escorted by a few Silvan Elves, who wore not the usual grey and white of Caras Galadhon but silver-green and brown garb, as had been their custom of old. They reminded Lindir of the Elves in Emyn Galen, who had been similarly clad.
They walked for the better part of the morning, til they finally reached an open space among the trees, wide enough to be a battle plain, yet blessedly peaceful. To their right stood a great mound, covered with a sward of grass, still keeping the fresh green of springtime. Upon it – as a double crown – grew two circles of trees: the outer had bark of snowy white and were crowned with fresh, green leaves, beautiful in their slender and shapely glory like pillars of marble and emerald; the inner were mallorn-trees of great height, greater even than the ones in Caras Galadhon, and their dark green crowns were still spotted with gold from the previous winter.
High and amid their branches were many white flets, with houses of various size built upon them, white or silver-grey, depending on the wood they were made of; and the light of the lanterns hanging from the higher branches was white or pale green, for they had crystals in their middles that stored up the sunlight during daytime and glowed brightly in the night or in shadow.
At the feet of the trees and all about the sides of the hill, the grass was studded with small, golden, star-shaped flowers, and among them, nodding on slender stalks, flowers of a green so pale that it gleamed white against the rich green of the grass. Over all the sky was deep blue, and the sun of early afternoon slanted among the tree-stems.
There Orophin halted and spoke hesitantly in his soft voice.
’’You are come to Cerin Amroth, my friends. For this is the mound of King Amroth, and here his high house has been built, for Caras Galadhon has fallen to usurpers and is his city no more. Here bloom the never-dying flowers in the unfading grass, even in the times of winter – but now you have the luck to see them in their full glory at springtime: the yellow yri(2) and the pale nifredil(3). Come with me now – King Amroth wishes to see you.’’
He led them to a towering tree in the very middle of the hilltop and gave a whistle, perfectly imitating some songbird that Erestor knew not; but he was sure that Lindir did. Just like in Caras Galadhon, a winding stairway rolled down, hugging the smooth stem of the great mallorn, and they walked up, leaving flets with different kinds of rooms built upon them on their left and right, til they reached the house of the young King.
It looked very much like the chamber in which Celeborn and Galadriel dwelt, only a little more slender, more eerie – it seemed more part of the tree itself than a construct made by Elven hands. Arched balconies were attached to it on each side, open to the winds and the sunlight, and guards clad in green and brown but covered in the soft, grey cloaks made only by the Silvan folk stood there, armed with great bows and long, bone-hilted throwing knives. They were nearly invisible before the similar silver-grey of the tree-bark.
They nodded to Orophin and stepped aside to let him and the visitors pass, and in the antechamber they were welcomed by Haldir himself, who greeted them in the name of King Amroth and asked them to follow him. Orophin returned to the brothers’ own chambers, located upon a nearby flet, to have some rest.
The royal chamber of King Amroth was built very much like that of Caras Galadhon, with the trunk of the great mallorn growing thorough its midst, now tapering towards its crown, and yet making still a pillar of wide girth, gleaming smoothly like silver in the soft golden light of the early afternoon. Here, too, the members of the court were seated, among them Fíriel and a respectable looking, elder Silvan woman whom Erestor recognized as Gwenethlin(4), Haldir’s mother. And on a masterfully-carved, great throne, made from the dried-out trunk of a fallen iron-oak, beneath the bole of the tree and canopied by a living bough, there sat Amroth son of Amdír, rightful King of Lothlórien.
He wore a long under-robe from that soft, silver-grey fabric the famous cloaks of the Silvan folk were made of, and above it a wide-sleeved, moss-green robe of heavy silk, held together by a delicately-woven mithril clasp upon his throat. Although partially of Sindarin descent, he looked very much like the Wood-Elves of Emyn Galen whom Lindir had visited a few times with Radagast during his childhood.
He was of smaller stature than the Noldor, only a few inches taller than the Lady Arwen, lithe and light-footed, and – as they would find out later – could move through the bushes like a ghost, without making the slightest noise; not even the keenest Elven ears were able to hear him.
As was common among the Silvan folk, he had auburn hair that changed its colour with the changing of seasons: it was light brown during ethuil, gleamed with weaved-in golden tresses during laer, became coppery, almost flaming red during iavas and began to fade towards brown during firith that was called narbeleth in Lothlórien. Deep brown, nearly black it was during hrív, beginning to take on a lighter tone in echuir again (5). Lindir always found it fascinating to see that an Elf would change his colours the same way the leaves did, and at times he almost wanted to become a Wood-Elf, so that he could watch the changes on himself.
Yet there were other differences, too. His slightly slanted eyes, with their strange colour somewhere between green and brown, clearly marked Amroth as a Wood-Elf, and his ears, too, were longer and more leaf-shaped than those of the Noldor. But most astonishing of all, Lindir found that the skin of Silvan Elves reacted to the sun: it had a light tan that deepened with the coming of laer, and faded after that, but never became as pale as the Noldor were. Amroth, too, was sun-tanned, but – not being a full-blooded Wood-Elf – less so than his own subjects, even Haldir and his brothers, who were half-Nandor.
He rose from his magnificent throne now to greet his guests, and as he spoke the customary words of greeting with his slightly accented voice, Lindir was reminded of the youngest Prince of Emyn Galen, whom he had met once or twice, and who he knew to be only a little older than King Amroth. This was, of course, not surprising at all, knowing (as Lindir did) that Amroth’s deceased mother(6) and the wife of King Thranduil of Emyn Galen were first-grade cousins.
Erestor delivered the message, which King Amroth read at once with great interest, but his face revealed naught about its contents. Then he thanked Erestor for delivering it, offered him the hospitality of his own house – which Erestor politely refused, giving him the same answer that he had given to Celeborn – and told them to feel free to stay in his realm as long as they liked.
This clearly being a dismissal, Erestor took his leave and followed Haldir to the flet where his friend – now first counselor of the new King – had his house built.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
[The 11th day of lairë in the year 641 of the Third Age.]
Time passed by swiftly in the timelessness that was Lothlórien. Springtime was gone and the long, lazy summer season had begun, and Lindir had learnt to love the life in the treetops, even though he greatly missed the beauty and more down-to-earth comfort of Imladris. But he could not deny that there were more things going on in Caras Galadhon, where – due to Elrond’s wishes – he had spent half his time, in order to learn ’’appropriate behaviour’’- whatever the Lord of the Valley had meant by that.
Erestor, of course, accompanied him every time, and the two of them had long, interesting talks with the Lord Celeborn. Galadriel never approached them again, after their first encounter, where she came to understand that Lindir’s innocence had shielded him against her prying into his heart. In truth, Lindir had been the only Elf in her entire life whose thoughts she had not been able to invade, and that made her feel uncomfortable.
For most of the time, though, they stayed in King Amroth’s realm, which contained the most ancient part of Lothlórien, and dwelt under Haldir’s roof with his mother, his younger brothers and Fíriel, who was considered part of the family now, even if their love could only last while both she and Haldir dwelt on this side of the Sea.
Lindir had learnt many new things during this time, most of which made him astonished and a little bewildered, and Erestor – having grown accustomed to politics during his long years as Elrond’s chief counsellor – had to make great efforts to make him understand things that were clear to anyone else.
He greatly wondered, before aught else, why the King of Lothlórien lived not in Caras Galadhon, which was the seat of Kings and had been the city of his own father once, and why there was so little love between Amroth and the new rulers of the Tree City, despite him being related to the Lord Celeborn and having been acknowledged as the Heir of the Golden Wood. Though Lindir found the King’s new house beautiful, he thought that Amroth should have more contact with Celeborn’s court, for he found the Tree Lord friendly and wise.
He hesitated not to voice his opinion – even though Erestor advised him against it, not wanting to anger the young King –, but Amroth only snorted and went on to rant against the Lady Galadriel, whom he seemed to hate with a passion that seemed unbecoming of such an otherwise restrained person as he was. He never even spoke Galadriel’s name, calling her only the Kinslayer, not only behind her back, but face to face on the rare occasions when they had to meet, accusing her of taking his rightful heritage from him.
This remainded Lindir of the fuming of Thranduil, King of Emyn Galen (and Amroth’s uncle), who, too, had often complained to Radagast with bitter words about Galadriel’s ’’intrusion’’ into what should rightly be the heritage of the Silvan folk.
For some reason, though, the embittered young King of Lothlórien had taken a liking to Lindir (as almost anyone else did, in spite of the young minstrel’s often careless words in which he said what he thought, not caring how it would be accepted) and often invited him to his magnificent tree-house to sing to him and his slowly forming court. They would sit on the green grass at the feet of the great trees, listen to Lindir’s music and songs, and the Silvan Elves of the Wood came from afar to partake in those serene feasts.
Arwen, too, came frequently, and often she was seen in deep conversation – or even in comfortable silence – with King Amroth. It seemed to Erestor that the Lady Galadriel’s scheme (of which, as a member of Elrond’s family, he naturally had been told) would come to fruition after all. He spoke of this with Haldir (who, in Amroth’s court, was called by his true name, Hathaldir, just as his brothers were called by the Silvan form of their names, Rhimbron and Orfin(7) – Amroth was somewhat of a traditionalist), asking him how Galadriel might have persuaded the young King to accept her ’’solution’’ to the so-called ’’Lórien problem’’.
But Haldir only laughed at his question.
’’I think not that it was her doing,’‘ he answered. ’’In fact, I suspect that they both try to outwit each other with this very idea: the Lady tries to get King Amroth under control, and our King hopes to secure his claim for the whole of Lothlórien through a marriage with the Lady Undómiel.’’
’’Undómiel?’’ Erestor repeated with a frown.
Haldir shrugged. ’’That is how he called the Lady Arwen upon first sight. He said her beauty would shine in the darkness of this world like the evening star upon the midnight sky. He also said the visions of Lúthien that Gildor’s old minstrel has gifted upon him were naught compared to her.’’
’’And he is giving her a name already?(8)’’ Erestor murmured. ’’May it be that he is stepping into his own trap?’’
’’I believe not that King Amroth tried to deceive the Lady Undómiel,’‘ Haldir said seriously. ’’I was not present during their first private conversation, but my mother was there, so I know that he was honest with her. And Lady Arwen explained him just as honestly why would she consider wedding him at all. I know no details, of course, Mother would never tell aught else, but I do think that it might be good for Lothlórien, should the two of them bond.’’
’’That might be; but would it be good for the Lady Arwen as well?’’ Erestor asked. ’’Could they be sure to find a true soul-mate in each other when they get sealed for eternity, only to ensure the peace of the Golden Wood?’’
’’And who can say that would make her unhappy?’’ Haldir answered with a question of his own. ’’My parents had been so very certain that they had found the right one in each other – what good has it brought to them? Did it save my father, so that he could return to us?’’
Erestor remained silent for a while, for Haldir and his brothers usually spoke not of their father, not even his name (which seemed strange to Lindir who repeatedly asked for the reason of such behavior). Erestor knew, of course, that Malgalad – a Nandor Elf of noble descent – had been King Amdír’s chief warlord and had led the remainder of Lothlórien’s army into battle after Amdír had been slain upon the battle plain of Dagorlad, being cut off from the main host and driven into what was called later the Dead Marshes(9).
After that, Haldir’s father vanished without a trail. His body was never found; most likely he had been captured and dragged to an unknown fortress deep in Mordor where the servants of the Dark Lord lay hidden, preparing for a new Master to arise. There had been whispered rumors that Malgalad might not have been killed but turned into some hideous monster and was now serving the evil purposes of the Enemy, even after He had been overthrown and perished.
These were, of course, malevolent rumors only – but hurtful enough for Haldir to become haughty and slightly hostile towards every one who was not already an old friend (like Erestor). It made Rúmil’s nature, once so merry, a little bitter and his jokes biting. And it caused Orophin – the youngest brother, who had hardly ever known their father – to withdraw even more into himself, til his voice was hardly heard any more unless necessary.
Gwenethlin carried her unspoken shame with stubborn pride, saying that she would have gone to Mandos’ Halls voluntarily, should the rumors have proven true; yet no-one could silence them completely, and now the whole family had to wear the mark of evil, with or without true reason.
Erestor, who had known the noble Nandor Elf in his youth, cared not for these rumors, of course; nor did Amroth or even Elrond, for that – still, the only place where Malgalad’s family would be fully accepted was Amroth’s court. And even there, his name was never spoken.
’’Too many people were lost, who thought to have found their true mates,’‘ Erestor said quietly, remembering his own parents and their horrible death. ’’Not even truest love can save one from the cruel twists of fate. And yet, I would wish for both your King and the Lady Arwen to choose out of love. Eternity can be a very long time.’’
’’Do you believe I know that not?’’ Haldir replied bitterly. ’’Eternity is what will separate me from Fíriel, once we decide to depart over Sea, no matter how great and true the love between us might be. For we both were wedded to other people ere we first met – and though they were killed Ages ago, we still are bound to them and will have to return to them, once in Aman – or so your wise Noldorin lore-masters say.’’
’’You cannot be sure of that,’‘ Erestor said. ’’Glorfindel says the bond is only true once your fëas have fully merged… But if you have merged with Fíriel, you cannot have done so with your spouses, can you?’’
But Haldir only shook his head in defeat.
’’Tis not that easy, my friend. For though ’tis true that Sillith(10) and I never fully experienced the Joining(11) – for she got killed mere weeks after our wedding, which had been an arranged one – Fíriel seems to be one of those rare Elves who are able to love more than once. She had merged with her husband, back during the First Age – but she also merges with me, every single time we make love. And yet we cannot seal our union, for the law forbids it.’’
’’But the law is binding for the Noldor only(12),’‘ Erestor said. ’’You are a Wood-Elf. Your customs allow the ending of a marriage, under certain circumstances – even if such a thing is said to be rare.’’
’’Tis very rare,’‘ Haldir replied, ’’for Wood-Elves usually bond for eternity as well. But even though I could be released from my bond, Fíriel cannot be freed from hers. She is a Noldo, and your harsh law binds her to her first mate, for eternity.’’
’’So there is naught you could do?’’ Erestor asked compassionately.
’’Oh, there is,’‘ Haldir laughed mirthlessly. ’’We can remain in Middle-earth and fade away together.’’
’’If that is the only way for us to stay together, I am willing to do that,’‘ a soft yet steady voice said from behind them.
They turned back and saw Fíriel approach them, smiling lovingly at Haldir, and though he had known her since his early childhood, Erestor now saw the her beauty for the first time, regardless of the scars and brand marks that marred her once-flawless face.
She was as tall as he was (and thus a few inches shorter than Haldir, whose tall stature had been a result of his Nandorin descent), and lithe and graceful, despite having seen all three Ages of Middle-earth. Her heavy mass of dark hair was bound back in a cloth that formed an embroidered sack upon the back of her neck, keeping the silky strands neatly out of her face, and she wore the long apron of a healer tied over her green gown, the long sleeves of which were rolled up above her elbows, leaving her shapely arms free.
Long, dark lashes framed her dark grey eyes, making her glance even more stern; Erestor remembered being deadly afraid of her as a young elfling and fleeing to Elrond’s or Glorfindel’s chambers when he could not endure her disapproval any longer. But now she looked young and happy, still smiling gently at Haldir; and she stepped close to him and kissed him soundly and thoroughly, not caring who else might have seen them.
Then she turned to Erestor. ’’The Lord Celeborn wishes to tell you that the boats leave for Edhellond in two day’s time,’‘ she said. ’’If you still intend to go with them, you should better make preparations.’’
Erestor thanked her and left, knowing that his presence was not required, and they began kissing in earnest, completely forgetting for a moment that they still were on the open balcony of Haldir’s house – very visible to anyone who might pass by.
’’How long, exactly, do you intend to stay?’’ Haldir asked between kisses.
’’As long as you would have me,’‘ Fíriel replied, her skilled fingers starting to unlace his tunic.
’’Be careful,’‘ Haldir warned, capturing one hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss each finger separately; ’’You might never leave this place.’’
’’So be it,’‘ Fíriel shrugged, rubbing her face into the long, ash blonde hair of her lover. Unlike his habit when on journeys, Haldir wore his hair unbraided this evening, waiting for her to make those fine braids and delicate lover’s knots she preferred adorning his hair with; she enjoyed the fragrant scent of summer forest that still clung to it, after their playful tryst in the grass from the previous night.
’’Are you done for today?’’ Haldir asked, for Fíriel had been rather busy lately, giving lessons to the young healers of the Silvan folk, based on the vast experiences of her long life.
Fíriel nodded and smiled against the fine silk that was his hair. ’’Just finished. I am free til tomorrow… save the long and thorough lesson I intend to give you.’’
’’Hmmm,’‘ Haldir murmured, resting a hand on her pleasantly rounded backside; ’’I think I might like that. But would the lesson not be much sweeter in my bed?’’
Fíriel raised an eyebrow. ’’Getting impatient, are we, young one?’’ this had been an ongoing jest between them, ever since they became lovers, Fíriel being only slightly younger than Gwenethlin herself. ’’Ah, well, if you insist…’’
’’I most certainly do,’‘ Haldir exclaimed with mock seriousness. ’’After all, how often do I get a chance to enjoy your lessons? I wish not to waste a moment of our time together.’‘ He kissed her deeply. ’’I want you,’‘ he kissed her again, with even more passion. ’’I need you,’‘ and another time, slowly and sweetly, ’’I love you.’’
’’And I love you, too,’‘ Fíriel combed his hair with her long fingers. ’’In three Ages I have found no other lover who could ignite such passion in me as you do. I spoke the truth when I said that I would rather give up the Blessed Realm than give you up.’’
The fierce determination in her voice almost frightened Haldir. Not that he did not return her feelings tenfold; for he did. But he still feared that she would make a promise that she would not be able to fulfill later, no matter how earnestly given.
’’Speak not of such things, not yet at least, I beg you,’‘ he murmured against her dark silk of hair that still kept the scent of healing herbs she had been working with all day. ’’Let us retreat to our bed and enjoy what we have now.’’
Fíriel had no objections against that, so they retreated to Haldir’s bedchamber that was soon filled with their soft laughter, low moans and muffled cries of passionate enjoyment.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
A few branches higher, on the balcony of his own house, King Amroth, young Lord of the major part of Lothlórien, was standing deep in thought. As glad as he was that his old friend and tutor had finally found happiness, he could not deny a slight pang of jealousy.
’’Do you believe I am doing the right thing?’’ he asked Haldir’s mother, the seneschal of his court, who had been a mother to him after his own had been killed. ’’That tis honest to pursue the Lady Undómiel, though I only feel respect and admiration towards her?’’
’’Tis a good beginning,’‘ Gwenthlin answered thoughtfully, ’’and she certainly is worth of your respect and admiration. She would make the greatest Queen in the history of our people, for is she not the child of Lúthien the Fair? Your realm could become a second Doriath, if you succeed to win her heart as well as her hand.’’
’’Tis true that it seems Lúthien Tinúviel is walking again on earth when she appears,’‘ Amroth agreed, and Gwenethlin nodded.
’’That is certainly so; and she is said to be almost as strong in her powers of enchantment as was Lúthien. Yet you must consider, my Lord, that she is deeply wounded right now. There is another one in her heart, and you are merely a distraction. Do not promise aught or do not ask any promises from her til she has overcome her grief for this other one. It could only bring you more pain and sorrow – both of you.’’
’’But how can I see if her heart has truly changed?’’, asked Amroth. ’’I am not experienced in the matters of the heart; for all my lovers have been playful distractions so far, just as I have been a distraction for them. I wish not to miss the right moment!’’
’’You shall not,’‘ Gwenethlin smiled; sometimes the young King was even more clueless than her own youngest son. ’’You might be young, my Lord, yet you are no fool. Nor is Arwen Undómiel the same ruthless, manipulative person as the Lady of Caras Galadhon. She might have a certain hardness in her, but at least she is honest. Ask her straight out, and she will answer you in the same manner.’’
’’I wonder what is it that binds the Lord Celeborn to his wife,’‘ Arwen murmured. ’’He is one of us, after all. Does she have him under some sort of spell? She does possess strange powers…’’
Gwenethlin shook her head. She knew not for certain what Galadriel’s ’’strange powers’’ were like, but she was honest enough to admit, that they had been so far beneficial for the Golden Wood – even if she liked the Lady not.
’’Nay,’‘ she said; ’’unless ’tis the spell of true love. I have known the two of them since Doriath, and I certainly have little lover for the Kinslayer Princess, but there is one thing about her that I have learnt to be true: the only thing – or, better, the only one – she loves more than she loves power is the Lord Galathrin. At times I almost believe he is the only one she is truly able to love.’’
Amroth gave her a surprised look, and she smiled.
’’Do you think she would live in a treetop otherwise? As much as she desires to be the Lady of the Golden Wood, if it were up to her, she would have had a palace built in the middle of Lothlórien – or, at least, a fortress as Menegroth used to be, the Thousand Caves of Elu Thingol. Yet she had cast away Altariel Artanis, the Warrior Princess of the Noldor, for the Lord Galathir, accepted the lower, rustic life of our people for his sake – even restrained herself from vengeful actions towards you, my Lord. Nay; if anything, their love is true and deep – though I very much doubt that she is able to love any one else than her husband.’’
’’Not even their own children?’’ Amroth asked. Gwenethlin shrugged.
’’She did every thing she could to drive Celebrían and your father apart – luckily so, I would say, for Celebrían seems to be very happy with Elrond… whom the Lady never liked either, to tell the truth. And I very much doubt that she loves Arwen, who – being a descendant of Melian – is of much nobler birth than she is, despite the blood of mortal Men that is mixed with that of our kind in her veins.’’
’’Why is that of importance?’’ Amroth asked.
’’For it means that she will never rule over Arwen’s fate,’‘ said Gwenethlin, ’’for Arwen is much stronger, even now, due to her heritage and her innocence. Should you succeed in winning Arwen’s hand and heart, my lord, you must know that you would not win a wife who would obediently follow your rule. You would win a Queen who would rule at your side and restrict her might only out of love and consideration; just as Melian ruled at the side of Elu Thingol. So,’‘ she added gravely, ’’you ought to think carefully about what you can gain and what you can lose, if you choose to pursue a bond with her.’’
Amroth nodded wordlessly, thanking the Valar for having a counsellor so wise, experienced and helpful as Gwenethlin was, and they looked down together, watching as Erestor returned, having hunted down Lindir somewhere in the woods to begin the necessary preparations for their long journey to the South Haven.
’’I wonder,’‘ the young King said, ’’when Erestor will finally understand that the youngling loves him with all his heart? It seems rather obvious to every one else but him.’’
’’There will still be a long way to go,’‘ Gwenethlin smiled, ’’unless Lindir overcomes his shyness and tells him straight to his face. Yet even longer would it take Erestor to admit his own feelings towards the boy.’’
’’Does he have feelings for the boy?’’ Amroth asked in surprise; Erestor was always so reserved, it was hard to imagine that he had any feelings at all.
Gwenethlin laughed. ’’Oh yes, he has; very much so, indeed. You should see him watching Lindir when the boy is with other people – how jealous he becomes when Lindir is laughing and jesting with my younger sons; especially with Orfin who is nearest his age.’’
’’Does he have any reason to feel jealous?’’ Amroth frowned. A confrontation with Elrond’s chief counsellor and foster son was naught he would wish for right now. Gwenethlin shook her head.
’’Though both Rhimbron and Orfin are somewhat… drawn to him, Lindir still is under-aged, according to law. My sons would never touch someone ere he reaches legal maturity. Not that they would ever have a chance,’‘ she added with a chuckle. ’’The boy is so devoted to Erestor, he hardly even realizes the many admirers he has.’’
She paused for a moment, then she changed the topic. ’’By your leave, I shall be leaving your court for a while, my Lord; yet this should mean no hindrance in its smooth working. Fíriel is more than able to fill in for me.’’
’’Where do you intend to go?’’ Amroth asked in surprise.
’’I have a family obligation to fulfill,’‘ replied Gwenethlin. ’’There is a young woman, related to my mother’s family from afar, whose education I shall have to oversee for a short while. She is – or rather shall be – one of the Wise Women of our folk and is just upon the threshold of maturity. And since she has no other family left, ’tis my duty to see that her powers properly unfold and that she has been taught everything she needs to know.’’
Amroth nodded. The Wise Women, born with special powers over the soil, the waters and the plants, enjoyed great respect among the Silvan folk, but their numbers had dwindled in these lesser days – in fact, right now Gwenethlin was the only one left in Lothlórien. Any one born with the ability of wield earth magic was therefore cherished and protected and carefully taught, for the in-born powers alone were not enough, and the woodland folk depended on their might, in order to make life in the forests a pleasant one. These women were called Lady, regardless of their birth, and considered the true leaders of the Silvan clans, regardless who was officially wearing the title of the King.
’’Of course,’‘ said the young King; ’’I feel lucky that another one of the Wise Ones chose to dwell within my realm. What is her name and where is her home?’’
’’Her name is Nimrodel,’‘ Gwenethlin answered, ’’and she dwells near the northern border of the Wood, among the branches of a great tree, as is the custom of our people. ’Tis near to the small stream that is called Lingorel or Taiglin(13) by some of the older people.’’
’’Do you need an escort?’’ Amroth offered, but Gwenethlin shook her head.
’’Orfin is due to return to his duties in a few days’ time. I shall go with him and his fellow archers.’’
’’As you wish,’‘ Amroth paused. ’’Give my respect to the Lady Nimrodel, pray you; and tell her that my court is always open, should she wish to visit.’’
’’I shall,’‘ Gwenethlin moved slowly away from the railing of the balcony. ’’I have to go now, for there are some preparations that need to be made. Good day, my lord. And consider your steps carefully.’’
The young King nodded again, and Gwenethlin returned to her own talan to think over all the things she might need during the time she was going to spend on the northern border, in the Lady Nimrodel’s house.
As she ordered her phials and pottery cups of salves and slim silver flasks of herbal draughts, her look fell on a small vial that Fíriel should have taken from the medicine cabinet but had obviously forgotten.
A vial with the herbal draught specially brewed to avoid conception.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
End notes:
(1) Egladil in the FOTR. I simply assumed that centuries earlier it had a different name. BTW, Calendil (= Green Spirit) was one of the rejected names for that part of Lothlórien.
(2) Original name of elanor – I assumed that the traditionalists (like Amroth and his court) would still call it like that.
(3) Earlier form of niphredil.
(4) Who is my creation entirely. Gwenethlin was an earlier, rejected name for Melian the Maia, wife of Elu Thingol, King of Doriath.
(5) Spring, summer, autumn, fading, winter, stirring – since we are dealing with Wood-Elves here, this time I used the Sindarin names of the seasons, instead, as usual, the Quenya ones.
(6) In my head, I call her Galenbrethil, (= slender silver birch). Unfortunately, that name belongs not to me; it was invented by The Tired Scribe, for an entirely different character in her Coronar series (can be found on The Library of Moria site), and it wouldn’t be a honest thing to steal it. Thus, the late Queen of Lórien remains nameless. Her being related to Thranduil’s wife is, of course, my doing.
(7) These were the names Tolkien originally gave the three brothers, according to ’’The Treason of Isengard’’.
(8) Elven custom among lovers. The idea of Amroth giving Arwen her nickname is completely made up by me, of course.
(9) As I said, Malgalad and Amdír apparently are identical by Tolkien (see: ’’The Unfinished Tales’’), but I needed an important enough ancestor for Haldir, so I have created this mysterious father figure for him, at the same time explaining his importance for King Amroth.
(10) Name I made up in a moment of madness for Haldir’s deceased wife – totally on a whim, so that I’ve even forgotten what the name was supposed to mean. Sounds very silly, though, so I might change it later.
(11) The merging of two loving souls. It is described in my other story, ’’Of Snow and Stone and Wolves’’, and is my creation. But tis said by Tolkien, that Elves mated mentally as well as bodily, so I thought I might invent something in this area.
(12) There is no proof for that in canon. In fact, Tolkien seems to speak in ’’Laws and Customs’’ about Elves in general. This is only my miserable attempt to go somehow around those harsh rules that I can’t accept, at any costs. Ah, and by the way, I deliberately ignore the fact that for Elves conception needs a conscious decision - for now. I'll bring up some explanation for this, as soon as I find one.
(13) Earlier, rejected names for the river Nimrodel, according to ’’The Treason of Isengard’’. I assumed that it was not always named after the Lady Nimrodel.