Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: Silver Shadows (#2175)
Author: Forest
Chapters: 6

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Alternate Universe (AU)
Description: When a tragedy befalls the elves of Lorien, there seems to be little hope for a full recovery. However, through a dramatic chain of events, Rúmil finds himself in an unthinkable situation which forces him to become torn between his oath of wreaking revenge and his deep reluctance to spill elven blood.
Published: 20 Aug 2005
Updated: 15 Oct 2005
Warnings: Violence, Character Deaths
Type: General
Characters: Haldir; Orophin; Rúmil; Celeborn; Galadriel; Erest


Chapter 1 - Chapter 1

Title: Silver Shadows

Author: Forest

Pairings: Orophin/OFC, Galadriel/OMC

Rating: PG13

Genre: Angst / Drama

WARNING: Violence, Character deaths

Beta: Shelly *huggles her*

Cast: Haldir, Orophin, Rúmil, Celeborn, Galadriel, Erestor, Elrond, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, OCs

Disclaimer: I own no-one from The Lord Of The Rings. All the characters and place names displayed belong to JRR Tolkien except Saeden, Galaril and Tarwë who are from my own imagination and therefore are the only ones I lay claim to. I do not intend to, nor am I making any financial gain from the writing of this story.

Feedback: Yes please! We aspiring authors thrive on the stuff.

Timeline: AU (to allow for some leeway as regards the practises and ceremonies etc of the elves.)

Summary: (Loosley based on the story of “Hamlet”.) When a tragedy befalls the elves of Lorien, there seems to be little hope for a full recovery. However, through a dramatic chain of events, Rúmil finds himself in an unthinkable situation which forces him to become torn between his oath of wreaking revenge and his deep reluctance to spill elven blood.

Author’s Notes: I’m only going to write this once. I realise there are some errors in this piece which do not wholly correspond with what many believe Tolkien intended. A main example of this is the mention of the Halls of Mandos and also the issue regarding rebirth of elves. I hope I do not offend anyone by going AU and therefore sometimes against the canon. But, so you know, I chose to do this because had I not, the basing of the plot on that of ‘Hamlet’ would not have worked nearly as well - if at all.

So. Having cleared that up *hopes*. On with the show.

Cheers.
~Forest.


~*Chapter 1*~



The news of Celebrían’s departure had been a terrible blow. Lord Elrond had taken to locking himself in his chambers and only emerging at meal times – though even then, his appearance was not always guaranteed. Arwen had channelled her grief in talking things over and over with her brothers, who, for themselves, were past the emotional grief and now felt only a deep and furious desire to wreak revenge for the attack on their mother. As regarded the lord and lady of Lorien, their grief had been significantly different from each other’s. Galadriel went about her normal duties, albeit a little subdued. She knew that the time would eventually arrive when she would see her daughter again, and by holding onto that fact that Celebrían had not departed to the Halls, Galadriel managed to keep things running as smoothly as possible.

Contrary to the initial belief however, it had been Celeborn who appeared to have taken the news the worst. He had been eating noticeably less and seemed more prone than ever to slipping into a state of deep thought during a conversation. He now spent a lot of time brooding silently, skipping meals had become habitual, but none were more concerned about this onset of behaviour than Galadriel herself. Also, preparations for the Autumn Festival were underway and it was common knowledge that Celeborn particularly enjoyed overseeing these. However, this year, no one had heard sight nor sound of the lord of Lorien, even an entire week into the preparations.

One evening, just as Anor was setting, Galadriel made her way swiftly from the preparations and to her talan. Inside, there were very few candles lit, causing a dusky and melancholy light around the interior. She moved from room to room, trying to search out her husband. Finally, upon entering the bedchambers, she found him. Curled up like a kitten in slumber, his once fine silver hair, now a dull grey, the lord of Lorien lay quiet and unmoving, though, from the speed and depth of his breathing patterns, Galadriel knew he was not asleep.

‘My lord?’ she whispered, the strong timbre of her voice not betraying the fear she was beginning to feel. She moved quickly to the other side of the bed and crouched down so she was at eye level with him. His glorious face was pallid and there were heavy dark circles under his eyes. He gazed hopelessly at her, his once glittering grey eyes, now dull and deep with a bitter and most painful sorrow.

Gently, Galadriel laid a hand against his cool cheek and kissed him softly. She may as well have been loving a marble statue for all the response she received. ‘My lord’ she tried once more, ‘will you not join the preparations? You are greatly missed.’

As though struck dumb, Celeborn merely closed his eyes for a prolonged moment, before opening them again only to stare at her as though silently asking her why such things should matter after all that had happened.

‘You mustn’t give up like this’ she said, her voice beginning to crack slightly, ‘Celebrían made the decision she felt was right and we must honour, not mourn her for it.’

Still he gave no indication of heeding her words and such were their exchanges of late – mainly one sided. Whenever Celeborn did utter a few coherent words, their content was always of woe and strife. It moved and grieved Galadriel to see him wallowing so intensely in his pain for he appeared a mere shadow of his former self, all his previous mental and physical strength now a memory – abandoned in favour of such great despair.

What in Arda was she to do? She stayed by her husband’s side as long as she could, but she knew she must not, she could not abandon her people. And so it was. All the Lady could do was pour continuing streams of desperate encouragement and loving support into his ear. But for all her efforts, it seemed all in vain. No matter how much she tried with all the strength she possessed to pull him back from the darkness, with each day that passed, he seemed to grow ever weaker, the light in his eyes always dimmer a little further.

Evening fell around Lorien seemingly quickly that day, and soon, several wardens could be seen returning from their duties at the fences. One of these was a young ellon by the name of Saeden. He had been at his post for a couple of weeks and was exceptionally delighted to set his sights upon the grand elven city again after what had seemed like an Age. Upon his return, he encountered Orophin who had only recently finished his chores down at the preparations. Wiping his hands on the front of his tunic, Orophin ran to greet his fellow warden.

‘Well well! We were wondering when we should see your repulsive features around here again’ laughed Orophin in pure jest.

‘Much could be said the same for you, you filthy orc!’ replied Saeden with a grin, looking Orophin over with an amused expression. ‘Didn’t you realise that rolling in mud is strictly an activity reserved for rowdy elflings?’

Orophin rolled his eyes. ‘If *you’d* been around here these past weeks, you too would have been knee deep in paint and such for the festival preparations, and thus as filthy as I!’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that’ Saeden raised a brow, ‘I have never seen helpers of previous years get quite so soiled. Though I suppose I should not be too surprised. Muck and dirt seem to follow you relentlessly, don’t they?’

‘Indeed’ replied Orophin proudly and as they began walking toward the dining hall, the topic changed abruptly. ‘Why were you gone so long anyway?’

‘Rumours of wolves crossing the Mountain pass. According to Haldir, we can’t be too careful.’

The pair made their way at an easy pace into the dining hall from which a delicious smell of stew was wafting. Deep in conversation, they did not realise the three elves standing in front of them until they almost collided. Looking up, Orophin noted Haldir and Rúmil there, along with Rúmil’s close friend, Galaril – servant and messenger to the Lord and Lady.

‘The Valar gave you eyes, brother’ remarked Haldir as they made for spare seats. ‘I dearly wish you would learn to use them for their intended purpose.’

Orophin flushed and glared at his brother. ‘And I, for my part, heartily wish you would refrain from speaking such sarcasm.’

Haldir chuckled. ‘Oh calm yourself, Orophin. I merely jested.’ He looked up and nodded to Saeden with a smile. ‘It’s good to see you back, Saeden’ he began, helping himself to stew. ‘How fare things at the borders?’

‘Well indeed’ replied Saeden smiling good naturedly. ‘Though despite the wolf rumours, there have mercifully been no attempts by anyone to cross the borders. Not an orc, man or wolf has been seen or heard for many weeks.’

‘That’s not necessarily a good thing though’ said Rúmil, passing the basket of rolls around.

‘And what exactly is that supposed to mean?’ Haldir asked, his voice showing clearly his displeasure at what he believed his younger brother was hinting at.

‘Well come on Haldir. With all due respect, you know how dull it can get on duty – especially for such lengthy stretches as Saeden has been on.’

Saeden opened his mouth to say he did not mind in the least being there for long periods, but Rúmil cut across him.

‘I just wish something exciting would happen. Something wholly different’ Rúmil continued a little wistfully.

Haldir looked up from his meal and frowned. ‘I don’t much care for your tone there, Rúmil. Blasé in the extreme. Besides, do not be too quick to wish for bloodshed’ he continued warningly, ‘Wish instead for a good harvest this autumn.’

Rúmil sighed. ‘What’s so exciting about that?’

‘Well for one thing, it provides you with the very food you are eating right now. Which without, you would not cease complaining and I would never get a moment’s peace. A good harvest is exciting in it’s own way, and that goes for most things also.’

‘You’re really being quite patronising tonight, aren’t you, Haldir?’ piped up Orophin. ‘But still, coming from the elf who takes great delight in sleeping naked on his balcony, I can quite understand how you would find excitement in most pursuits.’

At this comment, all those listening hastily turned their sniggers into conveniently hacking coughs, for which the high temperature of the stew was quickly blamed.

Haldir’s featured grew stony and he flushed deeply. ‘Was that *entirely* necessary to divulge?’ he hissed at a smug looking Orophin, only receiving a decisive nod in response.

‘What was that about sleeping naked?’ came a female voice from Orophin’s left, causing him to jump.

‘Ah, we were only discussing Haldir’s nightly joys,’ Orophin replied shortly, ‘But Eru, Tarwë. Please, for the final time, refrain from creeping up on people like that. Especially me. I have high hopes that if you continue, I shall turn into a bundle of paranoid nerves!’

Tarwë laughed - a light airy sound that caused Haldir to grimace. Tarwë was well known for flitting constantly between lovers, though, as he liked to believe that Orophin had decent taste, he was prepared to reserve judgement for the time being. His conviction however did not prevent him from having particularly grave doubts upon the stability of their relationship, and certainly her honestly left reams to be desired.

Still, the evening was beautiful indeed, and the company was mostly good. So, pushing all cares and concerns about Tarwë to the back of his mind, Haldir returned to his stew.


Chapter 2 - Chapter 2

Title: Silver Shadows
Author: Forest
Pairings: Orophin/OFC, Galadriel/OMC
Rating: PG13
Genre: Angst / Drama
WARNING: Violence, Character deaths
Beta/Editor: Shelly
Cast: Haldir, Orophin, Rúmil, Celeborn, Galadriel, Erestor, Elrond, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, OCs
Disclaimer: I own no-one from The Lord Of The Rings. All the characters and place names displayed belong to JRR Tolkien except Saeden, Galaril and Tarwë who are from my own imagination and therefore are the only ones I lay claim to. I do not intend to, nor am I making any financial gain from the writing of this story.
Feedback: Yes please! We aspiring authors thrive on the stuff.
Timeline: AU (to allow for some leeway as regards the practises and ceremonies etc of the elves.)
Summary: (Loosley based on the story of “Hamlet”.) When a tragedy befalls the elves of Lorien, there seems to be little hope for a full recovery. However, through a dramatic chain of events, Rúmil finds himself in an unthinkable situation which forces him to become torn between his oath of wreaking revenge and his deep reluctance to spill elven blood.



~*Chapter 2*~


The following morning after the wardens’ return from the borders, Saeden made his way up to the Lord and Lady’s talan to report on all that had happened … or rather, all that had *not* happened. Upon reaching the required door he knocked lightly, waited and was a little surprised that no one answered his request for entry. Still, it was early afterall. Deciding he would knock once more and then, if no one answered again, he would leave it and return later in the morning, Saeden raised his had. However, his fist barely got within an inch of the wood before he realised something.

The door was unlocked and standing ajar.

How odd.

Under normal circumstances, Saeden would have considered it presumptuous and ride to enter the Lord and Lady’s talan without expressed permission. Nevertheless, he argued with himself and finally came to the conclusion that these circumstances were not normal in the slightest.

After pushing the door open fully, the young ellon stepped cautiously inside and glanced around. A fire was crackling merrily in the grate, expelling a delicious warmth that enveloped him and drew him inside away from the chill of the morning air. From what he could tell, there was no one in the bedchambers, and though he couldn’t be *completely* certain, he was not about to invade their privacy further by entering there.

Finally, after much investigation of the other few rooms, Saeden pushed open the one remaining door that led to the small study and gasped in relief. At the desk by the window sat Lord Celeborn, bending over a scroll and apparently deep at work.

‘I apologise, my lord,’ said Saeden quickly, ‘I did knock but there was no answer so I had to come in. Anyway, I just came to give these to you.’

After moving a book and goblet out of the way, Saeden placed the bundle of papers on the desk and then turned to leave. As he did so; he noticed the elven lord had not made a single move toward the papers – infact he had made no sound or movement whatsoever.

‘My lord?’

Saeden looked questioningly at the silent figure and spoke a little louder; entertaining the possibility he could have fallen asleep at his work.

Still no response.

A little confused and quite disconcerted, Saeden reached out with a trembling hand and shook Celeborn’s shoulder gently in an attempt to rouse him. Upon the fourth shake, Celeborn’s head slipped from the scroll end and onto the desk surface.

It was then that Saeden saw Celeborn’s face.

It was ashen grey in complexion, his lips white as the purest ivory and parted slightly as though in surprise. His eyes were half open and the light that once shone from their depths was now utterly extinguished and they lay dull, empty and staring.

Lightly, as dread gripped his heart, Saeden reached out a solitary finger, brushed the elven lord’s cheek and found it was icy cold and rigid. As though someone had pressed a burning hot poker to his skin, Saeden gave a yelp and stumbled backwards, his hand flying to his mouth in the utmost horror.

In that single moment, the young warden felt his blood freeze over in his veins as he stood rooted to the spot, too terrified to move. His eyes roamed disbelieving over the appalling scene before him and he shook his head slowly, willing himself to awaken from this nightmare.

He knew he could not stay here.

Galadriel. Where was she? Why wasn’t she here? Why had this happened now? Why did *he* have to have been the one to find him? Why not someone…*anyone* else? He knew Celeborn had not been well these past few days – but, Oh Eru! What now?

As all these thoughts and many more of a similar lily assaulted his mind, Saeden suddenly found himself bolting to the door and flinging it open before rushing down the stairway outside, leaving fallen chairs and scattered papers in his wake. The world span about him. A whirl of blinding colour and incoherent, deafening sounds. His feet pounded oddly heavily as he ran, stumbling and tripping more often than running straight. But he did not care. Only one thing remained clear in his mind and that was to find Galadriel, wherever she may be.

All the ellyn and ellith he passed turned in surprise and frank curiosity at his uneven and most unelflike style of running. Blinded by the onslaught of images of Celeborn’s lifeless face and the mere thought of what Galadriel would do when he told her, made Saeden several times almost crash into a tree. Those onlooking would have found this comical had his expression not been so stricken.

After what seemed like a life age, Saeden found Galadriel walking, accompanied by two hand maidens….and….laughing? His stomach plummeted into the very heels of his boots. She looked so carefree and happy. Oh, by the Valar. Saeden hated himself completely at that moment and wished with all his heart it was not solely dependant upon him to deliver the horrible news.

‘My lady!’ he cried out, running forward, all manners and formality long forgotten.

Upon noting his anguished face, Galadriel’s straightened into one of deep concern and worry.

‘Saeden?’ she said questioningly, nodding quickly in greeting. ‘Whatever is the matter?’

‘My lady’ Saeden repeated, swallowing hard, feeling utterly frantic, ‘it’s … it’s … your husband … he …’

Breaking upon the poor elf like an immense and unexpected wave, he fell forward and threw up, the pounding in his aching head intensifying as one of the hand maidens caught him before he struck the floor. Shivering and gritting his teeth, he looked up and felt desperately hopeless as her clear eyes gazed resolutely into his own as though begging, pleading for him to continue.

‘What has happened?’ she pressed, laying a hand firmly but kindly on Saeden’s shoulder.

The benevolence Saeden heard in her voice at the moment caused hot tears to finally make their appearance. ‘He’s … he’s … dead!’ the panicked elf managed to choke out before collapsing into the elleth’s arms, sobbing openly.

Galadriel meanwhile simply stared into the distance, her expression stoic, unreadable. Then, she rose without betraying a flicker of the emotion that was fighting for release. ‘Thank you’ she whispered to Saeden before turning to her hand maidens and adding, ‘Take care of him.’ With that, she hurried off, and such was her sudden quickness of step, that her garments swirled about her feet and her radiant hair blew like a loose veil behind her.

It can take mere minutes for a spark to evolve into a fully fledged forest fire and spread near and far – and such was the news of Celeborn’s passing. Within a matter of minutes, the entirety of Lorien had heard the tragic news, and it took less than an hour for those at the fences to hear. It was also not long that a streak of white and silver issued from the trees and took off at a fantastic speed across the plains. A messenger on horseback making for the city of Rivendell.


*

Lord Elrond raised his head sharply in response to the short knock at his study door that shattered the peaceful silence. Setting down his quill with a sigh, he looked to the door. ‘Come in!’

At his words, a raven haired elf entered, his ebony garbed arms full of scrolls. ‘My lord, here are the memoirs you requested.’

‘Ah, thank you Erestor,’ replied Elrond, his mood taking a definite upturn, ‘Just on the table beside you is fine.’

Erestor deposited the scrolls with a nod upon the indicated surface and with a short bow; took his leave of the study.

Yawning a little as he stood, Elrond proceeded to look over the scrolls. He had finally decided that to be in permanent mourning for someone who was firstly not even dead, and secondly, who he would see again in a time for certain, was more than a little ridiculous. And so, much to the delight and relief of the Rivendel inhabitants, he had thrown himself once again into his duties and work and had even begun to make an appearance at meal times. Conversations with the Lord of Rivendell had also begun to become more coherent, helpful and interesting once again and on the whole, things seemed to be to normal, albeit slowly.

Yes. All the scrolls he had requested were present – along with a few others – no doubt a quaint addition of Erestor’s own. Elrond had long grown used to the fact that his advisor had a habit of providing “further reading” from the depths of the library, which Elrond freely admitted were often interesting and absorbing. Sometimes it quite amazed him what Erestor managed to unearth and by now firmly believed that there was much to the library that had escaped Elrond’s notice, and only Erestor knew about. Privately, Elrond thought it a great pity that the scribe insisted on not being paid for his work, as he sincerely believed the elf deserved a pay rise.

Later, feeling satisfied with his day’s work, Erestor made his way down to the courtyard feeling in great need of fresh air. The evening breeze, it seemed, was more than willing to oblige and serve Erestor’s need and it blew gently around him, caressing his cheeks softly and toying with his midnight tresses like an unseen lover. Closing his eyes, the scribe breathed out slowly, revelling in the refreshing coolness that the sweet touches of the wind brought to him. Then, the sound of swift footed hooves brought him back to his senses and he looked in the direction of their coming. And soon, a white and grey stallion galloped through the archway and into the courtyard with such great haste that dust and small stones rose up in clouds at Erestor’s feet.

The scribe watched in puzzlement as the silver haired rider dismounted and bowed shortly, his face taut and grey eyes alight with supreme exigency.

‘Good eve to you, sire, my name is Galaril of Lorien.’ The elf spoke quickly as though he though such formal words, whilst necessary, were troublesome and time squandering.

‘And to you’ replied Erestor, inclining his head. ‘What news brings you with such haste to Imladris?’

‘I fear the tidings I herald, sire, are not of joy but of a profound and immeasurable woe. A terrible calamity has befallen the Golden Wood and its people, and I request permission to speak with Lord Elrond immediately.’

Erestor’s expression darkened instantly. Not in many years had Lorien sent such a messenger. At once, the advisor showed him to Elrond’s study and then hurried off in search of Glorfindel.

‘Fin? GLORFINDEL?!’

Erestor ran through the corridors in search of his close friend, cursing his elusivity. Eventually though, he found him nestled in a large chair in the Hall of Fire, and from what Erestor could tell, was also playing host to an overly fluffy knee rug - that upon closer inspection, transpired to be Anoushka, the ginger cat belonging to the minstrel Lindir. Erestor felt a slight pang of conscience at disturbing them, for the feline was purring quite contentedly as the golden haired elf stroked her fur and absent-mindedly scratched behind on of her large ears – much to her delight.

But Erestor was spared his guilt; for sensing someone’s eyes on him and another presence in the room, Glorfindel turned around.

‘Erestor,’ he grinned, ‘what a pleasant and unexpected surprise. I thought you were planning on working into the small hours.’

Taking a seat beside his friend, Erestor nodded solemnly. ‘Indeed I was, Fin. But I finished early – though Eru only knows how! I came to tell you though that only a short while ago; a messenger arrived from Lorien seeking Lord Elrond.’

Glorfindel shrugged. ‘Most likely due to their festival I’ll wager.’

‘No, I do not believe so,’ Erestor shook his head, ‘the tone he spoke in seemed most grieved and he told me himself the news he brought was certainly not happy but terrible.’

Glorfindel opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the sound of the door opening. Looking round, the two elder elves stared in apprehension as Lord Elrond strode silently towards them, his face an alarming mixture of distress and pity. Hanging a little way back as though out of respect, was the messenger, Galaril.

‘I am glad to have found you both together. This will save a great deal of time’ Elrond said as he reached the area they were seated. Had the situation seemed less ominous, Erestor would have (as was his custom), initiated the conversation by welcoming his lord. However, after seeing the grave expression on Elrond’s face – he opted to remain silent.

‘You know,’ Elrond began slowly, ‘that Lord Celeborn has not been faring well since Celebrían’s departure?’

They nodded, and out of the corner of his eye, Glorfindel noted Galaril having his back suddenly to them, his shoulders shaking violently. Elrond paused for a moment, his head bowed, and then continued with a sigh.

‘It would seem he faded early this morning.’

A ringing silence fell upon the company, only broken by the sound of coughing as Galaril attempted to stifle his sobs. Erestor stared, his own ears and mind not registering immediately with Elrond’s words.

‘Lord Celeborn … he’s dead?’ Erestor said slowly, not wholly believing what he thought he had heard.

Elrond nodded and sank into a nearby chair, rubbing his temples. To their eyes, the elven lord’s grief seemed now to be greatly beyond tears.

‘What about the Lady?’ Glorfindel said finally, his voice a mere whisper as warm tears trickled down his cheeks.

‘I believe she blames herself’ Elrond sighed. ‘Apparently, this morning she thought him better than days past and upon his insistence, she left him early to attend to the festival preparations. She had no hint that things might go so ill.’

‘But, my lord,’ Erestor said, his heart sinking further still at the continuing stream of appalling news, ‘Nothing could have prevented … if he had already sunk that deep…’

‘I fear she will not see it like that in the least,’ answered Elrond, staring determinedly at the wall opposite, but not really seeing it at all. ‘If I am completely honest, I do not think she will ever forgive herself.’

For a while, they simply sat there in silence, each lost in their own melancholy thoughts. Finally, biting his lip, Glorfindel spoke what was troubling him most.

‘The funeral, my lord. When is it?’

‘Next Thursday evening - at sunset. That is what I also came to tell you. I ride from here this evening with Galaril, Elrohir, Elladan and Arwen and anyone else who wishes to come. I take it you two wish to come also?’

In sync, the pair nodded.

‘Of course we shall’ replied Glorfindel.

Elrond nodded, seeming almost grateful; and stood. ‘Very well. I leave Imladris in an hour by the Western Gate.’ With a final nod to the pair of them, Elrond left the room, talking quickly and softly to Galaril as he closed the door behind them.

Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, Erestor also stood. ‘Come on Fin. We must pack swiftly and read the hors - Fin?’

Erestor stared at his friend and felt a great swell of pity wash over him. Glorfindel held his golden head in his hands and his shoulders shook as his grief finally overcame him.

‘Oh Fin!’ Erestor fell to his knees beside Glorfindel and embraced him close and with as much warmth as he could muster. ‘We knew this could happen after all.’

‘I know,’ Glorfindel replied thickly, burying his head in Erestor’s shoulder, his plentiful tears soaking into the scribe’s robes, ‘But I just never thought he would give up.’


*


For Lorien, the evening of the 23rd of August, of Celeborn’s funeral, seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Garbed in deep greys and the shades of the night, the mourning elves made their way swiftly to the clearing where the pyre had been erected earlier that day.

Gazing up at the sky above as they entered, Saeden shivered. The heavens seemed painted blood red as Anor began to set behind the grand silhouetted mallyrn. Hither and thither lay wispy clouds, each and every one outlined in a hazy crimson as they watched over the sombre gathering below from their heavenly vigil.

Around the clearing, elves from near and far stood assembled, united in their grief. Mingled with the fair hair of the silvan folk were deep mahogany browns and chestnuts – wood elves of Thranduil’s realm. Thranduil himself stood there too – along with his son, Legolas. Then there were those who hailed from the valley of Rivendell. Besides Lord Elrond, his children, Glorfindel and Erestor, there were also many who had followed in their wake as soon as the news had spread.

Finally, a procession, headed by the Lady herself, entered through the trees and made its way down towards the pyre along the aisle flanked by elves who, as they passed, bowed their heads in grief and utmost respect. Standing with his brother’s, Rúmil’s eyes never left Galadriel’s face. She looked so regal, so proud - her composure so controlled; and he could not help but hold her in utmost admiration. Not a flicker of distress showed upon her face; and he knew she must be in agony trying to hold everything together.

Behind her, her handmaidens and the sentinels came Celeborn himself. Bourn aloft upon a bed of pure white silk with the elanor blossom and sweet smelling lilies arranged around his form. He was clothed in his finest robes of gleaming white and silver, their tailoring intricate and refined. His hair was spread out beneath his head upon a cushion, gleaming like liquid mithril in the evening’s light. His face was strong and proud once more, and he lay as though in a deep and dreamless slumber – his slender hands crossed over his chest and a shining circlet at his brow.

At this moment, choked sobs echoed around the clearing and tearing his eyes away for a mere second, Rúmil saw Haldir’s stricken face. His eyes were wide and shining with the onset of tears. Beside him stood Tarwë comforting Orophin and opposite, Erestor and Glorfindel – both of whom were wearing near identical expression of anguish and disbelief on their faces.

As the procession walked through, the clear bell like sound of elven song rose into the air like a delicate perfume, its melody soft and utterly mournful.

::(This is the song as we would perhaps understand it in the Common Tongue. A crude representation, but it suffices.)::


Light that once was, has faded.
The eyes that held truth have been vanquished.
The mouth that spoke wisdom has been silenced
And the hands that healed, have been crushed.

“Where, O Where are you now?
My eyes that beheld your light are extinguished,
My mouth that spoke of you has been quelled,
The breath you placed in me has died dry,
And my hands that embraced you, have fallen quiet”

“Yet my soul still searches,
I know you are there,
Your voice is an echo inside my heart
But still I fall apart.”

Above the stars
Beyond the heavens
Higher than mountains
Deeper than oceans
Your love for your people endures in our hearts
Your body may be destroyed,
but your spirit remains.

Majestic Lord,
Great ruler of the Eldar
May you find peace after death


As the clear voices faded away upon the cool twilight air, those around the Lady backed away from the pyre, leaving Galadriel standing over her husband, her eyes fixed firmly upon his noble face. Cupping his cheek with her palm as she had done so many times before, she softly kissed his brow, her free hand clasped tightly over his own. Then, as she gazed hopelessly at him, drops of pained water fell from her clear eyes and some settled upon his circlet, gleaming like newly polished diamonds. Leaning over him once more, she kissed him this time upon his mouth, lingering for a while as her tears fell and moistened his frozen lips.

‘Sleep well, my love’ she whispered, her lower lip trembling as full realisation took her by the shoulders and shook her hard. With that, she fell forward onto him and wept openly, her cries of anguish and sorrow stirring painfully the hearts of all gathered around her. She clutched tight at his silent form, and it seemed she was unwilling to ever let go. Eventually, through sheer exhaustion more than anything else, her sobs quietened and only then did she consent to be led away from him.

Soon, the pyre was lit and it was not long before flames sprang up all around his body. The elves around watched in pained horror as the gold and scarlet tongues engulfed him fully, casing an amber light across the assembly, the consequential smoke rising high above the trees and mingling with the stars above. The heartbroken cries rose with the smoke, growing in intensity as more and more surrendered to their grief – ellith and ellyn alike.

Finally, when the fire died down, all that remained was a pile of ashes.

The once proud Lord of Lorien was no more.


Chapter 3 - Chapter 3

Title: Silver Shadows
Author: Forest
Pairings: Orophin/OFC, Galadriel/OMC
Rating: PG13
Genre: Angst / Drama
WARNING: Violence, Character deaths
Beta: Shelly
Cast: Haldir, Orophin, Rúmil, Celeborn, Galadriel, Erestor, Elrond, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, OCs
Disclaimer: I own no-one from The Lord Of The Rings. All the characters and place names displayed belong to JRR Tolkien except Saeden, Galaril and Tarwë who are from my own imagination and therefore are the only ones I lay claim to. I do not intend to, nor am I making any financial gain from the writing of this story.
Feedback: Yes please! We aspiring authors thrive on the stuff.
Timeline: AU (to allow for some leeway as regards the practises and ceremonies etc of the elves.)
Summary: (Loosely based on the story of “Hamlet”.) When a tragedy befalls the elves of Lorien, there seems to be little hope for a full recovery. However, through a dramatic chain of events, Rúmil finds himself in an unthinkable situation which forces him to become torn between his oath of wreaking revenge and his deep reluctance to spill elven blood.




~*Chapter 3*~


It was just over a week after Celeborn’s funeral before Galadriel could be seen out and about, going about her business as usually as possible. With only a short time before Autumn festival period, she returned back to helping with and overseeing the preparations. Many of those who had come to Lorien for the reason of the funeral remained there now as guests for the festival. Some also pitched in with the preparations which turned out to be more helpful than anyone could have initially guessed. The reason behind this being that security at the fences had been doubled due to a couple of sightings of the rumoured wolf packs across the plains.

Upon his balcony gazing out at the glimmering city, Erestor sat completely lost in thought. He recalled what Elrond had said about Galadriel blaming herself for Celeborn’s fading and now wondered if that were true. He freely admitted he admired her great courage venturing out and going about her duties with hardly a shaky word or a faltering smile. Indeed, from the outside, it seemed that she was coming to terms with Celeborn’s sudden demise quite easily – unusually easily, in fact, and with exceptional grace.

But, he reminded himself, she had not only lost a husband. She had lost her confederate, her lord, her ruling partner, her lover, her friend; no, her best friend. In short, in one day, she had lost the one person who loved and understood her completely. Coupled with the sailing of her only daughter, he suspected that in private the Lady of Lorien was not quite so steadfast in her emotions.

Another thing he had noticed was that several ellyn had been going out of their ways to talk at length with her and her behaving unusually gentlemanly. He did not have a great deal of doubt therefore that in a short while some, if not all, of the ellyn would attempt to woo her – knowing there was a vacancy and an unwritten requirement for a new lord of Lorien.

Erestor chuckled sardonically. Not only did he consider such behaviour extremely tactless and uncaring, but he sincerely believed that even should they attempt to woo her much later in time, they would still be unsuccessful. If he knew anything about the Lady of Lorien, she would be the one to elect a possible new lord – not in the least vice versa.

It transpired that Erestor was actually correct in his counts. In a short time, the ellyn did in fact attempt to woo Galadriel. But as Erestor also suspected, they may as well have attempted to woo her door handle for all the good it did them. What was more interesting however was that when they discovered all their well planned attempts to gain lordship of Lorien had been in utter vain, their sickly sweet attentiveness to Galadriel appeared to be snuffed out in an instant and they quickly returned to their duties. Whilst he thought this more than a little shallow of them, Erestor did not dwell on it, for it at least did some good. It was now possible to see the Lady walking in peace, alone and seemingly much happier for the lack of the shadowing hopeful ellyn.

At the very same time the Rivendell scribe was swimming through his own personal stream of consciousness , Galadriel herself was checking the list of orders made for the festival.

‘How fares your business, my lady?’ questioned Galaril as he entered the room carrying several books in his arms.

‘Adequate, in a word, Galaril’ answered Galadriel with a slight smile. ‘Most items are accounted for, however I must speak with Haldir later as regards the latter few.’

Galaril nodded. ‘You are doing fine work, my lady, and I am fully confident it shall be appreciated by all.’

‘Your words are kind indeed,’ said Galadriel gratefully, turning to him, ‘and I thank you for your confidence. I fear though this festival shall not be nearly as extravagant nor as plentiful as years past.’

The messenger shook his head. ‘Nay, my lady. Forgive me for my bluntness, but I believe otherwise. Ne’er have any festivals you have had a hand in gone awry.’

Galadriel laughed lightly as she turned back to her work. ‘Aye, but we both know that was not solely down to my intervention. So many others assisted and Celeborn is always saying - ’

She faltered suddenly and fell silent, her mind reeling with the echo of what she had just let slip. She thanked Eru that she had looked away before that moment so Galaril had been spared seeing her eyes mist over and her mouth become thin.

For a brief moment, Galaril simply stood still and as silent as the Lady, not knowing what, if anything, to say to her that would be of any consolation. Then, as though persuaded by some maddened impulse that betrayed his better judgement for both himself and his lowly status, he laid a hand upon her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.

At his simple touch, Galadriel stiffened and stared even more purposefully forward. Each knew this contact was a direct breach of position and yet the Lady could not help but feel greatly at peace by the feeling of his steady hand upon her. It seemed to hold her tight and preventing her from falling into the deep despair that was ever beckoning.

Finally, she relaxed and, letting out a long breath, sought his hand with her own. It was all Galaril could do but not gasp out in complete surprise and wonder when he found himself not reprimanded for his brazen gestures, but instead find them accepted. He was filled with a quiet awe. Ai! The softness of her white skin against his own; how pure and beautiful it felt, like the perfectly formed petals of the niphredil.

No.

Such thoughts were forbidden utterly and he silently chided himself for his foolishness.

‘You flatter me, Galaril’ Galadriel spoke slowly. However her lips did not move and Galaril was both shocked and marvelled to find the sound of her voice rang so distinct and gentle inside his head.

‘I beg your forgiveness once more, my lady,’ he replied, speaking also as silent, ‘but I speak only what I believe to be the truth.’

Inwardly, Galadriel smiled as she listened to the other quieter and more secret thoughts of her servant’s mind. She had been taught long ago that flattery alone, whilst pleasant, was not a guarantee of an ellon’s true self and a decent measure of his honourablity. It was recalling this therefore that had caused her to watch him over the past days. She saw how helpful and attentive he was, but, unlike the others who had pursued her and attempted to heal her widowed heart and thereby win her hand, Galaril was good natured and polite and formal to all around him. His attention to his duties could not be faulted and he always appeared to remember his place, only stepping beyond its boundaries when he felt it was truly needed, as she had just discovered.

Not content with just the outward signs, however, she had once or twice looked into his mind unbidden and what she had seen and heard had pleased her. His thoughts appeared mostly good and fair, save for a few darker murmurs about some ellyn she knew he did not quite see eye to eye with at times. But that was only natural, and apart from that, she felt he was a most admirable elf indeed.

For a moment, she sat quiet and deep in thought. She knew the now requirement of another joint power to rule over Lorien with her. The weeks’ work of only the festival had proven she could not possibly run all of Lorien by herself. Yet she had deliberately put that thought to the back of her mind until now, when, as it surfaced, it brought forth several other ideas that had not previously occurred to her.

‘Galaril’ she said, her voice quieter than normal and the elf addressed fancied he even heard a note of nervousness. ‘Would you do me the pleasure of walking with me?’

As she turned to face him now, Galaril swallowed hard, wondering if she was about to dismiss him. Perhaps she had decided she thought ill of his stepping beyond his requirements of his post. Still though, he nodded his assent. ‘Aye, if it please you, my lady.’

He smiled down at her; despite the sickening feeling that had taken up unwelcome residence in the pit of his stomach, and after politely helping her to her feet, he followed her from the talan and down to the gardens.


*

‘Oh, can we not skip dinner just this once, please, Orophin?’

Tarwë looked up at him with pleading eyes. For the last few days, whenever she had sat at a meal with Orophin (and therefore also in the company of his brothers), Haldir had not been exactly subtle about directing a few dark hints and scathing looks her way, and she knew precisely why. She knew Haldir was judging her one her part record, which was, let’s face it, not entirely rosy. A string of broken ellyn hearts scattered the path behind her and she therefore avoided Haldir whenever possible. Still, he was always there at mealtimes and frankly, she didn’t know how long she would be able to let his biting remarks and sceptical glances pass her by without retaliating.

She had told Orophin her concerns beforehand, and for a while, he regarded her quietly before nodding. ‘If you wish,’ he answered, ‘I do not much care for a meal tonight in any case.’

This was a downright lie, but he didn’t betray it and so he soon found himself being steered in the exact opposite direction from the most luscious smelling hall. He could taste the succulent meats upon the air and the sweet aroma of freshly picked vegetables wafted tantalisingly around his nose. The bitter tang of the herbs was the icing on the cake, but it was no good. He could no go back on his word now.

‘What I don’t understand,’ Orophin began as they walked, trying to divert his attention from the aching in his stomach, ‘is why you are so bothered about what Haldir thinks.’

Tarwë sighed, half in exasperation, half in apparent sadness. ‘Because, Orophin, Haldir is your elder brother, and as such, he has more influence over you than anyone else in this entire city.’


Orophin paused mid-stride and turned so he has facing her. ‘And as his brother, I have been around him enough to know when to take his advice or to ignore it. Tarwë, believe me,’ he continued, intertwining his fingers with hers, ‘if I had any doubts about our relationship – about the way I felt, I would never be so proud as to not voice them to you. Anything Haldir could say against you to me he has already said, and I’m still with you, aren’t I?’

Tarwë nodded quietly but a pained frown still hung upon her features. ‘Yes …’ she agreed slowly, ‘but it still doesn’t stop me from being terribly uncomfortable with Haldir, and I fear it won’t ever end.’

Taking her lightly by the shoulders, Orophin’s eyes bore into hers and he kissed her brow gently. ‘Do you desire me to speak with him?’

The elleth shook her head. ‘Nay, it would not do any good, for I fear he seems steadfast in his hatred for me.’

Orophin stared at her in surprise and pity and her lifted her lowered chin with a single finger so she was facing him once more.

‘Liramaer,’ he whispered softly, ‘Haldir does not hate you. I feel he is only concerned.’ For a moment, the young warden stood as though deep in thought and then, slowly, a mysterious smile lit up his furrowed features. ‘What he really needs is to see how much we really care about each other – go the extra mile, if you will.’

Tarwë looked a little confused. ‘What exactly do you mean, Orophin?’

Swallowing hard and taking her hand into his own trembling palm, Orophin bent low down upon one knee, causing the elleth’s eyes to widen to the size of dinner plates.

‘Tarwë, daughter of Eledir, I realise this is a little unorthodox,’ Orophin said slowly, his grey eyes kindled with a cocktail of nerves and passion, ‘but would you do me the very great and humble honour of becoming my wife?’

In that moment, it appeared that several ages passed between them and Tarwë stood stock still as though struck inexplicably dumb. Orophin bit his lip. Had he gone too fast? Would she refuse him? If she did, he knew he would only have his own ash actions to blame, and judging by her blank expression of the present, things really didn’t seem to be boding too well.

Then, Tarwë’s mouth twitched at the corners and slowly turned upwards into a beaming smile, her eyes suddenly alight with amazement and realisation. ‘Of course!’ she cried, flinging her arms about his neck in elation. ‘Oh, I must be the luckiest elleth to ever live to have found you, Orophin!’

Orophin laughed aloud, so great was his relief and joy. Pulling her close to him, he swung her round in the air as they laughed loud and long together in ecstasy, their voices clear and rich as new water issuing in plentiful streams from its mountain source.

‘Orophin! Let me down or I shall surely fall!’

‘Ah, you shall never fall Tarwë!’ Orophin assured her, lowering her down to the ground. ‘Not while I am with you. Myself and I should not allow such a thing.’ He paused, one hand toying with her fair hair, a few tresses spilling like moonlight over his slender fingertips. Bending slightly, he pressed a soft and lingering kiss to her lips. Ai! How silken and utterly perfect were those pink rosebuds. Orophin fancied he had never tasted anything so wholly sweet and delicious in his entire life. Surely, surely not even the ripest and most plump of summer fruits could even begin to rival her lips.

As they broke apart, they came a familiar voice calling to them.

‘All hail Orophin, the great and mighty elleth slayer!’

Heaving a great sigh, Orophin rolled his eyes and turned to find himself face to face with a very triumphant and cheeky looking Rúmil.

‘And yet another of your hilarious jests, brother’ he smirked dryly, ‘Forgive me for not giving into my fighting mirth, but I fear my sides would split!’

Rúmil grinned. ‘Only the best for my ever loving brother!’ The elf turned and winked at Tarwë. Contrary to Haldir, Rúmil was more openly friendly with the elleth. Though the pair did have a slight history, it had been extremely short lived; and though Rúmil was fully aware of Tarwë’s reputation, he, like Haldir, was willing to giver her the benefit of the doubt for Orophin’s sake. However, he, *unlike* Haldir, was also willing to do that without slipping any personal misgivings or sharpened remarks.

‘So, what news, Orophin?’ said Rúmil, looking from Orophin’s exasperated face to Tarwë, who was struggling to contain her giggles.

Orophin gave Rúmil the most vacant look he could manage. ‘I am afraid I do not quite follow your trail of though, Rúmil. What news? Why, there is no news to be found here!’

‘Yes, of course. And Haldir has obtained a sense of humour!’

‘Alright. I shall give you a clue. Fingers and bells’ Orophin said with a smirk.

Rúmil stared. ‘And what kind of a clue may that be? Orophin, you blasted orc! It could mean anything!’

Orophin’s grin grew wider and more amused. ‘Precisely. Oh, isn’t this fun, Rúmil?’

Rúmil pouted and paused before replying, ‘Well, all I can imagine is that you have somehow come up with a sudden idea for extra festival entertainment stemming from your wild and unruly imagination.’

Tarwë sniggered. ‘Not even close.’ Then, looking to Orophin, she added, ‘shall you enlighten him, or shall I?’

Orophin turned back to Rúmil who was now wearing a hybrid expression of intrigue and sheer impatience. Drawing Tarwë to him, he spoke up, barely able to finally keep the excitement from his voice.

‘Well Rúmil, it’s like this. Tarwë and I … we’re engaged.’

Rúmil’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened before breaking out in joyous laughter.

‘I knew it!’ he cried. ‘Oh, brother, that is absolutely wonderful!’ Without a moment’s hesitation, he embraced them both warmly. ‘Who else knows?’

‘Ah. Only you’ Orphin assured him. ‘But don’t you go spilling this to Haldir yet. We were planning on telling first for reasons I shall not bore you with. But nay, you ended up being the first.’

This revelation only seemed to further improve Rúmil’s mood (if that were possible), for he said, ‘ Oh, most excellent tidings indeed! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must seek Galaril at once!’

‘Why?’ Orophin looked more than mildly suspicious.

Rúmil turned and smirked. ‘Because he owes me a pouch of gold and a bottle of liquor.’

Orophin sighed. ‘Again, I say, why?’

Rúmil shuffled his feet uneasily. ‘We kind of made a small bet … only small, mark you, on how long it would take you two to get engaged. His wager was it would be after or during the festival. Mine was it would happen beforehand.’

‘You made a BET on our would-be betrothal?’ Orophin repeated looking scandalised.

‘Er … yes. That sounds about right’ said Rúmil, now looking sheepishly at his feet.

Orophin sighed and shook his head in feigned despair. ‘I guess I really should not be surprised. After all this is *you* we are discussing here.’

Rúmil actually looked pleased and quite flattered. ‘You don’t *completely* mind then?’

‘I guess not. Just you mind Galaril doesn’t go blabbing about this to anyone as of yet. You say my imagination is unruly? That is nothing to Galaril’s mouth! No, as I said, Rúmil, I want to let Haldir be the next to know. And if I find out he has blabbed, woe betide you both!’

Rúmil nodded with a grin. ‘Don’t fret, brother. Of all the elves I know, Galaril can keep a secret when he knows he must – and I for one should know!’

‘Oh?’ Orophin said, suddenly looked quite interested, ‘care to embroider on that?’

‘No, not really,’ replied Rúmil, aptly deadbatting the question. Then with a final grin and a bow to the pair of them, he departed in haste, calling behind him: ‘Be sure to let me know *exactly* what Haldir’s face looks like when you tell him!’

Orophin chuckled. ‘Ignore him. He’s a moron. I am certain Haldir will be pleased at the news.’

Tarwë nodded, suddenly seeming solemn. ‘I guess you’ll be wanting to go to the dining hall now then? To find Haldir.’

‘It would be a good idea I think, yes’ Orophin smiled.

However, contrary to their initial belief, Haldir was nowhere to be seen in the dining hall. Whilst this admittedly was slightly odd, Orophin decided he was not too bothered after all. For once he’d inhaled the warm scent of the evening meal, he found he did not care at all to be dragged away in search of his elder brother. Besides, Haldir would surely show up soon enough and until that time, Orophin would appease his growling stomach.

Fifteen minutes into the meal (and just at the point when Orophin was contemplating what dessert to consume), Rúmil entered the hall looking quite bemused. He seated himself opposite the pair without a word and sat there as though lost in a deep realm of personal musings and thoughts.

‘Are you going to tell us, or should we hire a detective?’ Orophin raised a brow in vague amusement.

Rúmil looked at him with a curious expression, as though he’d only just realised Orophin was there.

‘Oh. Forgive me,’ he began with a short sigh, ‘I just cannot find Galaril anywhere. He’s not in his chambers, nor anywhere else around and apparently no one has seen him since first light.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

At the second voice’s interruption, Rúmil nearly fell off his chair in shock and the elleth to whom the voice belonged, paused near them and grinned. After a moment, Orophin realised where he had seen her before – she was one of the Lady’s handmaidens.

‘What is your meaning, my lady?’ Rúmil questioned her once he regained a steady breathing pattern.

She nodded shortly with a quick smile of secrecy that only succeeded in infuriating Rúmil. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

With that, she swept off to the front of the hall, Rúmil glaring at her as she went, thoroughly perplexed.

‘Women!’ he grumbled loudly, causing a mock expression of offence to grace Tarwë’s face.

The elleth in question stood at the front of the hall, quietly conversing with an ellon nearby; before knocking a spoon sharply against a goblet and calling for attention. However, it took a few moments for this request to register with those assembled in the hall as this was certainly an irregular occurrence. Soon though, the room fell silent and all eyes were solely fixed about the solitary elleth.

‘The Lady Galadriel sends me hither with wondrous tidings,’ she began, her voice resounding clear around the solid walls, ‘and it is therefore my great and most humble honour to announce that she and the ellon, Galaril, are to be wed!’

The bread roll Rúmil had been holding half way to his mouth fell to the table with a dull thud. His mouth gaped and his eyes looked like they may fall from his skull.

‘What?’ he hissed aghast and to no one in particular.

‘The wedding shall be a small affair, but nonetheless you are all invited. It shall be in two days time in the Crystal Hall.’

Finally, the elleth stepped down and exited the hall quickly, and no sooner had she done so that at once a thunderous roar of excited talk broke out.

***

As had been promised, the wedding of Galaril and Galadriel was a small affair in itself, but still most of Lorien turned out, the only few exceptions being those who were stationed at the fences. The wedding achieved several things besides the actual marriage. For one thing, Orophin and Tarwë finally got around to telling Haldir their good news – though this was naturally after Haldir had gotten pretty tipsy.

The wedding also created a more solid feeling of reassurance amongst those in Lorien and things certainly now seemed to be going well. To see the Lady so happy once more was indeed glorious to behold. And as most were on relatively good terms with and respected Galaril, there were very little ill feelings. Though they still grieved greatly for the loss of Celeborn, it was generally agreed that it was good to see most things returning to some state of normality and, upon witnessing the joy of their Lady, they found they didn’t much care what route was taken to achieve it.

However, despite the positive turn of events, there was one ellon who felt not at all at ease with the new arrangements. Rúmil had been taking to spending excessive periods of time by himself, sometimes hours at one time - and it had certainly not gone unnoticed. One afternoon, a few days after the wedding, Rúmil made his solitary way into the woods and Haldir, who had been waiting for this to happen since noon, followed.

For a time, he kept out of sight, slinking like a noiseless shadow underneath the boughs and lagging a little behind to thoroughly judge where his brother was headed. When the young elf merely paused and sank down upon a stump, Haldir’s brow furrowed further. This was certainly not normal Rúmil behaviour in the least.

‘Brother?’ Haldir spoke up finally, stepping out from behind the tree where he had hid.

Rúmil’s head snapped up in shock. ‘Haldir! What brings you all the way out here?’

‘I could ask of you the very same question,’ Haldir answered, ‘indeed that is *why* I am here, since you ask.’

Rúmil returned his gaze to his knees. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said quietly, ‘what is done is done and despite … well, there’s nothing I … anyone can do to change that.’

Haldir seated himself beside his brother gazing intently at him, though his face was half hidden by a fallen curtain of silver hair. ‘Must you always be so mysterious, Rúmil?’ he said. ‘Can you not just tell me? What is wrong, brother? And,’ he added as Rúmil opened his mouth to say “nothing”, ‘do not saying that nothing is troubling you, for we both know that is not true in the least.’

Rúmil sighed. ‘Alright, though bear in mind I do not disclose my feelings gladly. I only consent because I know you of all elves would be able to force it out of me anyhow.’ He spoke these words not spitefully, but as though stating a fact, which was indeed true. Haldir would not have let the matter lie, and indeed it was best for Rúmil to simply confess.

At an encouraging nod from Haldir, Rúmil continued. ‘I admit, I am not wholly comfortable with the idea of Galaril being wedded to Galadriel. You understand, Haldir, he and I have been close friends since we were elflings, and yet when he took up the post of messenger, I found I saw less and less of him - selfish though that may sound, it saddened me more than I can say in words. But despite everything, our friendship survived that and is finally as strong as it ever was. However, Haldir, I am worried. Worried and distressed beyond anything I have ever felt for many centuries.’

The younger elf turned to his brother and looked him directly in the eyes, begging, pleading with his elder brother to tell him that he needn’t worry, that everything would be alright. Instead Haldir was silent for a while. He saw reflected in those clear grey eyes an absolute hopelessness and it troubled him immensely.

Eventually, Rúmil wrenched his gaze away and stared fixatedly at the ground.

‘Ultimately, I fear that his being crowned Lord of Lorien will be too big and too quick a step for our friendship to survive. I just cannot see beyond this, Haldir. The horizon grows dim and distant to me and no matter how I try, how much I wish for it, I cannot perceive things ever now being as they were. Besides,’ he said finally, his voice becoming so quiet it was a delicate whisper on the wind, ‘there is such a vast difference in our status now – would he even want to know me?’

Haldir regarded his brother with a fusion of deep pity and concern. He hated to see Rúmil in so much pain and yet, what was there to do? Until now, he had not thought of this. The thought that the abrupt changes would affect Galaril and Rúmil’s seemingly steadfast and loyal companionship had not even entered his mind. He chided himself silently for not thinking of this before. But sadly it began to dawn upon the Marchwarden. It was true indeed. There was quite a possibility that they would drift apart and eventually become mere acquaintances, affiliated with business and formality only.

‘Rúmil,’ Haldir began softly, trying desperately to keep his voice strong and at the same time wondering how best to word his opinion, ‘I shall not lie to you, my brother. There *is* a chance that you and Galaril may drift - ’

‘But I - ’

‘Hush for a moment and let me speak! There is a chance your friendship with Galaril may weaken under the strain of his new position. But Rúmil, if you both work hard enough, if you both want enough to keep this friendship alive, I see no reason for it to diminish. Relationships are … like planting harvest, I guess you could say, or learning a new language. Everyone has the potential and the skills needed to take it in hand and produce something fantastic from something that at first seemed so frail and small. However, not everyone puts their potential into practise and as a result; the harvest may not flourish, or the language not be understood as well as if someone puts all the willpower within them behind it.’

‘So … what you’re saying is that you believe if we both work hard enough at it, then our friendship will not die?’ Rúmil stared at his brother as though receiving a stunning revelation.

Haldir nodded. ‘Aye, I do.’ He paused for a moment and kissed Rúmil’s brow before smiling. ‘So, what are you still doing here? Get thee back to Lorien and show them all what you’re made of!’

Rúmil grinned in complete gratefulness and stood. ‘Thank you brother, thank you so much. I shall see you at dinner?’

Once more, Haldir nodded, grinning back. ‘That you shall, dear brother.’

And as he watched Rúmil departing at a great speed in the direction of the city, Haldir could not help but feel terribly pleased with himself.

*

That evening after dinner, Rúmil and Saeden left the hall for a short walk about the gardens. The evening was pleasantly cool and light and a delicate fragrance in the likeness of dewberries and ripe watermelon skipped along happily in the breeze beside them. The pair laughed and spoke of many things, old and new, however the chief topics of conversation were Orophin and Tarwë’s engagement and the upcoming festival. There was also the most intriguing news that despite their marriage (albeit hasty in many respects), the Lady Galadriel remained sleeping alone and refused point blank to share her bed with Galaril.

According to the very same handmaiden who had announced the marriage, the elf had not been best pleased with this turn of events and the handmaiden believed that an almighty row may have kicked off between Lord and Lady had she herself not interrupted at that moment. Many chose to believe this showed that she still saw Celeborn as the only one who would ever hold rights to sharing her bed and nothing and nobody would ever move her from that conviction. Indeed, as more and more nights passed with the two in separate sleeping quarters, this was proving to be an ever more likely explanation.

‘Saeden! Rúmil!’

The pair turned abruptly to see Tarwë running full pelt toward them and for a fleeting instant, an expression of utter fear flitted across Saeden’s pale features.

‘Good eve, my lady,’ Saeden said, quite coldly causing Rúmil to look at him in surprise and question. Saeden ignore the look however and continued to glare icily at the elleth facing them.

‘What may we do for you, Tarwë?’ Rúmil asked, determined to inject a substantial amount of warmth into his voice in an attempt to counteract Saeden’s odd tone.

‘Well, I had wondered if I may steal Saeden away for a word, if that’s possible.’ Tarwë replied, apparently thoroughly oblivious to Saeden’s furious glances.

‘Why, of course you may!’ replied Rúmil, and then lowering his voice, he added quickly, ‘though just be careful what you say. He seems a little prickly this evening.’ He punctuated his words with a pointed look at the ellon in question as if to say “I’ll interrogate you about this later!”

Tarwë chuckled. ‘Thank you very much indeed for the warning – I shall be sure to be cautious.’

Rúmil watched them go for a moment before making a move to head back to his own chambers. As he turned the corner to the stairs leading up to that area however, he found he could not ascend for a cloaked and hooded figure was seated upon the steps – a couple from the bottom. Whoever they were, they looked up as Rúmil approached and descended slowly.

Rúmil stared as the figure began to walk off beneath an arch in the direction of the northern gardens. Then, quite suddenly, they halted and turned back to Rúmil who stood frozen to the spot in bewilderment and slight annoyance. The hooded figure beckoned quickly to Rúmil and then walked forward a little more, turning again when they realised the elf still was not following. They beckoned again, this time quicker, more urgent, and Rúmil walked forward upon the request, feeling drawn to the stranger, and though his conscience counselled him otherwise, his instincts commanded him to follow.

The figure led him eventually to a dense clump of trees in the far corner of one of the gardens. Very few people came here even during the light of day and at night; the area was always deserted. The trees grew tall here, their emerald leaves now dancing silhouettes in the dappled moonlight. All around were the fleeting sounds of the night. Owls hooted, crickets chirruped and yet Rúmil heard not one. It seemed to him that as soon as they had reached the garden, an invisible blanket had fallen around the garden, shrouding them from the world and blocking out all sound. It was quiet. Too quiet. The air also seemed oddly fragile, as if he Rúmil could knock lightly upon it and shatter it as thin glass.

For a few moments they simply stood, watching each other, neither speaking a word. Then, the figure reached up with hands slender and pale and lowered its hood.

Rúmil gasped aloud and stumbled backward, his hand flying immediately to his mouth to prevent himself from screaming.

For there, standing right before him was Lord Celeborn.

He seemed solid – as alive as he had been only a few weeks before. Infact, the only thing that was different was that he looked a little paler than usual, but apart from that he seemed the same Celeborn, the same Lord that he had ever been.

‘How can this be?’ Rúmil whispered finally after daring to remove his hand from his mouth, waves of shock and disbelief still rolling relentlessly over him.

Celeborn smiled. ‘Because it can. No other reason is needed.’

‘Are you -’, Rúmil swallowed hard, ‘alive?’

Again, the elf lord smiled gently as though trying to lessen Rúmil’s fear. ‘I am,’ he answered, ‘although I am without body, I am still living.’

Rúmil stared utterly aghast. ‘You’re … a ghost?’

‘If you wish to use that crude term, young Rúmil, then yes. I personally though am more partial to the term “spirit”.’

If he hadn’t been so terrified of what he was seeing, Rúmil might have ventured to laugh. Indeed it was the same Celeborn – dry wit and all. Even his grey eyes appeared to gleam once again with knowledge, wisdom and kindness. Rúmil wanted to ask if Celeborn had been waiting on those stairs specifically for him, but he thought it sounded too forward. Instead he contented himself with:

‘Why are you here … tonight?’

With a slight sigh, Celeborn sank down upon a nearby boulder and folded his hands comfortably in his lap. ‘You know Rúmil, I have always looked upon you and your brothers as sons of a kind, which is why I can speak to *you*. I am here, though, because I need to tell you something. But before I do,’ he said, gazing intently at Rúmil, ‘you must swear not to speak a word of what you will hear to another living soul until it has been completed.’

‘Completed? My lord, what do you speak of?’

‘Swear it! I cannot tell you unless I have your word.’

Rúmil nodded quickly. ‘Aye. I swear, my lord.’

After this, Celeborn appeared to relax a little, but is gaze never left Rúmil’s face. ‘My death, Rúmil, was no natural result of fading nor mere ailment.’

‘How then - ?’ Rúmil faltered suddenly, and what little colour remained in his face left it. ‘You surely don’t mean – NO!’

‘I was murdered, Rúmil,’ Celeborn replied gravely, ‘Ripped from my body most cruelly and with a great malice. Murder most foul! He who now sits in my position and wears my rightful crown – stole to my chambers and slipped the juice of the night into my goblet turning it’s blessed fruit into a damned brew of Mordor!’

Rúmil had been biting his lip so hard that it now began to bleed profusely, trickling down his chin, a livid crimson against his pallid skin.

‘Galaril? You cannot mean … not him!’ Rúmil whispered hoarsely, not believing, not *wanting* to believe.

‘Yes,’ replied Celeborn simply, ‘and now I come to you. Rúmil, I must be avenged. No longer must my chambers be polluted with his foul and diabolical presence. No more must he hold his claim over Galadriel, who in her turn has been blinded and deceived by his serpent cunning – as I was. Rúmil, I ask you now. Remember all I have said. I *must* be avenged!’

Before Rúmil could answer or indeed say anything, there was a blinding glare of silver light and when his eyes saw again, Celeborn had gone.

How he managed to find his way back to his own chambers without blacking out or throwing up or generally causing any alarm, Rúmil never knew. Staggering up to his door, the elf literally fell upon the handle and as soon as he was inside, he locked it quickly. Then, without bothering to get undressed, he collapsed upon his bed and burst into tears.


Chapter 4 - Chapter 4

Title: Silver Shadows
Author: Forest
Pairings: Orophin/OFC, Galadriel/OMC
Rating: PG13
Genre: Angst / Drama
WARNING: Violence, Character deaths
Beta: Shelly
Cast: Haldir, Orophin, Rúmil, Celeborn, Galadriel, Erestor, Elrond, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, OCs
Disclaimer: I own no-one from The Lord Of The Rings. All the characters and place names displayed belong to JRR Tolkien except Saeden, Galaril and Tarwë who are from my own imagination and therefore are the only ones I lay claim to. I do not intend to, nor am I making any financial gain from the writing of this story.
Feedback: Yes please! We aspiring authors thrive on the stuff.
Timeline: AU (to allow for some leeway as regards the practises and ceremonies etc of the elves.)
Summary: (Loosely based on the story of “Hamlet”.) When a tragedy befalls the elves of Lorien, there seems to be little hope for a full recovery. However, through a dramatic chain of events, Rúmil finds himself in an unthinkable situation which forces him to become torn between his oath of wreaking revenge and his deep reluctance to spill elven blood.


--IMPORTANT--

It has recently come to my notice that the name of Tarwë has been used in another story: “Elanor’s Revenge” by Julie and Fianna. Just to clarify, the Tarwë in this is a different elf entirely and is in no way conncected whatsoever to J&F’s “Tarwë”.






~*Chapter 4*~


Sleep at last overcame Rúmil. He quite suddenly found himself standing alone amidst a clearing, surrounded densely by trees. Their silver and mahogany trunks seemed to him to stretch on into the heavens. All around him he could hear voices calling his name…

‘Rúmil, Ai! Rúmil!’ they called out, each one sounding distant and whispering.

And then, amongst the sound of the wind and voices, there came another, more clear, powerful and urgent.

‘Help me, Rúmil!’ it cried. ‘Help me!’

Panicked, Rúmil ran toward the voice, the whispers still assaulting his ears and the wind whistled shrilly all around him as his heart hammered painfully in his chest. Then the elf stumbled upon a queer scene. Lord Celeborn sat in his chair at his desk upon the leafy forest floor. Rúmil watched in silence as a second figure, hooded and carrying a thick scroll and goblet, wandered into the clearing. Without speaking a single word, he handed the goblet to Celeborn; and Rúmil, realising all too late what was about to happen, screamed out for Celeborn to halt.

But the elven lord paid no heed to Rúmil’s anguished cries and took a lengthy draught from the goblet. Rúmil looked on in horror as even in Celeborn’s grasp, the goblet burst into flames and crumbled as ashes to the ground. The elven lord suddenly gave a sharp intake of breath and clasped a hand to his chest, his breathing coming in short rasping gasps. Unexpectedly, he whipped around to face Rúmil, his face a mixture of terror and surprise, mouth gaping and arms outstretched in a desperate plea to Rúmil to save him. The young elf ran forward and grasped Celeborn’s hands tight in his own. But as he did so, Celeborn’s face quickly changed before his eyes and became the face of Galaril, who began to laugh wildly at Rúmil. His laugh gradually became high and cold, more manical and deranged and he appeared to grown in stature, finally towering over the poor frightened elf. Then, bending low, he scooped up the ashes that lay at his feet and at once, they morphed into a gleaming circlet which Galaril placed proudly upon his on brow. He threw back his head and laughed triumphantly, his grey eyes gleaming madly.

Rúmil cried out to him to stop but his own voice echoed small and weak in his ears and he knew all was lost …

With a start, Rúmil sat bolt upright in his bed, rivers of ice cold sweat pouring all over his trembling body. His clothes clung to him and his breath came quick and short, his chest seeming to tighten painfully with each desperate intake of new air. Peeling off his drenched clothes, he clambered under the covers, shivering all over with terror as both the dream and the ghastly reality of it all replayed over and over in his mind. The images did not leave him until, overcome with the exhaustion of his own wretched tears, sleep once more welcomed the elf into its embrace, this time offering a restless but dreamless slumber.


*

‘Are you certain this will work?’

‘Positive, brother. No need to fret!’

Elladan still looked more than a little sceptical. ‘Yes,’ he replied slowly, ‘but ever since last time, Erestor has been on his guard more than ever.’

‘Infuriatingly so,’ agreed Elrohir with a short nod and a grin, then, gesturing at the delicate silver flute in his hands, he added, ‘however, if he can guess that *this* is the culprit, by Eru, he deserves to catch us!’

Elladan chuckled. ‘Alright, but it would be prudent I believe for us to be wary and watchful also.’

It was the middle of the day and high above the trees the sun was at her height in the cloudless sky. The Peredhil twins crept stealthily right up to the door of Erestor’s quarters and, after motioning to his twin to be silent, Elrohir bent down and peered through the keyhole.

‘Yes, he’s in there’ he whispered to Elladan before getting to his feet.

But before the mischievous elf could extract the flute from his tunic pocket, there came upon the wind one of the voices they most dreaded.

‘Ah. Elrohir, Elladan! What a pleasant surprise indeed.’

Rolling their eyes, the twins turned slowly on the spot and as they had predicted, they found themselves face to face with a very suspicious and yet highly amused looking Glorfindel.

‘Now, what would two young elves such as yourselves be doing creeping and loitering around here?’ Glorfindel said.

Elrohir succeeded in looking spectacularly affronted. ‘Creeping? Loitering? My dear Glorfindel, we were doing nothing of the kind.’

‘Indeed?’ Glorfindel didn’t look remotely convinced. ‘Then pray enlighten me. What were you doing exactly?’

‘Looking for you!’ Elladan piped up, earning himself a surprised glance from his brother which Elrohir hastily rearranged into an agreeing nod.

‘Yes,’ Elrohir continued, ‘we were looking for you, Glorfindel … because … ah …’

‘We wanted to ask you if you were staying in Lorien for the festival!’ finished Elladan with a look of triumph at his quick thinking.

The Balrog slayer looked a little bemused. Why should he not be attending the festival if he had already been residing in Lorien for a week without another reason? But still, he was never wholly sure of the twins’ grasp on logic and so nodded good naturedly.

Elrohir smiled. ‘That’s good news then! After all, it wouldn’t be a party without Glorfindel!’

Somehow, Glorfindel managed to look modest. ‘Well, thank you indeed,’ and then smirked as he caught sight of the shifty expression on Elladan’s face, ‘you can’t fool me though. Come on. Why are you *really* up here? Yet another taunting for poor Erestor perchance?’

‘Oh, give us a little credit. Would we really pull anything untoward away from home?’ said Elladan.

‘Yes.’ Glorfindel replied dryly. ‘Yes, I believe you would!’

‘I am surprised at you, Glorfindel,’ grinned Elrohir, ‘I thought you knew us by now!’

‘You are correct. I do. This is precisely why I have a good idea of why you’re here and also why I advise you now to leave as promptly as you can.’

‘Why?’ asked Elrohir, raising a brow.

Glorfindel smirked. ‘Your father’s coming this way.’

With a quick exchange of panicked glances, the twins waved cheekily at the approaching Lord Elrond, shot a glare at Glorfindel, and hastily departed down the nearest stairway.

‘Now what?’ Elladan hissed as they reached the ground.

Elrohir glanced around and finally, his eyes fell upon a rather sizable piece of shrubbery. ‘Come on!’ Yanking his brother by the sleeve, he pulled him in amongst the dense (and mercifully thorn-free) foliage and sought out the flute in his pocket.

‘Now, brother, we watch and wait!’

As sure as the twins predicted, Erestor eventually did come down the stairs and came the exact way they were lying in wait. Just as the raven haired elf passed by their hiding place, Elrohir put the tiny flute to his lips and blew. At once, a shrill whistling filled the air and Erestor turned a puzzled expression on his face. The whistling continued and soon, Erestor dug quickly in his ear to try and rid himself of the irritating noise. This was the exactly the sort of cue the twins had been waiting for and no sooner and Erestor touched his ear, the whistling abruptly ceased.

Shaking his head in bewilderment, the advisor continued on his way and the twins, quite pleased at their first success, followed like hidden shadows close behind.



*


Orophin was having a curious morning. First, he could not find a single one of his tunics; and had searched high and low for them, in trunks, under furniture and finally, he discovered them lying in a heap outside his door. Then, on his way down to breakfast, he noticed that Rúmil was sitting there opposite Haldir and muttering quietly but incoherently to himself, apparently oblivious to all that was going on around him.

‘What’s up with him?’ Orophin asked Haldir as he sat down.

‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ replied Haldir shrugging his shoulders but looking worried all the same, ‘he’s been like that since I first came in here.’

Orophin looked up and stared at his younger brother who was now biting his lip and every so often making a “tsk” sounds, rolling his eyes and resuming muttering closely and seemingly darkly to no one in particular.

‘Rúmil?’ Orophin said questioningly, ‘Rúmil, what is wrong?’

Haldir shook his head as Rúmil made no reply and indeed, gave no sign he had even heard Orophin’s voice.

‘It’s no good,’ Haldir said solemnly, ‘I’ve tried talking to him, but he seems to have ventured into his own little world where no one else exists.’

For a while, Orophin watched Rúmil over the rim of his goblet and concern began to grow in his mind. His brother’s behaviour was admittedly more than odd … it seemed maddened, detached … deranged even. Finally, he could stand it no longer. Reaching forward, he tapped his brother hard upon the shoulder and raised his voice louder than before.

‘Rúmil!’ he hissed. ‘What in the name of Eru is wrong with you?’

Rúmil looked up at him and for a fleeting, hopeful moment, both Haldir and Orophin believed him to have finally snapped out of his trance-like state. But the young elf just gazed at Orophin, his expression blank and vacant as though he were staring right through him at the wall beyond. Then, with a deep sigh, he looked away, stood and, without a single word or glance to either of them, walked briskly from the hall. All the while he continued murmuring and whispering to himself and shaking his head as though stuck inside a deep and melancholy woe.

Orophin slowly resumed his seat, gazing after the back of his retreating brother.

‘Something is definitely amiss here, Haldir,’ he said gravely, ‘something really is not
right at all!’

Haldir nodded in complete agreement. ‘Aye, I know. But what is to be done if he will not speak to even us? You saw for yourself just how indifferent he was to our presence.’

Orophin looked thoughtful for a moment before replying. ‘I’ll consult Tarwë about this – see what she thinks about his behaviour. Besides, I am meant to meet her at the stables for a morning ride after breakfast anyway - Oh, don’t look at me like that Haldir. You never know, she may know something, or have seen something that might be a clue to his peculiar behaviour.’

Haldir sighed deeply. ‘You are right, brother. I cannot help my own views on Tarwë, but then, as you are betrothed now; I am willing to give you both my blessing. Forgive me, I should not have reacted as such.’

Orophin smiled. ‘There is nothing to forgive, brother. To know that we now have your blessing is enough.’

Haldir nodded simply. ‘That is well then. You go to Tarwë and I for my part shall seek the counsel of the Lord and Lady, for this matter fills me with a foreboding, Orophin. I cannot say where it sources from, but there was something in Rúmil’s behaviour and in his voice that unsettled me much further than just his mere muttering.’

And so, Orophin, true to his promise to Tarwë (and now with the added reason for meeting her on his mind), headed down to the stables. He sat there alone for a while, revelling in the sweet smell of the fresh hay that had been placed there at first light. All around, the horses stood in their stalls, each and every one possessing a magnificent beauty. Coats of dappled grey, of black, pure white, deep mahogany and slightly rouged browns gleamed and shimmered like silk as the sunlight from the open door danced and frolicked across them. The elf found a blissful comfort in being there amongst these glorious beasts, their warm musky smell and the docile and content noises they made. Leaning forward against the door of one of the stalls, he reached out and gently caressed the muzzle of one of the smaller black mares. Feeling the elf’s loving touch upon her, she inclined her noble head with a soft sound almost like a purr and smiling, Orophin took to scratching lazily behind one of her ears.

‘You’re a beautiful lady, aren’t you’ he cooed to her, his voice like the purest velvet.

The mare looked up at him, her jet eyes shimmering like newly polished precious stones. Here was someone who understood her and loved her; and like all the elves, he had a wondrous gentle hand whose touch she adored. Letting out a soft whinny of appreciation she nuzzled happily into the palm of his hand, causing Orophin to chuckle and smile all the more.

For how long he had waited in the stables, Orophin did not know exactly, though he guessed it might have been just over an hour. Finally, feeling quite perplexed he left his vigil by the black mare’s stall and walked out in search of Tarwë. It was not like her to miss a meeting – especially when it had been she who had arranged it in the first place.

Orophin glanced first into her chambers and looking around, he could see plainly that there was no one there and indeed no sign that anyone had been there since the first morning’s light. Finally, having exhausted all the places he could think of, Orophin took to wandering under the trees, lost completely in puzzled thought. Unbeknown to him however, his expression caught the attention of Haldir who incidentally was also passing that way in his searching for Rúmil. Over the past days, Haldir had been growing more and more concerned for his younger brother, and his behaviour that morning at breakfast had been, for Haldir, the deciding factor. Something had definitely gone awry in Rúmil’s life these past days and Haldir was determined to find out what it was.

But upon seeing Orophin, Haldir stopped to question him. ‘Have you seen Rúmil anywhere, Orophin ?’ Haldir asked, feeling sure he knew what Orophin’s answer would be.

As Haldir expected, Orophin shook his head. ‘Nay, I have no. Not since breakfast.’

‘The Lord and Lady are grieved to hear of his behaviour and sent me to find him, but I cannot locate him anywhere’ replied Haldir with a worried sigh.

‘Well, it certainly seems to be a day for disappearances. I for my part cannot find Tarwë.’

Haldir’s brow furrowed. ‘That is strange you say that for I saw her headed to your chambers no less than an hour ago.’

Orophin stared at him. ‘Really? That is strange indeed for as I was sure she said to meet her at the stables.’

‘Well, in that case, I suspect you both received mixed messages. Perhaps she is still waiting there for you’ Haldir smirked.

‘Oh Eru - ’ was all that Orophin could manage. And thanking Haldir quickly, he took off at a great speed that only a panicked elf could manage; in the direction of his chambers.


*


On several occasions, the skulking twins had almost been caught by Erestor. However, thanks to the thick foliage and their quick, silent movements, they had not yet been discovered and their plan appeared to be working out perfectly. Infact, it has been going so swimmingly that they had evolved their game and were now blowing the flute every single time Erestor was spoken to. As a result, the poor scribe appeared no less than utterly paranoid that there was something sincerely wrong with his hearing.

The twins watched with identical predatory smirks as a young ellon appeared around the base of a tree. Although he only greeted Erestor in passing, Elrohir still on precise cue blew the flute. And sure enough, Erestor’s hand flew immediately to his ear, earning him a most surprised and concerned look from the ellon.

‘Are you quite well?’ the elf asked, beginning to approach.

Erestor nodded quickly. ‘Aye! Tis only a touch of earache.’

The ellon’s expression morphed into one of deep sympathy and then much to Erestor’s relief, asked no more questions and went on his way. At that moment, there came an abrupt cough from somewhere behind and in sync, the advisor and twins turned to look in the direction from whence the sound came.

‘Fin!’ Erestor called out to his friend in warning, ‘I beseech you do not speak to me, for I fear my ears are quite unwell!’

Glorfindel raised a brow, though whether it was in concern or amusement was not discernible.

Elladan nudged his brother and shot him a disconcerted look. Neither of the twins liked to be on the receiving end of that expression for it usually ended in them either cleaning the livestock’s pens; or extra early lectures with Erestor as a punishment for committing a crime they couldn’t remember.

‘Unwell you say?’ he repeated, approaching Erestor and coming dangerously close to the twins’ hiding place. ‘In what way?’

‘Every time someone speaks to me, I seem to get this inexplicable ringing in my ears. High in pitch and I cannot think of any other reason than an ailment in my hearing. Oh Fin! What if – what if I am truly going deaf?’

It took all Glorfindel’s strength to stop himself from snorting in mirth. It really was quite adorable sometimes how naïve Erestor truly was. Somehow, he managed to arrange his face into a thoroughly convinced expression. ‘Deaf? You really believe so?’

The twins exchanged shocked glances. Was he, Glorfindel *actually* falling for it? He was! Indeed, they both were! Grabbing the flute from his brother’s grasp and before his brother could stop him, Elladan let fly another long and piercing note.

As had become quite habitual, Erestor once again clapped a hand to his ears whilst Glorfindel’s lips twitched against his efforts to contain the smirk that was fighting against his duty as a caring friend. Finally, he gave in and chuckled. ‘Dear gullible Erestor’ he grinned. ‘Please, I beg your pardon if I am mistaken in my estimations here but I do not think a mysterious ailment in your ears is to blame for this phenomenon. Rather, I think it is something a little more mundane, though sadly, a little less curable.’

Then, snickering at the utterly dumbfounded expression on Erestor’s face, the Balrog slayer thrust an arm into the bush and yanked out Elladan first and then Elrohir, both now wearing sheepish and yet furious expressions.

‘Hand it over, boys!’ commanded Glorfindel with an air of maddening superiority.

Muttering darkly about spoilsports and extinct senses of humour, the twins turned over their treasured playmate.

‘*Here* is your “ailment”, dear Erestor’ grinned Glorfindel in triumph, holding up the flute for Erestor’s inspection.

Erestor’s jaw dropped and he gaped first at the flute, then at Glorfindel and finally, his gaze fell upon the twins who flinched instinctively under his dark scrutiny.

‘Why you little sneaks!’ he growled through gritted teeth. ‘You made me think I’d just aged several millennia before my time!’

The twins murmured an apology staring fixatedly at their feet.

‘Hmm’ continued Erestor, rolling his eyes and taking the flute from Glorfindel. ‘Clever though, I shan’t deny it. However next time you use it, please do so on someone I too would enjoy seeing vexed – say, perhaps Haldir or even Glorfindel here!’

Glorfindel gawked at him. ‘Hey! In case it escaped your notice, I just helped you out here!’

‘Yes, and I thank you most gratefully for it,’ replied Erestor, eyes glittering with a spark of black humour, ‘however for the countless tricks and pranks you have subjected me to by your own hand, I should dearly like to see you receive a few in return.’ With a smirk, he twirled the delicate instrument between his slender fingers and then handed it back to the twins who were speechless with disbelief at their good fortune.


Straightening up, he turned to Glorfindel. ‘Come. I said I would assist with the final preparations for the festival and you look as though you could use something to do too.’

With that, he turned to go, but Elrohir called out. ‘So…you’re not punishing us? No paperwork? No extra lecture…or telling Ada?’

Erestor looked frankly stunned. ‘My dear Elrohir why on earth should I want to do that? I would much prefer to enjoy a stress free break here just as much as the next elf. Paperwork for a start being out of the question entirely – I should punish you for even suggesting it!’

And with a final jesting grin at the pair of them, he took off, sable robes swishing behind him and a thoroughly infuriated Glorfindel jabbering non stop at his side.


*



Orophin finally reached his chambers after being waylaid by several people wanting to talk with him and throwing them off had not been easy, but right now, Orophin did not care if had mortally offended each and everyone of them. Only one thought remained consistent on his mind. He must get to Tarwë and apologise.. He hoped desperately she would not think ill of him for getting the message completely wrong.

Skidding into the room, he looked frantically around for any sign of her. To his trepidation, he found none and so began searching the other smaller rooms.

Nothing.

Thoroughly disheartened, exhausted and feeling absolutely stupid, Orophin sank down at his dining table.

It was then he noticed the note.

Weighted under the pepper pot, the edges flapped pointlessly in the breeze from the open window. Intrigued, Orophin moved the pot and unfolded the note. As he scanned it, he didn’t at first believe the words that his eyes were telling him were written crystal clear upon the scrap of parchment.



Orophin

I honestly do not know what I was thinking. But still, I feel sure you shall find a wife who can love you as much as I know you deserve. I, though, do not fit those criteria. Should our paths ever cross again or if I should return, I would love to meet her.

I hope you can forgive me. It was fun while it lasted.

Goodbye, Orophin.

- Tarwë.


Orophin had to reread the note several times before the meaning of the words truly sunk in. However, once they did, two phrases stood out above all else.

‘It was fun’

‘Goodbye’

Oblivious to the tears trickling down his cheeks and falling heavily, smudging the ink, Orophin realised there was no not a second to lose. He would *not* lose her. Like a bat out of hell, the young elf bolted out of the door and tore down in the direction of the stables once more his feet slamming hard into the mossy ground beneath his feet. He did not know exactly how, but his instincts told him undoubtedly that that was where she must have gone.

It couldn’t end like this. Not after all that had happened.

After all that had been said – all that *she’d* said.

Upon reaching the stable door, he found that he did not care too much for subtlety or stealth and strode right in, slamming the door behind him causing several of the horses to jump and stare at him in alarm.

‘TARWË!’ he yelled at the top of his lungs. ‘I KNOW YOU’RE IN HERE!’

‘Go away, Orophin’ came a voice from inside one of the end stalls. ‘I’ve made my feelings clear.’

At her words, Orophin felt a hot surge of anger, but nothing enraged him more than how righteous and calm she suddenly sounded.

‘You call this “clear”?’ he cried, wrenching the note from his pocket and shaking it violently in mid air. ‘Leaving a note? Is that how you end it every time, Tarwë, eh? String some poor trusting sap along and then thrust him into sudden oblivion with a damned note?’

He had reached the end stall now and inside beside her horse, Tarwë glowered up at him. ‘How dare you!’ she hissed, her voice low and accusing. ‘You don’t think it was hard for me? To write that – it was the last thing I wanted to do -!’

‘So why do it?’ Orophin cut furiously across her. ‘Come on Tarwë! Give me a blinding good reason and Eru, I may even be fool enough to believe you.’

‘I realised it a few hours after you proposed, Orophin,’ Tarwë continued, her face completely devoid of any emotion, ‘I realised that not matter how hard I try, I just don’t love you.’

With a bellow of fury; Orophin slammed his palm upon the stall door and shook the note in her face. ‘That much I’d figured out for myself,’ he snarled, ‘But why say “yes” mmm? Why agree to marry me if, Eru damn you, you didn’t mean a word of it!’

‘I thought I did … at the time,’ she replied, appearing to be choosing her words extremely carefully, ‘but I realised I behaved rashly and I couldn’t face you so I told you in the only other way I could think of – believe me when I say I only did it … because I didn’t want to hurt you.’

‘Oh! This just keeps getting better and better!’ he yelled. ‘Didn’t want to hurt me? Well, what did you honestly think this would do to me? Did you think I would be grateful? That I should fall at your feet and kiss them in honour of your pure self sacrifice for my own good? That I’d be pleased you’d saved me before I blindly bound myself to you for all eternity?’

‘No, of course not’ she muttered, turning away from his to continue readying her horse.

Orophin watched her for a moment, seething, and finally he spoke again, his voice a touch steadier, but quieter and laced with a hint of danger.

‘So what now? You’re running away? Leaving Lorien for new and distant lands and exotic pleasures? And all on your own too – Tarwë, I am impressed. You’re growing up at last! Still, you remain a coward, Tarwë – and if I am correct in my assumptions, you shall likely remain a lonely coward. For who would accompany you? They all knew about you. Knew about what were would do to me. Haldir was right - they were *all* right. But I am the only one who was blinded to you and the only one who never saw you for what you reall - ’

At that moment, the stable door banged open and an ellon ran in, dressed in complete riding gear. At first, he appeared no to notice Orophin standing there for he said :

‘Tarwë, hurry! Or he shall surely find you and we shan’t ever be able to leave!’

Orophin stared in horror, apparently lost for words.

‘YOU?!’ he managed to splutter out.

It was Saeden.

Time seemed to stand stock still as they simply stared at one another, each not quite believing what he was witnessing, and Orophin fancied he saw a flicker of fear ripple briefly across Saeden’s suddenly drained face.

‘It’s not what you think’ Saeden said finally.

‘Oh, really?’ said Orophin dryly, raising a delicate brow. ‘Then please do enlighten me. I do love a good story – especially the ones about betrayal … and envy … and cowardice. They’re Tarwë’s favourites, are they not, darling?’ he shot a mock smile of adoration at the elleth standing obstinately beside him.

‘Well, Tarwë is leaving Lorien and she asked me to go with her … as company on the journey, you know?’ said Saeden almost pleadingly.

‘Pitiful’ said Orophin, shaking his head. ‘You couldn’t come up with something a little more spicy than that, my friend? However, I do not doubt that she is in need of a companion on a journey as long as the one she is planning to undertake. The poor elleth – it seems she cannot go for very long periods without bedding *someone*!’

Tarwë started but Orophin silenced with a sharp glance. ‘You hush!’ Then, turning to Saeden, he continued, feigning sorrow. ‘Personally, I believe she has a problem. Perhaps when you are on your travels you could seek out medical attention for her. She certainly needs it badly - for more than her carnal obsessions.’

Saeden sighed deeply, biting his lip but before he could say anything in rebuttal, Orophin threw his hands up in despair.

‘Oh, you know what? You are thoroughly welcome to her, Saeden! I hope you’ll be very happy together. Eru knows you deserve each other, you really do!’ he finished with a sarcastic smile and short bow to the pair of them.

Then, turning on his heel, he began to walk towards the door. But as soon as Saeden’s back was turned, Orophin rushed back and giving a cry of white hot fury he leapt at him, sending them both crashing violently to the hay strew floor.

Blinded by his anger, all Orophin saw was red. His fists, clenched and as solid as small boulders pummelled relentlessly at the trapped elf’s face and though Saeden was fighting furiously back, Orophin was completely numb to his own physical pain and instead only concentrated on hurting as much of Saeden as he could possibly reach.

Screaming in terror, Tarwë stood frozen to the spot, her hands over her mouth as the two grown elves fought like rutting deer, each forgetting their long-time friendship in the blistering heat of the moment.

Blood pouring from his nose and bruises beginning to show up all over his face, chest and neck, Saeden flipped Orophin onto his back and struck him a heavy blow across the face as through trying to bring him to his senses, and taking the split second opportunity, he pinned Orophin’s hands down. Though Orophin yelled and struggled, Saeden’s grip was iron tight and finally Orophin contented himself for a time by simply glaring up at him, his chest heaving and breath coming short and rasped.

‘Listen to me,’ Saeden panted, staring at Orophin, ‘please, just hear me out!’

‘What makes you think … I care about anything … your treacherous mouth wishes to speak?’ spat Orophin.

‘Because you would have killed me otherwise,’ said Saeden, nodding briefly at the dagger in Orophin’s belt.

‘Nothing’s worth a kinslaying,’ said Orophin suddenly appearing sorrowful and regaining some stability. ‘Not even *this*’ he added quietly; looking away.

‘Tarwë told me she had already told you to your face and that you seemed relatively at ease with it. She said you knew about her and me now, and that you - that you understood.’

‘And you believed her?’

Saeden nodded.

‘Then you’re as much of a fool as me,’ said Orophin. ‘At least we still have one thing in common.’

And he laughed.

Seeing Orophin’s apparent mirth, Saeden, though confused at first, joined in a little with a quiet chuckle, gradually growing in volume when it appeared Orophin was truly laughing for real.

Then, out of nowhere, Orophin abruptly ceased all his seemingly merriment and he shot like lightning to his feet. Grabbing Saeden by the collar, he thrust him as hard as he could into the nearby wall, causing the elf to cry out in terrible pain as his head made contact with solid oak.


‘Steal my fiancé, would you? Run away with her, would you? Lie through your teeth?’ Orophin shook Saeden so severely that the blood pounded in his head and a trickle of blood oozed out from under his silver hair.

Seizing a moment of Orophin’s slight fatigue, Saeden forced him round against the wall, twisting his friend’s hands behind his back and holding them fast.

‘I’ll follow you!’ he hissed, ‘You’ll never get away with this!’

‘I already have, Orophin,’ said Saeden softly, but without any malice in his voice. ‘Truly, I am so sorry for all the hurt that has been caused, but you’ll see in the end it will be better this way’

‘Really now? Well, you won’t get far. As I said, I shall follow you. All the way to Aman and back if I must!’

Saeden’s grip tightened on Orophin’s wrists. ‘Please, don’t make me do it!’ he sighed.

‘You wouldn’t’ Orophin said, beginning to feel a twinge of fear in his heart.

‘As I said, don’t make me’ continued Saeden, his grip tightening further still.

‘You’re all talk, Saeden. I will follow you and Tarwë and there is nothing you or anyone can do to stop me!’

At his words, an ear splitting crack resounded around the stable, followed by a tumultuous howl of pain.

As Orophin tumbled to the floor in a heap, clutching at his broken wrist, Saeden backed away quickly. ‘Forgive me, Orophin’ he said quietly, looking utterly appalled.

There came the sound of horse hooves and Tarwë rode back through the stable and as she passed, Saeden leapt up behind her. As they rode out of the stable, Saeden looked back around, his face a mixture of anger and utter sorrow.

‘Forgive me!’ he cried.

‘NEVER!’ Orophin screamed back, tears of pain and strife tumbling down his grazed and bruised face. Glaring after them, his face contorted again the harrowing pain and clutching his wrist ever tighter to his chest, he rocked back and forth on his knees, shivering and stammering in his anguish. For one final time, the friends’ eyes met – locked together in a sudden mutual despair.

And then they were gone.

Orophin listened hopelessly to the sound of the disappearing hooves as though they were the sound of his beating heart. Thumping and yet dying, being ripped apart and the pieces blown far away upon a strong wind as the noise grew fainter and more distant. Finally, they faded completely and as he crawled the short distance to the wall, carefully cradling his wrist and steadily inhaling the sweet smell of the horses as though it was a drug that would ease his pain. Collapsing against a stall door, Orophin curled up into a tight ball and wept openly, his tears falling and drenching the straw upon which he lay.


Chapter 5 - Chapter 5

Title: Silver Shadows
Author: Forest
Pairings: Orophin/OFC, Galadriel/OMC
Rating: PG13
Genre: Angst / Drama
WARNING: Violence, Character deaths
Beta/Editor: Shelly
Cast: Haldir, Orophin, Rúmil, Celeborn, Galadriel, Erestor, Elrond, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, OCs
Disclaimer: I own no-one from The Lord Of The Rings. All the characters and place names displayed belong to JRR Tolkien except Saeden, Galaril and Tarwë who are from my own imagination and therefore are the only ones I lay claim to. I do not intend to, nor am I making any financial gain from the writing of this story.
Feedback: Yes please! We aspiring authors thrive on the stuff.
Timeline: AU (to allow for some leeway as regards the practises and ceremonies etc of the elves.)
Summary: (Loosely based on the story of “Hamlet”.) When a tragedy befalls the elves of Lorien, there seems to be little hope for a full recovery. However, through a dramatic chain of events, Rúmil finds himself in an unthinkable situation which forces him to become torn between his oath of wreaking revenge and his deep reluctance to spill elven blood.





~*Chapter 5*~



Haldir had eventually unearthed Rúmil later on that afternoon when it transpired he had been “away thinking”. But still, though Rúmil had been in a vaguely normal state for the remainder of the day, Haldir could not prise rhyme nor reason out of him and his plans to play agony uncle seemed utterly scuppered.

Rúmil, whilst he easily weathered and dead batted Haldir’s attempts to make him talk he was nonetheless extremely irritated by them.

‘Can you not just tell me what you were thinking about?’ cajoled Haldir that evening at dinner.

Rúmil sighed into his wine. ‘Haldir, I have told you now too often than I care to remember. It is none of your concern. Yes, I know you’re my brother, but this I must cope with on my own.’

Not only was the mere idea of Haldir wheedling away completely irksome, but the young elf steadily became more and more afraid that if tested too far, he might let something slip out of pure rage. After all, the oath he had sworn to Celeborn was not something to be taken lightly and the thought pained him greatly. Initially he had been seriously pondering his sanity. However, when that proved intact he took to wondering whether he had really seen Celeborn at all – or was it perhaps someone’s sick idea of a magical prank?

After all, an elf to request a kinslaying? The idea was absurd. And not just any kinslaying either. When it came down to it, Rúmil realised that he was being asked – no, told, to kill the now Lord of Lorien, and his closest friend since elflinghood. And indeed, it would not be enough to just destroy Galaril. He would have to provide a blinding good reason for his actions to the entirety of Lorien, to Galadriel … to Haldir. He supposed there was the vague possibility of an execution, but that again needed solid, unquestionable proof and besides, no elf had been executed to his knowledge since Eöl – and even that, he had been told, had been a rash and heated decision.

But now he had finally convinced himself that he had indeed witnessed Celeborn … or rather, Celeborn’s “spirit” and the torture of having to keep such terribly vital information to himself was extreme in the worst possible sense.

So, he had taken to taking breakfast at first light and then fleeing the city to walk in the woods by himself, amongst the majestic trees that offered only shelter and peace and asked no questions. There he would hide for most of, if not all the day – away from the persistent interrogations, the concerned glances and the festival.

Ai, The festival! Such cause for jubilation and merriment and yet even the thought of it made Rúmil feel sick to the pit of his stomach. Imagining how much of a joyful front he would be forced to masquerade behind; in order to keep everyone convinced there was nothing amiss; frankly terrified him.


More than once under the pressure of his own mind, Rúmil had toyed with the idea of telling someone of the situation – the likeliest candidate being Galadriel herself. But each time, he reminded himself of his oath.

‘Break a sworn oath you had make to a sprirt; and woe betide you.’

Rúmil shivered at the remembrance of such stories he had been told as a youngster that told of people who had done just that, and suddenly, they did not seem quite so entertaining.



Later that evening, Orophin took himself off to the healers to have his wrist seen to. Mercifully, she only asked the necessary questions and set about bandaging it up around a splint. She had told him very sternly not to use it at all for two weeks and then to come back and see her. Thankfully, the broken wrist was not the one he wrote with, which incidentally, was Haldir’s first comment to Orophin when he saw him.

Orophin merely stared at Haldir, not knowing whether he wanted to scream in rage, storm off or fall on his brother and weep. Caught in indecision, he continued staring, his jaws clamped tightly together, entire body stiff and rigid.

Noticing this, Haldir’s attitude altered immediately.

‘Orophin, whatever is the matter?’ Haldir said. ‘First Rúmil and now you!’

Orophin swallowed, the force he felt to finally face the truth of what had happened causing his spent eyes to well up once more.

‘She’s gone’ he said finally. ‘With him!’

For a moment, he stared at Haldir, an expression of purest venom on his face and finally, voice cracking, he threw himself on his beloved brother and let the tears flow.

More than mildly alarmed by this new odd behaviour, Haldir, wrapped his arms about his brother in an attempt to console him with whatever was bothering him, and ushered him gently inside his talan.

‘Now,’ he said, once he’d sat Orophin down with a rather sizable glass of miruvor, ‘tell me everything.’

So, through much stammering and long hesitation, Orophin eventually related the entire sorrowful tale from after he’d left Haldir and found the note, right up to the very moment they were sitting in. Once he’d finished talking and turned his attentions to his drink for a time, Haldir sat quietly, watching him and biting his lip.

He knew it would be tactless and unfeeling to say ‘I told you so’ or ‘I did warn you’. From the distraught and hopeless wretch who now sat before him drowning his sorrows in alcohol, Haldir felt that Orophin had been shown his foolishness and naïvety quite enough. Moving forward he embraced his brother warmly and held him as tight as he could, all the time whispering words of comfort in his ear and rocked him gently as one would cradle a distressed child.



*


The festival was to last the entirety of the afternoon and long into the night. There was a midday meal provided for those who wanted it and the evening was a plan of spectacular musical entertainment and a luscious feast followed by a night of dancing and merry making. In all eyes, it was exactly what Lorien needed to finally make a fresh start after the shocking past weeks.

‘How many times, Haldir? I do not want to go!’

Haldir gazed sadly at his younger brother curled up in his bed and on the whole looking quite pitiful. ‘I shall not pretend I understand what you’re going through, brother, but I really do believe getting out will do wonders for you,’ he pressed.

Orophin sighed into his pillow and looked up. ‘If I agree, Haldir, and I’m only saying “if”, I will go only to the feast in the evening.’

Haldir nodded, knowing it would be the best he would get out of Orophin. ‘If that were your term, then very well.’

‘I’ll come then’ replied Orophin, ‘but as I say, my excuse from the afternoon celebrations is imperative. I just have to be by myself

Haldir gazed sympathetically at him and then bending down, he kissed his brother’s brow lightly. ‘I’m just down in the library if you need me, Orophin.’

Orophin nodded though his eyes were still full of grief. ‘Thank you, Haldir’

Turning at the door, Haldir smiled gently. ‘Get some rest, I’ll be back later.’

Orophin listened and waited until he was sure Haldir was well out of earshot and wrenched the covers off himself. Hauling himself out of bed, he padded softly to the window and opened it. The light breeze slowly eased itself into the room and Orophin, though he was ordinarily refreshed by its gentleness and dewy scent, felt sickened at even its slight caress. Gazing out through the trees, he wondered where they were now. In his heart, he knew Saeden truly had meant no harm by what he had done … but it didn’t stop Orophin feeling a great sense of resentment towards him. And her, Tarwë. For how long had she been planning and scheming?

Reaching for the crystal decanter, the elf poured himself a glass of brandy, the small level of liquid shimmering like molten amber fresh from the furnace. For a moment, Orophin stared into its depths, imagining her face there staring back at him. Shaking off the aggravating images, Orophin downed the glass in one swallow. Shuddering slightly as the strength of the liquor coursed through his veins like lightning, singeing the back of his throat a little, Orophin closed his eyes and felt a strange warmth and sense of release wash over him. For a sweet, blissful second, he was free. A gleeful exile from the prison of his own mind and the images it plagued him with.

Then he opened his eyes once more and saw his chambers again and memories continued their furious assault. Gritting his teeth, Orophin gripped the back of a chair hard as the memories of the previous night flooded back with terrific menace. The note. Saeden’s face - his remarks. Her face – Oh, Tarwë’s beautiful, lovely face and her voice sweeter than life itself … that now scorned him, betrayed him … hated him.

With a cry of utter fury, Orophin hurled the delicate glass with all his might into the empty grate. As it made contact with the icy metal, it shattered into a million pieces, tiny crystal shards skidding and throwing themselves in all directions across the floor.

Shivering all over from anger and complete sadness, Orophin fell to his knees by the window, burning rivers of anguish once again making their appearance. The sunlight from the open window streamed onto his back and the breeze ruffled his fine hair, as though trying in vain in their own ways to soothe and ease his suffering.



*

Throughout the afternoon in Lorien, mainly around the Crystal Hall and surrounding areas, elven minstrels played upon wooden flutes and harps – their beauteous melody ringing through the air and filling hearts with joy and gladness. The coming of Autumn was the herald of ripe and sweetened fruits and thus excellent wines and cordials. It was the bringer of thick golden harvests and the marvellous and best hunting season. The sun also shone more gently in Autumn and yet the weather remained ever glorious – all in all, a great cause for celebration.

Much to Haldir’s comfort, Rúmil showed up at the afternoon’s festivities and seemed heartily at ease – drinking and exchanging cheerful talk with those around him. Indeed, to Haldir it certainly appeared that whatever had been such a weight upon his young brother had now thankfully released him from its bond.

Looking up from his conversation with Glorfindel, Haldir smiled across at his brother and raised his glass. Seeing this, Rúmil grinned and raised his too. However, only Rúmil knew the true reason behind his decision to attend. Nice though it would have been to believe that he was here to make light of his day, he was instead busy keeping an eye out for anything untoward that might happen – especially around Galaril’s direction. He hoped desperately that the murder of Lord Celeborn had been the only one Galaril had planned on but after the success of that … well, it unnerved him greatly to think about what the elf that he once called “friend” would now be all capable of.

As twilight approached, people began to make their way to the Hall, laughing and chattering gaily; their cares utterly forgotten. It appeared all the preparations had paid off handsomely. Four long maple tables draped with gold and crimson tablecloths stood proud, each able of seating forty with a few extra if required. At the north end was a stage, standing proud and decorated with gold gilding in the ornate and intricate likenesses of leaves, fruits, and forest creatures. On its right sat a separate table headed by two magnificent chairs – the table specially reserved for the Lord and Lady.

All around the hall the statues depicting scenes from well loved literature or folk tales had been polished and cleaned so their marble surfaces gleamed as never before. As one entered the hall they were greeted by the soft scents of vanilla and rose sourcing from the various floras that stood in slim pots around the walls. If one looked up, they would see the three dazzling chandeliers. Candles set in silver candelabras were positioned around the hall and their rich flames cast a dusky amber halo upon the walls behind.

‘Well, this certainly wins me over more than any celebration I can remember in Imladris,’ chuckled Glorfindel as they entered, ‘and that’s saying something!’

Erestor smiled. ‘Indeed. Very elegant. However, I warn you, Glorfindel, I shouldn’t repeat that opinion to Lord Elrond. He’s rather … fond … of the small gatherings. Particularly the one celebrating the life and deeds of Felgrion the Wise.’

‘The who?’ Glorfindel stared.

‘I said it was “small”!’ grinned Erestor.

It was not only the guests from other cities who were awed by the grandeur of the Hall and the clear effort that had gone into preparing everything. The Lorien residents also stood in amazement and great appreciation – never in their memories, at least of the past millennia, had there ever been such a festival. The music had never been more gay nor the décor so extravagant and beauteous to behold.

Toying with his melon slice with the rounded side of his spoon, Haldir looked across at Rúmil.

‘Where is he?’ he hissed quickly.

Rúmil shrugged.

Rolling his eyes, Haldir felt both saddened and concerned. He supposed Orophin was now at this moment locked deep within his chambers and deliberately missing out on the feast. But he knew Orophin, and until now, he had never known him retreat upon a solemn promise. Then again, he thought as he mulled over the conversation in his mind, Orophin’s current situation was nonetheless sorrowful. Had he been too hard on his younger brother?

Haldir shook his head. He knew in his heart that the latter was not true in the least. He pitied Orophin greatly and even wished, for his sake, that Tarwë might return. But he did not pretend to be surprised at Saeden’s actions. Haldir did not doubt that the elf was more or less honourable and that his friendship with Orophin had always been genuine. However he also knew that Tarwë could quickly wheedle and coax her way into an ellon’s naïve arms and before he knew what had happened, he would be the next tossed carelessly aside.

Minutes later, Haldir looked up to see his brother entering the hall, his face looking a little flushed. Gazing across the table, Rúmil sighed in relief as Orophin seated himself beside Haldir and his apology for being late was drowned amidst the whispers of anger and regret from his close friends-all regarding Tarwë and Saeden.

‘You told me nobody knew yet’ Orophin glared at Haldir.

‘Only a few do, and that is simply because they were told mixed pieces of news by the stablehands who saw Tarwë and Saeden riding off and you making your way up to the healer’s. They put the jumble of information together and came up with the correct conclusion’ Haldir looked on sympathetically as Orophin nodded.

‘All right. But I want this kept quiet – at least until the celebration is over’ Orophin said, looking round at them all.

Murmurs of agreement and supportive nodding followed this and, very shortly after, Orophin helped himself to a melon slice. Meanwhile, the surrounding talk soon took a different and more trivial turn.

‘Haldir?’ began Glorfindel, sipping gently at his wine; half way through the main course, ‘tell me, have you ever heard of someone called “Felgrion the Wise”?’

Haldir looked up, his fork of venison half way to his mouth and stared at Glorfindel, raising a questioning brow as Erestor sniggered heavily into his goblet.

‘I cannot say that I have,’ he answered. ‘Why?’

Glorfindel shrugged. ‘It was merely something Erestor mentioned earlier. Apparently Lord Elrond holds him in quite a high regard.’

‘Does he now?’ Haldir nodded thoughtfully. ‘Well, chances are either he is an elf only known of in Imladris, or I am even less learned than I profess to be.’

‘Now that *would* be difficult’ grinned Orophin in jest, earning himself a “look” from his elder brother and almost identical smirks from the Balrog slayer and scribe.

Rúmil sat quietly, listening intently and eating slowly, but talking very little. Every so often he would glance up at the Lord and Lady’s table and his jaw would tighten in suppressed rage as he watched Galaril sitting there, laughing and chattering with his fellows. Still, nothing untoward had happened and they were over half way through the evening now. Soon, the dancing would begin and … Rúmil’s stomach flipped when he realised just how difficult it would be then to keep watch on Galaril’s actions.

The desserts that followed the preceding courses were sumptuous and mouth-watering. Meringues with a texture so delicate that they melted away deliciously as soon as they touched your lips, leaving behind a pleasant and light taste of violets. Fruit pies of many kinds, each filled to bursting with luscious summer fruits and encased in golden-brown pastry. Many more sweets stood in silver dishes along the tables and the elves, though not in the least gluttons by nature, still managed second and some; third helpings of the sweets.

Finally, the meal was finished and the last of the plates were cleared away, though leaving the goblets behind for those who still wished to drink. All eyes then turned toward the Lord and Lady’s table for it was the custom in such celebrations as these for the feast to be toasted and the end and just before the dancing and merriment began.

Rúmil watched as an elf emerged carrying two magnificent goblets filled with crimson liquid. He watched carefully, eyes flitting constantly between Lord and Lady and the elf like a squirrel observing its surroundings completely.

‘Rúmil, what are you doing?’ an elf whispered on his right.

Looking up, Rúmil realised he had been leaning a little too far back upon his chair and,, had the elf not said anything, he likely would have ended up sprawled upon the floor.

Glancing across at Rúmil, Erestor grew curious. What indeed *was* Rúmil doing tipping back like that? He shrugged and turned back to the Lord and Lady’s table and as he did so, his sharp eyes caught something that made his brow furrow in puzzlement.

As Galaril took the goblets from the elf and bid him retreat, his back turned to his audience, the advisor noticed him raise his hand over one of the goblets and, unless his vision deceived him, he was sure the elven lord sprinkled something into it.

‘Glor’ he whispered to his companion, and the golden haired elf turned to him in question, ‘Glor, did you know it was customary to add some spice of a kind to the goblets?’

Glorfindel shrugged. ‘Must be a fairly recent development.’

At this, Rúmil’s head snapped around and he stared urgently at the raven haired elf. ‘What did you say?’

Erestor looked surprised at the younger elf’s remark and its sudden distressed tone. ‘Tis only an observation, but I never knew it was the custom in Lorien to add something to the goblets during the toast.’

Rúmil blanched. ‘It … it isn’t!’

Erestor’s eyes widened and before he realised what he had done, he had called out, beseeching Galadriel not to drink from the goblet.

All eyes in the hall turned to face him and Glorfindel stared at his friend in utter alarm. ‘Have you gone utterly insane?’ he hissed through gritted teeth.

‘Erestor of Imladris,’ began Galadriel with a comforting smile, ‘pray, why do you ask this?’

Erestor swallowed, suddenly feeling quite foolish, but there was nothing for it but to carry on. ‘My lady, I fear that the goblet you hold in your hands … has been tampered with.’

There was silence for a few seconds and then someone chuckled. This was quickly followed by a few more bursts of laughter and quite soon the entire hall exploded into shouts of mirth.

Erestor flushed, feeling like a fool.

‘Erestor, why would anyone do such a thing?’ smiled Galaril gently, looking directly at the scribe, the laughter subsiding as he did so.

Erestor stared resolutely back, still not doubting what he saw. ‘I confess, I do not know, my lord. However I feel certain that there is something amiss with the goblet that the Lady now holds.’

Galaril shook his fair head and spoke pleasantly. ‘These goblets have been kept under lock and key and the elf that brought them to me now has been within my sight the entire evening. I fear, Erestor, you are mistaken.’

Erestor, still holding fast to his convictions, rose and stood, fully prepared now to walk straight up to the table. Formality and propriety were one thing, but perilous danger was quite another.

He turned however when he felt a hand clamp tight upon his wrist and saw Rúmil staring up at him.

‘No. I’ll go’ he said quickly.

Erestor shook his head. ‘You have much more to lose than I’ he said flatly and gently shaking off Rúmil’s hand, he strode up to the table, ignorant of the whispers that broke out surrounding his bold actions.

Glorfindel stared after him, his mouth hanging agape. ‘What in the name of Eru does he think he’s doing?’

‘Erestor’ said Galadriel gently, ‘return to your seat. ‘I assure you, my lord is correct. There is no possible way this goblet could have been tampered with.’

Erestor bowed his head and looked up at her once more. ‘Forgive me, my lady. I ask you; beg of you not to drink from that goblet.’

Galadriel looked from the steadfast advisor to her husband and slowly she nodded and lowered the goblet.

Galaril glared at Erestor and for a moment, the advisor felt a shiver of extreme unease ripple through his veins.

‘The elf speaks nonsense’ Galaril scoffed. ‘Go, return to your seat – I believe we have entertained your jests long enough.’

‘He does not!’

Rúmil was on his feet now and Erestor span round to meet the young warden’s eyes which were filled with a terrible dread and determination he had never seen in him before.

‘Rúmil!’ Haldir stared up at his brother in shock. ‘Sit down now and stop this absurdity.’

Rúmil was deaf to his brother’s incensed pleas and instead fixed his eyes upon the front table. ‘Believe him, my lord, I beg of you.’

Galaril stared at Rúmil in disbelief. ‘Rúmil, my friend I regret your actions are rash and quite inexplicable, never minding the fact that you speak with great candour and forget your place!’

He almost spat the last words and glowered at the elf who he thought he could call “friend”.

Turning back to Erestor, he nodded shortly. ‘I suggest you resume *your* place for I believe I have been more than benign towards you, considering your actions.’

Biting his tongue, Erestor nodded and spoke a short apology, then turning and making his way back to his seat, his eyes never leaving Rúmil’s. As he walked, he noted the young warden shaking his head pointedly; the expression in his eyes that had once been of fear was now heightened into pure terror.

‘And now, if we may return to the toast’ Galaril began once again, his voice sounding decidedly more cheerful.

The elven lord’s words rang in Erestor’s mind and he did not hear the furious statements that were hissed at him by Glorfindel as he reached his place.

‘… and now, Autumn is upon us – may she gift us with marvellous yields …’

Erestor stared at Rúmil and then the colour drained from his cheeks as he saw the young elf about to make his own way to the front table.

‘… and now we drink to her health and the wondrous bounty she provides …’

‘NO!’

Whipping around upon his heel, Erestor tore to the front of the hall causing Rúmil to stop in his tracks in shock. His black robes swirled about him and his expression was drained and panicked. Snatching the goblet from Galadriel’s hands he turned back to face the hall.

‘You don’t believe me? There’s only one way then!’

Glorfindel shot to his feet as in sudden dismay, he realised too late what his dear friend was about to do.

Setting the rim of the goblet between his lips, and before anyone could stop him; Erestor drained the contents and set the goblet down upon the table. Time seemed to freeze as all faces watched, each holding their breath, suddenly hoping and praying that the advisor really had been mistaken.

Raising his head, Erestor nodded and turned back to the Lord and Lady and bowed. ‘Forgive me. I meant no harm by my actions.’

Galaril sighed and nodded. ‘Though you have utterly destroyed the toast, I pass forgiveness. You had the welfare of my lady at your heart it seems.’

‘Thank you, my lord’ smiled Erestor, still feeling foolish, but nonetheless grateful. Looking to Galadriel, he felt suddenly small and meek under the scrutiny of her kind, sapphire gaze and even more so when she too nodded her assent for him to retreat.

Standing up, Glorfindel walked to join his friend, shaking his head in disbelief and slight – *very* slight amusement. ‘You and your paranoia, Erestor’ he sighed, taking the scribe’s arm and leading him back to the table.

Rúmil sank back to his chair, his forehead glistening with icy perspiration. Thank Eru Erestor had been wrong. He caught Haldir’s offended eye and looked away quickly. He would face the wrath of his elder brother later - that much he knew for sure.

Erestor nodded, smiling slightly at Glorfindel’s comment. ‘Aye, forgive me, Fin, I was mistak - ’

Quite suddenly, the raven haired elf froze, his eyes widening and his entire torso stiffened. Glorfindel looked around and stared. ‘Erestor …?’

Erestor’s hand flew to his chest and he fell to the floor, his breathing short and ragged. Each breath he drew seemed to cause him immense pain and tiny beads of perspiration began trickling down his forehead.

Terrified, Glorfindel fell to his knees beside the scribe and took him in his arms. ‘Erestor. What is it? What is wrong?’ He glanced up briefly and spied the offending goblet, sitting upon the table and it seemed to gleam with an evil pride.

‘Oh Eru!’

Erestor shook violently in Glorfindel’s arms, coughing all the while, his skin quickly becoming clammy to the touch.

Agitated talk broke out around and several ran to aid the elf but Glorfindel waved them off and shouted in blind fury. Rúmil skidded to their side and bent down.

‘Rúmil’ Erestor managed to choke out hoarsely, taking the young elf’s hand. ‘Rúmil … there’s something … you know … you have to help her … ’

Rúmil nodded quickly and squeezed Erestor’s hand gently, feeling the tears pricking and flowing from his eyes as he watched the advisor struggle, his strength slowly appearing to ebb.

‘Erestor,’ whimpered Glorfindel, cradling the raven haired scribe in his arms. ‘Don’t you leave me here. You fight, you hear me? Hear me! Ai! Erestor, please!’

The coughs that had been torturing Erestor’s throat for the past minutes now subsided briefly, allowing him to looks directly up at Glorfindel, fear flickering in his liquid jet eyes. ‘I cannot, Fin. I … what was in that …? Something … I know not … Fin …’

The Lord and Lady hurried over and Galadriel stared down at the suddenly hopeless elf, her face taught and suddenly petrified. She seemed to shrink before their eyes from their Lady, their Queen, into a lowly elleth. Her status seemed to diminish as she looked on, knowing that even she could not help him; she realised suddenly that whatever was in the goblet had been meant for her. But who would despise her that much to want to? The thought was too terrible to comprehend.

Tears streamed plentifully down Glorfindel’s face, soaking his robes and pooling onto the cold floor below. Leaning forward he kissed Erestor’s brow and cheeks, all the while feeling his friend weaken under the strain of determination to survive. ‘You have to stand, Erestor. We’ll get you to the healers … it’ll all be all right.’ Glorfindel attempted an encouraging smile, but it failed somewhere along the way as Erestor shook his ebony head.

‘Fin … I cannot move … I …I am weak … you have to let me go …’

Glorfindel shook his head. ‘I won’t! Eru, Erestor! You must fight! I cannot lose you – I love you, my dear, beloved friend!’

‘Aye’ whispered Erestor, his eyes flickering in and out of consciousness. ‘I love you too, that is why I ask you now – let me go and whatever happens, do not follow me.’

Glorfindel suddenly fell speechless and hugged his dear friend as close to him as he could.

‘Cuio vae*, Glorfindel’ Erestor said suddenly, his voice now a mere whisper of its former glory.

Sighing gently, the advisor’s eyes fluttered closed and Death caught him gently in a loving embrace.

Crying out in complete anguish, Glorfindel rocked back and forth upon his knees, clutching Erestor’s lifeless form to him. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he wept loud and openly, the pain in his heart raw and excruciating.

All those around the grief stricken elf stood stunned, tears falling silently down their faces as they gazed on in disbelief. Nearby, the Peredhil twins held each other, both sobbing at the sudden loss of their long time tutor and friend. Rúmil sat quite still, lost in his own mind. He should have stopped Erestor. He could have done something … anything. Then, as though on a fleeting wind, the words of Erestor flooded back to him. He had realised that he, Rúmil, knew something and looking up, Rúmil glared absolutely at Galaril.

The elven lord’s face was apparently deeply saddened and his head was bowed in sorrow. However, there was something reflected in his grey eyes that Rúmil recoiled from. This was no accident. Looking sadly back as Glorfindel still held his friend tight to his chest, Rúmil’s eyes narrowed.

You were right, was all he could think. You were right, Erestor – it shall be *her* next and he must be stopped.

Finally, Glorfindel, exhausted from his grief, released Erestor slightly and gazed despairingly into his silent, noble face. ‘No veren ned i themais gurth**,’ he whispered gently. ‘You shall be avenged.’

*

The funeral of Erestor took place the very next day, though Glorfindel himself requested that his ashes be placed in an elegant urn. When they got back to Imladris, they would be scattered amongst the rose garden – the place he knew Erestor held most dear to his heart.

Now, as evening swept over Lorien, it also brought with it a reminder of the fell taste of evil. Everywhere one went, there were no smiling faces. The joyous and happy frivolity of days past; were just that – past. Every ellon and elleth sat and walked around their business with sombre faces, each lost in their own thoughts and deeply fearful. The death of Erestor of Imladris had taken all by surprise and had shaken them hard and long. Now they knew that there was one of their number who had wanted either the Lord or Lady dead, there was a severe feeling of distrust – even amongst the closest of friends. No one appeared to walk anywhere alone and tension was running higher than ever.

Rúmil lay his bed, tossing and turning and absolutely unable to sleep. He stared at the ceiling and finally, with a grumble, wrenched the covers of himself and stood. He dressed quickly in a spare tunic and leggings and, not bothering to lace up his boots adequately, walked out into the dead of night in search of Glorfindel. He had had chances since the festival to speak with Glorfindel alone, but he had put off doing so until now, for the elven lord’s grief had been great indeed.

But now, the young warden knew that the time was right to tell Glorfindel his suspicions. He called for him first in his chambers and when that proved fruitless, he moved through Glorfindel’s haunts of the previous few days – the gardens, the west courtyard. Finally, having had no luck unearthing the Balrog slayer, Rúmil sank down upon a stone and sighed deeply, the dark and coolness of the night seeming to comfort him.

Then, as he gazed aimlessly around his surroundings, his eyes fell upon the kitchen door and standing up, Rúmil sighed once more. It was worth a try at least.

Opening the door, he descended quickly down the stone steps into the kitchen below and was greeted by the dim amber light of a single lit candle. As his eyes adjusted quickly to the light, they fell upon the large preparation table and Rúmil smiled briefly. Glorfindel sat at the table, slowly consuming a large bottle of miruvor and apparently oblivious to Rúmil’s entry.

‘Glorfindel?’ Rúmil said gently, approaching the elven lord with caution. ‘Glorfindel, I must speak with you.’

Glorfindel raised his head and he gazed blearily at Rúmil. ‘What about?’ he replied, his speech a little slurred.

Rúmil sat down opposite him and tried to look as comforting as possible, knowing that what he was about to say would most likely reopen the wounds Glorfindel was trying so hard to heal.

Glorfindel regarded the young elf with an intent expression, the level of alcohol he had consumed making him feel slightly light headed, but still unfortunately sober enough for a coherent conversation.

‘Glorfindel … I know who tried to kill Galadriel – and therefore, who killed Erestor.’

Glorfindel stared at him and his lips grew thin. ‘Who?’ he said simply, his voice betraying his scepticism.

‘Galaril’ replied Rúmil, staring determinedly into the elf lord’s eyes.

For a moment, silence reigned and then Glorfindel hung his head. ‘How can you expect me to believe that? He’s the Lord of Lorien and he loves Galadriel. No … you must be mistaken.’

Rúmil shook his head violently. ‘Nay, I know I am not! Do you not want to avenge Erestor? Well this is your chance to do it!’

Glofindel banged his fist down upon the table causing the surface to shudder and Rúmil to wince. ‘Of course I do!’ he yelled. ‘But you have no proof of this. None whatsoever and so you cannot help me!’

‘But Erestor knew it was Galaril. He realised that something was wr - ’

‘He’s dead! Rúmil, do you still not understand? Even if Galaril did want his *wife” dead and Erestor somehow knew this, you still have no proof because he won’t be able to testify that for himself! Ever!’

Hanging his head, Glorfindel exhaled slowly, his shoulders shaking as he tried to contain the tears that were once more pricking insistently at his eyes.

‘I do have proof,’ Rúmil said finally, knowing that there was now no other way to convince Glorfindel.

Glorfindel looked up. ‘Oh yes? What is it?’

Rúmil paused, suddenly remembering his oath. Then, shaking his conscience from his shoulders, he spoke quickly. ‘Celeborn told me’.

A ringing silence fell about the pair and Glorfindel moaned in sorrow. ‘So, it gets better still. Not content with taunting me regarding Erestor’s unfortunate demise, you wish to remind me of your own suffering? Is that it? You want a companion in your grief – or have you really gone quite mad? Well, whichever it is, Rúmil you are most definitely going the wrong way about getting any sympathy from me!’


Rúmil’s cheeks flared and his eyes gleamed in sudden anger. He had just revealed the most important piece of information he had ever concealed and now Glorfindel was treating it as insanity or mockery. Glorfindel of Imladris, the Balrog slayer and one of the most feared and respected elven lords from here to Aman was refusing to believe the one fact that might bring him peace.

At this thought, Rúmil grew quite incensed. ‘Do you not understand, Glorfindel? I KNOW who murdered Lord Celeborn and who now sits upon high. Celeborn himself came to me and told me so!’

‘Close your mouth, Rúmil of Lorien, or I warn you, you may go too far!’

‘Does it look like I care now?’ Rúmil retaliated, his fury overpowering him. ‘Believe me, Glorfindel! Galaril murdered Celeborn and he tried to murder Lady Galadriel the other night, only Erestor caught the blow instead. Glorfindel, will you listen to me?!? Galaril and I have been friends for as long as I can remember – why would I wish him brought to such justice and for such crimes if I wasn’t wholly sure in my convictions?’

Glorfindel stared at the table and rubbed his temples. Then, he looked up at Rúmil. ‘All right’ he said finally, nodding. ‘I believe you. But what can be done? No one else will, that is for sure.’

Rúmil smiled grimly. ‘No they won’t – not if we just tell them. However … I have a rather interesting idea … ’

Glorfindel leaned forward across the table. ‘You have my attention, Rúmil of Lorien,’ he said. ‘Please, continue.’


~*~


* Live well
** Be joyous in the halls of death


Chapter 6 - Chapter 6

Title: Silver Shadows
Author: Forest
Pairings: Orophin/OFC, Galadriel/OMC
Rating: PG13
Genre: Angst / Drama
WARNING: Violence, Character deaths
Beta/Editor: Shelly
Cast: Haldir, Orophin, Rúmil, Celeborn, Galadriel, Erestor, Elrond, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, OCs
Disclaimer: I own no-one from The Lord Of The Rings. All the characters and place names displayed belong to JRR Tolkien except Saeden, Galaril and Tarwë who are from my own imagination and therefore are the only ones I lay claim to. I do not intend to, nor am I making any financial gain from the writing of this story.
Feedback: Yes please! We aspiring authors thrive on the stuff.
Timeline: AU (to allow for some leeway as regards the practises and ceremonies etc of the elves.)
Summary: (Loosely based on the story of “Hamlet”.) When a tragedy befalls the elves of Lorien, there seems to be little hope for a full recovery. However, through a dramatic chain of events, Rúmil finds himself in an unthinkable situation which forces him to become torn between his oath of wreaking revenge and his deep reluctance to spill elven blood.

Author’s Notes:

- This is the longest chapter I have ever written in my whole entire life. 31 pages!!! *dies* Excuse me whilst I go give my hand rest.

- I do not own the brief dialogue from Disney’s The Lion King used later in this chapter.

- Finally, I also do not own his royal sentinelness, Lurien. He is borrowed with Julie and Fianna’s permission. Cheers ladies! (And, of course, with his permission too!)

- Also, I would just like to say that this final chapter is dedicated to Shelly, for without whom; the outcome of this fic really would not have been possible. She has been an invaluable beta and editor and helped me immensely, especially with this final chapter which has been a pig of a chapter to get onto paper. So, here’s to you Shelly! *raises glass* May elves, caramels, toffee and butterscotch rain jovially and continually across your path.




~*Chapter 6*~


Glorfindel had not slept at all well. The memory of his exchange with Rúmil had haunted him and chased away any desire for slumber, and so he had sat upon his balcony for the reminder of the night until finally, he watched in silence as the sun began to rise. Slowly at first, creeping through the treetops, gently rousing each and every leaf with a loving golden kiss. Then suddenly, it burst into bloom and flooded the lands around with its warmth and glorious light.

Now though, he stood outside Rúmil’s door. The sun’s light didn’t quell the darkness that now resided within his heart and her warmth could not prevent him from shivering all over as realisation of the situation at hand finally struck him a heavy blow. Breathing deeply, he shook his resolve and rapped smartly upon the wood.

Rúmil, who had been sitting upon his bed since dawn, scrunched up tight with his knees drawn up close to his chest and anxiously biting his nails, leapt to his feet as the short request for entry shattered the painful silence. Opening the door, he quickly bade the elven lord entry and then hastily locked and bolted it.

With a sigh, Glorfindel sank down upon a spare chair and then simply gazed hopelessly at Rúmil.

‘Did you get any sleep?’ asked Rúmil concernedly, turning to face him.

‘What do you think?’

Rúmil looked away, a little hurt; but not in the least surprised by Glorfindel’s sharp tone.

‘Forgive me,’ said Glorfindel, his voice much softer, ‘Nay, I did not. Did you?’

Rúmil shook his head and replied that he too had not found rest the previous night. His head had been spinning with the continuous onslaught of images and thoughts of what he and Glorfindel had now planned to do. He knew also that in doing so, he would avenge Lord Celeborn – but what then? What would become of him, Rúmil? Would Galaril appear to him as Celeborn had done, seeking revenge upon him – would he be cursed and forever plagued by the deceased royals of Lothlorien?

Though in themselves the ideas seemed ludicrous, knowing the full potential of the crime they were about to commit chilled the young warden to the core. Glorfindel sat quietly now, his hands folded against his mouth and apparently thinking deeply.

‘Rúmil …’ he said finally, staring resolutely forward. ‘What if we’re wrong?’

‘Then we shall surely be banished from Lorien for evermore’ Rúmil replied with a strained laugh that rang in his ears, sounding high and feigned.

Sinking back down upon the bed, Rúmil buried his head in his hands and sat there quite silently for a time. How had it come to this? That he should be forced to betray the one friend he had known all his life. And yet . . . and yet Rúmil no longer recognised Galaril to be that very same elfling. When he looked into his eyes now, all he say reflected back was a cold hard stare – the playfulness and joy of centuries gone by, now utterly forgotten.


~~~

The two young elflings gazed up with wide, pleading eyes; and the elleth they were beseeching stared back, her resolve which had been at first utterly determined, finally weakening under the strain of their young and seemingly desperate scrutiny.

‘Oh, all right!’ she cried finally, flinging her hands up in submission and wagging a finger pointedly at them. ‘But don’t you let on to anyone that I have permitted this. If I even hear one word about this from him, I shall know precisely which pair of troublemakers shall not be going to play in the evenings for a *very* long time!’

The elflings nodded rapidly and made for the door in haste, the smaller only pausing to turn and bow cheekily to her with a grin.

The elleth laughed merrily and curtsied. ‘Now, be off with you, young Rúmil, and be sure to arrive back here at the time you decreed.’

Rúmil nodded once more. ‘Of course, Ionë.’ With that, at the beckoning of his friend, Rúmil ran jovially from the talan leaving Ionë chuckling amusedly to herself as she resumed her darning, humming contentedly. She was certain that no harm would come to the pair. After all, they were old and tough enough to take care of themselves for a while.

Rúmil ran as fast as his legs could carry him for Galaril had streamed far ahead, laughing in glee as he went, and Rúmil finally caught up with his friend upon the bridge that headed towards the West Gardens. Galaril sat upon the edge, dangling his legs pointlessly above the gentle moving water that flowed several inches below his feet.

‘I cannot believe she finally allowed us out’ said Rúmil, seating himself beside his companion.

‘Aye!’ grinned Galaril, turning to face him. ‘The look on her face though when he suggested the idea . . . Eru, I really thought fire would begin spouting from her mouth!’

Rúmil laughed heartily and nodded. ‘Thankfully, she did not and here we are. Our first outing this late into the evening,’ he paused, nodding toward the dining hall from which grown ellon and ellith were currently departing. ‘See? Even the elders are heading to bed after supper and we, the young elflings, are still wide awake!’

‘The whole of Lorien is open now for us to explore as we will!’ replied Galaril, excitement gleaming in his young eyes like starlight.

‘Yes. Though within the hour that Ionë has gifted us with.’

Galaril sighed and gazed skywards. ‘One whole, precious hour. How much can we explore in that time do you think?’

‘Oh, quite a bit I should imagine’ replied Rúmil, smiling. ‘I tell you how we can make the most of it.’

‘How?’ Galaril shifted his gaze back to his friend and stared at him, listening intently and hanging on to every word that left Rúmil’s mouth.

‘Well, where would you like to go? Where have you always wanted to go to the most in Lorien at night?’

‘Anywhere?’ Galaril said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a slight smirk.

Rúmil snorted. ‘Well, within decent reason.’

Galaril pouted for a moment and then appeared to be thinking hard. ‘In that case, I would love to visit the Lord and Lady’s talan.’

Rúmil stared at him, his mouth falling agape. ‘Have you gone quite mad? We can’t just waltz in there uninvited, *and* at this hour too!’

‘No, you fool,’ Galaril laughed, rolling his eyes. ‘I just want to stand beneath it at night with no grown ups around. Have you seen it at night, Rúmil? I heard it glimmers and shines like no other dwelling ever did. As though the very stars themselves line the walls like perfect jewels and the purest, thinnest silver in the world is a veil over the talan, making it seem to glow with the radiant light of Ithil. I have never seen their talan at night, Rúmil, and I would adore to visit it when I am young as I am now. For when I grow up, I surely will not have the utter carelessness in my heart to appreciate its complete beauty.’

Rúmil stared once more, this time in awe as opposed to disbelief. ‘Galaril, I have never heard you speak quite like that about anything before. All right, we shall go. My only hope is that the reality shall do justice to your imagination.’

So, talking in hushed whispers, the exhilarated elflings crept slowly to the place where the Great Mallorn stood, occasionally having to dip in and out between the trees to avoid being noticed by passing elves. At last, they stood right by the roots of the Great Mallorn and gaped upward. Just as Galaril had described, the Lord and Lady’s talan was a vision of splendour. The intricate architecture wove around the lofty trunk and the beauteous silver light that sourced from the talan in question stole their breath away.

‘So, what do you think?’ Rúmil asked finally with a smile. He had seen the talan at night a couple of times before, for as Haldir was the Marchwarden, he had often had to detour there on their way home.

Galaril’s mouth opened and closed in wonder and words appeared to utterly fail him. Then, he spoke in a whisper. ‘Rúmil, it’s even more beautiful than I could ever have imagined. I could stay here and look at it forever.’

Rúmil chuckled and nodded. ‘Would you like a closer look?’

Galaril turned to him, an expression of sudden amazement upon his young features. ‘Yes . . . but we cannot possibly go up there! There is no way, and besides, the sentinels would surely catch us!’

Rúmil grinned knowingly and tapped his nose. ‘Ah, my friend. Just follow me.’

They made their way up the stairs swiftly, dodging the sharp eyes of the sentinels and wardens by ducking behind pillars and the liquid like movements that only a small elfling could achieve. Then, quite suddenly, they froze. An older sentinel whom they had passed by upon the flet below was heading straight for their hiding place, a determined and grim expression on his face.

Rúmil and Galaril exchanged identical petrified glances and stood rooted to the spot, waiting for the sentinel to peer around the pillar and discover them.

‘Lurien! What in Eru’s name are you doing?’

The sentinel turned and stared back down the steps at an elf that stood, hands on hips looking slightly amused.

‘I thought I saw someone run up here’ the one called Lurien replied, glaring icily at his fellow.

‘It’s all in your head. I have said it for years and now here is the proof.’

‘But there is someone up here - I *saw* them!’ Lurien protested. ‘Look, if you do not believe me, come and see for yourself!’

Rúmil hastily clamped a hand over Galaril’s mouth to stifle the gasp of horror that very nearly escaped.

Thankfully, this offer only seemed to aggravate the other elf for he replied with some viciousness: ‘Oh, do stop playing the fool, Lurien – it really doesn’t suit you! If I were you, I’d get back to your post where you belong and stop with this foolishness.’

Muttering darkly, Lurien retreated swiftly back down the steps, only glancing back for an instant as though determined to prove his companion wrong in the extreme. When nothing and no one appeared, he grumbled some more and disappeared around the corner.

Galaril released the breath he had been holding for quite some time and looked at Rúmil half in fear, half in triumph. ‘That was close!’

‘Too close’ agreed Rúmil. Taking his friend by the arm, he hauled him up the final flight of steps until they stood just below the Lord and Lady’s talan. If Galaril had thought it looked beautiful from the ground, it was nothing to how he felt now. Along with the pure translucent light that emanated from it, there seemed to be a warmth surrounding it and for a moment, Galaril fancied he even caught a note or two of a haunting melody being sung upon the air.

He was jerked most unhappily from his trance however, with a dig in the ribs and another quick dash for the wider pillar below them. Looking questioningly at Rúmil, Galaril raised a brow at his friend.

Rúmil, in answer, gestured briefly to a tall figure exiting the talan and after conversing quickly and quietly with someone who Rúmil recognised as Lord Celeborn, began making his way down the stairs. It was Haldir!

‘Come on!’ Rúmil hissed to Galaril and pulling his friend behind him, he tore down the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him, but was stopped short when he felt a hand clamp down upon his shoulder. Wincing, Rúmil scrunched his eyes shut in bitterness and turned to face the solemn face of his elder brother.

‘What are you two doing up here?’ Haldir asked his voice seemingly patient but Rúmil hung his head at the note of disappointment.

‘We were just being curious’ he replied, talking to his feet.

Haldir nodded. ‘All right, but why were you being curious here? You of all people should know Rúmil that this place is off limits to anyone without the request of the Lord and Lady, and especially so to elflings.’

‘You bring me here!’ Rúmil protested, glaring up at his brother suddenly.

‘That is an entirely different matter’ replied Haldir, waving the comment aside with his hand. ‘The point is you should not have come up here and you know that, Rúmil. Besides, you were putting yourself directly in danger!’

Rúmil stared at him. ‘How would we be in danger?’

‘The sentinels would not have known who you were and some of them would shoot on sight and ask questions later. Not all of them, but some of them would and I suspect you would not be willing to let that happen to yourself or Galaril.’

Galaril had been wondering when his name was going to crop up and he flinched as Haldir’s gaze shifted to him for a moment.

Rúmil nodded. ‘I apologise, brother. We just wanted to make the most of being out at night.’

At this, Haldir smirked. ‘Oh? And tell me, why *were* you out this late anyway?’

Rúmil mentally kicked himself. He knew that telling Haldir the real reason would cause Ionë to get into a great deal of trouble. Then again, he liked Ionë and hated seeing her upset.

‘We sneaked out’ Rúmil replied quietly.

‘I guessed as much’ Haldir rolled his eyes. ‘And you left poor Ionë by herself? Whatever she must think of you I honestly do not know!’

Rúmil bit his lip, feeling greatly relieved for her sake (and in the end, his too) that Haldir believed him. ‘So, what now?’ he asked.

‘You two are coming home with me so you cannot wreak mischief or go elsewhere where you are not permitted.’

With that, Haldir led the two elflings back down the stairs and as soon as Lurien saw them, he nudged his companion quite roughly and nodded towards them.

‘See?’ he hissed. ‘I told you. I am not so unbalanced and deluded as you so kindly suggested!’

Rúmil couldn’t help it. At the sentinel’s words and unbeknownst to Haldir, he looked over his shoulder and stuck his tongue out with a grin.

The sentinel standing by Lurien burst into laughter at the brazenness of the elfling and combined with the astounded and slightly offended expression on Lurien’s face; it was crystal clear his hilarity would not be calmed for a while.


~~~

‘Rúmil?’ Glorfindel moved to seat himself beside the young warden upon the bed and draped an arm around him gingerly, not knowing whether it would comfort or enrage him. Shuddering, Rúmil raised his head to look directly at Glorfindel, his eyes terribly glassy and bloodshot.

‘Glorfindel,’ he sighed finally. ‘We *are* right. I know we are.’

‘But Rúmil, apart from this vision of Lord Celeborn, you have no proof!’

Rúmil sighed, rose and stood by the window, gazing out at the dawn. ‘We have been through this, Glorfindel, and yes, despite your continuous desire to believe otherwise, I do have proof. I know what I need to know and for me, that is enough. I only hoped it would be enough for you too.’

Glorfindel sighed and stared up at him, his arms spread in an expression of a man gone beyond all hope. ‘Oh, Rúmil. I just don’t know. If you’re right, we’re in unthinkable trouble and if you’re wrong . . . well, then we’re in worse!’

‘Glorfindel,’ Rúmil continued, turning back around to face him. ‘Answer me one question. If that had been you lying there dead instead of Erestor, you would surely want your killer brought to justice, whoever he may be, wouldn’t you?’

Glorfindel sprang to his feet, eyes burning. ‘Don’t you turn this round on me, Rúmil, for it is not fair and you know it!’

‘I have to!’

‘Why?’

‘Because then you will realise that this has to be done, and damn the consequences!’

For a time, they stood, each glaring at the other until finally, Glorfindel inhaled deeply and nodded. ‘All right. All right, I am with you on this once and for all.’

‘No more doubting?’

‘You have my word’.

‘Good’.

Glorfindel closed his eyes for a moment and when he reopened them, Rúmil was holding out a spare cloak.

‘Come. They shall both be awake by now.’

Glorfindel took the cloak, albeit a little despondently and fastened the tiny clasp that held it fast at the nape of the neck and followed Rúmil to the door.

‘Let’s get this over with then.’


~~~


‘How long precisely do you intend on us remaining here?’

Saeden looked up from tending the fire, a grim expression on his face. ‘However long we must, Tarwë.’

Grumbling, the elleth returned to the small book she had carried with her which only cause Saeden to frown further.

‘You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to offer some assistance once in a while!’ he snapped.

‘Ah, nay. I could not, not when you are doing such a fine job’ Tarwë replied with a grin.

Saeden flung down the plank of wood upon the fire in utter fury and stood, glaring at Tarwë. ‘You know, I’m beginning to think Orophin was right about you.’

Tarwë’s head snapped up and she glared at him. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, her voice laced with a hint of distaste at the sound of Orophin’s name.

‘Well, you bring me out here saying that it’s all going to be wonderful and we’re going to have a new life and then what happens? I get stuck doing all the hard work whilst you play host to your fancied whims. Frankly, Tarwë, I do not know how much longer I am able to put up with this.’

‘I apologise if you feel that way Saeden, but you knew it would be tough. You’re with me now though, and that’s what you wanted after all isn’t it?’ Tarwë stood and draped an arm about his shoulders in an attempt to console him.

Saeden shrugged off her arm and made to lean against a tree, facing in the opposite direction. ‘I don’t know anymore, Tarwë. I thought I knew I wanted you, but now I am not at all certain. Besides, I cannot stop thinking about what we did to Orophin. It was not fair to him – no one deserves that to happen to them.’

‘You’re speaking nonsense, Saeden. I know you want this as much as I do. Forget Orophin. He and all that happened is in the dust behind us. We’ve got the rest of immortality to look forward to together and we never have to go back to Lorien ever!’

Saeden turned round to look at her, staring down at her with a frank determination and bitterness. ‘That’s another thing. My heart belongs in Lorien, Tarwë. I cannot be fated to travel the road like a vagrant when I know that I shall never be happy until I am back amongst those silver boughs once more.’

‘Ai!’ Tarwë glared at him. ‘We can settle elsewhere Saeden. Mirkwood, Imladris … there are surely other realms that would welcome us.’

‘You’d be surprised, Tarwë. Other elven realms, especially Mirkwood, do not welcome strangers easily, if at all unless they have business there.’

Tarwë sank down on a tree root and stared resolutely into the fire. ‘Well, never mind. We *will* be all right, Saeden. We’ll take care of each other.’

Later that night, Saeden sat wide awake gazing into the burning golden embers of the fire. The more he thought about what had been done, the more he realised what must be done. Looking up, he saw their two horses sleeping soundly and cushioned against each other for extra warmth and a sense of protection. One of the horses was the very same they had left Lorien with. The other was wild and yet as soon as she had seen the two elves riding through the woods, she had approached them as though transfixed and nuzzled into Saeden’s hand as though begging them to take her on whatever adventure they were destined for.

He noticed how lovingly the two beasts were settled and gazed instinctively across at Tarwë and an expression of pure sadness flickered across his face. She slept separately from him and apparently as far away as she could without leaving the clearing completely. He had loved her, or thought he had, that much was true. But now he couldn’t even bring himself to ask to share her bed. He wasn’t going to beg and he now was quite certain that even should she offer, he would refuse.

No, there was much to be straightened out from this terrible mistake. The entire affair had been one dreadful error and all Saeden could think about now was how he had betrayed Orophin and failed him as his friend. Standing to his feet, he swiftly packed and waking the horses gently, he swung the pack onto the Lorien horse and the chestnut mare stood instinctively, her jet orbs gleaming in excitement. What wondrous and thrilling journey was her master leading her on now? She nuzzled his shoulder gently and Saeden smiled, stroking the warm velvet of her muzzle.

Once he had readied the horses, he padded over to where Tarwë lay and prodded her.

‘My love?’ he said as she looked up at him, now thoroughly awake. ‘I am leaving, love. Follow me if you will, but if you do not hurry you shall be left transportless.’

Tarwë sprang to her feet. ‘You cannot be serious, Saeden! This is utter madness!’

‘Tarwë, I no longer care for your opinion. And if this is, as you say, madness, then surely it is the sanest and reasonable kind I have felt in my entire life.’

With that, he swung himself onto the gleaming stallion’s back and turned back. ‘As I say, follow me if you so desire, but I feel certain that our new found friend shall follow me regardless of your progress.’

Tarwë sat down and grinned. ‘All right then. You leave. See if I really care, Saeden!’

Saeden shrugged, slightly surprised by how reasonable she was being and bent low to whisper in the horse’s ear. ‘All right then. Let’s get back to Lorien shall we?’

The horse harrumphed and stamped his foot impatiently. He too longed to be back in the Golden Wood and away from the rough land. He missed his companions and would now stop at nothing to get back to them. Therefore, when Saeden’s foot kicked him, signalling that he wanted to go, the horse sprang away jovially at full gallop, his tail streaming like a glorious banner behind him.

‘Saeden … you’re not *really* leaving?’ Tarwë stood in alarm and looking around she saw that the chestnut mare was already trotting forward, gathering speed. With a cry of rage, she quickly grabbed everything that belonged to her and swinging her pack onto the mare’s back, she kicked her sides and the mare followed suit to the stallion who was now growing more and more distant.

‘Saeden of Lorien, you get back here this instant!’ Tarwë yelled at the top of her lungs. But however much she yelled and screamed, he would not turn back. He rode now, a broad smile lighting up his features which had been down and melancholy for the past days.

He travelled faster than he had ever done in his life – all he knew was he must reach Lorien as fast as possible and the magnificent beast below him seemed to be harbouring the identical mentality. His hooves scuffed up dirt and stones and he tossed his head in pure happiness, neighing in pure happiness as his mane was caught and whisked about like a silver wave upon a turbulent ocean. Saeden laughed out loud as the wind blew hastily past his cheeks, causing his own hair and cloak to mimic the stallion’s mane and tail.

He was going home and never had his life felt more gleeful. He knew he would have to attempt to straighten things out with Orophin but until then, he just craved for a glimpse of the golden leaves and beautiful boughs that would herald their homecoming.

~~~


Rúmil bowed deeply and straightened up. His mouth felt completely dry and his head was spinning. Chancing a fleeting look at Glorfindel, he noted that the golden haired elf lord looked decidedly ill and who could blame him?

‘You come here with an important request’ Galadriel said as the two elves looked up again.

Rúmil inclined his head, gratitude flooding through him that Galadriel herself had started the exchange. ‘Aye, my lady,’ he replied. ‘Myself and Glorfindel humbly seek your permission for this evening to perform a play of modest length, but with a great narrative that we feel sure would enthral you and be cause for great ... ah … reflecting after it reaches its conclusion.’

Galadriel seemed to consider their proposal for a moment whilst Galaril merely stood looking as regal and stoic as ever. However, despite being forever indebted to the fact that his lord and one time friend apparently had no inkling whatsoever of their true intent, Rúmil took great care not to ever meet Galaril’s eyes. For he was fully aware that the fear and revulsion would gleam forthright within his, Rúmil’s eyes during even the briefest of glances

‘Pray, tell me,’ Galadriel spoke finally to the pair. ‘What tale will this play you suggest chronicle?’

‘Alas, one of great woe, my lady’ replied Glorfindel with the air of one completely determined, but still extremely polite. ‘’Tis the tale of two, alike in kin and yet one harbouring a secret desire to see the other overthrown from his position. I feel there is much to be gained, my lady, from presenting this play.’

‘And what exactly might these rewards be?’ Galaril questioned suddenly, his voice like velvet and eyes gleaming with a swiftly stifled flurry of conflicting emotions.

‘Only that it would be right and honourable. My lord and lady, the play itself was one of great worth and importance to Erestor, and I know I for one should like to see it performed at least one last time – if for nothing else; than for a tribute to his noble life.’


Rúmil gaze snapped to Glorfindel and hastily arranged his surprised expression into one of affirmation. He would never have dreamt that Glorfindel would come up with such a reason as that. But by Eru, was the young warden ecstatic that he had. Surely, surely there was not way they could be refused now!

Sure enough, Galadriel finally nodded. ‘In that reasoning, I shall gladly permit your wishes and I for one shall await this coming evening with curiosity and great respect.’

The pair bowed quickly and took care to voice their thanks most graciously before departing the flet with Lady Galadriel’s favour. Whether Galaril had caught onto the real reasoning behind their upcoming performance, Rúmil didn’t care to know. All that mattered now were the hours that lay between the current moment and the evening. The work that must be accomplished was relatively small as they had decided to make up the dialogue to a certain extent – after all, they were not entering into this purely for the sake of entertaining their fellows. However, what worried Rúmil most was that if they weren’t able to convince the crowds of their suspicions – if Galaril remained as steadfast as ever … the outcome would be too terrible to imagine.


~~~

Rúmil couldn't believe it. For once he had been so sure of himself - of his convictions. And now, seeing all his fellow kin milling into the Hall and abuzz with curiosity at why they had all been summoned at one time, made his stomach do backflips. He realised now that if either Glorfindel or himself even hinted at the real reason behind their performance, if anyone suspected that all was not what it seemed - then they were doomed.

Moving around to the side of the stage, Rúmil sat down beside Glorfindel who looked up instinctively.

'Are you all right?' Rúmil asked softly.

Glorfindel swallowed hard and finally nodded. 'Aye. Let us just hope they don't see through our masquerade before the time comes.'

Rúmil managed a weak smile and looked once more to the gathering crowds, sighing. 'It seemed they were more than willing to support something so charitable and heartfelt,' he said quietly. 'I spoke to Haldir today, Glorfindel, and he thinks that what we are doing "in memory of Erestor" is something extremely worthy of praise and merit. Do you know what else he said, Glorfindel?'

'No,’ replied Glorfindel. ‘What?'

'He said he was proud of me. I tell you Glorfindel, when he said that it was like having a dagger plunged into my chest and scraped around inside my very being. I would in fact rather have had that happen than to hear those words emanate from my brother's mouth when I know I have deceived him completely.'

Glorfindel looked on pensively for a moment before taking Rúmil's quivering hand in his own. 'You know that I too fear greatly for the outcome of this, Rúmil. But I also know we are doing the most right and honourable thing we could ever do; and therefore you should not mourn your actions. For whatever happens, Rúmil, Haldir will always love you and always be proud of you - even if this ends in bitter tears and no-one believes us and so we are banished forever.'

Rúmil looked up to face Glorfindel, his grey eyes suddenly aflame with determination. 'They will believe. They have to. I have not gone through the burning fire of this pain and torment to have it carelessly tossed aside by narrow sceptiscm. I will make them believe, Glorfindel. *We* will make them believe it together!'

Glorfindel smiled and he squeezed Rúmil's hand. 'That's better! Now, what say we make Galaril pay for all he has done to Lorien and show him to all for what he really is?’

Rúmil nodded vigorously and clenched his jaw. 'Yes, Glorfindel, you are right,' he paused and clenched his jaw, glancing briefly across at where the Lord and Lady now sat, waiting. 'Let's get this done.'

The moment the two players mounted the stage, there was immediate hush in the Hall. A chair and a desk had been laid out upon the stage, as had a pile of parchment and a quill. All eyes turned to them and Glorfindel made his way to the front.

‘I suspect you all wish to know why you have been called here together tonight,’ he began. ‘Well, Rúmil and I wish to perform a short piece for you – you see, it was one of Erestor’s favourites. We all who knew him realised what a dark and morbid imagination our dear scribe had.’

Glorfindel paused for a second, smiling weakly at the remembrance of how much great love his friend had had for dark and mysterious literature and his expression was followed by sympathetic murmurs and nods from the onlookers.

‘The play itself is certainly not lengthy by any means’ Rúmil spoke up, ‘but we do hope you shall reflect upon it and that you shall take this time to remember this truly great and wonderful elf.’

‘He was ever the perfectionist’ added Glorfindel sharing a knowing glance with Lord Elrond. ‘And so, naturally, I am sure he would have found great fault with how quickly we have put this together and had less than a year’s worth of rehearsals!’

The final light hearted comment urged a ripple of laughter from those gathered and Glorfindel smiled and nodded appreciatively and then looked to Galaril and bowed. ‘My lord, we do but humbly request one favour of you.’

Galaril nodded. ‘And what might that be, Glorfindel?’

‘That at the conclusion of our play you be willing to drink from a silver goblet to mark the ending.’

Galaril paused for a moment and looked at his wife who smiled and nodded. ‘Very well then, Glorfindel. You have my favour for this … ceremony of sorts!’

Glorfindel briefly exchanged triumphant glances with Rúmil who then continued the address.

‘All right then. So, without further ado, we present to you a tale of woe and betrayal’ Rúmil cried dramatically with much pomp, absolutely bound to his determination to make their testimony as believable as he could. ‘The most lamentable tale of King Teredrin!’

With that, Rúmil disappeared down the steps whilst Glorfindel remained upon the stage. Slowly, he lowered himself to the chair and sighed deeply before turning to the audience. ‘Aye, most unforgivable labour. Wilst thy oceans ne’er subside and grant me rest? For I have been lost in thine depths since the first call of the lark.’

He stared down at the mound of parchment and resignedly picked up the quill and began to write. Seconds later, Rúmil ascended the steps, carrying in his hand a silver goblet containing a small level of a sweet cordial and in the other, a leather bound book. A sword was set in a scabbard at his waist.

‘Sire’ Rúmil said, bowing and setting both the goblet and the book upon a spare section of the desk. ‘My queen has left to attend to her business for this morn. How fares you, sire?’

“King Teredrin” nodded and permitted to relax. ‘I believe I fare more favourably this day, Gaelin. Alas, I fear my fatigue shall overpower me and thus the day’s requirement shall not be ended.’ He gestured carelessly to the set work before him and “Gaelin” nodded.

‘It grieves me more than I can say, sire, to witness you in such an ordeal. Indeed, the goblet I have brought hither is a cordial designed from the finest fruits and warmed. If my lord shall forgive my candour,’ “Gaelin” added, ‘I do believe its contents would prove wondrous in aiding the destruction of your workload.’

“Teredrin” raised a brow and looked upon his servant with questioning. ‘I forgive it,’ he said quickly, ‘but what else is your meaning. I confess I do not feel your convictions assure me as greatly as they do you.’

‘Tis merely the ripeness of the fruits and the warmth of the cordial that I have no doubt shall relax you greatly’ replied “Gaelin” with a smile.

“Teredrin” nodded and in one gesture, dismissed his servant, turning back to his workload. As he did so, “Gaelin” stepped to the front of the stage to address the audience.

‘The fool!’ he cried out. ‘He knows not what blessed trickery and beautiful deception lies in wait before him. ‘

Gasps and murmurs rippled around the assembly as they realised what the servant meant to do. Unperturbed, “Gaelin” raised his head and looked superiorly round at them all, his gaze lingering for a second longer than it should upon the face of Galaril. ‘He shall not see another dawn’ he spoke softly, his voice low and dangerous, accompanied by a terribly sinister smirk.

As “Gaelin” departed the stage, he glanced at the king, an exultant gleam in his eyes, before sweeping away down the steps and out of sight.
“Teredrin” then proceeded to speak to the audience, relating tales of sadness and then of happier times gone by when the kingdoms outside his realm were not in such disarray. Finally, he let out a sigh, and turned his attention to the goblet.

‘Perhaps dear Gaelin is correct in his assumptions’ he mused, ‘perhaps an interval of relaxation is all I need to restore myself. I admit I have been working terribly hard of late and my people have been growing concerned for my well being.’ He nodded finally, as though in decision and reached for the goblet.

As he drew the cursed drinking vessel to his lips, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply the heady scent of the cordial. Then, as those gathered looked on in horror, he slowly drank the contents and then turned back to his work. Seconds later however, “Teredrin” gasped aloud and clamped a hand to his throat as he fell from the chair onto his knees.

On cue, “Gaelin” ran up the stairs and dropped beside the king. ‘Sire!’ he cried. ‘Sire, what ails you?’

But “Teredrin” could not answer, and instead was fated to merely gesturing wildly at the goblet and coughing terribly. Finally, he stiffed in “Gaelin’s” arms and fell silent. At once, a wide victorious grin erupted upon the servant’s face and he gently took the crowning circlet from “Teredrin’s” lifeless head and gazed upon it with awe.

‘This kingdom shall now be mine!’ he cried out and standing to his feet, he thrust the gleaming circlet into the air in triumph. ‘I shall have rule over all this land now my King, the utter fool, Teredrin lies in death! I shall have dominion and all shall love and worship my greatness!’

With that, the servant lowered the circlet onto his head and nodded to the audience. ‘Till the dawn’ he said as in farewell. ‘When the lark pipes her eerie lament, we shall meet again.’

Moving to the table, “Gaelin” picked up the now empty goblet and wiping it clean with a pure white cloth from his tunic, he moved down the steps and poured a fresh amount of wine from a bottle by the side and headed down the Hall to where the Lord and Lady now sat.

For the first time ever, Rúmil as he was made certain never to break his gaze with Galaril. Inside, he danced in joy as he witnessed a torrent of emotions flicker from behind the elf’s wide grey eyes. On the stage, Glorfindel stood to his feet and watched in breathless anxiety.

‘My lord’ said Rúmil, bowing as he reached them and extending the goblet to Galaril. ‘If it please you, my lord’ he said, his voice suddenly dripping with a hatred he found he could no longer contain.

For a moment, they simply looked at one another and then, with a cry of rage, Galaril knocked the goblet from Rúmil’s hand. The ornate object flew the air, scarlet liquid spewing from its gaping mouth and finally falling with a loud clatter upon the floor below.

A ringing and shocked silence reigned for several seconds which was finally broken by a whisper from Rúmil. ‘I knew it’ he said, staring Galaril direct in the eyes, his own narrowed in realisation of the glorious victory..

‘My lord?’ Galadriel spoke up, her sapphire eyes wide and stunned and she leant her hand on his, but he shook it off furiously and then looked to Rúmil with apologetic eyes.

‘Forgive me, Rúmil. I confess I do not know what came over me.’

Rúmil slowly raised a brow. ‘Oh do you not? Well, perhaps I can enlighten you.’

‘What do you mean, my friend?’

‘I think you know all too well, friend!’ Rúmil spat the last word as though he were expelling something putrid and foul tasting from his mouth.

‘Galaril … what is he talking about?’ Galadriel glanced to Rúmil and stared at him but Rúmil felt within him a new determination and strength rise up, and with all his might, he pushed against the will of the Lady to read his thoughts. He would not let her find out that way. He had suffered so long, so long and hard and now the time had come, he would have his words be heard. Finally, she snapped her gaze back to Galaril who appeared to be looking even more startled and confused than she.

Then, quite suddenly he laughed. ‘My lady, I do declare that our little thespian has no head for wine. It is perfectly clear he is in an intoxicated state.’

Turning her glance back to the young warden, Galadriel arched a brow. ‘Well, if that is the case, I have never seen such a sober looking inebriant in my life.’

Galaril’s mouth thinned and he sighed. ‘Come now Rúmil, you’ve had your fun. Now please, resume your place and we can continue with the evening.’

‘I shall not!’

Haldir sat in his seat, utterly stunned into absolute silence. What in the name of Eru and all the Valar and Valier did his brother think he was doing? He was half inclined to believe Galaril’s claims of his brother being drunk, but then again, as he, Rúmil, stood now, firm and determined before the Lord and Lady, Haldir was not in the least reminded of anyone who did not have a firm grip on their mind.

Nonetheless, he called out to his brother. ‘Rúmil! Heed your lord’s words and sit down for Eru’s sake!’

Rúmil turned to face Haldir and shook his head. ‘Nay, brother. I cannot do that. I am sorry, but it is now impossible.’ Turning back to the lord and lady, Rúmil nodded to Galadriel. ‘My lady, for what I am about to say I apologise for the pain it will undoubtedly cause you. However, this has gone on too long.’

‘Rúmil’ said Galaril, standing to his feet and trying to look kindly down upon the elf. ‘Please, before you do any damage, be seated.’

Rúmil stared the one who addressed him direct in the eyes and smiled inwardly as he saw the glimmer of fear ignite and begin to burn. In one swift motion he drew his sword from the scabbard and indicated its deadly point at the elven lord before turning to the horrified onlookers.

‘You have all been blind! How could you not see?’ Rúmil cried out, trying desperately not to meet Haldir’s shocked and raging eyes. ‘For the love of Eru, the deaths of recent weeks have been no accidents! Galaril murdered Lord Celeborn and planned on killing our Lady, but poor noble Erestor caught the blow instead! This elf, the one you call “Lord” is of lesser worth than the filth on your shoes.’

‘Rúmil … why do you say this?’

Galadriel fixed him with an intent stare but even under her terrible scrutiny, he remained firm. ‘Because it is the truth, my lady. And you know if it weren’t for Erestor’s sacrifice, you too would be dead this eve.’

‘Now you go too far!’

Galaril shot to his feet and drew his own sword which gleamed and glinted like the diabolical eyes of its owner.

‘Ah. So you had an inkling that tonight would be your downfall’ said Rúmil. ‘My, my, Galaril, how quaint!’

‘I brought my sword to protect myself against whomever caused the death of Erestor’ replied Galaril dryly. ‘Though to my eyes, it would seem we have found him – or at least one of his comrades.’

At this, Glorfindel lost all sense of self and yelled from the stage. ‘You fiend! You dare … you dare to suggest that I would murder my closest friend and companion? I confess, my lord, I do not fully understand the reasoning of your mind, but I am quite sure it is something sick and twisted.’

‘Oh, and yet the claim that I would try and bring down the entire royal house of Lorien, and a visiting scribe for good measure is not drawn from the mind of one demented?’

‘You are catching on superbly, Galaril’ hissed Rúmil, his voice low and baiting. ‘Now, enough talk. Why don’t you show everyone here what you truly feel towards me? I know you want to remove my head quite neatly from its resting place upon my shoulders, my friend, so why don’t you try it? Come on. You know as well as I it is precisely what you wish to do.’

With a movement that was too swift for mortal eyes to discern and a cry that rang heinous in the ears of Lorien, Galaril swung his sword and brought it down with all its weight. But Rúmil was ready. With matched speed he blocked the attempt and the sound of metal upon metal reverberated through the hall.

That was it. They were gone. Locked in a battle of wills that each was determined for the other to fall. Galaril sprang from the dais and began furiously battling, each dealt lashing failing at the last second. Their feet moved in a motion too fast for the ordinary fury of bloodlust and each and every elf watched in stunned terror as the two grown elves continued in their long awaited combat.

Rúmil danced around the tables, leaping up amongst the cutlery as he dodged blow upon blow. Glasses fell to the floor and shattered and plates were strewn in all directions. Darting around with lithe speed, he threw away Galaril’s blade with a terrific force.

‘Is that the best you can muster?’ laughed Rúmil as he ducked to avoid being decapitated once more.

‘I have only begun!’ came the scathing reply.

Screams rang out as the two elves stumbled blindly across a table and several elves fell beneath its surface to avoid being trampled. Swinging around, Rúmil’s blade sang as he continued fighting unabated. All the pain, horror and weight of weeks past came pouring out and the young elf fought like he had never done before. The sweet rush of adrenalin tore through his veins, forcing his heart to hammer and thump against his chest and urging him on to the inevitable victory.

Then, with no warning, Galaril made to swing his sword around causing Rúmil to instinctively duck out of the way. Realising that Galaril had feigned, Rúmil made to stand up, but all too late. With a pain that tore a agonised yell from his the pit of his throat, Rúmil felt the blade of his opponent slice through his tunic and cut a deep gash in his chest.

Dimly, he heard Haldir’s strong voice call out amidst the screaming and shocked gasps and forced himself to struggle to his feet. Crying out once more, Rúmil found himself thrown roughly to the cold, solid floor, the weight of Galaril upon his back and an icy blade at his throat.

‘Surrender!’ said Galaril, his voice low and dangerously quiet.

Rúmil swallowed. If he surrended, it would all be over. The words of Lord Celeborn rang incessant in his mind, the images of Erestor’s death flashed before his eyes. The intense and furiously unnecessary pain the scribe had suffered. The terrible and unthinkable way in which Celeborn had been slain. No, he could not give up. He mustn’t give up. Even if he himself died in the process, the worth of the truth that would burst forth from his demise would always be worth it.

‘NO!’ he yelled as loud as he could, feeling the sharp blade nick his throat slightly as he spoke, a warm trickle of blood oozing from the small but fresh wound. With all the strength he could summon, he forced himself backwards and Galaril fell heavily off him, his blade slipping from his hands onto the floor. Seeing his chance, Rúmil seized it and snatched the blade away from Galaril’s reach.

Lying upon the floor, Galaril stared up at Rúmil in shock and sudden terror. Then, before he could scramble to his feet, Rúmil leapt upon his back, throwing him back down to the ground and pulling his head back, he pressed the blade to Galaril’s throat so that if he even moved slightly save for speaking, his life would most certainly be a memory.

‘You wouldn’t kill me, Rúmil’ Galaril said, his voice quiet and pleading. ‘You wouldn’t kill the one friend you’ve known for your entire life.’

‘No’ replied Rúmil slowly. ‘I am not like you. Now, tell them the truth.’

Galaril swallowed and finally after much silence, he spoke, his voice barely audible.

‘All right’ he said. ‘I did it …’

‘So they can hear you’ spat Rúmil, his voice hushed and grim.

Galaril growled in his throat and closing his eyes briefly, he cried out as loud as he could. ‘I killed Lord Celeborn!’

Galadriel was on her feet now, her sapphire eyes damp and tears flowing down her crystalline cheeks. ‘It’s not true’ she said, her clear voice now hoarse with desperate emotion. ‘Tell me it’s not true.’

Galaril looked up and fixed her gaze with his and all who saw his face were appalled to witness a sadistic grin alight his features. ‘It’s true.’

In those two words, there sprang forth more hate and malice than had ever been heard throughout the land of Lorien and they broke upon the ears of all present like the sound of clashing cymbals and the vile hiss of a serpent.

With a cry of dismay, her hands flew to her mouth and Galadriel sank to her knees, crying out in anguish. Hurrying forward from where he stood, Glorfindel reached her and embraced her. There was no longer any such concept as status or formality in that hall. Similar moans and wailings erupted from the onlookers and the tears flowed in plentiful streams.

Haldir and Orophin tore to Rúmil’s side and Haldir pulled Rúmil off Galaril as Orophin resumed holding the elven lord down. As soon as he felt his elder brother’s warmth against him and his strong hold, Rúmil broke down and let his emotions disperse openly from his eyes.

‘I am sorry, Rúmil’ whispered Haldir, holding his brother as tight as he could, feeling as though his heart might break. ‘I truly have been blind. I did not see – oh, Rúmil. I failed you.’

Looking up at his brother, Rúmil shook his head and managed a weak smile through his tears. ‘Nay, you have not done anything of the kind. I could not ask for more loyal and loving brothers.’

Orophin glanced up and nodded to Rúmil, determined not to let his grip slip on Galaril. ‘What now, Haldir?’ he questioned.

Haldir sighed. ‘I do not know, Orophin. It shall be up to the Lady to do what she wishes with this foul traitor.’


~~~


Rumours flew through the forest like leaves upon a tempest. Speculation was rife amongst the inhabitants; all wondering just what punishment would await Galaril. Many believed now that he deserved death, though they would not voice this to anyone.

As for Galaril, he now resided within the stony dungeon walls; with only the constant chatter and scurrying of the rats to keep him company, and Lord Glorfindel had taken the Lady to make her rest

Rúmil now sat in his beloved glade, head in his hands. Haldir had initially tried to persuade him to come and sleep in his talan with him and Orophin, not really wanting Rúmil to be alone. However the youngest had resisted strongly, and instead had run off to his current residing place. He did not want to have to explain everything to Haldir yet, and though he was not sure he even had the strength to do so, had he gone with them he still knew that nothing would have held back the torrent of inevitable questioning.

A movement barely discernable even by his elven senses; drew him from his deep musings over the recent developments. Snapping his head up, Rúmil gasped aloud upon seeing Celeborn’s silvery form nearby. Whilst he had secretly wished for Celeborn to appear again and to try and straighten things out, Rúmil also still had a small but lingering and quite understandable fear of the spectre.

‘Interesting night’ Celeborn said simply, noting Rúmil’s injury.

Rúmil nodded once, not trusting himself to speak.

‘I believe you wanted to see me, did you not?’

Rúmil sighed and nodded again. ‘That is why you are here then? Simply because you knew I desired to speak with you?’

‘Partly,’ Celeborn replied slowly, ‘but also because I have something else for you to do.’

‘What?’

Celeborn gazed at the warden thoughtfully for a few long moments. ‘I wish you to postpone his execution.’

Rúmil’s jaw nearly dropped and he stared at his lord with great incredulity. ‘But they have yet to decide upon his punishment – you know this!’

‘Honestly, Rúmil, you know as well I as I what the penalty will be! He is a murderer!’

Rúmil shook his head, rubbing his temples. ‘You cannot ask me to do this.’

‘I can, and I am’
Jumping to his feet, Rúmil stood his ground defiantly, raising his voice to its limits. ‘I will *not* postpone the punishment of one who so deserves it.’

Celeborn’s figure seemed to glow brighter and his eyes were suddenly aflame with a silver fire of determination. ‘Are you saying you refuse to do as your Lord and Commander ORDERS you to?’ he demanded, forcefully.

Rúmil fell utterly silent, unable to believe his ears. How could Celeborn, of all people, use his loyalty against him in such a way as this? It was not fair to pressure him into committing an act that could land him in grievous trouble.

The elf’s silence made the former Lord of Lorien sigh deeply, feeling slightly remorseful for having to put Rúmil through this. ‘Rúmil, heed my words. You and your brothers have been my most loyal wardens. Believe me, I would never ask this of you if it were not absolutely vital. I realise, as you say, that it is not fair of me to do so, but I cannot carry out my plan without your complete and undivided cooperation. I need your help, Rúmil. Please.’

Piercing blue eyes gazed up at him finally, the sorrow in their depths so very deep and painful.

‘This will be your finest moment, Rúmil of Lorien. What you decide here and now will affect the lives of all the people of your land. Galaril deserves death, but I will not have a kin slaying on your hands, nor have it hang over our fair country. I leave the choice to you.’

That said, Celeborn faded away, leaving Rúmil alone and despairing once more. He clutched at his chest where he had been injured, though his grieving heart hurt infinitely more than the wound. Staggering to his feet, his conscience adding a great weight to the burden upon his shoulders, Rúmil made his way back to the city.



~~~

Sure enough and just as Lord Celeborn had said, an announcement was made a few days later that Galaril would be executed. A deep gloom descended upon the realm of Lorien when that fateful day arrived and all moved in silence, talking only when it was necessary, and even then only in hushed voices.

Even the trees around seemed aware of what was to come. The wind sang with a sense of foreboding and whispers could be heard. Delicate whispers floating through the leaves and branches, seeming harsh and troubled.

Rúmil stood upon his balcony that evening, his silver tresses lifted gently by the breeze. Beside him stood Glorfindel and in the room behind sat Haldir and Orophin, both lost deep in thought.

‘How did it come to this?’ Rúmil spoke finally, staring straight ahead at the path that would lead them to Galaril’s doom. His face was hard and set the grief he felt; thoroughly beyond tears.

‘It was inevitable, Rúmil’ replied Glorfindel, his clear voice now laced with a deep sorrow, golden head hung in dismay.

‘So much pain and destruction, and all of it completely unnecessary’ Rúmil mused, shaking his head and sighing, looking up finally at the crisp light waning through the tree tops. ‘It is time’ he said, his voice cracking slightly.

Instinctively, Glorfindel draped an arm around the young elf’s shoulders and nodded. The pair turned and joined Haldir and Orophin, and in silence the small group began to make their way down to the designated execution site. The air was heavy and even the gleaming light that surrounded Lothlorien could not penetrate the darkness that now resided in all the elven hearts. They were dressed in garbs of shining silver and white, their skin and hair gleaming luminescent in the dark. They moved like a gentle river, flowing onward and further toward its destination and finally, they arrived.

They stood gathered atop a hill just outside the borders, the decision not to execute within the realm of Caras Galadhon being determinedly upheld. In the centre of the crown of the hill stood an elf, hooded and cloaked in attire of a deep and melancholy grey, At his waist was a leather belt and a long sword hung in the attached scabbard. Upon seeing the elf, Rúmil’s breath caught in his throat and he gasped, the sudden realisation; raw and painful. He let out a long and shuddering sigh when he felt Haldir’s hand, strong and comforting, come to rest upon his shoulder. Looking up at his brother, Rúmil’s eyes swam with the image of the kindly and understanding grey orbs gazing down and he drew himself closer, the pressure of Haldir’s body reassuring and comforting him against the fell tide of what was to come.

Finally, the gathered elves parted to make a small path that led up to the executioner. Galaril made his way slowly to the peak, flanked by two severe looking sentinels, one of whom Rúmil recognised as Lurien, the very same elf who had almost caught him and Galaril sneaking around all those centuries before. His eyes then turned to Galaril whose head was held proud and high, his expression completely emotionless. He was garbed in robes of the darkest ebony, his hair dull and filthy from the dirt in the dungeons and his grey eyes narrowed and cold.

As he passed them, the elves looked upon him with complete abhorrence, their heads lifted high and aloof, and though none ever met his glance, they nevertheless looked down upon him with thin expressions of hate and disgust.

Behind the executioner stood Galadriel, and to Rúmil, her expression was unreadable. What he did notice however was that as soon as she fixed her gaze with her husband’s murderer, the accused looked away sharply, his eyes closed in what appeared to be an illustration of deep pain and horror. What ever she was speaking to him now through her mind, Rúmil was glad he didn’t have to know. All he knew was that whatever it maybe, her words would cause a much greater level of fear, distress and anguish than the execution ever could.

‘You understand why you are here’ stated the executioner, his voice cracking as he struggled to remain impartial.

Galaril nodded but remained silent.

‘Speak!’

‘Yes. I do’ replied Galaril slowly, an intense malice and callousness eking out through his strained voice.

‘Do you wish to say anything before sentence is passed?’ the executioner asked.

Galaril smiled. ‘Aye, that would be most pleasurable.’ Turning to the crowd assembled below he gave a mock bow. ‘I would just like to say that the crimes for which I am accused of were well worth this penalty. I enjoyed being the cause of Celeborn’s demise. I treasure even more the memory of the death of that scribe’ he continued acidly, nodding to Glorfindel who was only prevented from hurling himself at Galaril by the combined efforts of Elrond, the twins and Haldir.

At this, the corners of Galaril’s mouth curved upwards into the most sadistic and sinister smirk imaginable. ‘I see those wounds are still open and raw,’ he continued. ‘Well, I am honoured indeed. Yes, his passing was a fluke – but nonetheless a most excellent one. The terrible woe and grief that followed I revelled greatly in. Oh, you shall never know how incredibly wonderful it feels. To have such a power. To be able to decide who lives and who dies, and to have such a ruthless and yet marvellous command in your grasp – you cannot even begin to comprehend it.’

As Galaril exhaled, his eyes closed briefly in ecstatic satisfaction, the executioner nodded and gestured to the ground. Galaril knelt down and raised his head, his eyes open and staring intently at the executioner, a slight smirk lingering upon his features.

As all around held their breath, Rúmil gazed frantically around. He didn’t want to do this. Postponing the execution now would be the worst thing he could do. And yet, Celeborn’s words rang once more in his mind, identical to how they had done the very first time he had appeared to Rúmil.
There was no escape from it now. He knew that even though he did not wish to put himself at risk, there was nothing for it. Lord Celeborn had commanded it, and to know that the order came from someone in authority, albeit deceased, Rúmil still found a hint of reassurance in that knowledge.

Looking up at that moment, the elf realised with blinding horror that the executioner had already drawn his blade. Throwing all caution and reservations to the winds, Rúmil yelled out at the top of his lungs.

‘STOP!’

The executioner paused, blade stopping short mid-swing and turned to look at Rúmil.

‘What?’

Rúmil was painfully aware of how every head had turned to him, eyes burning in on all sides. ‘This cannot happen!’ he called out to them. ‘Don’t you see? This isn’t right!’

‘Rúmil’ came a clear voice from opposite, and the warden looked up to find himself locked into Lady Galadriel’s piercing and unbreakable gaze. ‘Rúmil, please understand this is an exception to the rules of the Eldar. Only because of Galaril’s unforgivable crimes has this sentence been passed. I for myself trust he shall receive his full punishment elsewhere.’

Swallowing hard, Rúmil shook his head. ‘Nay, forgive me, my lady, but I believe you are letting your emotions rule your mind and thus, this decision. So, Galaril killed Celeborn, I am not condoning his act for it is indeed grievous beyond anything we could imagine. But must this all end in such a bloody and futile conclusion? Must this all end in yet another kin-slaying? Do we become like him, and in doing so; gift him with an easy pathway out? Do we nod amicably to his cowardice or would it indeed be more fruitful to punish him for all eternity? Like he truly deserves.’

Before Galadriel could reply, there came the voice from under the executioner’s hood, but most surprisingly, it was not the shaky voice that had spoken minutes before. On the contrary, the voice slid out like velvet upon silk and upon hearing its tone, Rúmil’s eyes widened.

‘You speak the truth, Rúmil and I am proud of you. This has indeed been your finest hour.’

Every assembled ellon and elleth gazed on in wonder and amazement as the executioner lowered his hood and then, standing before them, gleaming like never before and radiating with life, was Lord Celeborn.

From the ground, Galaril let rip a scream of fury. However, even such a terrible noise as that was drowned by Galadriel who gasped aloud and clapped her hands to her mouth in disbelief. ‘My lord? Celeborn, how can this be? You cannot be here … it’s completely absurd!’

Celeborn smiled sympathetically and nodded. ‘All can be explained and all shall be explained … soon.’

‘Celeborn, this is impossible. Ai! Why must you dark spirits torment me so? Is it not enough that my husband, my love lies dead – Are you so discontented with my grief that now you must revisit me not only in my sleep, but in my living day also?’ Shuddering to a vocal standstill, she closed her eyes for a few moments and then, when she opened them, Celeborn’s face broke into a knowing and joyous smile and he nodded.

‘Ai! it *is* you!’ she cried, her voice ringing with jubilation, eyes pouring with realisation and wonder as she ran to him. ‘I do not care how this can be possible – all that matters is that it is and you are here! Guren linna gen ceni!’

Embracing her warmly, Celeborn sighed, laying his forehead against the crown of hers.. ‘Na vedui! Ai, meleth, I have missed you more than mere words can declare.’

Amidst the shock of the moment, no one had noticed Galaril beginning to edge slowly away. But just at the crucial moment when he scrambled to his feet, fully intending to make a bolt for freedom, Glorfindel darted forward and grabbing the elf by the collar, thrust him hard into the ground with all his might and pinned him securely.

‘You have no conceivable idea of how long I’ve wished to do something like that’ the Balrog slayer said simply, smiling grimly but triumphantly down at Galaril’s now severely broken nose which from which a dense river of warm crimson was flowing.

Releasing Galadriel for a moment, Celeborn turned finally to Rúmil. ‘You have done me proud, Rúmil. You truly have shown your loyalty and passion for this land and yet I must humbly apologise for putting you through all I did. Whilst necessary, I deeply regret pain and torture and believe me when I say I wish it had never happened.’

Rúmil nodded. ‘Aye, but as you say, it was unavoidable. After all, the thought of what might have happened to Lorien had you not appeared to me that night, fills me with an icy dread.’

‘I am glad indeed that you understand finally’ replied Celeborn. Then, smiling down at the elf, he opened his arms and Rúmil, finally overcome with a flurry of conflicting emotions, collapsed into their secure grasp, weeping loud and open. The terrible suffering he had been forced to endure; was now over.

‘I could have asked no more of you, Rúmil’ said Celeborn gently.

Rúmil managed to laugh weakly ‘And for that I am glad. For had you given me any other burdens to carry, I fear I may have collapsed!’

Celeborn chucked softly. ‘Aye, but you have bourn a load heavier than most could have even come close to coping with. You, Rúmil, will truly be honoured amongst the Eldar and all throughout all the Lands of the Valar for evermore.’


Eventually, once Rúmil had quietened, Celeborn turned his gaze to Glorfindel who still sat upon Galaril who in his turn was muttering a continuing string of obscenities under his breath.

‘Glorfindel of Imladris. The time has come
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