Child of the Dawn

Disclaimer: I own nothing that is recognizable to the Lord of the Rings franchise. The languages used in this story are Quenya, Primitive Elvish, and Sindarin. These are all owned by J.R.R. Tolkien.

What ARE mine are the original characters and the Darkmen tongue.

*NOTE: Some content of the story may include some fantastical elements. May lead readers to think of OC as Mary-Sue, but reasons for said fantasy will be included later on. And here we go!*


Choosing of the Council


“Are you certain, Sálindë; Thauron has returned?”

“Yes, Áravelca; his messengers and spies are as serpent-tongues in the Southlands, promising riches and lands for their loyalty.”

Keeping her place on bended knee, she spat her disgust on the hard-packed earth floor:

“Darkmen are gathering to His land, my queen. Men and fell beasts of all kinds, chanting His name. I have heard tales of the Dark One’s supreme power and his plan to rule all those who oppose Him. It is also whispered that His presence is ever watchful, yet not in physical form. The Bane of Men has not found Its way to Him, though His spirit has lost none of its…potency.”

She turned her silver eyes to her, worry evident in their depths.

“It is said that Anár will soon set on those of the West, Mother.”

The warrior before her stood, tall and regal, hard as the scales of the ancient dragons long slain from the Keep, and as beautiful as her namesake. Sálindë recalled how her mother had always stood tall and proud, even at the death of her consort, Sálindë’s father Helcarusco. Bronze and silver glinted in the lamplight as the ruler of Osto Áraquendi paced the floor. After long minutes, she looked up into her daughter’s eyes.

“He will destroy the worlds of Men and Eldômi.”

Her spy nodded affirmatively.

“It is so, my queen.”

“And after he enslaves them,” thought Áravelca out loud, “He will come for what we protect.”

“That is so as well, my queen.”

Again, silence reigned as the younger Elf remained on bended knee to her queen, and Áravelca, in turn, gazing at a tapestry hanging on the smooth rock wall.

“For the sake of our souls,” she said hoarsely, staring at the likeness of her other family, “We must send word of this to the Eldômi, to the one Tárion spoke of as ‘crowned with light’.”

“Alatáriel,” breathed the kneeling figure, overcome by the legend of this powerful Elven woman born on the shores of Valinór.

Áravelca sneered slightly at her daughter’s awe, but pressed on nevertheless, ever aware of the threat to her people, and those of their Kindred.

“You have heard of her spoken in reverence, my daughter, yet do not allow yourself to be taken in by her words of wisdom.”

Startled, the Elf stood, her tall height matching her mother’s equally, shock in her eyes:

“What is it you speak of, Mother?”

“I believe it is time to make our existence known to our distant kin once more, as well as our aid in this age of impending doom.”

She watched as her daughter’s eyes sparked with anger, and heard as her usually calm voice replied coated in ice:

“Respect I have for you, my queen, but I trust you have not forgotten the last time it was believed to have been wise to give aid to the Eldômi.”

Áravelca turned to Sálindë, her midnight cloak swirling in loose folds.

“Nay, I have not forgotten, daughter of mine,” she hissed in reply, “I remember very well how our actions were repaid, but now is not the time for vengeance. This is the same enemy whom our people distrusted and fought against three thousand years before. The same evil that threatened our lands and its mighty treasure, our sworn duty to the gods.”

Anger swept through Sálindë, its claws evident in her voice:

“Yet we are to forget the past and swear blood to those who betrayed us?”

“You forget, my daughter,” said the queen, turning away from her again, “They call us the betrayers, the enemies of the gods.”

Neither spoke for long moments, until came the question:

“Will you speak to the Council of this?”

“Yes,” the older elleth sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose, “As I will speak to your brothers, and our people.”

In silence, Sálindë bowed her head, gripping her fist to her chest in a clenched salute.

“Then it shall be done, my queen.”

Stiffly, she bowed and exited the chamber, her black cloak sweeping behind her.

*

As she stood before the assembled Elders, she gazed blankly at her surroundings. The limestone caverns beneath the mountains were numerous and vast in the domain of the Áraquendi, but few were as large and intimidating as the Council Chamber. There were representatives from all the surviving tribes of the Kinn-lai * , at least two from each. As she watched them, the younger envoy of the Russeledâ flushed an unnatural crimson at a particular argument.

The cavern was lit by a gentle pale blue glow, emitted by a massive stone chandelier. The light itself came from various plants stored and collected in pockets carved into the rock. Its branches extended far from its source, allowing for maximum visibility in the cave.

Voices droned through the entire space, arguing, explaining, wheedling, convincing, and accepting. At long last, Sálindë saw her mother stand at the head of the Council, flanked by Salinde’s eldest brother and heir to the throne, Máeran, and her advisor, Taurossë. The iron in her mother’s stance told her all she needed to know of her fate.

“It has been decided, Sálindë, child of Áravelca and Helcarusco, Princess of the Áraquendi, that news of the Abhorrent One’s return must not be kept secret from the Eldômi, no matter the penalty of such a message. You have been chosen as the most worthy to bring such a message to the one known as Alatáriel. This task will be perilous, both on the journey, and once you reach the lands of / Laurinataurë /; it is not certain whether you would survive to return to our land. It is not a command, but rather a choice. We have chosen you to be the champion of the Kinn-lai: it is your choice to fulfill this destiny, or walk another path.”

For long minutes, silence reigned as each member of the Council looked at the lone Elf before them. She stood tall and proud, yet her eyes held defeat; the part of Áravelca that was the mother of this warrior nearly broke as the Dawn-Elf replied:

“I will go to the Eldômi…I will find Alatáriel…and I will give her your message.”

Here she squared her shoulders, and the proud set of her shoulders rose as she inhaled deeply.

“If I am to die by the hand of the Abhorrent One, or by the blade of my Kindred, then I shall bring honor to my people by dying with valor.”

Áravelca-the-queen raised her staff and rapped it loudly on the floor as Áravelca-the-mother wept bitterly at the choice of her only daughter.

“So shall it be.”

*

Sweeping her leg over her saddle, she glanced back at the farewell party. Áravelca raised a hand in formal farewell, and her brothers crossed their left arm over their right chest in salute. As the other members of the company copied the gesture, she knew they were praying to the gods for her protection.

Unexpectedly, Áravelca urged her horse toward her, leaning close to murmur:

“Do not forget the past, my Fire Song. Keep it burning with you on your journey: look deep within yourself and discover if whether or not past misdeeds are worth the destruction of the world.”

Nodding her silver head in understanding Sálindë glanced once more at her brothers, then spurred Hravan’s sides swiftly, bracing herself as he broke out into a swift gallop.

“Ride, / meldenya /,” she whispered in his ear as the land rolled by her in a harsh blur, “Ride swift!”




Black Rider



“Something is coming, Celeborn.”

He placed a gentle hand on her arm, comfort in his eyes.

“What have you seen?”

“A rider…garbed in black.”

“Nazgûl?’

“No, I know their presence. This is something more different that anything I have seen.”

“Are there any emblems, markings?”

She closed her eyes, trying to recall the vision of the black rider, the sweeping cloak darker than night, the speed of the horse. Stunned, the blue orbs sprang open, her tone disbelieving:

“I saw no signature, Celeborn, yet there was something I recognized: an essence I knew, yet it was not Eldar.”

Celeborn reeled back, his expression thunderstruck and his mind staggering.

“Avari?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice unsteady, “and moving swiftly. Whomever rides pauses only to rest and feed their horse, a descendant of a mearas. I do not know how long they have traveled, but they will have reached our borders in three days’ time.”

Thunderstruck, the Lord of Lórien unceremoniously dropped to a nearby bench; so stupefied was he his seating did not have his usual grace and a soft thud! was heard.

Neither spoke, so unusually engrossed in their own thoughts. The turmoil of Celeborn’s mind lessened, at length; the spirit of the woods soothing him, allowing him to truly think on what this latest development would mean.

Time passed for them, sitting in the glade and thinking. At long last, Galadriel stood.

“It has often troubled my heart to remember the days of the war with Sauron.”

As she looked at him, he understood and felt her pain along with his own. At length, he remarked:

“Not all the darkness of those memories was caused by Sauron alone … some was of our own making, and now it has returned to cast its light to all.”

His wife bowed her golden head over her mirror, her eyes closed as she recalled those days after His defeat. At her voice, Celeborn looked up:

“Come, my husband,” she smiled sadly, holding out her hand to him, “Let us walk awhile beneath the lights of Elbereth.”

He took her hand and placed it on his arm; they both watched as the stars above them sparkled and cast shadows upon the ground.

Together, they walked along the moonlit talans, both in pensive thought; after a time, Celeborn spoke:

“What shall we do now, my wife?”

Galadriel sighed, resting her head upon his shoulder. Gently, he took her in his arms, causing her head to shift to his chest. Tucking her hair beneath his chin, he held her beneath the stars of their Golden Wood. In a quiet voice, he answered for her:

“I take it that you do not know, either, { melethen }.”

*

Grass of the lands she traveled whipped at her horse’s legs as they raced toward their goal. Her black cape flew behind her, trailing in the whistling wind.

The beat of her heart grew feverish, her blood pounding through her veins as her spirit melded with that of Hravan. /Faster, Hravan, faster/ she cried into the void /Faster we must fly!/

The horse screamed in response and she felt his muscles tightened between her thighs as he added another burst of speed to their haste. Joining her spirit with that of the horse, she poured all she could into his heart, giving strength and endurance. He neighed once more, charging his head forward as the wind screamed at their approach.

Faster than time they flew, riding for hours past nightfall and before the sun had risen; they thundered past the Mountains of Ash and the Dead Marshes, so fast was their pace the stinking marshland did not have a chance to force its stench upon them. Past the Sea of Rhûn, they had paused only refresh the horse’s strength.

Sálindë hurried the process by using the technique her father had taught her brother before his death, who had in turn instructed her. Thoughts of anxiety and despair were forced from her mind as she immersed herself in her surroundings, drawing the strength through her body in to Hravan.

That first time she had used this trick in the Western lands, the readiness of life had knocked her off her feet quite literally; she hadn’t had time to realize her home and this land were so very different. Yet with each taking of spirit, Sálindë knew she had to give it back: after each rest, she returned the life, as it had nurtured and strengthened their own enough.

The rise of each morn saw her riding hard and swift; the setting of the sun would find her unchanged. Ever quickening, ever hastening, she and her companion never strayed from their course.


*

A.N.:

Áravelca = Dawnflame

Sálindë = Firesong

Helcarusco = Icefox

/ words / = Quenya

{ words }= Sindarin

Kinn-lai: According to Tolkien, the Avari were split into six clans, one of which were the Kinn-lai. In this story, I have made it so the other clans died out, leaving the Kinn-lai as the surviving people, and ITS division into separate clans. More on this later.

Translation:

/ Thauron / = the Abhorrent One (You guess who…)

/ Anár / = the Sun

/ Eldômi / = “Twilight Elves” (Q and Avarin)

Alatáriel = meaning “maiden crowned with radiant garland”; Telerin name for Galadriel

/ Russeledâ / = Red-Elves (Avarin)

Máeran = meaning “Iron Hand”

Taurossë = meaning “Mighty Storm”

/ Laurinataurë / = Lothlórien, the Golden Wood

Meldenya = My friend

{ Melethen } = My love