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

*NOTE: Some parts may be Mary-Suish, but will be explained later on, hopefully to satisfaction. If not, I'm sorry.*



Understanding



Looking around, the warden suddenly turned his gaze to the courier, seeing his usefulness to a problem.

“Cassemir,” he called, bringing the Elf’s focus to him, “Would you take this one’s horse to the stable yard, until it is called for? I would obey my brother’s command, yet find that dealing with the beast will hinder me.”

“I agree, Orophin: I will do this for you.”

With a gentle hand, the Elf took the rope encircled about the stallion’s neck, pulling softly, amazed when the animal did not respond, and instead seemed to stand his ground beside the elleth. His eyes took in the horse’s protective stance and the strange Elf’s restraints and blindfold.

“Come, follow me, my friend, come to dry grass and sweet water,” he coaxed the horse, running a gentle hand along the thick neck, amazed at the corded muscles there.

The elleth moved her head, looking directly at Cassemir and the courier found himself wondering what her eyes would look like. She seemed to breathe heavier in his direction, as if drawing in his scent; she appeared satisfied, and nudged the stoic horse in his direction. Following her command, the animal allowed himself to be led to the promised dry grass and sweet water.

*

Orophin waited until the courier had disappeared from view then turned his eyes to the bound elleth. Disgust in them, he gripped her arm and pulled her to him. Looking down, he saw his fingers were marking her flesh and tightened their hold even more, eliciting no response from the Elf.

“Are you so weak you will not respond when another bruises you?” he hissed under his breath, yanking her along the trail to the practice yard.

The forest floor was scattered with plant life, ranging from soft sedge grass to barbed briar thickets; these he made sure she stepped through, the thorns scratching at her arms and pants as he half-dragged her beside him.

It was no great distance the practice yard; they reached it in mere minutes, whereupon he threw her to the ground at the base of a mallorn, looking on at her in revulsion. The instant she felt the ground beneath her, she immediately began struggling with her bonds, working her hands around so that they cupped a charm from the leather wristlet she wore. Under his gaze she slid the charm in between the ropes and severed them, flinging her arms up to tear away the blindfold. The covering gone, he could see her silver eyes staring at him again, their depths troubling his heart. She seemed to look him up and down as she rose, rubbing at her wrists, until she stood upright.

As he looked at her, he thought /She is Avari filth…why should she be allowed to live?/

*

Kneeling before the Lady of Caras Galadhon, Haldir bowed his head in reverence, having finished his account of the strange Elf’s appearance.

“You did as you ought to have done, Haldir, do not trouble yourself with doubts,” said Galadriel, placing a hand on her Marchwarden’s shoulder, her command for him to stand.

As he looked up at her, she seemed to search his eyes, yet he could not tell if she found what she was looking for. Once he stood, she studied him, then said:

“Walk with me in my garden, Haldir, for I sense you have questions, ones that I will answer.”

She took his arm and they went down the stairs of her palace onto the forest floor itself. Together they walked among the trees, into the garden of Galadriel, where flowers bloomed year-long and beautiful, flourishing under the Lady’s eye. Taking her hand from his arm, she seated herself on a stone bench, smiling at a rose leaning toward her hand. As she caressed its velvety petals, she looked at her Marchwarden, noting how he remained standing.

“Is she Avari, then, my Lady?” he asked, his gaze frank and direct.

“She is,” replied Galadriel, returning his look with her own, light from the trees making her hair seem all the more golden in its shine.

“Why is she colored so, my Lady?”

Haldir circled in front of her as he began to pace, pausing to stare into her eyes, questions storming his mind. He continued:

“It has been said the Dark Elves have not been gifted with the Light of the Two Trees, yet she appears graced with such Light. How is it possible?”

Galadriel sighed and rose from her seat; with eyes full of weariness and long years, she knelt gracefully in the midst of her flowers, looking again at Haldir.

“I have known many things, my Marchwarden, yet it remains hidden from my Sight how our Kindred have become what she appears,” she said, tracing her fingers along the soft petals, “Perhaps, Haldir, it is a question to be asked of our sister.”

He snorted elegantly, crossing his arms skeptically.

“And how, my Lady, shall it be asked of her? She does not know our language, nor do we know hers.”

Making a derisive sound within his throat, he continued, “Perhaps her kind are not developed enough to understand our tongue; they probably speak in grunts and live in caves with their beasts.”

“Silence, Marchwarden!”

Startled, Haldir turned to see the normally thoughtful Lord Celeborn entering the garden, his face an angry storm to match his pace:

“Do not speak such things against a guest; nay more, your kin.”

“She is no kin of mine.”

As Celeborn glared at him, Haldir shifted uncomfortably beneath the disturbingly hostile eyes:

“Is she less an Elf because she is different? She is to us as the Men of the East are to those of the West: different in looks and language, yet they are still the same, still Men. It does not matter how she looks, Haldir son of Hithaer and Laslin of Lórien. She is an Elf, distant kin to us all.”

“How did you know she was different, Lord?” asked Haldir suspiciously, his eyes narrowed.

Celeborn placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

“My wife,” he said, “shares many things with me, especially those that will change the fate of this world.”

Galadriel sighed softly and gracefully rose to stand tall beside her husband; when she turned her eyes to Haldir, he saw her sorrow and … regret?... in their depths.

“This time is ending, Haldir; you have felt it, as I have seen it. There are two dooms waiting in the mists to befall the future of Middle-Earth: a darkness spreading throughout the lands, a ruinous disease devastating the Peoples of this world.”

Haldir felt her eyes on him, and as he looked up at her, he was swept up into a whirlwind of haze and fire. He saw the desolation approaching the West, the thousands slain by a cruel and vicious hand, and cried out at the burning of his beloved mallyrn trees, the laying of waste to all things good and beautiful.

Pressure escalated in his mind, and tears fell as rain down his face as he sobbed his grief. Suddenly a gentle hand settled on his shoulder, anchoring him against the tide; he looked up to see his Lord standing above him, in his eyes a melancholy wisdom. The hand on his shoulder tightened gently as he spoke softly, sadness in his voice:

“This is only one fate, Marchwarden… one doom waiting for its opportunity to strike. The other is no less terrible.”

Once again the scene changed as he gripped his head: the land grew in shadow, yet the courage of those remaining rising strong and fierce. A great and terrible battle was fought outside a gleaming city, the faces of the warriors and their enemies blurred; a feast, a crown, a tree, and then he was flying over the earth, seeing the lands of all. As he soared, he felt the passage of time, the change in the land as the presence of the Elves diminished.

A great mourning cry rose from his lips as he realized the world he loved so much would pass to the hands of those remaining as the time of the Elves ended, and the ages of Men began.

*

For a while Galadriel allowed her Marchwarden to dwell on his thoughts, but after long minutes, she reached out to him as Celeborn had done, touching his cheek with her hand as she did so. Startled eyes flew to hers as she smiled sadly:

“Judgments of the heart are often built on the words of others; would you condemn her life, without giving her a chance to speak on her behalf?”

For a time he stood apart from them, pondering long between his own feelings and the words of his Lady. At last, he looked in Galadriel’s eyes, and nodded. Relief filled her, though she kept it hidden from her eyes as she smiled to him:

“Much wisdom is there in you, Haldir: it is a quality I would have you use more in the coming days, along with your well-known patience.”

He tilted his head toward her, his gaze curious and questioning. In response, she answered, “I would have her in your care, Marchwarden: I foresee that she will need a strong guardian, and you are one with an open mind.”

Her husband and she watched as Haldir stood silent, as his mind grasped this knowledge and accepted it.

“I will do as commanded, Lord and Lady,” he spoke, bowing to them.

Galadriel smiled again, and asked:

“Where did you leave her, Haldir?”

“At the practice yard, my Lady, with Orophin; there would have been no one there at the time, and I made it clear she was to stay there and not be taken elsewhere. After, I went to report to you.”

“Your service does you credit, my Marchwar-”

The Lady stopped mid-sentence, looking past him. Suddenly, she turned her piercing eyes to him, her voice urgent:

“Go, go now, Haldir! She is in danger….no harm must be allowed to befall her; there is a presence in her that I do not recognize, a powerful gift bestowed upon her. Go to her!”

Without a thought, Haldir obeyed her command, his senses even more aware of his surroundings as he raced along the talans and bridges to the practice yard. Adrenaline exhilarating his veins as he leaped over gaps and branches, he stretched his mind, looking for her presence; he quickly found it, the only one he did not know, but he also found another life-force intertwined with hers: one he knew as his brother’s.



Confrontation



Thunder roared in his ears at her tacit appraisal. /It isn’t right,/ he thought angrily, turning toward her, /She is Avari, a She-Elf traitor to the Valar, and all Eldar! How dare she lay her tainted eyes on the Galadhrim, ones who know obedience!/

Fury and revulsion coursed through him, making his limbs shake and his head to fill with bloodlust. /She will not live to betray our kind again!/ His hand grasped the hilt of his sword tightly, causing the blade to sing as it was pulled from its sheath. Gripping the tightly wrapped leather rigidly in one hand, he advanced on her, swinging its hilt into a two-handed grip.

He stalked her slowly, using his height and mass as intimidation. When her stance became a defensive half-crouch, righteous anger spilled over to his wrath. Even quicker than he, she grasped the twin swords strapped to her back, unsheathing two of the most beautiful blades he had ever seen. The handgrips were wrapped tightly with black leather, stars etched in silver from the pommel to guard.

The blades themselves were slightly similar to those carried by Mirkwood Elves, certain differences aside; their beauty only fueled his ire. As she twirled them in her hands, the righteous anger in him grew.

/She will learn the price of betrayal/ he swore.

*

She could feel the angry undercurrent of the Sun-haired Elf before her. Defiance in her narrowed eyes, she glared at him, chin raised, daring him to fight. If she was to die this day, she would die with honor.

Orophin let out a wild yell, attacking her with a speed and agility that stunned her. He fought so differently from her kin, she had no idea what to expect.

They led a deadly dance, Orophin determined to destroy the insolent She-Elf, the stranger refusing to yield. He slashed the air in an arc, aiming for her chest, only to be startled as she deflected his attack, turning it against him. For hours they fought tirelessly, locked together in fierce conflict; a crowd began to grow around them in the practice yard as their blows rang through the trees, cheering for Orophin and jeering at the stranger.

At last, Orophin’s strong muscles began to show signs of weariness, but he refused to stop his attack. Inch by hard-won inch, he pushed her back toward a mallorn tree, intent on pinning her to its trunk. Too late she realized his plan, and though she fought desperately to push him back, he succeeded in disarming her, causing her blades to fall to the ground. He watched in satisfaction as she slumped her head in defeat, collapsing against the tree.

“Wolf feast *,” he taunted, his eyes cruel and unforgiving as he pulled his sword back to drive it into her body, “You betrayed us.”

Quicker than thought, the She-Elf straightened, whipping out a dagger and swiftly pinned it to his throat. His stroke was halted mid-air as her knife pressed against him. She could feel his pulse racing against the tip of her blade, pressing slightly against the vein. Suddenly, the enraged Elf heard his brother calling his name through the crowd. Oh, that his older brother was to see him in such dishonorable defeat! His hatred of the stranger grew even more, if possible. He swore that she would pay doubly for this disgrace.

*

“Orophin!” shouted Haldir, thrusting himself through the gathered audience, “Orophin, stay! Stay this madness!”

She looked deep into her opponent’s eyes, saw the other Sun-haired one trying to get to him, and breathed deeply. Never moving her gaze from Orophin’s, she slowly lowered the knife to her side, stepping back to allow the other her place.

Though his brother had not moved his arm from its mid-air position, Haldir saw his arm muscles twitch and shake in repression. Worried for Orophin’s rashness, he gripped his brother’s arm tightly.

“Move out of the way, Haldir!” Orophin hissed, his eyes wild in his bloodlust, “She deserves to die for her treachery against our kind!”

/SILENCE!/

The command came deafening, the voice crashing as loud as thunder. So powerful, it forced Haldir and those around him to their knees, Orophin to drop his sword and press his hands to his ears. The echoes of the voice ricocheted through Haldir’s mind, causing his eyes to close tightly in an effort to lessen the voice’s power. As the echoes died away, the lids of his eyes opened to half-slits. /The stranger is speaking!/ he realized in awe, /How can she speak to us in our minds?/

Silver eyes glared aggressively at those around her; anger raged in those mithril depths, anger and defiance. Her presence seemed to tower above those before her, forcing them to cover their ears in an attempt to block out her voice. Righteous anger pulsated from her body. Her skin turned to molten gold, hair to pure moonlight, and her silver eyes seemed to deepen, pulling him into her, entrancing him, hypnotizing him.

The force in his mind suddenly intensified.

/You call my kind Unwilling; we are not. We are Áraquendi: Elves of the Dawn, ones who dwell in the land where Anár rises, past the settlements of Men and Darkness. Where the earth is still wild and untamed as fire, and we are the ones who protect it. Call me what you will, in whatever tongue! Avari, Abari, Avamanyar! Dark-Elf, Mori-kwendê, Moriquendë! These are your names for me! I refuse them; I refuse what you would brand me! I am Kinn-lai, Áraquendë…I am Sálindë, Child of the Dawn!/

Haldir cried out in pain at the strength of her wrath, pressing his ears even harder. All at once, her powerful presence left his mind, replaced by another, one he knew. He clung to the familiar light: the Lady had come.

*

The pain lessening, he tenderly opened his eyes: there, on the stair leading from the City, stood his Queen, and Lord Celeborn. Her arms were raised slightly, her gaze direct and intense on the stranger. Slowly, he rose to his feet, half-stumbling to his Lady’s side; he noticed the rest of the Elves around him, including his brother, had followed the same path as he. Together they stood, some in fear, some in anger, some in confusion, all staring at the stranger.

{ Alatáriel, } her lips breathed, wonder written plainly on her face as she lowered her knife to her side, and fell to a knee, bowing her head in reverence. The Lady herself seemed slightly surprised at being addressed in the High Tongue, ancient and forgotten by all but a few; the elleth spoke again, her voice ringing through the trees:

{ I have searched far and wide for you, my lady. I am come to warn you of a Darkness sickening the lands of the East; it will spread until it consumes this world. }

Her words were foreign to him, familiar yet scattered with unknown terms, the words harsh and different. Yet it was her voice that captured his attention, her voice that was so similar yet so different from the powerful presence in his mind. Low and rich, it was as though she spoke from deep within her throat; the words, familiar and otherwise, matched her voice.

{ The Abhorrent One has returned, my lady, and is gathering strength in the Darkmen of the East; I was chosen to come to you, and pledge the blood of my people. }

All watched, breathless, as she picked up her blades from where they lay, re-sheathed them, and once again drew the dagger strapped to her thigh. No longer entranced by the two opponents’ skill, the audience now saw that the knife itself wasn’t made of steel, or metal at all; instead, the blade was a pure, translucent green glass, smooth and straight, unlike any Elvish craft known to them.

Silver eyes never wavering from the Lady, she drew it sharply across her palm, unflinching from the pain. Raising her hand palm-up to Galadriel, she spoke:

{ Blood of the Firstborn, I pledge to thee. }

Slowly, she tightened her hand into a fist, squeezing until her blood ran between her fingers onto the ground.

Galadriel stood still beside her husband, both gazing at the stranger, the one called Sálindë, remembering the ancient language and the days of old.

{ Come, Sálindë, } said Galadriel at last, her eyes grave and face somber, { I accept your pledge. You have traveled far, and are weary with the toil of your charge. Come now and rest, as a guest of the Lord and Lady. }


*

A.N.:

/words/ = thought, Mind-Speech

{ words } = Quenya

Credit is due to Méran Anessi ar Quenteli for Haldir’s parents’ names

Hithaer = meaning “Mist Sea”

Laslin = meaning “Leaf Song”

* Wolf feast = insult

A.N. II:

I have read online that “She-Elf” is the lowest of names to call a female Elf, despicable and crude. That is how I am using it in this story.

Avari = Sindarin term (the Unwilling, Those who refused the summons to Valinor)
Avamanyar = Quenya term (meaning Avari)
Abari = Primitive Elvish (meaning Avari), PE henceforth titled ‘Avarin’

Dark-Elf = Avari, (S)
Moriquendë = Dark-Elf (Q)
Mori-kwendê = Dark-Elf (A)

Kinn-lai = one of the six tribes of the Avari

Áraquendi = Dawn Elves (Q)

Sálindë = translated as Firesong (Q)

Alatáriel = Telerin name for Galadriel