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.

Again, originally I had translated Salinde’s words into Quenya, but chose to have them in English surrounded in brackets for structure purposes. If you want to read the Quenya version of Salinde’s speech, go to Fanfiction.net, and look up my story there.

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http://photobucket.com/albums/v311/spiritdesigner522/Child of the Dawn/



The Offer


A low murmur passed through the throng, whispers spoken behind fair hands; apparently the Lady’s words had been understood by them, as well. She ignored their voices, rising to her feet and re-sheathing the green-glass knife. Her hand stung, irritated as drops of blood trickled onto the earth, spoiling the pure-white petals of flowers as she passed. Each step she took, the hostility of the crowd grew, but she kept her eyes only for the White Lady and the Lord at her side. Reaching them, she bowed her head, right hand to her heart in salute, saying:

{ The path given me is now finished; my death will not be without peace. I give you praise for your gift, and look to your judgment with steady heart. }

Surprised, Galadriel looked at the bowing figure, then to her husband. A look of confusion marred the blue of his eyes, then cleared as the elleth’s meaning dawned. Sharing his gaze with his wife, he stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder:

{ It may be your ears lie to you, quen-tára; you are our friend, not our prisoner. }

She raised her eyes to his, and he was caught in the depths of their confusion.

{ Is it not the way of the Eldômi to bear death to ones who would give them aid? } she hissed bitterly, anger and pain tearing at her throat.

Celeborn caught his breath and looked to his wife. Appearing serene and calm, the Lady of Light placed a hand on the elleth’s face, caressing, and reaching out to quiet the tumult within her. Slowly, she drew back her hand, offering it in front of her as a gesture of welcome.

{ Come, Sálindë } she whispered softly in the old tongue, { You shall stay with Celeborn and I. }

She looked at the offered hand, and back to the Lady. All at once, Galadriel felt a faint touching of her own mind, feather-light and probing. She smiled openly as the presence sensed her awareness and receded, saying to the warrior:

{ Come. }

The silver eyes stared long into hers, then looked away, disconcerted by the Lady’s gaze.

*

Sálindë felt the confusion within her threatening to take hold, and searched desperately for a way to ease the chaos. Tears pricking her eyes, she searched and searched, ignoring the offer in the Lady’s eyes…./There!/ she thought, relief flooding her as she caught the familiar spirit of Hravan. The clamor fading, she looked once more at the Lady, and at the Lord. /They would have me live,/ she thought, perplexed, /Though why is a mystery./ All at once she squared her shoulders, the resignation of her fate coming to mind, and thought /I chose this road knowing I would die at its end. If they wish to prolong its coming, it is their choice, not mine./

And with that, she took the Lady’s hand, and was led through the hostile crowd up a set of steps twining around the enormous trees she had seen.

Galadriel sensed her awareness, and tightened her hold on Sálindë’s hand slightly. The elleth tilted her head questioningly, her eyes as piercing as those of her Marchwarden.

{ I would not have you fear for your life, wandering one. As you are here, you will be under my protection, and will not be touched. }

The elleth seemed to understand her meaning, and turned her eyes once more to the stairs before them. The Lady of Light looked back at her husband, who nodded his head with a smile, as if to reassure her of their choice. She smiled back to him, and turned her eyes to study the warrior before her. /She is strong and brave/ thought the White Lady, then, sighing, /and justified in her anger against us/

She shook her head, clearing away the darkness of her thoughts, and led Sálindë up the last step, turning to the right, into the door of their House.

Sálindë looked on, her wonder carefully checked behind her eyes, as she took in the sight of the palace in the trees. /We must be so high/ she thought, excitement slightly stirring as she began to slowly believe she would not die, at least not this day.

*

Back on the forest floor, Orophin was standing shame-faced in front of his brother, his spine straight as iron and eyes downcast.

“I am full of sorrow that you had to witness my defeat, brother.”

Haldir looked at him, knowing the wound his brother’s pride had received, yet also realizing he deserved punishment for his weakness.

“I did not see a defeat, brother; my eyes perceived a draw, you both were ready to kill and be killed instantly.”

Orophin glanced up, his shock apparent, then his eyes suddenly hardened.

“You say that as my brother, yet I know you would not have an Elf bested by Avari filth guarding the borders.”

“Do you know me so well then, Orophin? That I would cast aside a seasoned archer for an inexperienced youth?” asked Haldir, annoyed at his brother’s presumption and refusal of his opinion.

“She bested me, that She-Elf!”

Orophin spat on the ground, his rage and hatred of the stranger beginning to break through his control. Haldir looked on, knowing that this was what his Lady had warned him of, the duty he would have as the elleth’s guardian.

“Enough, Orophin!” said Haldir, his voice stern and commanding, “It is not wise to speak ill of a guest of the Lady.”

He watched as his younger brother struggled to regain his composure, and relaxed when he saw the familiar light in his eyes.

“Come, Haldir, let us find Rúmil and sup awhile. Let us forget, for a time, the troubles of this day.”

Orophin slapped him on the back, and they strode tall through the forest floor, heading toward the talan of their brother.


A Place to Stay


He had followed the lady and the stranger, keeping a respectful distance between himself and the Lord behind them. As they ascended the stairs, his eyes were narrowed and focused on the strangers. He had understood his brother’s feelings, but as for himself, he did not know his own. As he followed the Lady and Lord up the stairs, questions in his mind, he looked up suddenly to see Galadriel smiling gently in his direction. All at once he felt her presence in his mind:

/Do not let your heart be troubled, warden of Lórien. It is far wiser to know confusion for a moment rather than believe an untruth for so long./

/An untruth, Lady?/ he asked, disturbed at her words.

She shook her head slightly, still smiling at him.

/Later, Rúmil; your questions will be answered by your brother./

He nodded and bowed to her and, on seeing Celeborn had turned to him, bowed to his Lord as well. With a slightly less-burdened mind, he turned and went in search of his older brothers.

*

When the Lady had stopped, Sálindë had been forced to as well. Turning her head, she saw the Lady’s gaze fixed on yet another Sun-hair, though this one had followed them up the dizzying stairs. He seemed disturbed, agitated. Mentally, she shrugged and shifted her attention to the Lord at her side.

/He must be Teleporno,/ she thought /His hair is silver, like mine, though his eyes and skin are different./

In her heart she wondered why he did not recoil from her as the others had done; it appeared she was not welcome and her people not well-thought of. A bitter, self-derisive sound came from her throat, and she realized the couple now turned to her, in the Lady’s eyes an expression not unlike concern.

/Of course we are not well-thought of,/ she thought, staring impassively at the couple /No one is willing to remember the past./

However, as she looked harder at the silver-haired Elf, she concluded that he did not recoil from her as the others because he was the husband of Alatáriel: he did not because she did not. /What was it Tárion spoke of to the Council?/ she thought desperately.

It had been many years in fact, since she had last spoken with Tárion; his words had been spoken in reverence of Alatáriel, but she could not remember much of what had been said of her husband, other than his name and features. He was tall, she saw, just a little taller than she, and seemed thoughtful, as if his words were measured. /Which, perhaps they are,/ she realized suddenly, /He may be distant kin, but I know not his motives, his feelings, only that he and Alatáriel seem to wish to prolong my life./ The reason for this also she did not know; still, shaking her head slightly to free her thoughts, she realized they were both looking at her, as if waiting for her to say something.

At last, the Lady spoke, her words soft and tone meant to soothe:

“These are our guest telain; will they do for you?”

Galadriel inwardly sighed at the stranger’s obvious surprise. /There is no doubt she came to us, believing it was to her death./

Despite her misgivings, Sálindë took a quick glance about the room, noting that nearly everything was made of wood instead of the stone she had always known. Turning to the Lady, she gave her a deep bow, her tone respectful yet aloof as she said:

“It is an honor to be thought of as your guest, Alatáriel.”

/Though it is a mystery to me as to your purpose./ she thought silently, careful to hide her suspicion behind her eyes. Still, some of her distrust must have escaped her control as the Lady sighed again and gestured to the chamber.

“These are yours for however long you choose to stay in the city; however, I would ask that you stay within their walls as much as possible. There are those who would feel unkindly towards yourself due to your…heritage.”

The Lady’s eyes were dimmed in sadness; they were magnificent, a startling blue that sent chills along Sálindë’s spine. It seemed as if she was waiting for something, a signal of some sort, a sign. Whatever she was looking for, she did not find it as she watched Sálindë for a little longer then shook her head slightly and gestured to the room once more.

“These are yours for as long as you choose to stay. I ask you not to leave them unless with my Marchwarden. He is the one who interrupted your exchange with Orophin in the practice yard.”

Sálindë stood still, uncaring of the room before her, her eyes fixed on the Lady as she spoke, her voice a low murmur:

“I will abide by your will, Alatáriel. Here I will remain until called to you, no matter the reason.”

She bowed, first to the Lady, second to the Lord who had remained silent throughout their exchange. Looking at him, she was drawn again to his vivid blue eyes, impossible as they were for her to read. His silver hair grew even more so in the lights of the…telain, they had called them; he reminded her of that she could remember of Helcarusco, and the memories resounded in her mind. Shaken, she hesitated in her bow, halting slightly before resuming her height. Eyes on the Lord for once, instead of the Lady, she spoke:

“I give you thanks again for your mercy, and will accept my fate no matter the outcome.”

Galadriel was puzzled at the Elf’s response to her husband, and, deciding to consult with him later, smiled slightly at her guest.

“May rest come swiftly to you, Sálindë of the Kinn-lai, and your dreams bring you peace.”

Sálindë bowed once more, hand to her heart, as the couple turned from her and walked gracefully from her sight. Pivoting slightly, she strode into the chamber, her thoughts unfocused and confused. Sighing, she sat down on the bed, uncaring of her surroundings, folding her legs beneath her with her arms resting on her knees. Willing back her tears, she tried to force the fear from her mind, but it proved stubborn. Breathing in deeply, she closed her eyes and sat very still, quieting her emotions and detaching from the fatigue she knew would come. /Hravan./ she thought, searching for his presence.

At last she was able to glimpse the familiar spirit, and was comforted slightly to know that despite these Sun-hairs’ hatred for her, they did not feel the same toward her horse. Chuckling slightly at her friend’s lazy thoughts and warm mind-sighs, she was relieved to find him well-fed and watered. At the moment, he was drying from a well-deserved bath someone had been thoughtful enough to give him, and was munching happily on some tasty sweet grass stalks. Smiling, she kept her eyes closed and sent a tiny thought toward him.

Across the city, Cassemir watched the horse’s head suddenly spring up, as if hearing a slight sound. He observed, fascinated, as the horse seemed to tuck its head close to its chest and blew its breath out between its teeth.

Sálindë was pleased he responded so quickly to her call, and sent him a feeling of warmth and pleasure along their bond. He replied with his own element of affection to her, and went back to grazing amongst his fodder. Choking on a laugh, Sálindë severed the link, and rolled her aching shoulders, the knots and sore places causing her to wince in pain as they screamed at her for months of tireless riding. Gingerly, she reached down and grasped the heel of her boot, pulling it free with an agonized groan, her muscles screaming as she allowed the leather to fall from her hands to the wooden floor, and reached down again to pull the other one. Uncurling her legs completely, she stood on shaky limbs and raised trembling fingers to unfasten her cloak; her eyes watched the heavy midnight folds hit the floor silently, and then she brought her fingers to unbuckle the leather traveling pack she wore that carried her quiver, bow and swords.

With a soft sigh, the leather straps slid from her body as she placed the harness by the bedside with exaggerated care. At last, the last vestiges of her strength gave out and she collapsed on the mattress. Too exhausted to curl over and cry, her thoughts instead returned to her friend as tears burned her tired eyes.

/Oh, four-legs! So far we have come, now is the time for your rest. But oh, how happy I would be to return home./ Silently, she admonished herself with a kind of bitter resentment: /But I will never return. I have given my people’s message to Alatáriel, and await my death. By Anár, oh gods, I miss my brothers; I will not die with them as we had promised when we were children, so long ago. I will not return; I can never return./



A.N.:

{ words } = Quenya

/words/ = thoughts, Mind-Speech

Teleporno = Telerin name for Celeborn

Tárion = meaning “descendant of kings”

Translation:

Quen-tára = high one, noble one; proud one

Anár = Sun