Faikar - LotR

CHAPTER TWO

The House of Elrond was dark and still, candles and lights put out for the night. And yet, a woman rested on the railing of her balcony, gazing out over the main garden and the sloping city. Her fair face was tilted up to the moon, red hair unbound now, wild curls falling over her shoulders and into her lap. Long, slim fingers looped a stray ringlet through her fingertips, lost in the movement and the peace of the evening. Defined red brows arched delicately over her closed eyes. The woman's pert nose was slightly turned up at the end, nostrils flaring as she sorted through the different scents the gentle breeze provided. A smooth scar shone white in the moonlight as it ran from the woman's left ear, down her jaw line to stop at her small square chin.

"Lady Adonnen." The woman's features twisted and darkened until a scowl marred her face and she directed it at the old man who had decidedly broken her quiet solace. He knew she loathed that name.

"Mithrandir." She didn't move as she addressed him. "You do realize this is my private room, yes?" He chuckled and shuffled to the balcony to stand near her feet.

His hair was still long and grey and somewhat tangled, his beard of matching color fell down the middle of his chest, swaying slightly with every step. Humble robes of charcoal hung loose on his frame as he stooped his broad shoulders over the railing. Those things remained the same, a familiar comfort that never changed. But the heaviness in his eyes and the sorrow that seemed to ride upon his back; that was new.

"What has happened?" His breath left him in a heavy sigh as her question died out on the breeze. The wind was gently lifting and pulling the ends of his hair as he stood there, pensive, so she continued to watch and wait. He would speak in his own time, until then she would provide the only thing he seemed to want; company.

She turned her attention outside, to once again lose herself in the tranquility offered. Silver-white moonlight reflected off the mist of the falls, a web of stars glittering and shimmering as it floated through the dark. The worn stone of the courtyards, while a pale marble in the daylight, now glowed an iridescent creamy white. Flowers had closed their faces for the night but still swooned gently with the breeze, casting their sweet aroma through the chilled air. The soft hoot of owls accompanied with the rolling gurgle of the rivers and streams created a natural lullaby for the citizens of Imladris. Even if someone weren't especially fond of elves, there was no denying the ethereal beauty they were bestowed with and produced. Born from stars themselves, they epitomized it in almost every way. Their flawless porcelain skin, silken hair, and sharp, cutting features sculpted with elegance. She herself had envied their warriors in her youth. The way they fought, as if dancing; each step, each slight bend of the wrist, precise and exact. She was found more than once, hiding in the bushes and up in the leafy trees that encircled the training areas, enraptured by the smooth and savage grace they exuded with seemingly little effort. No excessive movement, no waste of energy, no mauling brawls or great heaving blows that were best known by dwarves and man.

It'd been so long since her last visit to Elrond's home. So long since she'd set foot onto the pearlescent stone and felt the overwhelming peaceful presence of the hidden city. Her fault of course, for staying away so long. But the last time she was here hadn't ended well so she'd condemned herself away; her actions, to her, inexcusable. Over one thousand years ago, Minus Ithil had fallen to the Nazgul. Two of her kin had been slain while defending it and nine hatchlings were stolen, taken into the newly crowned Minus Morgul. She'd been distraught, frantic with rage and pain for her people when word reached her that Elrond requested her attendance so that he may relay a vision. Thinking it to be in relation to the newly conquered city and the missing young-ones, she travelled far and fast to Rivendell. She was wrong, however, and the vision threatened to tip her over the edge that she was so precariously perched on. She had known at the time that his visions weren't exactly set, that there's a separate path that can be taken but she could not be reasoned with. She'd left the same day she arrived, after nearly accidentally razing the valley, and fled to her homeland in the far north.

"Saruman has betrayed us."

Ah.

"You do not seem so surprised." He was curious but she could hear the underlying tones of anger. Though whether it was directed at her for her blasé facade or the betrayer, she knew not.

She knew this to be a delicate subject and took a moment to think on how to proceed. Saruman had been the wisest and chief amongst the Istari, Gandalf had often looked to him for aid and counsel. It wasn't a surprise to her that Gandalf would be the last to discover the truth, he was such a trusting individual – seeing the good in Middle Earth and her people, perhaps too much at times. It was due to this conviction that he had not seen the White Wizard's thirst for power earlier.

"Gandalf, do you remember when we gathered for the White Council those years ago?"

It was not an eve she could likely forget. Knowing the dwarves were trying to reclaim Erebor was one thing but Saruman denying the proof of the Morgul blade, poised like a snake in front of him, was another. A confirmation of her growing fears that had her hackles rising.

She turned now to look at the old man in front of her. She did not want to bring him anymore despair but maybe knowing what she knew would help in some way.

"I had my suspicions, as did Morinehtar, but that was all they were. Who was I to lay blame at the Council's feet for his greed and callous acts without validation? Especially after he battled the Deceiver with you and the Council in Dol Guldur. You would have labeled me a fool, a naysayer. I could not take the risk that you would then turn to him with my thoughts and lay me bare."

Her boots scuffed the railing as she swung her legs to the ground and moved to stand beside the wizard. His mouth was pulled down along with his gaze. She could tell he was distracted, his mind far from here, lost in memory and possibly guilt.

"Olorin."

His gaze suddenly cut sharply to hers with the use of his True name. Blue eyes burned bright, now clear of any fog. Imladris disappeared and yet Gandalf remained. No longer aged and grey but tall with smooth bronzed skin, flowing silver robes and golden blonde hair. His deep voice thrummed, alighting her veins and the blood within sang as it sparked and flooded with power. His eyes were chips of ice, almost white with the strength of his magic.

"I have not heard that name in ages." The woman sighed softly at his disgruntled reply and blinked rapidly to dispel the vision.

"You forget how old I am, friend. 'Twas the name I first knew for you."

"That, my dear, is because Morinehtar is terrible at keeping things to himself," he grumbled. Nárhína laughed at the utter truth in that statement and the indignant tone in which it was said. She knew if it was indeed a matter of utmost importance, the blue wizard would not dare to repeat anything. However, if one forgot to explicitly mention not to say something- well, that was their fault.

"He is a curious individual," her eyes slid sideways and she allowed a small smirk to play on her lips. "Then again, considering your strange attachment to Hobbits and Radagast's peculiar love for the Wild, the same could be said for all of you. Yes?" She chuckled lightly at his mock glare. She also recognized his need for a change in conversation and decided to ask a question that had been plaguing her through the evening.

"Gandalf," his eyes met hers and she had the unwavering suspicion that he already knew what she wished to speak about. "Do you think it wise for me to be on this journey?"

She knew he knew. Knew what she was, what she was capable of. She could not back out, as it were. There was no freedom in fleeing the Fellowship for it was impossible. Incapable of telling untruths, her word was binding in the most primitive of ways - as it was for all her kind. For that reason alone, most of her kin were masters in the subtle art of misdirection and omission.

No, the only way to be free of obligation was for the man next to her to release her of his vow. As she stared into defensive blue eyes, she knew he would not.

"I fear much worse what could happen if we didn't have you, than what possibly might now that we do."