Chapter 10
The Great Awakening
2933 TA. March 8th.
Eastern Eriador.
The Elven Kingdom of Imladris
﴾Rivendell﴿
Hitherto, it was a serene setting, against which to digest the implications of his election to bring her here. Forthwith, it was a storm, an aberration from calmness and clarity to chaos and confusion. The call of the elf horn rang out all the clear. It did not pass unheeded - a caveat to all who resided beyond the ethereal veil and within the elven valley.
The lyrical sounds of nature lulled. In its place, a fuse of clamant cries. Dismay... fear... tangible exigency and arduous commands from those held in authority. Imladris, a sanctuary for those seeking safety and solace upon the face of it, began to unravel.
BOOM...!
BOOM......!
Twice, and then thrice again, it came - a deafening explosion, a plume of iridescent purple light. Seismic waves nether the earth grew to a great tumult, rolling and shaking. Sharp they were, forcing the commonly unfaltering elves off their feet. Elrond's estate was sound, albeit invulnerable...?
Alabẙran fought to look forth beyond the cloud of loosened dust and loam. His keen eyes and sharp ears detected the heavy, hastened hammering of stone against stone. The chairs danced yonder from round the table amidst the chambers. Harsh, clangorous percussion pierced the air. Spears and swords belonging to the guards rapped against the tiled rocks. The tramp of feet sounded, Imladris's inhabitants scurrying amidst the area like petrified ants preceding havoc upon their home.
The carefully crafted structure came to crumble. High aloft his head, bits of branches, foliage, gravel, and sizable stones proceeded to fall. The implications of the Green Elf's elections had grown deadly, a deluge of death.
The very breath of his lungs seemed stolen away. An internal war waged on within Alabẙran. His nerves teetered on the precipice of paralyzing panic. Albeit, the innate instinct to survive swiftly set in. For that, he was grateful. Without a second thought, he swiftly surveyed his surroundings.
One...
Two...
Three...
Four...
'Too many,' he thought to none other than himself, 'There are too many! Atar meneldëa Eru órava messë... melin Eru rehta ni!' ﴾God the Father of Heaven, have mercy on us... dear God help me﴿ Recalling his strength, the Green Elf wailed "Ai! Ai! R-rehta! Rehta ni!" ﴾help, help me﴿ Loud his voice bellowed, like the bawl from a Balrog. Embitterment deemed his efforts fruitless as he carried on his call for what felt like eons. Yet hope remained within Alabẙran, for a wellspring of renewed fairing and faith arose.
Like the coming of dawn, so came the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. Upon his breast he bore a rayed sun. He was tall, and his form was straight. Long were his lustrous tresses, like strands of golden sunlight upon the shining sea. His face was ageless and fair. Bright were his eyes, their beryl-blue stain reflecting joy and wisdom. His hands were able, and within his body he bore strength and a slight for song.
In a similar semblance, he surveyed the surrounding area, and lo he came upon a dire display. Five of his kinsmen - four of fell fairing, and one beholden, overwrought, and bestirring. "Iquista, yë maurë rehta...
﴾please, I need help﴿ The sable-haired elf said.
"Man estannen le?" ﴾what are you called﴿
"Alabẙran Adwarin," he replied, "Ma istal quet' Westron?" ﴾do you speak westron﴿
"Ná!" ﴾yes﴿
"Prithee mellon, my hands are too few and time is too fleeting. Make haste and gather the wounded! We may yet deliver these from death, and with a bit of blessing, perchance ourselves as well!" the Green Elf implored.
A name moved past his compatriot's lips, a mere whisper, inaudible to any other than that of an elf. His eyes fell upon each face. The cheerfulness and hope that commonly permeated the corners of his heart paled. Of the four there was one he came to call friend. "Elerondo..." The sire of the Sons of Peredhel. In haste he spoke swiftly a second time, "I am called Glorfindel. Follow me. We must away!" In togetherness they came, an unspoken accord crafted from a simple understanding. The threat of death or fell fairing was certain if they remained within the confines of the chambers. They had to get out!
Alabẙran came forward, his posture spoiled as he knelt upon one knee. He took hold of Lord Elrond's arm, bringing it aloft, over and nether his left shoulder. He threaded his right arm between his legs, fighting for purchase upon the place of Elrond's knee.
Glorfindel secured one guard similarly upon his back, and together they stood, swiftly departing the decaying dwelling. They moved with haste, descending along the crescent-curved stone steps. With an air of both seriousness and severity, the Calaquendi or High Elf spoke. "We must be swift. The whole of Imladris crumbles. To remain within its confines 'twould be both fatal and foolhardy."
"What of its inhabitants?" inquired the Green Elf.
"With hope they shall heed the call of the elf horn and flee. They shall secure aid and guidance from the guards. Alas, we are too few, and possess nary the ability to do more than that of our assignments or intendments. 'Tis a strange occurrence, nay infeasible, albeit strange."
Alabẙran swallowed thickly, feeling a dearth of ardor at the prospect of divulging the truth to Glorfindel. He felt a deep sense of disquieted embitterment and shame. "It..." he began. He slowly spoke, for he found it to be a tasking endeavor, portioning the truth of the matter upon the elven eminence. "'Twas nay a natural occurrence, yet of my doing."
"Wherein?"
"Lord Elrond" - Alabẙran stopped, recalling the decree - surely Glorfindel was trustworthy? "Well, the caracal is out of the bag forthwith!" he replied, more or less to himself. "The artifact-"
BOOM...!
CRACK!
BOOM......!
Together the elves' heads twisted abaft. They watched. A look of wide-eyed horror splayed across their faces as one of the great many columns belonging to The White Chambers came to collapse.
CRASH!
"NO!" Alabẙran cried, "The guards, they are-"
"THEY ARE LOST TO US!" Glorfindel disrupted, his tone sharp like the edge of a knife. "Our skills are of no more use here. Anon you may bequeath me an account. Hurry!"
Panic permeated the air like a heavy perfume. The earth shook. Spoiling structures came to crumble. Rocks spilt. Great fractures formed, like bolts of bloodless lightning neath the elves' feet. They stumbled wildly as they fought to forge ahead, descending the stone steps. They ran. With Alabẙran at the rear, Glorfindel led the way. They passed The East Tower, coming to a halt at the place of The River Hall. Scarcely could they move fast on foot. The detrimental pass was replete with droves of settlers and soldiers. They came with little order, running wildly as if pursued.
"What now?" the Green Elf called out, his voice but a mere whisper amidst the clamor.
Lord Glorfindel stopped. His commonly fluid gatherings scattered. The irrational sentiments of those surrounding them disrupted his circumspection. Back and forth, to and fro, amidst the halls his gaze flitted. For the first time in all of his ages... he could not see. His lips grew firm and thin. His jaw was set, the muscles there tensed. For the elves, the world moved neither slowly nor swiftly. This day, however, it fleeted. It was disorienting - the havoc, the screams, the holy mess. Both elves' stable forms were forced about, caught in the clutches of the panic-stricken passel. Abaft and athwart they stumbled.
A notion crossed Alabẙran's mind, 'Did he heed my inquiry?' Forthwith, the fair-haired elf replied, "We shall make for the entrance halls, the bridge that runs athwart Bruinen Loudwater. We must locate Elerondo's sons. Likewise, his chief counselor, the Ñoldor half-elf, Erestor. Nor mellon!" ﴾run friend﴿
They ran for a time. The droves moved, then slowed, then moved, bringing all hastened feet to a halt. Cries of discomfort and distress came from the crowd. A harrowing sentiment of confinement settled within. "We must move, we mustn't tarry our time!" cried Alabẙran. Glorfindel nodded in accord. They had all but lost their autonomy. Their movements were no longer their own. The Green Elf widened his stance, assuring that his feet remained firmly affixed to the ground. Glorfindel came alongside his newly found friend. Once there, he said, "Do not let loose your cleave upon your comrade. Level the bend of your arm with your breast. Intertwine your arm with mine. Keep your countenance. Stay upon your feet. We must fall in accordance with the flow. The sea bears waves. There is a lull, therein lies our chance. Direct your steps on a diagonal amidst the hollows of this horde. We shall work our way out thusly, hitherto we come to the place of the periphery!"
As a river runs, so did the coupled company, progressing amidst the passel. Notwithstanding their basic instincts, they forbade themselves the opportunity to flee. To fight against the flow would only add fuel to the fire. They passed through the hall, bathed in balming light beaming from the great open windows. They progressed along the path until at last they came beyond the cascade walkway and within the hectic entry halls.
"Ai! The periphery has come!" cried Glorfindel to Alabẙran. They took heed of the hollow and came to be in that place, safe and separated from the erratic mass of elves.
A solemn sentiment swathed about his face, and lo, the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower spoke. "Nary can one discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore..."
"Pray tell?" the Green Elf replied, as his brow furrowed in confusion.
"They have ensnared themself in a deadly sentiment... nay uncommon amongst a drove such as this... whether 'tis good or not," Glorfindel answered, shaking his head. He was crestfallen, all the while saturated in sentiments of disquieted perplexion. "Their resolve has crumbled like that of waning structures wrought of yore." The pair stood in silence forthwith, paying heed to the droves, scurrying past them, desperate to flee from the unknown hostility hammering down upon their home. Their sharp eyes sifted amidst the crowd in an attempt to conjugate amongst their compatriots they so desperately sought.
"Oi, Alabẙran, Glorfindel!"
The elves' attention was pulled yonder, beyond the foreground of the masses. The call originated from Lord Elrond's son, Elladan. Back and forth, to and fro his arm flailed as a flag fit aloft a pole wrought for war. He worked his way amidst the assemblage, his brother Elrohir following close behind. They pushed past the people and came to the place of the periphery where their company uneasily settled.
"Thank Eru!" Elladan began, "We have searched for adar, albeit failed to find him, have you-" His countenance fell, his utterance cut short, coming to find his ill-faring father upon the back of his elven brother. Alabẙran brought Lord Elrond to lie upon the green ground. The panic that permeated the air flooded his son's eyes and fractured his naturally composed nature.
"Traako!" ﴾shit﴿ Elladan softly swore, his sharp eyes seeing what appeared to be the source of Elrond's stunned state. Upon his temple he bore a grotesque gash, its crimson color painted a painful hue of black and blue.
"Alas," Elrohir said, "he has sustained deathly hurt!"
"Nay," Alabẙran amended. "My skills lie naught in the sewing of skin, rather in the slaying of beasts... yet I am inclined to believe he is concussed. The tremors brought stones, great in girth, to fall. Fractures formed and columns came to crash. The artifact... the magic is foreign to me. It wrought waves, wondrous in coloring and clout. It forced us off our feet!"
Attentions settled upon the Green Elf as he spoke. The look splayed upon his face, the tonality within his voice, he was overcome with seriousness and sorrow. He blamed himself.
"Father ne'er spoke of such an artifact!" Elrohir replied, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"Indeed naught," Alabẙran said. "T'was brought forth and spoken of anon, therein Lord Elrond's request to speak with me alone."
"This artifact..." Lord Glorfindel began. "Where is it?"
Alabẙran turned from the company and brought his arm aloft, pointing toward the onslaught's origin. "The White Chambers, what of it remains I cannot say... albeit 'tis the artifact itsel- myself... I birthed such harrows."
"We have you to blame for the fall of our home and father?!" Elladan spat. He came to nearly close the distance between himself and Alabẙran. He clasped the collar of the Green Elf's garb in his fists. His brow fused in fury, eyes reflecting the passion and pain heeded in his heart. His nostrils flared, and his jaw tensed, the muscles neath his flesh flexing there.
"Aye, yet 'twould do you well to unhand me!" Alabẙran chided.
"Verily?" Elladan clapped back, "If nay what then, shall you bear hurt upon my head as well!?"
"Fárëa idë Mutami!" ﴾enough you lunatics﴿ Glorfindel commanded. With a heavy hand he forced the argumentative, fuming elves apart. "Have we not been dealt enough suffrage forthwith?!"
A reef of storm clouds gathered in Elladan's eyes - his hands trembled like the violent tremors nether the earth, his emotions scarcely far behind. "Forgive me," he replied in a low rumble. The day's unforeseen events carried away his elven clout. An overwhelming torrent tore through his Endë, Órë, and Fëa. Elrohir felt this - his brother was afraid. He came to comfort Elladan. Standing afore him, he brought a doting hand upon his shoulder. Resting his temple against his brother's, he said, "To wrought war upon those that seek to serve us is unfitting. We have been dealt darker days, yes?"
"Aye!" Elladan agreed.
"Take comfort then, and let us come to an accord." Elrohir turned his attention and spoke to the others. "Alabẙran, Glorfindel... we must away, our sanctuary is nay longer safe!"
"Indeed, albeit-" Alabẙran began.
"Eastwards,." Elladan disrupted. "From Bruinen Gorges and River Bruinen, along the Great East Road, lies the barren High Moor. 'Tis within Trollshaws - we must go there!"
"From falling tailings to treacherous trolls?!" Alabẙran quipped.
"Nay, Alabẙran, the area remains untouched by neither Men of Arnor nor Troll. 'Tis rough terrain dotted with rocks, shrubs, and trees, an ill-fitting place for elflings and elleth. What shelter shall it supply? Forthwith, let us make for the bridge that runs athwart Bruinen Loudwater. From there we may revisit our resolution!" said Lord Glorfindel.
"Glorfindel, might I-" Alabẙran interjected. Alas, the Green Elf's voice fell upon deaf ears. "Prithee valda nildë hlar ni!" Alabẙran cried. ﴾please my friends hear me﴿
Back and forth, to and fro they bickered amongst themselves. Tensions rose, and his voice remained unheard amidst the caterwaul of conversation. Henceforth, the Green Elf carried on a non-articulated conversation with himself. He was most grateful, thanking dear Eru Ilúvatar above that he was of sound mind. 'I know for naught which to hope...' Alabẙran began grimly, 'That our company find solace amongst this madness I have wrought, whilst offering my confession, or the awakening of Elrond, only to discover his home in a state of havoc.' He sighed heavily. 'Alas... all choices seem ill, and my posterior shall be grass!'
The morning was passing towards noon, and the company scrambled to gather those that remained within Imladris. It was seldom a simple venture, as it took both a hardened hand and great fortitude from the guards to calm the crowds.
They wandered until they came to a wide path, painted in shadows from tall pine-trees, plunged into steep, moist walls of silver stone. Echoes ran along as they hurried forward; sounds of fast footfalls and a low hum of chatter wove amongst the disquieted droves.
Their path broadened and brought the elves to a brief place of balming, sound beauty. Collectively they came to the Ford, where the East-West Road crosses, south-east of the Trollshaws. The river whispered sweet notes in cascading water-strings, blessing the ocean with her song. Generous curves bore heavenly hues of dappled light, filtered between the boughs of fragrant juniper firs. The trees were great in girth and stretched forth, high above, into the ornamented sky. Billowy, soft clouds were scattered throughout, and lingered, as a gentle breeze brought cooling comfort amidst the currently warm climate. The vegetation was diverse, waxing along the river's edge amidst reeds, sedges, and rush. Crested iris offered a carpet of soft, lavender hued color, with subtle strokes of gold and plum. Black chokeberries, ninebark, and spotted jewelweeds moreover came, creating a canvas of cascading charm.
He observed the Green Elf from a distance, seated upon a large piece of timber, apart from the rest. His posture was spoiled - he rested his forearms upon his knees. It required neither sharp ears nor keen sight to deduce the elf's current sentiments - he was suffering. He approached from abaft and called out his name, his voice laced with both care and concern. "Alabẙran!"
Alabẙran's lashes fluttered swiftly in succession - his mind had strayed, lost amidst doubt and fear. His gaze came away from his fair feet and fell upon the eminent approaching elf. "Glorfindel," Alabẙran said, his tone despondent and detached.
Glorfiendel took his place alongside his ally, and with cool resolve said, "You remove yourself from the rest. Wherefore are you so inclined?"
Alabẙran released a heavy withheld sigh. "I have done this... imposed this perilous predicament."
"Aye," Gorfindel replied. "You said as much afore. Forthwith, 'tis as good a spell as any... bid me what news you have to share!" The Calaquendi was attentive, only interjecting the occasional inquiry when necessary. The Green Elf was deliberate in his endeavor to include all aspects of his account. Lord Elrond's words were enduringly etched within his memory... the decree he sought to set forth. Albeit, dire times call for dire measures. Alabẙran's account attracted the attention of the others nearby, who spoke for naught, electing to heed his harrowing tale.
"Where is she?" Gorfindel inquired.
"I -" Alabẙran stopped, a sinking feeling swiftly settled within his stomach. He swallowed thickly. The pace of his heart hastened, hammering wildly beneath his breast. "My efforts, they were for naught... I- I do not know!"
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2933 TA. March 8th.
Eastern Eriador.
The Great East Road ﴾The Last Bridge﴿
There was a divine sense of equanimity that surrounded her dreams of yore, or what she presumed were dreams, hanging upon the edge of memory. The voices - there was never a face to accompany them. They were foreign, albeit they held an air of adoration and concern. The matter at hand seemed to circulate around "her" and "she", yet whom the men spoke of she could seldom say.
Moreover came the visions - a single white feather. The manner in which it moved was quite nearly balletic, as pure and white as freshly fallen snow. It fell from the firmament, and despite her efforts to take the feather between her fingers, it remained out of reach. Neither the feather nor the voices cleared things up, rather adding to the disquieted sense of perplexity that filled her troubled mind.
The process was slow, albeit the resolve was swift. Akin to a great whale, rising from the dark depths of the vast seas, she fought to free herself from the pull of her tortured torpor. Where once the lids of her eyes remained shut, forthwith they parted like the wings of a magnificent, vivid monarch. The light was blinding, piercing as the rays of the sun. A cacophony of smells and sounds flooded her senses. Firstly, the scent of fish, musk, and soil. Secondly, the sweet symphony of songbirds, the hum of cicadas, and the intermingling sounds of anxious, disorganized chatter. Lastly, pain. Her strength had waned - she could neither lift her arms nor raise her head. Amidst her limbs she felt a strong, terrible sensation - numbness, tingling, and weakness. She fluttered her lashes swiftly in succession, attempting to rid her vision of the heavy veil. 'What is happening? Where am I?' she thought, to none other than herself. While she fought in vain to press her memory, her mind was far less willing to procure what she so desperately desired: answers.
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2933 TA. March 8th.
Eastern Eriador.
The Great East Road ﴾The Last Bridge﴿
Their progress was scarcely as laggard as they had originally assumed 'twould be - amidst the droves, their intended target led them on a straight and narrow path. Carrying above the calamity of sounds came the shrill screams of what they could only assume to be the enkarēin, giving credence to the speed and urgency of their hastened footfalls as the cries continued.
Therein they came, Alabẙran, Glorfindel, and the Sons of Peredhil, upon a dire display - the young enkarling they so desperately sought... and at her mercy one of the elven healers, seated upon her lap with the edge of a fierce blade held at the level of her throat. It was scarcely a tasking endeavor, deciphering what sentiments plagued her. Her brow raised, her eyes grew wide, her pupils dilated, and her full lips pressed together in a firm yet quivering line. The girl was terrified.
Alabẙran and Glorfindel endeavored to take precautious, purposeful steps towards the enkarēin, their hands raised in capitulation. "Prithee, put it down... we are nay your enemy... I... I am nay your enemy!" Alabẙran said, his voice calm, confident, and patient. Anger and haste would only serve heretofore to exasperate an already dire situation. His gentle gaze met her own, and where he sought so desperately to find that same quality there, he saw nothing more than a reflection of paralyzed panic.
"Release her now!" Glorfindel commanded, his voice booming throughout the condensed crowd. His brows drew together - his gaze was hard and unflinching, a deep-seated refusal to break his line of sight from the threat before him. The corner of his lips came too narrow as his teeth clenched, His jaw jutted out, and the tendons there flexed as the slow burn of fury boiled in his heated blood. Simply put, he could not, would not tolerate a threat or violent act forced upon one of his own. He took another step forward, his chest heaving, "I said now!" he fiercely restated, his fingers curling to form tight fists.
"My Lord Glorfindel!" Alabẙran chided, "Enough!" It had come to this, a battle of wills - he had been dismissed far too many times. It was true, he held no high-ranking authority, or status of grandeur. Albeit they were brothers, kin, and as such he deserved some sense of acknowledgement amidst his own.
Glorfindel retained eyes upon the girl. His head turned ever so slightly, affording the Green Elf the "attention" he so desperately sought. "Pay heed to your words... elf," Lord Glorfindel warned. He turned his full attention back to the enkarling, noting her trembling hands.
Alabẙran spoke once more, bringing back the gentleness of his tone. "What are you called?" he asked her. She opened her mouth to speak - alas, as she searched the dark confines of her memory she found herself without an answer to give. Fresh tears formed, her ethereal eyes like rain clouds over the mountains. Her loss fell in heavy torrents down her fair face and she swallowed thickly. Nothing. She could procure nothing. No name, no memory... The sense of overwhelm built - her breathing became shallow, and her throat constricted, a burning knot forming at the base. If that in itself wasn't enough, having no gathering of whom or what she was, here she sat, in a land not her own, surrounded by faces she had never before seen. One face belonging to that of a particularly large elf, stood before her with what she could only presume was a mind to unalive her.
"Do you have no name?!" Alabẙran inquired once more.
Glorfindel's eyes rolled - his tolerance for the situation had ended. "Perhaps no, yet I have no more time for these games!" he hissed. With that, he both savagely and swiftly stalked towards the enkarēin, as a wild caracal does its prey.
"LORD GLOR-!" Alabẙran cried, swiftly coming away from his crouched position to his feet. Like a provoked serpent, the Lord of The House of the Golden Flower sprang forth, his fingers venomously biting into her delicate, weaponized hand. It was a careless risk, but one he was willing to take, placing himself abaft the enkarling. He tore the weapon from her grasp, and with a deep, guttural growl, he exacted a heated, vicious move, bringing the hilt down upon the backside of her head. Glorfindel's movements were swift, and he moved to catch the unharmed healer afore she came to crash against the hard ground - a gesture he was disinclined to bequeath upon her attacker.
"VERIL?!" Alabẙran seethed, his anger forthwith mirroring that of Lord Glorfindel's.
"You presented me with an issue. I presented you with a solution. You may bequeath me thanks anon!" he replied, callously bringing the unconscious enkarēin up and over his shoulder like a sack of spuds.
"Coldcocking her?! Your actions should ne'er occurred, as she is a guest!"
"She is a threat, a terrorist, thus she shall be treated as such. Bind her. When she wakes, we shall question her... She will aid us in shutting this... infernal device down!" Glorfindel thundered. "Alabẙran, you shall find Elrond's advisor, Elladan and Ellrohir you shall come with me. NOW!"