I didn’t get a chance to look for a prompt today, so I’m posting a piece of fan fiction from Middle-Earth that I’ve been messing around with. Does anyone else out there write fan fiction?
Calensariel held the torch aloft taking Elentari’s hand and leading her deftly through the dimly lit tunnel to a small domed cavern with walls encrusted with precious stones. A ray of sunlight had already found it’s way through the round hole in the roof of the cavern coaxing the gems to life as it fell upon the altar stone in the center of the grotto.
Extinguishing the torch, Calen stepped aside and bid Elentari to step forward into the light, inviting her to peer into the seeing bowl that sat atop the altar. Unable to staunch her curiosity, the healer stepped up to the altar and gazed earnestly into the bowl. Sunlit stars twinkled and danced across the smooth, liquid surface, then suddenly, as she watched in awe, the stars flowed together and Elentari’s life experiences passed before her eyes, her face reflecting a collage of joy and sorrow, wonder and longing.
From the shadows Calen spoke softly. “These things are the reason for the depth of your soul, noble Healer. Be not afraid of them, for from them comes the beauty and rich abundance of your words and your gifts.”
And then, as the sun gained it’s zenith in the sky above the dome, the mirror blazed with a rare and beautiful glow.
“But these,” Calen continued, as visions long held dear to Elentari crystallized in the water, “are all your hopes and dreams. Who knows what yet may be? Only do not forget that they have always been the best part of your heart. Heed them well.”
Then turning aside, Calen excused herself from the chamber, leaving the captivated quendi to remember…
Calensariel emerged from the cave entrance behind the waterfall. The noontime sun glistened in the cascading water that roared over the lip of the rock face overhead, and she squinted, allowing her eyes to grow accustom to the bright light. Hitching up her woolen tunic, she settled herself on the stone bench near the entrance. She would wait for Elentari to make sure all was well after her time with the seeing bowl.
Calen loved the grotto. Unlike Galadriel’s mirror, this seeing vessel’s purpose was that of healing and peace. She remembered the first time the Vanya had brought her here. She was only then beginning to recover from wounds inflicted in the beating and rape. The healing of her spirit had yet to begin. . .as did the grieving that would first have to take place.
As she watched in the mirror that day she saw the face of her father. She heard him singing to her their last night in Mirkwood at Feanare’s Keep before leaving for Gondor and her mother’s people. His voice was strong, but sweet and clear as he sang to her the song he had written at her birth 16 years earlier. “Tindomëlindë, melody of my heart…” Tindomëlindë, the name he’d given her as the daylight kissed the earth farewell. Twightlight Song.
She saw him lead her into the middle of the room before all the birthday well wishers where he presented her with the burnished gold leaf made especially for her hair so she would not forget the forest, the place of her beginnings. But the mirror was wise. It had known that was enough. Later Calen would face other not so pleasant memories in its waters, but for that time it had given her as much grief as she needed to begin her cleansing of tears. It had given her back the memory of her father.
Stirred suddenly from her peaceful reverie, Calen sensed rather than heard the approach of the Vanya before she stepped from behind the veil of the waterfall. Her awareness sharpened as she felt the uneasy heaviness of the Vanya’s heart. Though only of half-Elven descent, their long years together had forged a great bond of love and respect between Calen and Lady Ilúviël Almarië, as well as a deep abiding sense of the other’s presence and thoughts. Ilúviël pulled her warm woolen cloak more closely about her shoulders, shivering from the sudden chill of the shade in the shadow of the rock. She lowered herself to the bench beside Calen and sighed wearily as she peered out at Lothlorien through the distortion of the waterfall. A tremor not born of chill this time gripped her body, and Calen laid a questioning hand upon her arm.
“You are much troubled,” she said to Ilúviël.
Ilúviël continued to peer through the shimmering waters of the falls. “The breeze is chill this day,” she said, closing her eyes and resting her head against the rock wall behind the bench.
“Yes,” Calen agreed, but knowing full well there was more the Vanya was not confiding she pressed her to continue. “Even so, that is not the reason for your trembling.”
The Vanya sat quietly looking inside, stilling her mind from the thoughts encircling her heart. For many minutes she did not speak. “I have had a vision,” Ilúviël said finally, in a voice as soft as a whisper. “The stones… The stones called forth a vision.”
Calen frowned. “A vision, my Lady?”
“There are strange portents in my heart, melda órë.”
“Portents of what, my Lady?” Calen tensed on the stone bench and turned fully toward the distraught Vanya.
Ilúviël sighed, “There is a strange wind blowing towards me…my heart is not at peace. A shadow stalks my soul, and Orefeasar has been pulsing against my breast these last few nights. I have been unable to rest.”
Just as Calen would have risen to her feet to pace the corridor at the cave entrance, the Vanya opened her eyes, laid a small hand on her arm and smiled gently. “But that, dear sister, is not why I have come.”
Not fooled nor appeased by the Lady’s sudden change in demeanor, Calen asked warily, “Why then have you sought me here this day, dear Lady?”
“Because you are to leave with Haldir.”
“Haldir?” Calen’s frown deepened. She had only just returned the day before from patrolling the eastern lands of Lothlorien with the captain of Galadriel’s guards.
“There have been skirmishes on the southern borders…”
“Skirmishes, my Lady?” Calen interrupted. “With whom?”
“I cannot say, but Galadriel, too, has felt a change. She wants Haldir to go. You know she trusts him as no other, and you not the less.”
Now Calen did rise and in great agitation planted her feet solidly before the Vanya. She was a warrior maiden, protector of the Vanyar, and she would not easily be parted from Ilúviël if danger were anywhere near present to her.
“But what of you, my Lady?” she said, clenching her fists, “What the danger to you?”
Ilúviël smiled tenderly at Calen, the corners of her eyes betraying the playfulness of her words. “Of me? Oh, I cannot fight nearly as well as you! I will stay here I think!” she said laughing.
Caught off guard by the sudden lightness in the Vanya’s voice, Calen’s hands relaxed at her side and she smiled cautiously, blushing at the absurdity of her outburst. Of course the Vanya would be safe in Lorien! “Well truly your sense of humour has not been dimmed, my lady!” she said.
“Ah,” Ilúviël said, her mood serious once again. “You always ease my heart, melda órë.”
But Calen saw more than the healer intended. “Not this time I fear,” she said.
Quietly, almost imperceptibly, the Vanya spoke, “No… perhaps not. But perhaps it is only the troubles east of the wood that touch me.” She sighed. “Be that as it may, there is naught to trouble you for now. You have enough to bear, and Haldir is waiting.”