Chapter Text
In the springtime of the year, emissaries had come to Lindon from the east: Silvan elves from beyond the Misty Mountains, bearing word from Oropher their king. Orc raids, spreading more frequently and, it seemed, traveling with some amount of haste southward, to what end none were entirely sure. Gil-galad had received this news with some trepidation, responding that he would consider what best to aid their kin in the east, but within the month no action had been taken by the high king of yet.
The two Silvan elves had been welcomed in Lindon, but by the next moon they were restless to return east to the Greatwood and their king. In departing, though, they came upon the maiden Anaíriel in the fields and stopped to speak with her. Fair of face she was, with hair that shone like the bronzed light of the sun. The two scouts had both grown fond of her during their stay; of the elves they had met she most resembled the wood elves in her love of the plants and the earth, and it endeared her of them.
“We should bid you travel with us to the Green Wood, sweet lady, were the circumstances less grim,” they told her, “you would love greatly the forest, and life there.”
“I would join you, friends! But for my part, my mother mislikes when I stray far from Lindon.” She smiled and her manners were all polite and kind, but in her heart she yearned to go and see where she might, and to find places where her healing may be most needed.
“Perhaps when this strangeness with the orcs is done, she may feel differently,” replied Ridion with a sigh, and Anaíriel frowned.
“What is it that troubles your king?” She asked, and worry settled over her heart. “I am not privy to the thoughts of the high king, and I confess I do not know why you both have been sent.”
Cravir glanced into the distance a moment before responding at last.
“The east is rife with orcs of late, more than we have accounted in elflands before. Not since the great wars with the Dark Lord,” his brow was hard, “but these bands are curiously organized, and by all accounts seem to be traveling on a path, rather than simply roving.”
“Is this so…strange?” The lady asked, herself unawares of the nature of orcs and their travels. Ridion offered her a reassuring smile.
“It is nothing that we cannot put to rights, my lady,” he told her, but Cravir looked less convinced.
“The aid of Lindon would be an improvement,” he said quietly, and Anaíriel felt deep uncertainty for reasons she could not explain.
•
Elrond proved more helpful than he perhaps intended.
“I cannot disclose the king’s intentions with you, Elowen, you know this,” he was one of the few who still used her essë this way. “But the news is troubling and he is considering what to do.”
“It’s been past a month, Elrond,” she pressed as the two of them walked the memorials together. Midday light painted the somber vale in gold, and she sighed as her eyes caught the lifeless gaze of Finrod Felagund, carved of wood. “Some days I wonder if I might be more bold,” she mused aloud, and Elrond glanced at her beside him. “Galadriel is painted as misguided but still she moves.” Elrond stopped their pace to face her.
“You do not wish to follow in lady Galadriel’s steps, I know,” he replied kindly, “so what desire resides in the Lady of Sunlight that inspires her to such movement?”
“I wish to help,” she stated plainly, “in such a way that it is a burden upon my spirit—I wish to be in places where I am needed, that I can do those things for others that they cannot do for themselves. I am a healer with none to heal, Elrond.” She looked defeated, heaving a breath.
“Oh but that is simply untrue—just this week past I recall you were a great aid in curing the high king of a headache—“ the weary gaze she offered made him stop, still smiling. “I’m only joking, my friend.” She nodded, smiling softly.
“Your humor is of far more use here than my skill at healing,” she sighed, facing the sunlight through the treetops. Elrond watched in silence, and knew.
“You want to go east.”
“I know the notion has been set in my path for a reason,” she insisted, “I know that east is where I am needed.”
And Elrond took her hands, knowing that her mind had been set, but still worrying for his friend.
“I would beg you to spend time considering this. It is no small thing, Elowen.”
“I know, Elrond,” she squeezed his hands gently, and smiled. “But I believe if you are meant for something, it is never small.” She nodded, still. “I will take the time. As it is, I leave for Eregion in two days.” She looked somewhat flushed, her fingers curling around his so that he could feel her excitement.
“Eregion?”
“Celebrimbor has requested my assistance overseeing the halls of healing he is to have built,” she answered a bit shyly, “we spoke some weeks ago when I visited Fainien and Celien.” Elrond’s brow rose.
“And your mother…?”
“She is…making her peace with my departure. Gil-galad was supportive that I go, and she will not argue with him--regardless of how she feels about Tyelpë’s bloodline.” Elowen glanced back up at the wooden memorials around them. Finally, she spoke again, softly. “I fear some days if I do not leave this place soon, I never will.” Elrond watched her wistfully, exhaling a soft breath. Perhaps, he thought, this trip would prove what she needed to quell her desire to go further east, and into danger.
“Would that be such a terrible thing?” She shook her head, looking up and meeting his eyes.
“I haven’t any idea.”
•
Within Eregion, Elowen found warm and eager welcome; she had long considered Celebrimbor a friend and was glad to aid him in the city he was helping build, but it was good to see her closest friends again as well.
Celien had migrated to Eregion and was successful as a broideress there, and Fainien had come with cousins and was happily helping establish a new winery with them. Elowen had grown up with Fainien and Celien had been as a sister to her as well, and she was overjoyed to spend more time with them now after being separated for some time.
Eregion was beautiful, and Ost-in-Edhil full of energy. Celebrimbor had given her a tour when she had arrived, and she had felt a renewed sense of purpose when she had been shown to what would be their halls of healing. She was given a team to work with, and their group was a harmonious one, more than happy to defer to her as their lead.
Fainien and Celien came to drag her from her work as they would, and the three ladies were a common sight in the fields surrounding the city, and the forest and banks of the Glanduin beyond that. Flowers followed in their paths, and sunlight found Elowen, called Anaíriel, wherever she went. She dwelt in Ost-in-Edhil far longer than she had meant, but was happy there, and much beloved of Celebrimbor, who had asked her assistance to begin with. Often he had watched her in the fields from his forge, content to see her dancing in the sunlight--so much was his delight in her that in years past, it was he who had given her the name Anaíriel--’maiden crowned with glittering sunlight’--and had crafted for her a circlet of bronze, set with stones that glittered as the last fruit of Laurelin. She had been so gladdened by the name that she had kept it with his gift, and in return had given him her lasting kinship, which now had led her back to Eregion in spite of her mother’s hatred for the line of Fëanor. Her mother was Elariel, born Nithwen, daughter of Írimë who was the daughter of Finwë--none of which Elowen had ever met. And more, Celebrimbor was the only one of Fëanor’s doomed line that she had ever known, and she had found him kind and gentle and selfless, all of which were traits she admired and thought to be in great conflict with what her mother had always said of anyone of Fëanor’s kin.
However, as she dwelt in Eregion, so too did the one called Annatar--and the Lord of Gifts was the subject of much contention within Eregion and without.
“I mislike his smile,” Fainien had remarked one day, far out into the fields. She was the most full of laughter of the three maids, with bright dark eyes and the braids of her dark hair glimmering with silver rings. Elowen had only chuckled softly but Fainien had continued in her way, gesturing with her hands and dancing about in jest, “with that golden countenance he looks like I imagine Glaurung the Golden must have!”
“Not so,” Celien had spoken up softly, golden and lovely in the morning light, “though I agree his joy seems dark.”
“Celebrimbor likes him very much,” Elowen had protested, “and the forgemasters seem pleased with his aid. I have not found him so repulsive as you both seem to...”
“Be mindful, dear friend,” Celien said, and nothing more.
•
It was a clear, bright day on the banks of the Glanduin when Coivitar came through the holly forest and upon the three swimming maidens. His head wreathed in laurel and his eyes clear and mirthful, he laughed and called over the water to them in greeting, and was met with joyous whoops and delighted giggling before the maids met him on the riverbank, and Elowen was met with a warm, tight embrace.
Coivitar was tall and fair, with curls the color of oak falling about his shoulders and his face a gentle one. He was one of the Maiar, and in Aman had dwelt in the Gardens of Lórien and the Halls of Nienna, but his time in Middle-Earth had seen his path cross that of Elowen when she was still a child: and as he had learned from the Valar, so she had learned from him. Her dearest companion, it had been some years since she had seen him last.
“Imagine my surprise to find you so far from Lindon!” He laughed as the small group sat in the shade of the trees, and Elowen told him of her travels, and her time in Ost-in-Edhil. Their talks were pleasant and light and they spoke long into the afternoon, until even Fainien and Celien had gone and returned to the city--and Coivitar at last spoke to Elowen of more somber things.
“I was surprised to come upon you here,” he said, “as I was on my way to Lindon to find you.” She watched him curiously, and the maia sighed. “There are things happening in the east, things that have set me ill at ease. I do not know the cause, nor do I know to what end this is all headed, but the mortal races are suffering for it, and the land as well.” Elowen’s eyes widened, and she was all at once reminded of her original intent to go east.
“The orcs,” she said softly, “Gil-galad never sent any troops east.”
“Gil-galad knew of this?”
“Emissaries came from Oropher--they asked for assistance in protecting the Rhovanion. The high king told them he was considering what action to take, and I...” Coivitar met her gaze, and she looked rueful. “I intended to go east, over the Misty Mountains. I came here to aid Celebrimbor and I thought to make up my mind, and I...I suppose I lost sight of my own resolve.”
Coivitar took her hands and met her eyes.
“I have seen some of the damages done to the Wilderlands, the people living there. That is why I came to find you, little sister.” Elowen’s fingers curled around his, and she understood.
“This would be...a great undertaking for me,” she said.
“All of the greatest things are.” He replied. “But as with any other great undertaking, this road will not be an easy one,” he squeezed her hands, “and I cannot promise when you will return here, if ever.”
“You think that I can do something to help?” He smiled at her softly.
“Elowen, daughter of Elariel, you are the only among the Eldar that I know will help.”
•
So it came to pass that Elrond Peredhel journeyed to Eregion, and found that his friend Elowen was journeying away. Fainien and Celien had insisted upon traveling with their friend, with Coivitar at their lead. They had prepared, and when Elrond arrived, it was their intent to leave Ost-in-Edhil in the morning.
Once more, Elrond spoke with his friend Elowen, and knew this time he could not dissuade her.
“Is there nothing I could say to change your mind, my friend?” He stood with her on the balcony of the Halls of Healing in the light of the moon. Elowen smiled, shaking her head.
“I am afraid not.” She took his hand, “you have always been a dear friend to me, and you always will be, Elrond--and I will see you again.” Elrond’s hand rested on her arm, and his smile was soft, but sad.
“I wish only that I could travel with you.” Elowen laughed gently.
“Lindon and Eregion would be all the worse for the loss of your wit, dear Elrond.”
It was Celebrimbor, however, that nearly swayed her to stay. Calling her to his forge before morning, he spoke to her in the silence of the empty chamber, in the light of the fires.
“Can I not persuade you to remain here?” He kept a distance from her side, but it was Elowen who moved to him.
“I am sorry,” she said softly, “but my path leads me beyond the mountains.” And Celebrimbor took her hands at last.
“I would that it would lead you back again,” he said, “my wish is for you to return here, that you might return to my company again.”
“Tyelpë...” she took a breath, and her thumbs stroked the backs of his knuckles, and her eyes were gentle. “One day I will return here. That I promise you.” And he brought her hands to his lips and kissed them each, and a deep sadness was set upon him, but alongside it a fire in his heart to craft something beautiful that he might present to Anaíriel upon her return.
And so when rose again the sun, the small party of elf maids and their maiar guide set out on the road into the east--and Elowen Anaíriel felt hopeful for their journey, but did not disclose to any other what strange burden rested on her heart as they went: a vision had come to her, a dream of strange paths and strange lands, and of a darkness that engulfed her heart, and eyes of an unfathomable sadness that made her very spirit ache.