A Breath of Fate

Glorfindel watched the approaching city with a deep well of grief. On either side of him rode Elladan and Elrohir, both oddly silent. It was only to be expected, their mission to this city was not one of joy. Peering over his shoulder, Glorfindel looked at the downcast visage of his best friend’s youngest. Arwen in particular was struck by her mother’s decision to depart for Valinor. It had always been known that the family had wanted to leave together, but circumstances had made that quite impossible. Farther behind Arwen rode Elrond and Celebrían. The decision to leave had alleviated some of her recent distress. She rode with Elrond, clutched tightly in his arms. Irrationally, Glorfindel was suddenly glad his own beloved, Silnar, was not here to see the culmination of her matchmaking efforts. She had wanted Elrond to live in peace and love, forever, but as was customary of the Eldar of Middle-Earth, no happiness was guaranteed. Turning his attention to the path, Glorfindel took a deep shuddering breath. He had to be strong for his family, they needed him right now.

In the distance, the sun was setting over the towers of the city of Mithlond. Glorfindel urged his horse onwards, eager to reach the comforts of Círdan’s home. The twins took up his pace, soon turning it into a race. Glorfindel could not stop the twitch of a smile, it had always been thus. The two had competed since they were hín and now that they were adults, well, why should anything change?

Elrohir was the winner by several yards. He had always been the better horseman, sensitive to the needs of other creatures as well as their thoughts. Elladan was the warrior, his strength in arms surpassed only by his father, Elrond, and his mentor, Glorfindel. Arwen had moved her horse next to Glorfindel, but she rode beside him in sullen silence. He glanced at her somber face out of the corner of his eye. Her immense grief did nothing to alleviate her beauty; in fact, the sadness merely enhanced the gracefulness of her face, deepening the cerulean eyes to dark pools. Glorfindel knew that he would have to keep his sword ready for the young Eldar who would flock, unwanted, to her side.

Unlike the twins, Glorfindel had been there when Arwen was birthed and he had been the third to hold her in his arms. He knew the moment she had looked up into his eyes, that he would spend the rest of his life protecting her. While Glorfindel had loved the twins, he had adored the tiny daughter of Elrond. She had healed the deepest part of him, filled the emptiness Silnar had left. Arwen was his strength until Silnar returned.

Now, Glorfindel’s heart ached for his young charge. She was hurting deeply and he could not reach her. Stretching over their saddles, Glorfindel squeezed her hand. Arwen glanced over at him and tried to smile, but mustered only a faint grimace. For a moment, Glorfindel swore he saw another in her place, that same deep grief in her eyes, but he blinked and knew it was his imagination.

“I will be fine, Glorfindel,” she whispered. “I am young and strong, able to face the terrors of this world.”

The words were rehearsed, as if someone were telling her what to say. Glorfindel figured either Elrond or Celebrían had tried to convince her of this.

“Tinuhén,” Glorfindel murmured, “I have an idea.”

This time Arwen did manage a small smile. “You have not called me such since I was little.”

“It seemed needed,” Glorfindel said, remembering when the adolescent Arwen had demanded he call her by her father name, asserting she was no longer a “small star child.”

“What is your idea, Glorfy?” Arwen asked resurrecting her childish name for her father’s Advisor. For the longest time, she had been unable to pronounce his full name, much to Glorfindel’s consternation and her parents’ glee.

“I think that you should depart with your Naneth.”

“And leave my Adar? Never, I cannot.”

“It was merely a suggestion,” Glorfindel reminded her, shocked by the fierceness of her response.

“My Naneth is gg upg up, Glorfindel. I would never abandon my Adar, who has chosen to stay and brave this world.”

Dismayed, Glorfindel said, “Arwen, your Naneth is not giving up. She has suffered a great ordeal, you should be thankful that she is alive!”

Arwen was quiet, but Glorfindel knew there was more she wished to say. Unfortunately, the gates of Mithlond were before them and Círdan awaited there. Glorfindel reined in his horse and dismounted, striding forward to greet his old friend. Círdan returned Glorfindel’s greeting with a sad smile.

“It hurts my heart that I see you only to receive such terrible news,” Círdan murmured as Elrond led his wife into the city. Glorfindel followed beside him as they trailed the grief stricken family into Mithlond.

“Aye, I feel the same, old friend. The city has become deserted.”

“All are departing these shores, Glorfindel. They sail for the lands of our Fathers.”

“Yet you remain,” Glorfindel added sympathetically. He had heard from Gil-galad how Círdan had wished to quit this land, but had heeded the wishes of the Valar to stay until all the Eldar of Middle-Earth departed.

“I do not regret my decision, but my heart does grow heavy when I see yet another off into the distance.”

Glorfindel raised one elegant eyebrow. “One would think you to be glad. That is one less Elda to worry for.”

“Nay, it means only that there is so many more to go.”

“Perhaps if you had not given away Narya so swiftly, your burden would not be so great.”

Círdan sent him a startled look then said sourly, “Gil-galad always had a big mouth.”

Glorfindel chuckled. “That he did, my friend that he did.” His smile turned bittersweet as he remembered the gentle face of his old friend and king. Gil-galad had always been quick to laugh and joke, even quicker to submit to the strength of drink. Once in his cups, the king would talk about anything and everything, much to the alarm of his young Advisor, Elrond.

“The memories are joyous, are they not?”

“Painful, as well,” Glorfindel returned. “He was as gentle in death as in life. I miss him, Círdan, so much.”

“You are Noldor to the core, Glorfindel. A compliment, if you will.”

Glorfindel suddenly grinned despite the sorrow that tainted his journey. “And you, my dear Shipwright, are the very soul of a Telerin. A compliment, if you will.”

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From the balcony of her room, Ingrel watched her child hood friend walk with Círdan, his chuckles reaching her ears. Heart aching, Ingrel could barely contain her impatience. Why was Círdan meandering down the streets? Usually he moved much faster. Anxious to occupy herself, Ingrel stalked to her vanity and viciously ran a comb through her honey blond hair. Her icy eyes warmed at the thought of being with her friend once more and she threw the comb on the vanity, rushing to escape the confines of her room. Propriety forgotten, Ingrel raced barefoot and wild down the stairs and into the entryway just as Glorfindel entered with Círdan. Ignoring the audience of Arwen, the untamed Vanya flung herself at Glorfindel.

“Mallelóte!”

“Ingrel?”

“My dearest friend, I have missed you!” Ingrel cried, pressing a friendly kiss to Glorfindel’s lips. The Elda in question pried Ingrel off of him and held her at arms length to look at her.

“It is you, Ingrel!” Glorfindel cried, surprise written on his face.

“Of course it is, Mallelóte, have you lost your eyes?”

“No,” Glorfindel muttered, “Just my mind.” Clearing his throat he said louder, “What in Mandos Halls are you doing here?”

“I have come to deliver a message for you,” Ingrel said pertly.

Glorfindel’s eyes suddenly narrowed, “Does your father know where you are?”

“He does, Glorfindel,” Círdan supplied from beside him. “Young Ingrel arrived several weeks ago. I have been keeping my eyes on her. We were preparing to send her to Imladris, but your arrival solved the problem for us.”

“Absolutely not,” Glorfindel said firmly. “You are leaving on the next ship for Valinor. It is too dangerous for you to be here, Ingrel. I cannot believe that your father would, in his great wisdom, allow you to come here. What has Manwë said about this? Does he know?”

“Calm down, Mallelóte, of course Manwë knows; he gave his permission. Now, do you wish to here your message?”

“Fine, but as soon as you deliver it, I am returning you to Taniquetil and your father!”

Ingrel grinned impishly at Glorfindel. “I do not have to leave if I do not want to, Mallelóte. Manwë said I may stay as long as I wish.”

Glorfindel groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Why?” he cried to the heavens, “What have I done to deserve this?”

Mocking a hurt look, Ingrel stuck out her lower lip in a pout. “If I did not know any better, Mallelóte, I would think you did not want to see you your old friend.”

Sending her an exasperated look, Glorfindel cried, “Not if you are going to act like this, Ingrel. This is no game! You can die here, Ingrel! This is not Valinor where your father and brothers can rescue you from your mischief.”

Suddenly serious, Ingrel said, “I know, Mallelóte. Forgive me for being overexcited to see you, my best friend, after so many years of absence.”

Groaning once more, Glorfindel attempted to smother hi guilt. “I am sorry, Ingrel, but I was happy knowing you were safe in Valinor and now you are here and…”

A bright smile decorated Ingrel’s face. “Do not apologize, Mallelóte. Now, my message. I am to tell you only this and you cannot ask me any questions because I cannot answer them. Silnar has reached Valinor and is living in peace with her family.”

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Several hours later, Glorfindel was still brooding in the corner of the sitting room. Arwen had heard many stories of Silnar from her parents and Glorfindel, and she knew how depressed her guardian must be. Glancing at the strange Elda, Arwen wondered just who she was. Moving next to Círdan, Arwen posed this question to her host.

“I suppose you and your family would not know, having no ties to Valinor. You do know who Ingwë is, correct?”

“Of course,” Arwen said, “Glorfindel told us he is the High King of the Eldar and he lives in Aman on Taniquetil.”

“Yes, you are correct. Ingrel is his daughter.”

Gasping Arwen whispered, “That is a Vanya, a full Vanya?”

“Yes, why are you so surprised?”

Arwen frowned softly, nibbling her lip. “I suppose I did not think they resembled that. I always thought they were like my Grandmother, only more golden.”

Círdan smiled softly, shaking his head. “Oh no, child, the Vanyar are the most distinct of the Eldar. They were the first to awaken and the first to learn how to live. All Vanyar are like Ingrel, shorter then their cousins, but stronger of limb and mind. This is because they are closest to Manwë and Varda, living in their home.”

Arwen had to agree with Círdan’s description of their physical attributes. It was difficult, however, to compare the childish manner of Ingrel with the great wisdom of Galadriel. Ingrel was beautiful with her wealth honey blond hair and icy blue eyes. Her skin was somewhat darker then Arwen’s and Ingrel was full in body, which enhanced the natural beauty she carried.

“She seems so wild.”

Círdan chuckled. “She is, Arwen. I remember the Vanyar from the War with Morgoth so many Ages ago. It was the last time I had seen them in so great a number. They wore the armor the Noldor had forged, but wielded their own weapons, crafted with such delicacy they looked as if the first strike would shatter them. The Vanyar are wild as well as dangerous, Arwen, because in the beginning, they had to be. It was difficult for them to be the first to awaken. They had to learn everything through trial and error while we only had to be taught. To watch the Vanyar in battle is a sight I cannot describe. I will say only this to you, Arwen, Ingrel will serve you greatly as an ally, and death as an enemy.”

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Elrond held his wife’s hand as she slept, her breathing even. He wondered what dreams she walked in the depths of her mind, which was closed to him now. It had been so since the attack. It was almost luck that Elrohir and Elladan chanced upon her in the depths of the Orc cave.

What would he do without her? How would he breathe? He could not believe that life continued when his was crumbling. Bitterly, Elrond wished that she had never been sent to him. Then he would not be experiencing this pain now. In the next instant, Elrond knew that such thoughts were not true. Celebrían had given him the best years of his life and three beautiful children below.

“My love, I wish that I could but reach you, like I used to. I wish I could pull you from the depths of your despair and shine light onto your soul once more. I cannot continue without your hand in mine, without your voice in my head. I love you, Celebrían.”

Crawling into her bed, Elrond pulled her close to his body, imprinting the curve of her body, the scent of her hair, and the texture of her skin into his mind. “In dreams, my love, in dreams.”

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A/N: Sorry about the wait, but my research paper had to be finished before I could even begin to imagine a plot to this story. I hope everyone enjoyed this first chapter. Hope to have the second out soon.