Gifts of the Valar

Disclaimer/Author's Notes: I own nothing but the Original Characters and their adventures. Everything else belongs to JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema/Peter Jackson, et. al. This was done purely for entertainment and as an exercise in creativity.
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The days passed pleasantly in Rhun as the Elves of the west visited with their eastern cousins and tried to make up for the millennia lost between them. Erestor began cataloging and organizing the contents of the library along side Durisia and having discussions with Vanurion about journeying to Goroth’s old keep and seeing what else may be there. The Elven counselor could not abide the thought of the knowledge being lost and the melancholy that had seemed to settle on him during the journey east appeared to lift.

He found himself spending more and more time with the she-Elf, not just in the organization of the library. She was beautiful, intelligent and seemed genuinely interested in the vast wealth of knowledge he had stored up over his lifetime. He found her … refreshing. Having been born and grown up in Rhun, her outlook on life was different from the ones typically exhibited by the Elves he had known all of his life. Erestor felt some regret that she could not have visited Rivendell and other parts of Middle-Earth before the Elves began departing for the Blessed Realm. He would have loved to have shown her … so many things.

Haldir, Legolas, Glorfindel, Orophin and Helcarin went on patrols with the eastern guardians, engaged in friendly competition with the Rhunian Elves in swordsmanship and archery, and explored the Rhunian countryside. Sarandir became their guide of sorts and when the day’s activities would come to an end, he along with Orophin and Helcarin would usually find themselves in the company of Pomea and others among the beautiful eastern elleth, or some of the many mortal females who dwelt in the household. Glorfindel and Haldir were more discrete in their pursuits than the others, but no less enthusiastic.

Helcarin pulled Glorfindel aside shortly after the discussion of Lastharos’ whereabouts. He had inherited a portion of his father’s gift of insight, if not his clairvoyance. What he had sensed when he had been watching the woman during breakfast had disturbed him.

“When I told them she was … haunted, I meant exactly what I said. But I do not know what it is that I sense. Have you not felt anything when you are in her presence?”

Glorfindel shook his head. “But then, I have not spent much time in the lady’s company. Are you certain it is not madness as Rumil and the others fear?”

“Perhaps whatever is haunting her is driving her mad,” Helcarin replied. “All I know is something hovers near her at times.”

“Can you see it?” Glorfindel took his son’s concerns seriously. Lastharos was obviously more than a mere mortal as was evidenced by his ability to escape the Elves so easily in Minas Tirith and his command of the dark forces usually reserved for sorcerers and those in league with Morgoth.

“No,” Helcarin said with a hint of disgust. “I merely sense it is near and its attention is directed at Charika. I am hesitant to mention it to Rumil or the others---with nothing tangible to tell them, it may be pointless.”

Glorfindel considered Helcarin’s point. “Simply let the others know that they should be wary; that while some of Charika’s inner darkness may be coming from her own fears, there may well be another threat that we cannot yet identify. I shall make a point of observing the lady.”

Rumil spent almost all of his time with Charika. She gradually appeared to come out of her shell a bit and almost seemed her old self for brief moments. However, when she was more or less a reflection of the happy woman who had shared so much with Rumil for over two years, it was as if she remembered that joy was not something allowed for her anymore, and she would slip back into solitude. Still, she seemed to thrive under his tender care and eventually became, if not her former self, at least less frightened than when Rumil first arrived in Rhun.

She shared his bed every night and he did not pressure her for physical contact other than to hold her close and let her know she was safe with him. He did not mind, though he had always enjoyed making love to her. Now, however, he was afraid she would share her body with him only out of a sense of obligation rather than mutual desire, and he did not want that. So, he was content simply to keep her in his arms, listening to her soft breathing as she slept, watching her expression as it relaxed in slumber. At least she did not seem troubled by nightmares when in his embrace, and the peace of her nights seemed to help bring her some peace during the day.

He and the others heeded Halcarin’s warning, though they could sense nothing, even in her darker moments. Still, in a perverse way, knowing there was … something was better than believing she was simply spiraling downward into her own madness.

They took Cunion’s advice and each made it a point to do all he or she could to remind Charika that she was safe and protected, helping to show her the door, as the eastern healer put it, from her prison. When Rumil joined his brothers, Helcarin and Glorfindel in occasional sparring, Charika would watch with wide eyes though she seemed to take comfort in the displays of deadly grace exhibited by her lord and his kin. The Elves would make it a point to keep her company when Rumil was on the practice field so that she was never truly alone.

Even Erestor paused in his endeavors when she and Rumil would come to the library, always seeming to find something new to show her. The Rivendell counselor surprised them all when he managed to produce several volumes of documents detailing the fashions and styles of Rhun throughout the past few ages. When he presented her with the books on one of her and Rumil’s visits to the library, Charika’s eyes lit up at the beautifully illustrated volumes which showed not only the finished examples, but detailed drawings of the finer points which gave depth to the overall designs. Rumil looked at Erestor with gratitude which the raven-haired counselor silently acknowledged with a small smile and brief nod, pleased that he was able to find something that piqued her interest so fully.

Charika appeared to find new comfort in the company of her lord and his kin, more so than even before the episode with the Butcher of Khand. The woman seemed touchingly grateful for their kindness and concern and each secretly hoped for the chance to make Lastharos pay for what he had done to her.

Alexandra spent some time with her friend, but did not wish to intrude on Charika and Rumil’s time together. She tried her hand at some of the eastern weapons, and was surprisingly good with the tatequalme and not too bad with the sword; but her archery skills continued to be worse than dismal and she good-naturedly endured the teasing not only of her friends, but the eastern Elves who witnessed her humiliating performance as well.

She also made it a point to visit Tinudir on a daily basis. She did not know why, but something about the child touched her heart. Perhaps it was because he was Charika’s babe and had been rejected by his mother. Perhaps it was because he, like Alex herself, had found himself thrust into a world where he did not exactly belong, but was being taken in and cared for by an Elf. Just as Legolas had taken her under his protection and loved her, so Vanurion was taking Tinudir into his home and giving him a chance at a good life.

She mentioned visiting the nursery to Charika, but the other woman expressed no interest in accompanying her. She still seemed to have forgotten---deliberately or not---that she had ever given birth and that her son dwelt within the same household as her. Alex did not press her and, according to Legolas and Orophin, the subject was an anathema with Rumil. Orophin told her he and Haldir had both suggested Rumil visit the child, perhaps with Charika; but he had refused, saying if the child’s mother did not desire to see him, he would not force it on her, especially when he had no desire to see the babe himself.

Legolas sometimes accompanied her to visit the child. The first time he went with her, he had remained near the door as she took Tinudir in her arms and talked to him in her own language for a bit. She played with the babe for a while, then turned to see her husband watching her with an unreadable expression. She smiled tentatively and asked if he would like to hold him. At first, he seemed hesitant, then smiled and came to sit beside her, taking the child into his arms.

He had watched his wife with the babe and been struck with a sudden and acute ache in his heart. They would never have a child of their own. He had never really thought of offspring for himself; after all, he would be traveling to the Undying Lands; there would be an opportunity to find a mate there and perhaps they would have children.

Then, he had met and fallen in love with Alexandra and all that changed. She was mortal and could not go to Valinor with him; she would die, likely, long before him. However, she could not bear children, and again, he told himself it did not matter. He was immortal; he really did not need offspring. But as the years passed and he was reminded of his beloved wife’s mortality, he found himself wistfully thinking how a child of Alexandra’s would give him a lasting piece of her; perhaps one who would choose the path of the Eldar and travel with him to Valinor, there to dwell until the ending of the time of Arda. He never mentioned his wish to her; she could not have a child and it would only make her feel sad to know he desired something she could not give him.

But seeing her with Tinudir had stirred those feelings again and he had to control his sadness, not wanting her to pick it up through their bond. She said she had no maternal feelings, but as she held the babe, talking to him, playing with him, he could not help but imagine what a good mother she would have made for their child.

He looked into the eyes of Charika’s son. They were the eyes of his father and Legolas suppressed a shudder. Tinudir had inherited Lastharos’ dark eyes with flecks of amber moving in them and when they met Legolas’ own steel blue ones they seemed much older than the infant in his arms. But then, the babe laughed and Legolas could not help but smile back. The child seemed fascinated by Legolas’ long, light blonde hair and wrapped the silky strands around his small fist, chewing on the ends with non-existant teeth.

Alex watched Legolas with the baby and thought what a wonderful father he would have been. She had thought on Vanurion’s words: perhaps Legolas had wanted children; but because he was bound to her, he was fated never to have them. A wave of sadness washed over her, though she quickly cast it aside. That her perfect, beautiful husband had bound himself to an imperfect mortal such as herself seemed somehow unfair.

Legolas sang to the babe one of the songs he had known as an elfling, growing up in Mirkwood. It was not one of the sad Elven songs that Alex could not abide; but a rather cheerful, somewhat nonsensical song suited for the happy and carefree life of a little Elf prince of a Silvan kingdom. When they left the nursery, Legolas put his arm around his wife and held her close as they walked back through the keep.

“He will have a good life with Vanurion,” Legolas said. “Charika made a wise decision coming here. Even if she does not see her son anymore, she has done him a great kindness.”

When Legolas accompanied his friends and their eastern kin on patrols and hunts in the countryside, Alex spent some time with Charika and Rumil, and much time with Pomea and some of the other eastern females. She admitted a fascination with the females of the household. Their obvious Elven grace and elegance was tempered with a more open attitude than their western kin. They were both more and less intimidating than the she-Elves Alex dwelt with in Ithilien. Still, Alex felt more at ease with Pomea and her eastern sisters than those she normally saw and often found herself discussing things with Pomea that she would never have thought she would; she had never really had female friends with whom to talk except for Charika, and to a certain degree now, Meriel. With Charika so fragile and Meriel still in Ithilien, she was grateful for Pomea’s company.

One day she was trying on some of the gowns in the eastern style that Alex had to admit were stunning, but completely unsuitable for wear in Ithilien or Gondor. Still, as she admired herself in one of the exotic gowns, she laughed in spite of herself.

“It suits you,” Pomea said with a smile. She was tall, with glossy, coal black hair, and deep greenish-gold eyes. Her fair skin had a faint golden sheen and Alex thought her possibly the most beautiful female she had ever seen.

“I look … silly, but I love it.” She twirled and the sheer, voluminous skirt floated out in a circle around her. It was of multiple layers of a light, gossamer thin fabric, each layer a different color so that it seemed to change color according to movement and light, though the primary color was green. It sat low on her hips and the waist was trimmed in tiny iridescent spangles and beads. The sleeveless bodice was low and accentuated her breasts. The center of the gown, from just below her bosom to the band at her hips, was cut out, with only three strands of iridescent beads on each side from the bottom of the bodice, between her breasts and arms, connecting the top of the gown to the bottom. Two single strands of the beads started just below her shoulder blades in the back and criss crossed over her lower back to join the skirt. The beaded straps at the shoulders also had three loops of beads on each side that fell over her upper arms, giving the illusion of sleeves.

“You do not look silly at all,” Pomea replied. She pulled off the gown she had been trying on and picked up the one she was wearing for the day. As the elleth raised the gown over her head, Alex noticed a flash and saw a silver ring with a sparkling red stone attached lying against the she-Elf’s navel. Pomea noticed her gaze and smiled.

“You know, jewels and charms would set off your new gowns perfectly.”

Alex glanced down at her flat belly and laughed. “I’m afraid I don’t have anywhere to put one.”

“If you like, I could pierce it for you,” Pomea offered. “I have several mithrel rings that you could have---depending on what you wish to put on them, you could use different sizes. Some are almost invisible while others are meant for mithril charms or stones or beads.”

Alex looked back down. She had never seen one of her husband’s kin with even pierced ears. “I don’t know if Legolas would like it,” she said.

“Whose body is it?” Pomea retorted. “If you would like it, then do it. If not, then do not concern yourself.” She smiled. “I know the Elven males in the east would find it attractive. In fact, many of them have their … I cannot see that your husband would object.”

She thought about the elleth’s words. It would look good. And if Legolas didn’t like it … well, he didn’t have to get his navel pierced.

“Why not?” she said with a smile. She changed back into her regular gown and accompanied Pomea to her chambers. The eastern she-Elf cleaned the flesh surrounding Alexandra’s navel then pinched up a small piece of the skin with a small clamp and pushed a long needle through quickly. Alex bit her lip, but did not flinch and Pomea fitted one of the mithril rings through the newly pierced flesh. She then applied a healing oil to the site and stood back.

Alex looked down at the silvery gleam of metal and thanked the elleth. “Now, I just have to find something to go on the ring.”

“This would match the gown,” Pomea said, handing her a small strand of iridescent stones. She showed her how to affix the strand to the ring. “It will set off the gown nicely.”

Alex accepted a goblet of wine from the elleth. “Thank you.” She took a cautious sip, remembering the potency of the vintage.

Pomea looked at the woman appraisingly. The Prince was obviously devoted to his mortal wife and she could see the lady returned the feeling. It still surprised her that mortals and Elves did not mingle so much in the west as they did here in the East.

“How did you meet your husband?” Pomea asked.

“I was lost in a forest and he found me,” Alex said with a smile. It was the literal truth. “He was traveling to the border and I accompanied him and eventually, after returning to Minas Tirith, he asked me to marry him.”

The she-Elf nodded. “That certainly sounds simple enough.”

“What about you? Do you have a husband or …” she was unsure what other term to use.

Pomea smiled. “No. I have never had the desire to settle with a single male.” Alex almost choked as the image the elleth’s statement conjured played through her mind. The she-Elf laughed.

“Did I say something to surprise you?”

“I’m sorry. I just … it just caused me to think … No.”

“You and your husband are quite affectionate toward one another. I am surprised that you are so … reticent about some things. I would think Prince Legolas would have cured you of your shyness by now.”

Alex gave her a sideways glance. “He hasn’t told you about the trick he and Haldir played on me, has he?”

In all seriousness, Pomea said, “No. He has said nothing.” She paused a moment. “Haldir, however, told quite an entertaining tale.”

“I will kill him,” Alex sighed. Of course, everyone knew about it by now.

“Do not worry,” Pomea assured her. “I believe I am the only one of my kin to have heard it. Elves can be discrete when we so desire. I just happened to be there when he and Orophin were talking.”

“Ah.” Again, an interesting image came to mind. “I’m going to have to stop drinking this wine,” Alex said, putting her goblet on the table. “It makes me think … I just can’t always control the thoughts that come to my mind.”

“You obviously are a very passionate woman,” Pomea said. “Indulge yourself. Do not worry about what others think. You love your husband and he loves you and everyone knows it; believe me, Alexandra, the two of you are so clearly dedicated to one another there can be no mistaking it by anyone who sees you. And I can see you restrain yourself while here because you think it is the ‘polite’ thing to do. But among my people, it is a sign of a good host if one’s guests are comfortable enough to behave as they would in their own home.”

“Thank you,” Alex said. “I know I am sometimes too shy and it probably makes my husband crazy.”

“You make your husband crazy, as you say,” Pomea replied with a smile, “but not how you think. Discretion is one thing; but, and I am going to speak honestly with you, you are mortal and have but a short time in this world. Do not resist sharing anything with your husband. Do not be so shy.”

Alex looked away for a moment. “There was something I heard about a while back and my husband was unable to tell me what I really wanted to know.” She looked back and met Pomea’s gaze. “It’s something I’ll never experience, but I am so curious and you’re one of the few females I might could ask. Have you ever …?”


Orophin and Helcarin had become close friends very quickly, finding they shared common tastes and ideas. They did almost everything together, usually accompanied by Sarendir and, on occasion, Haldir. The Marchwarden, however, spent more time with Legolas and Glorfindel, leaving them free to get into whatever trouble they could find.

Helcarin shared tales about the north but seemed more interested in Orophin’s life in Lorien and, later, Ithilien, than in talking about his past.

“I was off in the frozen reaches of Middle-Earth; we did not have as much excitement as you had here,” Helcarin explained with a laugh. He had never met Galadriel or Celeborn and asked Orophin about life with the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood.

Orophin, for his part, was happy to share the stories with his friend. He told of growing up in Lothlorien; becoming one of the Sentinels; the constant battles with Orc and other creatures of darkness; the retaking of Dol Guldur at the end of the last age. He also told of Galadriel’s departure from the Grey Havens; how he and his brothers had served as escorts for the Lord and Lady to the port and their subsequent accompanying of Lord Celeborn back to Lorien, then to East Lorien in the renamed Eryn Lasgalen.

It had been a difficult decision to leave their lord and join Legolas in Ithilien; however Celeborn had bid them go to their friend, saying they would be needed in the south; and subsequent events had proven the foresight in his words.

“What of your parents?” Helcarin had noticed none of the brothers mentioned them in everyday conversation.

“They remain in East Lorien,” he replied. “They will likely depart for the Blessed Realm when Lord Celeborn chooses to go. They, too, encouraged us to go to Ithilien, as they understood better than we, the need for us to move further out into the world. Our father was one of the lord and lady’s advisors and often traveled throughout Middle-Earth on their behalf. He and our mother were seldom in the Golden Wood.” The smile on his lips hinted at more than his words revealed and Helcarin raised a brow in askance. Orophin laughed. “Some day I will tell you more about our parents. Ours was not a … conventional childhood.”

The Lorien Warden told of the adventures they had shared with their friends in Ithilien, from the wars to the quests to the simple and relaxing times. Helcarin felt a touch of envy and even sadness that he had not known such times among his kin---and said as much. However, he also had no regrets about his own life. The only thing he might have missed would be having a mate to share his life.

“Did you take no one to wife in Forodwraith?” Orophin asked him as they rested with a bottle of wine after a particularly energetic sparring session. They had removed their tunics in order to avoid damaging the clothing, as both could be quite deadly with their weapons, and now sat under the shade of a tree, the gentle breeze pleasantly moving over their flesh.

Helcarin took a sip from the bottle and shook his head. “There were few Elves in the north,” he answered.

Orophin was silent a moment as he took a swallow of wine. “There were mortals,” he said offhandedly.

The other Elf gave him a shrewd glance. “It is not easy to choose to bind oneself to a mortal,” he said. “Loving a mortal is a dangerous business.”

Orophin knew about such danger, first hand. Helcarin watched his friend closely and he could sense … something from the Elf.

“Your brother and Legolas have taken great risks in giving their hearts to mortal women. The prince has the most to lose as he has a marriage bond with one, but Rumil is also in jeopardy because he does indeed love Charika.”

Orophin nodded. “I know …” He seemed about to say something else, but, instead, took another long drink of wine.

“You are troubled by something, my friend,” Helcarin said. “Perhaps it would help to share your concerns.” He got the feeling that what preyed on Orophin’s mind was not related to the problems with Charika.

He could not tell Helcarin of the constant battle he fought with himself to keep his feelings for Alexandra from crossing into forbidden territory. It was bad enough his brothers had seen him in an unguarded moment---at least Haldir had not mentioned it to him, though he and Rumil had commiserated a bit. Glorfindel, he knew, had recognized his desire almost before he had, but had not spoken of Orophin’s dilemma since the episode with Goroth. The Lorien Elf took another drink, then smiled.

“It is of no matter,” he replied, passing the bottle back to Helcarin. “I am concerned for Rumil and his lady. I know he blames himself somewhat for her state.” He recounted how Rumil felt guilty for leaving Charika alone the night she and Legolas were both taken by Lastharos’ creatures. Briefly, he gave an edited account of the torments Legolas and Charika both endured from the Khandun, leaving the more personal details aside. “Lastharos managed to hurt my brother and my friend in far more than just a physical manner.”

Helcarin nodded. “He struck at what it means to be an Elf, a protector of those unable to defend themselves. And whether he is sending creatures to torment her or is invading her dreams or simply tortured her to the point where her own mind now punishes her, Lastharos has almost completely destroyed Charika, though under the shelter of your brother’s love, she seems to be recovering. He sounds like a thoroughly evil being.”

Orophin sighed. “No one seems to even know for sure what he is. Legolas said he was definitely mortal, but he is said to be quite old, and possesses great beauty. Those who have seen him say he may have Elven or even Maiar blood.” He shook his head. “He commands evil creatures of Morgoth and when we tried to capture him in Minas Tirith, he vanished while surrounded by over a dozen Elven warriors. How does one defeat such an enemy?”

“I do not know,” Helcarin answered. “He sounds truly despicable.”

The Elves sat quietly for a moment, each lost in thoughts of a way to bring Lastharos to justice. Eventually, conversation returned to some of the more tangible pleasures of Middle-Earth in general, and of the land of their eastern kin in particular. They fell into separate musings on the treats they had so far experienced both in one another’s company and individually. They were still sitting in companionable silence when Sarendir found them.

“Come. It is Cunion’s begetting day and there will be a celebration after dinner.” The two western Elves exchanged smiles. They could do nothing about Lastharos right now; they could, however, celebrate the healer’s begetting.