Gifts of the Valar.

Disclaimer: 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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“I will take you away from here,” Legolas said as he and Alexandra lay under the blankets the next morning. She had not slept well during the night and he could tell she was agitated.

“I’m fine, Legolas,” she said, though in truth she was frightened and he could feel it.

“You need not remain where you feel threatened,” he said, brushing his fingertips over her cheek. “The snows are coming and the horses will be unable to travel well in them through the mountains. I would have you home before we lose the chance to travel.”

“No,” she smiled, capturing his hand and kissing the tips of his fingers. “I’m alright. I’m safe here with you and there’s nothing Goroth can do to me. He has no body.”

The Elf slipped his hand behind her head and kissed her softly. “I do not like to think of you being frightened, though. I … it is not something I have seen often; not when faced with an enemy.” He chuckled. “Usually you are ready to face anything without hesitation.”

She smiled. “I know, I can be quite irate and quick tempered. Still … I don’t know, Legolas. I thought I had gotten over what Goroth did to me, and I was there when you killed him. I thought that gave me some closure. But now, feeling that---that malice; and knowing what he did to me and what he did to others---it’s really unsettled me.”

He pulled her into his arms and held her close, not wishing to let her go. Though what she said was true---Goroth had no body---the hatred and rage the remnant of the former overlord of the Rhunian Elves seemed to direct toward her made the prince uneasy. That much emotion and vile energy boded ill for everyone in Goroth’s path.


Legolas’ prediction of snow was fulfilled only days later. Alexandra and Charika were firmly forbidden by the others to spend any time on watch, though Legolas’ wife did not suffer from the cold as much as Charika would. Still, as mortals, the rapidly dropping temperatures could not help but affect both of them adversely whereas the Elves were somewhat immune to the ravages of the weather.

The women found the means to occupy their time: Charika began to make exquisite gowns from some of the fabric they had found in the building while Alexandra concentrated on increasing her proficiency in Quenya, taking advantage of the multitude of fluent speakers of the ancient language surrounding her. When not on watch, Pomea and Durisia would also help Charika and served as her models so she could try out her designs. Alexandra did not have the patience to stand still while the woman pinned and tucked, trying to decide what would look best. She would, however, plant herself in one of the chairs and watch, making suggestions that at times caused Charika to give her looks that said without words she could see Alexandra knew nothing about dressmaking.

At other times the two women would go to the large room and practice with the sword, bow and tatequalme. It still galled Legolas’ wife that Charika had superior archery skills. She was a trained soldier, by Heaven! To be surpassed in any of the martial arts by … by a civilian gnawed at her pride, though she could not truly say she resented Charika; just her own shortcomings.

Pomea joined them on occasion and even she gave up on Alexandra ever becoming an archer.

“It is not a skill you possess,” she told the woman after Alex had thrown her bow across the room in frustration.

“Yes, well, you’re not the first Elf to tell me that,” she snapped and Pomea fought a smile.

Charika said nothing but could not help the satisfaction that washed over her as she realized she could do something Alex could not. Domestic skills were not such a source of pride---Alexandra had never been trained to do them whereas she had learned from childhood. Her friend, however, had been a warrior among her own people and to exceed her in anything in that area was, in Charika’s opinion, quite an accomplishment.


Goroth seemed to be keeping to himself, a happenstance to which Alex did not object. Charika kept a wary eye, as it were, on the darker goings on in the keep, but was not aware of anything truly disturbing. Her own dark shadow was occasionally spotted by her, and at times by Glorfindel and Helcarin, usually in a mirror, but she did not experience any more terrifying encounters like the one in the bedchamber she and Rumil shared.

“He has more form,” Glorfindel said one day as he and Helcarin prepared to take the watch.

His son looked toward the mirror in the Great Room. The dark figure was there, in a corner, motionless. Indeed it did seem to have more definition than in the past.

“Aye,” Helcarin murmured. His gaze shifted to where Charika sat stitching trim onto one of the gowns she had recently finished. “He is seldom far from the lady.”

“I still get no sense from him, but I do not believe he means her harm,” the Elf-Lord mused, fastening his cape. He and the other Elf went out to take their place on the wall, joining Vanurion and several more of his kinsmen.

“He does not,” Helcarin replied with conviction. His father raised a quizzical brow and the young Elf laughed. “I cannot say for certain how I know, but as my sense of him has grown, I feel he means Charika no harm. I believe he is guarding her.”

“From what? Or who?” Glorfindel found it interesting that his son had more of a sense of the entity than he did. Again, the memory of Siensia flashed through his mind and he could not help but wonder what special gift she had given to their offspring.

“That, I cannot say. But it does not seem to bother Charika that he is often near. I wonder if she has noticed his growing clarity.”

“She seems to accept this gift from the Valar with equanimity. In truth, I am surprised---I had thought the lady much more timid than she is proving to be.” The Marshal of Imladris took his position on the wall, relieving Sarendir. “I do not doubt that her new perception allows her to see his growing strength.”

Helcarin went on to his position and their concentration focused on protecting those within the walls.


Rumil had taken an early watch and joined Charika in the Great Room as she did some of the fine fingerwork on the gown she was finishing. Alex admitted to herself she was somewhat jealous of the woman’s ability to seemingly do everything well: she could cook and sew effortlessly; she knew how to dance gracefully; she could shoot a damned bow and arrow---and actually hit her targets; she had been trained to fulfill male desires and fantasies.

It was that last that gave Alex pause. She was surrounded by exotic females who were far more experienced than she was when it came to the erotic arts. Even Durisia, quiet and studious elleth that she was, had captured the imagination of Erestor and Alex figured anyone who could distract him from his projects had to have skills she could never hope to master.

She did not doubt her husband’s love for her; however, she was once again plagued by thoughts of her inexorable progression into old age and death, and the insecurities she fought to suppress began to nag at her. Perhaps it was the darkness of the keep---not just the shorter days of winter, but the sometimes oppressive atmosphere of the place---that contributed to what she could only call her depression. Knowing the likely cause, though, did not take the feelings away and she found herself wandering alone through the vast empty building.

Legolas was somewhere with Haldir and Cunion, likely involved in something to do with that Rhunian wine. She knew he had sent some to his father and that Thranduil, who was known for his excellent taste in spirits, would likely want more of the potent drink.

She climbed the stairs of one of the towers she seldom visited and became aware of the sound of a haunting melody echoing faintly through the empty halls. Curious, she followed the sound down one of the halls near one of the top floors and came upon Orophin sitting in an empty room on the floor before the window, the late morning sunlight slanting through the opening giving the gold and silver strands of his hair a shimmer that surrounded him like a halo.

He was playing the recorder-like wind instrument he had found back when they had first begun exploring the keep. She had never heard him play before, though she knew Elves were musically inclined, and leaned against the door listening. The tune was somewhat sad, but at the same time conveyed serenity. It was lovely and she was surprised to feel tears threaten, much the same way she did when she heard Elf-song. She forced them back as the music ended and the Elf took the instrument from his lips and spoke.

“Come and sit,” Orophin invited. “You need not stay outside the door.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Alex said, stepping into the room. “I presume you came up here in order to have some privacy.”

“I came here to avoid inflicting my poor musical efforts on the sensitive ears of everyone else,” he said with a slight chuckle. He reached to the window seat and pulled down another of the large cushions piled there and put it on the floor next to him. She sank onto the soft pillow with a smile.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “You play beautifully. I have never heard your music before. Why not?”

“My skills are not well developed,” he told her with a rueful smile. “I have not had time to practice much since I became one of the Guardians. Silence and stillness were necessary for the effective performance of my duties.”

“And a flute, or whatever you call that thing, isn’t conducive to stealth,” she added.

He nodded. “What brings you up to the deserted parts of the keep?”

“Just thinking,” she replied. She reached out and he handed her the wind instrument.

“About?” He could sense something bothering his friend.

“Oh, the same old thing.” She examined the instrument closely. It was not really a flute because it was played straight, not to the side with air blown across an opening.

Orophin did not speak, but let her proceed at her own pace. Her hair was coming loose from its braid and her tunic was not fastened all the way. He could see her pulse beating steadily in the hollow of her throat and hear her even breathing. He forced his gaze to focus elsewhere and found himself watching her hands as she examined the long, straight cylinder.

“What is it called?”

“What?”

“This.” She indicated the object in her hands.

“A gwailindele,” he said with a smile.

She nodded. “Wind music,” she murmured. It made sense. “I’ll just call it a flute.”

He gave her a quizzical look and she smiled. “We have a similar instrument in my land, and flute is easier for me to pronounce.”

He chuckled. “So it would seem.” He paused for a moment. “Do you play?”

She shook her head. “I never learned. I have no real musical talent, but I do love it.”

“It is not difficult,” he said. “Try it. Simply put your lips to the mouthpiece and blow gently.”

Feeling terribly silly, she did as he said. A squeaking sound came out and she pulled the flute away with an exasperated sigh.

“You are blowing too hard,” he said. “Simply let a gentle breath flow into the … flute.” The word felt odd on his tongue, but he used it for her sake.

She tried again and after several attempts was able to get a single pure note to sound in the room.

He could not help but smile at her delighted laugh. She seemed inordinately proud of herself and he reached up, arranging her fingertips on the various holes in the cylinder.

“Do it again, then move your fingers to let different openings be covered or released.”

She did so and though it was not a recognizable tune, she did get different notes to sound clearly.

“How can I play what you did?” she asked. “Teach me.” The eagerness in her voice and eyes was a welcome change from the sadness that had been reflected in them when she had first entered the room.

Orophin tried to explain to her the sequence of finger movements to play the beginning of the melody, but the woman had not yet gained the skill necessary to play on her own. Seeing some disappointment and hurt threatening to cloud her expression, he had an idea.

“Come, sit in front of me.” He uncrossed his legs and she sat back between them, her back to him. Orophin grasped her waist and pulled her back a bit more so her body fitted snugly against his, then reached around, putting his fingers over hers on the flute’s openings.

“Now, play, following my lead. When I lift a finger, lift yours; when I put it down, it will push yours over the openings. It will help your fingers become accustomed to the sequence.”

She took a deep breath and let it out, gently passing the air through the flute’s mouthpiece. The Elf’s elegant and talented fingers gave her own cues just in time for her to make the correct movements and the bittersweet melody once again wound through the room.

Alex found herself carried on the gentle current of the poignant refrain and gradually began to anticipate the fingering necessary to continue the song. Eventually, Orophin let his hands slip from hers, and she was playing on her own, adding her own notes to the ones he had composed.

The Lorien Warden’s fingers trailed along her arms and up to her shoulders where they rested lightly, his eyes closing as his forehead rested against the top of her head. He inhaled the scent of her hair, the wildflower oil she combined with the soap she used to wash her hair and body bringing a rush of thoughts to his mind and his fingers tightened slightly on her shoulders.

When the last notes of their song faded, the room was silent except for her breathing.

Alex was suddenly aware of the proximity of the Elf who had been her closest friend outside of her husband, since she had come to Middle-Earth. His touch was warm and gentle and it seemed so natural that she lean back against him, resting against his chest. Orophin’s hands moved down from her shoulders and his arms wrapped around her in a comfortable and comforting embrace. Her head rested against his shoulder and she could feel his warm breath against her cheek.

How long they remained thus, neither could say. They were in no hurry to move and both were aware of how comfortable and natural their embrace seemed. Eventually, the light coming through the window brought them to the realization that a good bit of time had passed.

“We will miss lunch, if we haven’t already,” she finally said, reluctant to move, but knowing it was necessary.

“Aye,” her friend sighed and his hands moved from around her, fingers lightly trailing over her waist as he released her then stood.

Alex felt oddly sad when the embrace broke, but handed him the flute and took his hand as he pulled her to her feet. They walked down the stairs to the dining hall to join the others who were just sitting down to lunch.

Legolas looked up and smiled in greeting. “What mischief have the two of you stirred this morning?” he gently teased, kissing her as she sat next to him at the table.

“Orophin is teaching me to play the … flute.” She could not remember the Elvish name of the instrument.

At the others’ blank looks, Orophin translated, “A gwailindele,” and the rest nodded in understanding.

Talk turned to other matters and Alex let her hand drift down to her husband’s thigh beneath the table. He smiled at her and she thought how she was fortunate to have such a perfect husband … and such a good friend as Orophin. The handsome Warden was talking with Pomea about something and Alex smiled. She thought how her morning had been somewhat depressing, but had improved greatly after spending time with her friend. She did not let her thoughts linger on how, as he stood, his lips had gently brushed her ear as he had lifted his cheek from where it rested against hers.