The Risingsun of Lindon

Tale of a Rising Sun

A soft knock upon the doors of my chamber, to where the little sack that I have taken with me was brought after breakfast, made me aware of the fact that the world had still other habitants than myself.

“Please, come in” I cried from the place where I stood by the window, with my back to the doors.

“Fair day Lady Arlome” said a deep, soothing voice and a hand came to rest upon my shoulder just before I made my mind to turn around and greet the intruder.
When I did, however, leave the windowsill I realized the intruder was doubled and that two interferers were now standing in the middle of my room.

Lord Elrond and Mithrandir were smiling lightly as I frowned and greeted them in Quenya.

“We have come to help you recover, Noble Night” said the wizard as he placed himself in a nice wooden chair that stood by the fireplace that was now dark and cold.

“Help me recover?” I asked and arched an eyebrow, but then I understood what they meant and I dropped my gaze to the ground, bringing my fingers to my chin and lips “A…you mean that…”

Elrond came to my side and led me to the balcony, signaling to Mithrandir to follow him with a slight nod of his fair head.

“Come Risingsun, let us enjoy the rays of Anar as we tell you the tale of your life.”

“Tale of my life…?” I repeated as if in a trance as I looked at his face. The Lord only smiled and nodded.

“Sit here, Arlome” he said and indicated to one of the chairs that stood near a big wooden table, loaded with bowls of fruit, sweet bread and a bottle of wine. He himself and Mithrandir sat side by side in a way that could allow them to face me without a veil of food and drink to cover my features.

“You come from an infamous family, Risingsun” smiled the wizard as he helped himself to an apple “can you remember that?”
I shook my head slightly and shrugged.

“No”

“Well…indeed you are. Your father was the son of Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion, or Hollin as men called it, who was, in his turn, the grandson of Feanor son of Finwe.”

I gapped and stared at the wizard with unbelieving eyes as he took a bite from his apple.

“What did you say? I am from the bloodline of Feanor?? From the direct bloodline of Feanor???” I cried and leaned forward, grabbing the table as I did.

The Wizard and the Elf Lord smiled at each other before Gandalf continued.

“Oh and not only! For you are descended from the direct bloodline of Fingolfin and Finarfin as well!”

I nearly dropped to the floor at the statement the Istar made, as I heaved and rolled my eyes.

“How?? Turgon had only one daughter! And Aredhel…well…we all know of Maeglin…”

Gandalf threw the leftovers of the apple to an Empty bowl and regarded me with his penetrating gaze.

“Your Mother was the daughter of Ereinion Gil-Galad son of Fingon, son of Fingolfin and of Aldawen daughter of Aegnor son of Finarfin.”

I arched my eyebrows and frowned, to that fact I could not believe even if I really wanted to, which I did.”

“But it could not be! Gil-Galad was the Last High King of the Noldor in Middle Earth. The Last! He had no children for none came after him!”

Elrond nodded and placed his right hand on the table, the blue gem of Vilya sparkling dimly from beneath the silky fabric in the sunlight.

“All that you say is true” he said, “Gil-Galad was indeed the Last High King for he had no sons to inherit his Kingdom. But a Daughter he had, Lairelin was her name, and she was as fair as a summer day and as wise as the Earth”. A smile of nostalgia spread over his face as he leaned back against his chair.

“Indeed…very fair she was” Elrond said and sighed. I examined his face and frowned.

“You speak of past times…” I whispered, shuddering at the thought of abandonment. The smile on the Lord’s face gave way to distress and grief.

“Alas” cried Elrond “your mother, the summer song, was slain in battle when you were but a little babe. It was an accursed arrow that pierced her heart and slew her. But before she died she took off the circlet she wore upon her brow and handed it to the safe Keeping of Thranduil who had promised to give it to you. You wear it now, the circlet, it is upon your brow”.

I reached out and took off the tiara that circled my head. It was a thin, silver crown bound with a sun, a Rising sun, and it seemed to fit me perfectly, as if I was born with the circlet embracing my forehead.

“It is beautiful…” I sighed and turned it in my hands, catching the rays of the sun upon the thin layers of silver that plated the fair crown.

“Aye…it is” said Mithrandir, following the moves of my fingers “your father made it for her as a wedding gift”.

I placed it back upon my forehead and looked at them, waiting for them to begin. A sudden hunger for the tale filled every cell of my body and I chuckled inwardly.

‘Indeed an Elf I am’ I said to myself ‘if such is the hunger i feel for a story’.

“When Eregion was laid waste and Celebrimbor was slain the remnant of the Noldor took refuge in Imladris together with Elrond. Lintecamion, the only son of the Lord and the heir of Hollin was one of them. In Imladris he lived as a noble Elf and was greatly respected and honored for his Noldorin skills and the thirst for knowledge astonished all. Lintecamion was also a good warrior when the Elves were in need, and though he was the great grandson of Feanor himself, ethe the Sindar seemed to like him.
One of those Sindar was the prince Thranduil Son of Oropher, King of Mirkwood. They seemed to grow strong in friendship that was, at that time, strange to all, for it was indeed queer to see one of the Sindar get so bound to one of the Noldor. Thranduil was also your mother’s friend, best friend as she herself used to describe him, but that is another tale.”

Mithrandir, who was telling the story, relaxed in his chair and allowed Elrond ontiontinue instead of him.

“When the days of the Last alliance were born by Anar and Isil Lintecamion met Lairelin when she arrived with Gil-Galad, Elendil and their hosts to Imladris. The Elf Lord fell in love with the beautiful Princess and asked the permission of the High King to court her, Gil-Galad, of course, accepted for he loved Lintecamion dearly and thought highly of him. And so, three nights before the Last alliance marched to Mordor, Lairelin and Lintecamion were engaged and were to wait a year before they could wed and whisper their oaths to Iluvatar and themselves, though none knew back then, save from Lairelin as I now presume, that more thirty decades were to pass before the young couple could be joined in wedlock.”

Elrond sighed and poured himself some wine. After a reassuring sip from the delicious liquid he placed the goblet on the table and cupped his cheek in his palm.

“The war in which fell Elendil the faithful and the High King of the exiles ended and Lintecamion returned to Imladris, where Lairelin awaited him, with me and what was left from my host. The mourning, foresighted Princess already knew that her father had fallen into the shadows of the black land and that his star was extinguished forever.
Nonetheless her love for her Lord had not died and she asked of him to come with her to Lindon and be her king, but he shook his head gravely, fell silent and only after a long while he said, his voice shaking with furry for the accursed Sauron who at First killed his Parents and then the High King to whom he had pledged loyalty: “’ I will come, but I will be no king, for in the land of shadows the last one fell and after him, none shall come”’. Many now remember the words he had uttered, for they were said in great grief and honor and with love.

With the fall of Gil-galad hope had left the hearts of the Lindolians, for not only did their King died by the hand of the Dark enemy, but also their beloved Queen, Aldawen, Daughter of Aegnor son of Finarfin, faded of grief for she could not bare the passing of her beloved, leaving her daughter to face the cruel features and ways of death by herself.
But Lairelin was one of strong heart and at the beginning of the third age she went to Lindon, returning to her people and to her duties, parting from Lintecamion, who stayed in Imladris, for twenty years during which she mourned the death of her parents, and when those years were over Lintecamion wedded the Princess and became the Lord of Lindon, refusing the title of a King.”

Elrond stopped again, took another sip from the goblet, apologized dearly that he had offered no wine to either of us and poured the enchanting, seductive liquid into our hollow goblets. After a long silence, during which I savored the taste of sweet red wine on my lips and the burning sensation in my stomach, the Lord of Imladris sighed and gazed at the wizard hopefully. Mithrandir looked at him with laughing eyes and nodded, then he turned to me and replaced the Elven Lord, eagerly continuing the Tale.

“Lairelin bore Lintecamion four children, two daughters and two sons. You, The Risingsun of your people, as Arwen is the Evenstar, were his youngest child, his little treasure. When you were born you were granted the gift of foresight that you inherited from your mother, who bore the same gift, given to her by the Valar. It was due to this foresight that the Princess of Lindon already knew back then that her days among her loved ones were counted and that she would not live forever.

Unfortunately for all of us, your mother was right as always, and she did not live long after your birth, for she had parished in battle, when you were seven months old, and together with her death perished and was torn the last string of hope that the Lindolians had in their hearts, never to rebound, so at least all had said.

But they were all wrong, deceived by their grief, blinded with the tears of agony they did not see the Rising of the sun upon them, only the reigning of the darkness and the night which had covered the poor hearts of the Lindolians, that back then it seemed, forever.
But the light of the Rising sun was much brighter than the darkness of the darkest night, and so, when you set out of Lindon on a journey to Mirkwood with your brothers, the Elves of that beautiful land finally recognized Lairelin in her youngest child.”

I have decided to ask some questions that had burned within me for quite a while and took advantage of the short intake of air from Mithrandir to stop this burning.

“Before you go on, Mithrandir, allow me a few questions” I said and smiled. The old wizard returned me a blinding grin and nodded “by all means…”

“You said I was the Rising sun of my people, is that why I am called that way, that is how I got this name?” I asked leaning forward in my seat.

Gandalf shook his head and sighed.

“No. Risingsun is your mother name, and as you must know the mother names have a strong prophetic meaning” it was my turn to nod and approve this information.
“Your mother named you Risingsun for a reason and that reason is now known to all Elves who had the chance to lay eyes upon you.”

I coughed loudly and not so gently and politely as I wanted.

“You mean the Noldor, am I right?”

Gandalf and Elrond smiled and looked at each other.

“All Elves in Middle Earth name you Risingsun, again, as all Elves name Arwen Undomiel, for she is their Evenstar as you are their Rising sun. Do you see what I am trying to show you?” the wizard asked, winking heartily at the Lord of Imladris.

“Aye…I do” I said and brooded for a while.

“You had more questions, Noble Night…”

Lord Elrond was very kind to inform me that it was time I snapped out of my midday dream.

“A! You are right Master Elrond I had indeed. Mithrandir” I said and turned to the Wizard “You said that the Elves of Lindon recognized Lairelin in me, do I resemble her greatly?”

“Oh!” he cried, “Resemble her? Sheer reflection of her would be a much more suitable description! You are the only child of your parents that looks like your mother, and that is why Lintecamion had been so protective for so many years”.

I frowned and arched an eyebrow. The word ‘protective’ made me think of my own parents and I wondered if they were worried now, when I was not so close to home.

“Protective you say…I presume that he did not let me out of Lindon for at least a century” I said, looking at both of them.

“Two centuries” said Elrond and smiled.

I laughed out loud and began to ponder if Lintecamion looked a bit like my mother, a thought that made me laugh even wilder.

“Two centuries…I should have known!” I cried, weeping tears from my eyes. Mithrandir smiled again and placed a hand upon my own, stopping me from laughing myself all the way to the floor.

“Any more questions, Arlome?”

“Aye” I said and calmed down “My siblings, Gandalf, tell me of them”.

“Well, then I shall pass the beacon to Elrond, this will be his tale, for I have come to Middle Earth when you were already of age.”

Elrond smiled at the wizard and rose from the table. Quietly he made his way into the room, the silky robes toeing gracefully behind him, making the slightest of sounds as they touched the floor. After a while he reappeared again carrying a scroll of canvas in his hand.

“This isr far family” he said and unfolded the parchment before me “These are your brothers, father and sister. This picture was drawn by you, about five hundred years ago.”

I looked at the picture that, mind you, was very well drawn. ‘Damn it!’ I cursed inwardly ‘I wish I could really draw like that!’

From the picture, as if I have merely photographed them in my memory, shone the figures. The Artwork was apparently made in the hall of the King for a man; in his mid thirties, as it seemed to me, was sitting on the throne and by his side stood his two sons. The fair Lady was sited at his feet.

“These are Oronte, Elen and Fea.” said the Lord of Imladris, indicating at every figure in turn. I have noticed that Fea and Oronte looked much like my Father, Dark haired with silvery grey eyes, but as my gaze drifted to the other Male that was standing by the throne and as I scanned his appearance I frowned.

“Elen” I said and looked at Lord Elrond “He has golden hair”

The Lord nodded and smiled.

“Aye, indeed, he had inherited the hair from his grandmother Aldawen, who was the granddaughter of Finarfin. As you know, the house of Finarfin is gifted with flowing, golden hair. Well, and the eyes are your father’s eyes, as you see. You are the only one who inherited Lairelin’s eyes.”

I frowned again. “Lairelin’s eyes? She does not have the usual grey?”

Elrond shook his head and placed a hand upon my shoulder.

“Nay, she had eyes of strange mixture, both Green and brown, as a color of a tree. She got it from-“ but I wasn’t listening anymore. I froze at the instant he mentioned the color of Lairelin’s eyes, the color that ‘I’ inherited.

You see, maybe now is the time to describe you my appearance…
I have brown green eyes, and dark curls that, well, not so gracefully, fall to my mid back. I am not fat nor full, as I am neither skinny nor thin. I am of normal body build, and I was always counted as one of the highest girls in my class.

I blinked and stared at Elrond.

“I am sorry my Lord, I was lost in thought, pray, tell me again, from where did my mother got this strange color of eyes?”

The Lord nodded and repeated his words.

“She Got it from Aldawen, her mother, who was named a tree maiden for she was born under a tree and the first thing she saw was the beautiful trunk and leaves and they reflected in her eyes and her eyes became of such color.”

“Hmm” I said and nodded, wondering if I was getting mad. With a quick move of my head I turned to the picture burring myself in the scroll and family that was not my own. Or so I thought…

Fea was beautiful, and her eyes were kind. A silver circlet was set upon her forehead and a star was hung upon her breast. But her hands, that intrigued me the most, were not soft and porcelain like as the hands of all elvish maids.

“Her hands” I whispered ”they are so rough…” a sudden sadness entered the realm of my heart and threatened to suffocate me. I could not understand how something so fair, had such labor stricken hands, she was a royal Elf Lady, after all.

“Fea is a craftswoman and a blacksmith. Her hands are blessed with the gift of skill as are yo onl only you have chosen a deferent art. Many say that one day she would surpass her grandfather in the making of jewelry and weapons, maybe she will…”

I looked at Elen, who was softly casting his silver-grey gaze at me. From his features I could tell that he was the one with the good temper in the family and that he had not inherited only the hair from the house of Finarfin but also his kind heart and noble soul.
Oronte, who stood from the opposite side of the throne, in long, dark red robes, was gravely scanning the oblivion. But nonetheless his stare was not void of emotions, not empty, for it was pregnant with concern and worriers. Such worries that could be seen only between the brows of Elf Lords much to tired of this Earth, knitted in a frown.

“Oronte is your father’s seneschal and Army captain and Elen is a healer and a Lore master. He used to live many years here in Imladris, learning the skills of medicine and was my best student!” Elrond, who had awoken me once more from my brooding, seemed quite smug as he said that. “Both of them ride with my sons and the Dunedain very often, they are also in strong bounds with Estel.”

I glanced at Lord Elrond and smiled.

“And what about me, my lord? Am I only a poor painter who travels the beautiful lands for the small fee of colorful landscapes?”

He laughed and shook his head, making the walls of my heart tremble, for this was indeed a fair sight.

“Nay Arlome! You are a lore master yourself, and a Lady well trained with weapons. Your father had indeed sworn that you would not come to the same bitter end as his beloved wife. But back then none could really tell how alike you and Lairelin were, and so nothing could stop you from fulfilling your destiny when the right time came.

When you were three centuries old, Lintecamion had finally realized that all the lines in Lairelin’s character had passed to their youngest child leaving very little space for some of his own.
But you need not miss understand me, Arlome! For you have much of your own qualities that do not resemble any other line in the character of Lairelin nor in that of Lintecamion, and these are your special features of soul. But yet again, I sail into other tales, forsaking the one we came here to tell”. He sighed and smiled.

“Since your father did not give you the ability to learn how to use weapons you began to train yourself. First with daggers, then in archery, then with swords and spears. you began to analyze and control the art of war. As a long forgotten worrier,” he said with a warm smile “I must add that I have not seen such battle skills as you posses in a long while, and that is surely a gift you had inherited from your grandsire Gil-Galad”.

A spasm of pain clouded the Lord’s eyes and he blinked, wiping the grief stricken memory with great effort. Some long moments passed before he could continue, and even then, his voice shock a bit, swaying in the mighty wind of emotions.

“On one of the spring days of the year 1160 of the third age, your brothers were sent as messengers to King Thranduil in Mirkwood and you decided that you would go with them.
Lintecamion was very surprised when his graceful Risingsun had knelt before him and asked his permission to accompany her brothers on their journey to Mirkwood.
At first he was very angry at the plea ref refused but when you begged, chocking with tears, to have the opportunity to lay eyes on Mirkwood and draw the beautiful Forest, his hear soothed and he let you leave.
Oronte was against your going, but Elen that had felt your heart had convinced the stubborn brother until he finally accepted your company. Oronte’s opinion about you journeying with him and Elen to Mirkwood quickly changed when an arrow of yours saved his life when you were attacked by a group of orcs in the woods of Mirkwood far from Thranduil’s realm.”

Elrond sighed and turned to Mithrandir. ”Now you shall have your beacon back my friend”.
The wizard laughed and nodded. But as he looked at me, his face became soft with sadness and grave with lore.

“In that very day, when you stood arrayed with weapons before him, the image and the illusion that your father’s had created in his mind of the most beautiful and delicate of all, had collapsed and faded, his little Elven princess, had left him and his palace for the wild, she has taken her mother’s ways. Her fate was no longer in his hands.”

I sighed and looked away. The birds were peacefully singing their songs; the wind blew in a mesmerizing rithem but the walls of my heart moaned in pain.
I rose from the table, to the great surprise of both Elrond and Gandalf.

“My Lord, Mithrandir, may I go and have a glimpse in a mirror, I do not seem to remember my own face.”

Elrond nodded gravely and I could see that he frowned, but the wizard only smiled and indicated with his hand at a wooden door inside the room: “By all means…”

I entered the chamber that could be called in our days the bathroom and I stopped dead in front of the reflection that stood tall in the mirror before me.

Have you ever read “The Vampire Lestat?” Do you remember how he glanced at his reflection right after he became what he had become? How it was Lestat in the Mirror, but yet it was not?
The same could be said about me.

The Woman in the mirror that has observed me with her kind tree like eyes was in her early twenties and had a skin so smooth and fair that would probably send models and cosmetic producers to the afterworld, raging with jealousy. Her hair, soft dark locks swayed into curls in a wild dance, fell to her waist, where it met a beautiful silver belt that graced the Lady’s narrow hips. She was wearing a dark blue dress that fell to the floor and seemed much longer than the robes that Master Elrond wore.

I looked into her face. The eyes were the same eyes, only larger, and the hair was the same hair only longer and more soft and tidy. The only part that did seem to stay the same was the mouth.
The well-drawn lips that decorated my face, and were the only thing fair in me, graced the beautiful features of the Elven Lady that stood before me.

And yet I could not say that she did not resemble me at all. She did. And very much actually, but she was way too beautiful for me to describe and too beautiful for mortal eyes to see. She was I, only in much fairer version. The kind of version that I wanted to be.

And yet…

I fled from the bath chamber and returned to the balcony, too shocked to speak from what I have just seen, so I simply nodded when Lord Elrond asked me if all was well.

“We shall go now Arlome” said Mithrandir and bowed his head “We have things to discuss with Aragorn and Lord Glorfindel, but I guess that we shall see you again at dinner?” he asked and winked.

I smiled wearily and nodded, taking my leave from their company with a slight bow of my head.

I sat there for at least an hour pondering the strange coincidence until a soft call reached my ears. I lifted my gaze that met a tall dark figure standing in the doorway to the balcony and whispering ‘my’ name.

“Elladan…”

I muttered, knowing not that I had hit the bull’s eye…