To Travel With Wings

AN: Sigh. I never thought that I would add my pitiful excuse for writing to the great Tolkien fanfic archive. What spurred my writing was the lack of good Glorfindel stories. I am not a fan of slash, so I have to search long and hard to find something I like. So, here is my donation to the annals. Certain events have been altered and, while one does not have to have knowledge of the Silmarillion, it would certainly help. If one has questions, feel free to email me at neraphim@hotmail.com.

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The forces of the Dark Lord pressed ever closer. For awhile, their might seemed to overcome the Eldar and the Edain. Yet it would not be so, for Gil-galad and Elendil rallied their troops with Aeglos and Narsil shining like lights in the darkness. The elves and men found their will and strength replenished and their weapons shone and their eyes were bright with victory.

Standing tall amidst the carnage was Silnar, her red hair as flames about her head and her voice lifted in strong songs of war and victory. Any arrow or spear of the enemy was turned away for Tulkas stood before her, unseen, turning the weapons back to their masters, but Silnar knew this not and wondered at the powers of her song.

Silnar saw the tide of battle turning and renewed the vigor of her voice and the spirits of the warriors lifted ever higher and the army of the Dark Lord quailed before them and ran. Gil-galad and Elendil urged their people forward and forward they went with the twang of Elven bows and the clash of swords as accompaniment.

Suddenly, all was still, and Arda groaned as if bearing the weight of a tremendous evil. The Dark Lord had come forth from his fortress. So tall he stood that the sky, although covered in darkness, was hidden from view. Sauron’s malice and hatred tainted the air and rallied his army behind him. The armies of Gil-galad and Elendil fell back from the might and power of Sauron. And even their great Kings stood frozen.

Knowing the outcome if this Dark Lord prevailed caused Silnar to step down from her platform of rocks and away from the protection of Tulkas. The beautiful Lady of Lindon fairly flowed over the rocky terrain so silently that none noticed her passing until she stood before Sauron. And though his darkness was great, the light of Silnar was greater and Sauron could not stare directly at her lest he blind his eyes. This caused a deep anger inside him that burned hot and deadly.

Silnar looked deep into Sauron’s mind and saw his hatred and loathing, for he knew Silnar’s true lineage, though he did not reveal it to her lest she grow even more in power. Silnar therefore saw only his hatred and laughed at him aloud.

“I do not fear thee Sauron,” she said, spitting his name like it was dirt. “For to me, thou are not but a lackey of the mighty but fallen Melkor! Be gone from this place, oh slave, and trouble us no more!”

And in his fury at the mention of his master’s former name, Sauron perceived that the body of Manwe and Varda’s daughter was weak and he smote her with this mighty sword. Silnar crumpled beneath his stroke and her light dimmed, but did not go out.

Her courageous stand had moved the hearts of Gil-galad and Elendil and they attacked Sauron and wrestled madly with him. The Lord of Darkness, however, was strong yet and he destroyed both great Kings. And as Elendil fell, Narsil shattered beneath him and its light died and was no more.

Bewildered, Isildur knelt before his father and stared at the hilt shard of Narsil. He drew his gaze upwards, prepared to face doom with a proud head when he spied the glow of the one ring. Isildur raised the remains of Narsil in his hands and cut the ring from Sauron’s hand.

A roar of anguish and pain filled the battlefield as the body of Sauron, once a beautiful Maia of Aule, fell and his weakened spirit fled, his army following in his wake. The armies of the Eldar and the Edain let them flee, their grief too strong to pursue.

Before his father, Isildur knelt, the ring in his hands. He wept for his slain father and brother. And before Gil-galad stood Elrond Peredhil and Cirdan the shipwright. They spoke long with Isildur, but he would not destroy the ring.

A voice cried out then, amongst the Edain.

“The Lady of Lindon yet breathes!”

Isildur pushed Elrond and Cirdan away to kneel by his foster sister’s side. Her breaths were shallow and her light fading.

“Foster-sister….Silnar, do not leave me. I cannot bear another loss.”

Too weak to speak, Silnar sent her words to Isildur’s mind.

*Do not despair, Isildur, for I shall not really leave. You shall have memories.*

“It is not enough.” Isildur choked back a sob and cast his eyes about the landscape. His eyes settled on the grief stricken face of Elrond Peredhil.

“Master Elrond, heal her, please! Save her….For my father….for Gil-galad.”

Elrond shook his head wearily. “There is naught else I can do. She is too far gone.”

Isildur’s eyes flashed hotly. “Put aside your petty feelings of hatred and at least try to heal her! You have not even looked upon her.”

Elrond threw him a scorn filled glance. “A novice could smell the scent of near death.”

“You stand upon a battle field, Half Elf,” Isildur near screamed.

“Elrond,” Cirdan admonished him. Glorfindel stood a few feet away and looked with pity on Elrond.

Sighing, Elrond knelt before Silnar and his hands moved above her body. Her breathing came easier and the light about her steadied, but she was still pale and very weak.

“I have done all that I can,” Elrond murmured, “But she will always be weak and I doubt that she will ever fully recover.”

“Thank you,” Isildur wept. “Thank you.”

And that day many Cairns were built and Isildur took Silnar with him to Minas Anor where she recuperated while he counseled Meneldil. When they departed, Silnar was able to walk and ride on her own.

They rested in the Gladden Fields and Isildur set no guard.

“Isildur, my foster brother, it is foolish to set no guard. Not all dark things were destroyed.”

“No enemies would dare attack my camp. Not with my foster sister, the Lady of Lindon in residence.”

But Silnar shook her head sadly. “I fear that I have lost that power foster brother.”

Isildur did not heed Silnar’s words and left to his own tent. Silnar watched him depart with grief in her eyes for she knew his fate. Returning to her embroidery, Silnar sewed for many quiet hours.

She had drifted into the slumber of elves when the thundering of feet forced her into wakefulness. Grasping her sword, Silnar doused her lantern light and flung away her tent flaps, but she did not glow with her ethereal light and the Orcs were not frightened of her. Ohtar, esquire to Isildur and bearer of Narsil saved her from certain death. In the confusion of the attack Ohtar led the Lady away to the safety of the trees. Silnar was too weak to resist. It seemed hours before the Orcs departed. Ohtar would not bring Silnar back to the carnage of the camp because it was known to him the constant craving Orcs held for man flesh. Ohtar bade Silnar to wait by the banks of the Great River while he searched camp for survivors.

It was there Silnar watched her foster brother drift by, many Orcs arrows protruding from his body. Silnar’s heart wept then, for Elves cannot shed the tears of mortals, and Silnar felt she would perish from the grief.

Ohtar returned shortly with one other survivor who would not speak for the horror of the Orcs was forever written on his face. Ohtar resolved to travel to Rivendell and Silnar followed for she knew of nowhere else to go.

When the three reached Imladris, Ohtar handed over the shards of Narsil to Elrond. In time, Valandil took the shards, but was foretold by Elrond it would not be re-forged until the coming of the ring.

Valandil returned to Annuminas and begged his foster aunt to return with him, but Silnar was too weak for another journey and grudgingly did Elrond keep her in his house. Silnar knew this was right for she felt there was something she had yet to do.