Lies a Long Shadow by Elleth

Chapter 1

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Malbeth the Seer had been born Goldie Rushlight, half of Bree-town and half the blood of the Sea-Kings. Her brother - once Bramble, later Berion - claimed that part of their heritage before she did, joining the Rangers in search of his father, and sleeping with his cloak for a blanket and rocks for a pillow. When he came home, which was seldom, he did so with a treasure trove of stories from Elves, Men, Hobbits, and other good folk, and since she had been old enough to think, she'd clung to her polished-bronze scrying mirror and imagined a prophecy that'd take her up the Greenway to King's Norbury as Tuor had once come to Gondolin.

Then, like Tuor from her brother's stories, she'd determined she would marry the princess. Or prince, if there was one. Her cheeks flushed hot at the thought, but she liked the idea of marrying a princess much better. And without fail, when she thought of one, her scrying mirror gave her visions of dark hair threaded with jewels, and laughter in an unfamiliar lilt.

*

Goldie had been Malbeth for many years since her coming to Fornost, where her first prophecy had named Araphant's son Arvedui, and advice fell readily from her lips. She had the foresight of Dúnedain women and it had lent her wisdom through trial. Where it did not, her scrying mirror - the same that her mother had "traded" for when she was very young and the noises of that night had woken Goldie in her alcove - was a trusty companion through her years at court, while gentle King Araphant held Arthedain with failing strength. It was at Malbeth's urging that his messengers sped away southward far beyond Arthedain into the South Kingdom, bearing gifts, greetings, and the seeds of an alliance to unite the Kingdoms against the single will governing their many enemies.

When it came to fruition, none of her scrying had prepared Malbeth for the loveliness of Princess Fíriel coming up the Greenway to be wedded to Arvedui. When Malbeth knelt to greet her and kiss the hem of her gown of black and silver under her cascade of jewelled hair, her heart was lost, and all considerations of empire and strength of arms to halt Angmar's conquest and the loss of territory left her that night. She dreamt of the favour of the firm touch of Fíriel's fingers woven through her own hair in greeting, a blessing and a marvel, and a touch that lingered longer than it should perhaps have done.

She didn't need her scrying mirror to imagine what kissing Fíriel would be like, and from that day, Malbeth loved Fíriel, and held her tongue. She remembered her brother's words from long ago, "the sun from which all the King's hall drew its light" when he had described Idril of Gondolin of old, and although Fíriel rather was a patch of clear night with her dark waves of scented hair that still carried the fragrances of Gondor and her eyes like grey stars in the darkness of her face, Malbeth loved her not less for it in the choking darkness that was settling on the land.

*

The first time Malbeth held her came when Fíriel wept after the fall of Fornost. They had reached a safe Ranger outpost on the borders of the Weather Hills, shielded by the Midgewater Marshess and the lights of her old hometown of Bree mirroring orange on the clouds in the distance. They dared not rest there, knowing that if the armies of Angmar tracked their heedless flight, they would swallow all in its path. But having Fíriel close stilled the shivers in her aging bones better than any fire could.

It was Fíriel who first kissed her, and murmured a Gondorian endearment against Malbeth's lips among her tears, hands clasped, and spoke long into the night.

"I have seen thee watch me through the long years," Fíriel said. "Yet I could not break faith with my husband, however much I longed to come to thee, and thus hid my heart. But I love thee, Malbeth; I love thee. How couldst thou not know?"

"I dared not scry when I might have. Ignorance may be bliss, or at least be hope," Malbeth replied. "And the Line of Kings carries more fate than my heart does. But that purpose is fulfilled. Whether Arvedui shall live and come to all the hope I foretold, or whether he shall perish, the blood of both lines of Elendil lives in Aranarth your son. He is close to manhood." Then she spoke of Idril and of Gondolin until Fíriel laughed, however briefly, and could remember no day she had been happier amid their misery.

*

They split with the forces soon after to confound the enemy. The smaller part of the guard should remain with Fíriel and Malbeth, while the greater, protecting Aranarth and the women and children that had escaped alive from Fornost, would try striking westward toward the Havens of Círdan on the Lune.

"And thou - thou hast long dreamt of a white city in the mountains, hast thou not?" asked Fíriel among kisses, as they left their dresses on the floor of the hall to hide themselves in the unassuming clothes of smallfolk. Malbeth tried to avert her eyes, but she drank in her lover's body instead, and almost forgot to answer.

"Yes," she said, imagining Fíriel amid the white stones of Gondolin. "Although I care not where I go, as long as it is by your side."

"Then I shall take thee to Gondor, and give thee Minas Tirith at last if I cannot give you Gondolin, and there a chance to live out our days even if they will not have me as Queen, nor Arvedui as King," she said, remembering the conflicts that had once more driven the kingdoms apart. "Unless the less-hopeful choice is before him yet."

*

They set out at daybreak. Clouds had drawn deep over Arthedain, but the sun, rising, glimpsed over the mountains in a wash of brightness, and reflected golden off the snow as off the scrying mirror that Malbeth had lost in flight and did not mourn, and she felt the tremor of foresight coming to her.

Over the land there lies a long shadow,
westward reaching wings of darkness.
The Tower trembles; to the tombs of kings
doom approaches. The Dead awaken;
for the hour is come for the oathbreakers:
at the Stone of Erech they shall stand again
and hear there a horn in the hills ringing.
Whose shall the horn be? Who shall call them
from the grey twilight, the forgotten people?
The heir of him to whom the oath they swore.
From the North shall he come, need shall drive him:
he shall pass the Door to the Paths of the Dead.

"There is hope yet for more than you and me," Malbeth said, once she had recovered her senses and shaken the last of the trembling that always came with foretelling. "Hope for the Dúnedain, though all may seem lost and Arvedui indeed is the last of the northern Kings, and our people may dwindle into remnants of their glory. I feel that it is not until long after our lifetimes that these words shall come to pass. Thus, we are free to go where we will, and find sweetness amid the bitter, if we may." Then she turned away, and struck southward into the light, Fíriel's hand in hers.

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Chapter End Notes

Since Tolkien never said anything on the matter, no one can prove that Malbeth wasn't a woman, and it's usually the women of the Dúnedain who are noted for their foresight, so I'm feeling justified in this decision. And no one knows what happened to either Fíriel or Malbeth after the fall of Arthedain in 1974 TA, so I couldn't not give them a happy ending. :)