Sylvanlight, Book I by slflew

***Author's Note****

Thank you to all of my readers. You make writing worthwhile! As you might have noticed, the story is currently undergoing a massive editing process - I've re-posted the first 10 chapters, fixing grammatical mistakes, plot problems, and adding depth of character throughout the story. For new readers, this means that after Chapter 10 some plot lines may not make sense. I'll be trying to re-post more chapters as soon as I'm done with them. I'm trying to simply amp up the story overall to make it more enjoyable.

But if you'd like to read new chapters more easily, I recommend my blog, which is located on my profile page. It has far more information about Sylvanlight than there is here, and new chapters are placed at the top of the page.

But thanks for all your dedicated reading! I'm sure it must be awfully long-winded at times. Thanks for putting up with the mistakes Word can't catch! ~slflew

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Prologue. One Year Ago.

        The sun hovered over the trees, setting them aglow with its flame and casting the quietness of a late summer afternoon on the world.  Small insects like dust motes danced over the long amber blades of grass as the river ran lazily by.  The heat lay like a stifling blanket, making every breath a gasp.

      The people of the town sensed that something was going to happen, that they were on the brink of something new, and - perhaps- terrifying.  They looked up at the hazy white sky and whispered among themselves, as though they didn't want to disturb what lay waiting.  Children woke up at night screaming for their parents, who had few words to comfort them, since they themselves had been lying awake, sweating in the darkness, starting blindly at the ceiling and praying that morning would come swiftly.

      When people met, they turned away from each other after exchanging only a few words.  Few had the heart to do anything, and even the television had lost any comforting power.  A nameless fear was eating away at everyone's hearts, and they knew not what to do.

      School began, somewhat to the relief of the adults, as the children would have something to take their minds off the darkness of their dreams.  The children filed into their oppressively hot schoolrooms, passively listening to their teachers; there was rarely any laughter or teasing.  This increased the unease of the teachers, who fidgeted in the fronts of their classrooms as they spoke nervously to their students.

      Over time the unease began to pass, and people breathed sighs of relief.  It was merely a passing nightmare, they said to one another, and, because the memories pained them, they promptly forgot about it, as humans so often tend to do.

Chapter 1. An introduction to Gwen, our main character.

Every snowflake is different, an individual creation that, though small, is unique. Scientists may say that it is just the random crystal-like freezing of water that combines to make this phenomenon, but the sheer idea that among billions, each is unique, is in itself compelling. Each of us is also unique, but such an idea is difficult to think about when so much of our lives can be the same.

Gwen is nothing special, to be sure. She is neither too short nor too tall, and she has dark, brownish hair and greenish eyes. Her family is not rich or poor, and she cannot talk to animals or fly, like many heroes of the stories she often read. If one were to look more clearly at her eyes, however, they would notice that they are not green, as first perceived, but that they are rather a blue-grey, with a yellow circle near the pupils. This, from a distance, combine to make a muddy green, but give her eyes the extraordinary effect of shifting colors up close.

On the eastern seaboard of America, there lies the oft-forgotten state of Maine, with wild forests and slippery crags and cliffs that drop violently into the frigid churning grey sea. These forests have been tamed somewhat by the passing of man, but many parts remain untouched, so that one might walk from utter wilderness of soaring pines to old stone walls framing younger trees, and then to open meadows that grow tall grasses, not yet claimed by the forest. There is something mysterious about the woods of Maine - a sense that one gets. They are beautiful and elusive - poets have fallen in love with them; artists have left their paints and walked into their murky darkness, disappearing for all time. A tourist may walk by and note their variety, but only a resident can know its soul. And so it was in this wild, betwixt-and-between land that Gwen had grown up. Often during the summer, her parents would take her to the lake, where they owned a small, humble cabin. There mice and bats would take up residence before its human occupants arrived. The pine needle carpets characteristic of the taiga would surround it, having fallen from vast heights above.

But the lake - a glacial lake, some say - is so big that its furthest shore, as viewed from the cabin, would often be obscured by rain or haze, and large islands covered with mysterious forests quietly wait out the water. Though the water is deep, enormous rocks would loom out of the depths, and occasionally causing Gwen to squeak in fear and clutch the sides of her father's fishing boat. Reeds grace the water near the cabin shore, giving shelter to mussels, frogs, fish, and loons. Their haunting staccato cries would punch through the stillness of the night.

Though Gwen's heart might have been stowed away at this lake, she lived in the bustling small town of Ash Mills. It had a couple of restaurants and gas stations, and even a movie theater and a Carnegie library where one could find Gwen most of the time. Her home, where she lived with her parents, her younger brother and sister as well as a cat, sat on top of a hill overlooking the town. It was surrounded by wide fields of tall grasses, and behind the house sat the dark and brooding woods.

But at the end of the school year, Gwen's family began packing to go up to the lake. Their last day in the house was frenzied as they tried to remember everything they would need. Gwen's father made sure all his work was finished, her brother John was taking care of food under the watchful eye of their mother, and her younger sister was tasked with making sure the cat would be well-fed. They had hired a neighbor to take care of it while they were gone.

Gwen had been lazy and left all her personal packing to the last day, which was driving her mother up the wall. When her mother came into the room, Gwen was staring contemplatively at her dresser drawers.

"Why aren't you packing yet?" her mother demanded, making Gwen jump.

"I am packing!" she protested. "I was trying to remember everything."

"You wouldn't forget anything if you would've packed earlier."

Gwen pursed her lips and started pulling books off shelves, stuffing them into a bag.

Her mother sighed. "Don't forget important things like underwear," she said before leaving for the kitchen.

"I'm not going to!" Gwen muttered under her breath as she forced more books into the bag.

That night they all carried things out to the van - fishing rods, food, sunscreen, laptops - and early the next morning locked up the house, leaving the key under the doormat for the sitter, and got into the car.

The wilderness flashed by as they drove along the interstate. It was a solid three hour drive, and it wasn't until they were halfway there when Gwen realized with a sinking feeling that she'd forgotten to pack pajamas. Soon their van slid into the shade of the green forest. They slowed to a crawl along the potholed dirt road, tree branches scraping gently along the sides of the van. It wasn't long before the dirty white of their cabin peeked out from among the veil of trees.

Quickly, Gwen unbuckled and got out of the van, running to stand at the edge of the dock, letting the wind ruffle her hair, watching the waves, the green of the island forests, and the white clouds scudding by. She lay in the hammock after putting her luggage in the cabin, smelling the pungent scent of the pine trees and the rich smoke of the barbecue as her father cooked.

That evening, she fought a losing battle to keep her long hair out her food. Her mother often commented (hinting, no doubt, at a haircut) on its length, but Gwen liked it - it gave her a distinction among her peers at school.

"Gwen! Your feet are filthy!" her mother scolded, and indeed, as she looked at them, they were. She shrugged, not caring. She normally went barefoot in and out of doors, which meant that her feet were calloused from years of abuse. If she didn't go barefoot, she wore sandals, even in winter, which annoyed both her teachers and her parents to no end. In truth, her feet got very hot if confined to socks and shoes, so she wiggled her dirty toes as she wolfed down her dinner, and slept in jeans with her feet outside the blankets that night.

Chapter 2.

"Time is like a wheel, turning and turning - never stopping. And the woods are the center, the hub of the wheel." ~ Tuck Everlasting

The next day Gwen decided to take a walk in the early morning, when the birds were still singing, the lake was still smooth, and the daylight young. She walked along the worn dirt road, a long pleasant walk, she knew - a mile going there and back, which took her through the thick of the woods. As she walked, the sunlight quickly filtered into dense green light through the leaves. As she looked into the forest, the dirt crept into her sandals and she bent down to scrape it out before continuing. A wind began to rise, rustling the leaves, sighing nearby and roaring far away, but the still darkness was not touched by the sun, even through a net of leaves. The further she went in, the more she became aware of the age of the woods - noticing how even the green light turned to utter darkness as it went deeper into the woods - mysterious, cold, primal. When the sunlight returned at the end of the road, she was somewhat relieved, and took pleasure in its warmth before returning to the cabin.

Since the wind had started up, her father was preparing to fish, readying the boat. Gwen quietly approached him. "May I come with you?" she asked.

He jumped. "Jeepers, Gwen, don't do that!" He looked at the boat, thinking, and turned to her. "You won't get bored?"

She shook her head, and he shrugged. "All right, then." He handed her a life jacket that smelled faintly of must and wood, but more of gasoline, and she put it on. Then she stepped into the uncertain rocking boat, grasping the sides as she carefully made her way to the front seat. Her father started up the engine, which sent shivers up and down the boat and into the water, and they began to back away from the dock. The reeds shushed along the sides of the boat, and then they were off, power thrumming through her feet. Wind and spray lashed at her as they skimmed along the water, sun turning spray into rainbows.

Her father finally slowed the boat down and cut off the engine, immediately allowing the world to become silent. As his fishing rod whizzed and plopped, she looked around. They were in the shadow of a forested island, sitting in a bay that sheltered them from wind and waves. There was no beach on the island, just large rocks on which trees grew with wild abandon. Some sunlight filtered into the water, showing the rocks beneath them, fish swimming by lazily, as the bugs began to come out and skate along the water. The fish began leaping from the water with loud splashes that startled her momentarily. Gently, she reached into the water, still very cold, as expected. The sun hadn't had time to warm the water, so it was still icy, as Maine waters would remain until the middle of the summer.

Then a movement caught her eye, and Gwen bolted upright in the boat. Something had moved inbetween the trees - what it was, she didn't know. She squinted, trying to catch what it was, but it didn't move again, so she relaxed.

"What's wrong, Gwen?" her father asked, still focused on fishing.

She hesitated. "Nothing," she said, deciding not to tell her father what she thought she had seen - a face in the forest, with laughing green eyes. It was so quick though, out of the corner of her eye, that her mind quickly dismissed this idea.

When they returned, her mother was bent over stacks of paperwork, reading an old leather-bound book with interest, typing occasionally into her laptop. She looked up, visibly excited. "Gwen! Come look, this is so interesting!"

Gwen sighed and sat down, preparing for a long-winded explanation. Her mother held the book gingerly and leaned forward. "This is the journal of your thrice-great-grandfather, Alexander Maddox." Gwen blinked. He was important, mentioned at family reunions, but she couldn't remember why. Her mother noted her uncomprehending stare and went on. "You know, he was married to 'Jaime Maddox,' but I could never find her maiden name, or any of her previous records - just censuses after she married him and was living in his household."

"Ah," said Gwen, remembering.

"I thought I was on a dead end for her, but then your grandmother found this when cleaning out Great-Grandma Susan's house. It's so exciting - I'm one of only a few people who have ever read it! Anyway, I just finished reading the entry where he met her for the first time, in the logging town, Androscoggin. She's so mysterious!"

Gwen frowned and took the fragile journal. In the delicately inked writing, she read the entry:

May 2nd, 1852. Went over to Uncle Seamus' house to help him with plowing, now that I'm old enough. Uncle hasn't been right ever since he took that fall down the stairs. Doesn't help, of course, that he's usually too drunk to manage the farm, so I went to help get things done. It got dark early, and I went home for supper. I was walking down the street when I heard a sound in the alley between Pastor Mark's and Jim's houses, and looked over there. Standing half in shadow, was a woman, one I'd never seen around here. Her hair was loose, and she looked stern and sad, but she smiled at me. I blurted out a hello like an idiot, then walked away, my heart thumping. I turned to see her again, but she was gone.

Gwen continued reading. Her mother had gone to take a shower, so she had the journal to herself.

May 3rd, 1852. I saw her again, standing by the edge of the forest. I went up to her, and she just looked at me, standing all tall and straight like the queen. I greeted her, and she looked at me curiously. She whispered something that sounded like, "I am for you," (which made no sense) and then said, "I've watched you - you're strong, and kind." I mumbled something about handling the horses, and she laughed at my sheepish expression.

Gwen read about the parents' objections to his courtship of a foreign woman, with no name or background, her persistence, and long walks in the woods. When Alexander ranted to Jaimie about his parents' insistence on a slow courtship and marriage, she said to him solemnly, "Sometimes we do things out of obligation and duty, not for our own pleasure. It is a part of life." She sounded like a smart and wise woman, Gwen reflected. She wished she could have met her. One thing puzzled her, though - Alexander never mentioned where Jaime lived, only that they met in the woods. How odd, she mused, as she handed the journal back to her mother. How odd.

Chapter 3.                                                           

It has occasionally been remarked upon that it is as easy to overlook something large and obvious as it is to overlook something small and niggling, and that the large things one overlooks can often cause problems. - Stardust, Neil Gaiman

That afternoon, Gwen helped her brother by critiquing his poetry. She got along well with him, since they were only a little more than a year apart and were of the same temperament. He twisted his fingers into the curls of his afro and frowned. John (for that was his name) was very popular at school, and his hair (like Gwen's) was a separate character, one of few brown-haired people who could pull off a ‘fro and look good in it. His passion was as much for writing and acting as hers was for reading, although sometimes his poetry was a disaster. He was trying, though.

"Okay." John frowned, creating the dimple that girls at school giggled over. "How about this:" he assumed the position he usually took when he was acting and said in a serious voice - "My heart is yawning/a gaping chasm/ I step to the brink/ and then into the abyss." Gwen looked up from her reading (a copy of Paradise Lost in prose, which was somewhat rare) and frowned as well.

"My heart is yawning? What is it, going to sleep?"

"Oh." He sounded downhearted. "I didn't think of that." Gwen smiled.

She looked back down at the pages of her book, but lost interest, putting it away and wandering out to the hammock. Lying down on it, the sun warm against her, she closed her eyes, mind drifting away to other worlds. Even though the nature around Gwen made her content, life at home and school always made her desire something more. She never felt satisfied with the regular, predictable pattern that the world drew before her - college, then grad school, then a job and perhaps marriage. Ordinary, really. Wanting something more drove her into the worlds of her books, worlds she could escape to, but never touch. She sighed, feeling restless again, and got up to read more of her book.

Dinner was chicken soup from a can - salty and warm. Alicia, the youngest of the three siblings at the age of 10, gave their mother a reproachful look. "Mom, this isn't real food."

Their mother smiled sheepishly. "I was busy reading." Their father rolled his eyes - "Sheesh, how did I get a family like this?" and their mother leaned over, kissing him. Their father, Jacob, was the only sports fan in the family, and they tolerated his ranting at the television with smiles and glances at one another. As she looked at them around the television, Gwen felt a sudden contentment. As much as her family gave her grief, she realized she loved them.

That night, she lay on her bed, unable to sleep. But she wasn't caught between waking and dreaming - no, she lay wide awake, listening to every sound in the woods outside. She shifted and looked out at them, and they were dark and menacing without the golden sunlight. The moon had not yet risen, and the stars were incredibly bright behind the nets of shifting leaves.

Gwen pulled at her jeans. They were stiff and confining to sleep in. She sat up, alert, noticing what might have kept her awake. She couldn't hear the lake. There was no wind; it was absolutely silent outside, and very dark. She got out of her bed, her bare toes curling, repulsed by the cold, and gently, quietly walked to the screen door. She opened it slowly, hoping it would not give its usual jangle, and managed to shut it without incident. As Gwen stepped onto the damp, needle-covered ground, the smell of the previous rain assailed her. Wet, damp earth, green leaves and growing things. Even though everything's still, she thought, the trees are growing, and even the earth is turning inexorably towards the sun.

She turned towards the pier, and was startled by what she saw. The lake was so smooth that the stars were reflected off of its surface and, if not for the dark trees lining the horizon, it would have been undistinguishable from the sky. But it was not the grandeur of what lay before her that startled her, but rather one of the last things in the world she would have expected to see - a person, looking surprised to see her. He was not dark and shadowy like the surrounding forest; on the contrary, the light of the stars seemed to lend him a faint glow, so that there was nary a shadow about him. He had long hair, down to his shoulders, and old-fashioned robes that, while beautiful, looked like they had seen better days. He was holding a pole, and behind him a boat glimmered white under the light of the stars, a smooth leaf-shaped boat that didn't stir from where it was docked, for there was no wave to rock it.

He gripped the pole tighter, showing that he wasn't just a figment of her imagination. She took a step, and when she saw he was not frightened of her, she took a few more. More of the lake came into view, and she saw yet another strange sight - the island closest to their cabin was festooned with strange and unearthly lights, somehow suspended like stars at varying heights amongst the thick trees.

As she reached the edge of the dock, the man bowed to her slightly, his body still tense, and she approached him, frowning. He looked at her steadily, then motioned subtly for her to get in the boat. Gwen didn't move. Who was this stranger? Would he cart her off to who knows where, subjected to some horrible fate like those she read about in the papers? Visions of her body, bloodied and desolate by the side of some road fled through her mind as she flinched and took a step backwards. The man shrugged and stepped into the boat, making ripples in the surface of the lake. As he leaned over, his hair shifted, and his ears became visible.

They were pointed.

Not pointed in the curved, sharp-and-cruel way of Spock on Star Trek, but a delicate, leaf shape that was far more aesthetic and eye-pleasing.

It was at that moment that her body followed what her subconscious mind had been screaming for a long time, and she leapt into the boat.

It rocked, unsteadied by the force of her impact, and she reached desperately for the sides as her adrenaline kicked in and her mind began to question what she was actually doing. She decided to ignore it, losing herself in the moment. The man - no, she didn't know exactly what he was - dipped the pole into the water and pushed them off, poling towards the island like a Venetian gondola. They were not alone, as other boats were also being poled to the island, like leaves floating down a stream. As they got closer, Gwen's heart raced faster, for the unearthly lights glittered off the ripples of the water, as they floated among the trees like lanterns for a party. They were different colors, different sizes, but created an amazing effect. There was a general golden glow about the base of the trees, and she knew something was going on. She saw the faces of the people in the boats - tall and glimmering, fair, but sad and worn, like a rock that has been beaten by the ocean into a shadow of its former self.

Then they were at the island. Her...escort leapt nimbly out of the boat onto a rock, his body betraying his excitement, and he reached down to steady the boat, holding out a hand to help her out. She took it, stepping onto the rock and then the island itself. Her escort had chosen this spot, no doubt, because it was one of the only places where the thick trees parted enough to step foot onto land. Yet there were more wonders to see - more beautiful even than the stars spangling the lake. No - this was nothing less than a party (if the word could even describe it, for no party that Gwen had ever been to compared with this one.) There were both men and women feasting at long tables, flowers and leaves entwined in their long hair, laughing and drinking from sparkling goblets. The table was covered with fruits and breads, as well as fresh cream, and there was joy in their chatter but danger in their eyes. Gwen felt that at any moment they could run her through, or strike her down, or plunge her into the icy cold lake until the stars wove through her hair as in the vacuum of space.

She shivered unknowingly, for not only were these thoughts passing through her mind, but also achingly beautiful music - a clear voice raised over the murmur of the feast-goers, of harp and flute and drum and fiddle, so haunting that she could barely breathe. Some of the beings were dancing, turning their radiant faces towards one another, entwining their arms and whirling around. She turned towards her escort, noticing that he looked no longer weary and ancient as the weathered hills, but rather like a young tree, spry and full of life. He turned to meet her gaze and smiled, walking to where the others were dancing and joining them in the fray.

Recognition dawned on Gwen as she realized what she was seeing, leaping straight out of the pages of her storybooks. Fairies. The Fair Folk. Fay. Sidhe. Elves. Here the starlight didn't glimmer off them, instead the torches, candles and bonfires made them fiery angels, golden-bright in glory with eyes like the sun. Beauty and danger in one. The beat of the music thrummed through her, and she smiled, tapping a finger against her nightgown to the rhythm. The trees enfolded them, standing as silent watchers, forming a golden mead-hall. Someone stepped from the cold shore behind her into the light, moving quietly to stand beside her. She turned to look at him, and though he still reflected the fiery brilliance of the spectacle before her, he seemed more tangible somehow. His eyes were not sun-bright, rather, they were cornflower blue. His hair less resembled flame than the coppery fur of a fox, and it was shorter than the others', pulled back in a ponytail so that his delicately pointed ears were all the more startling.

He bowed to her - more a nod of acknowledgement of her presence - and murmured, "Greetings."

This startled Gwen, for thus far none of the Fair Folk had spoken to her. His voice was as a stream, but far more fluid were his movements. He gave her an amused smile and asked, "Who are you?"

As enamored as Gwen was by the sights before her, she had not lost her mind completely. Having read far more fairy-stories than, perhaps, was good for her, she knew one of the cardinal rules in dealing with the Folk - never give them your real name. So, she fell back on an old nickname.

"Cho," she said, Japanese for butterfly, a name given to her by a Japanese immigrant who had volunteered to watch Gwen and her brother when they were toddlers. The fairy man frowned. "That's not your name." Then he smiled. "Ah, silly me. You know your stories well." Gwen nodded sheepishly. "More likely," he continued, "you own one of the camps onshore. Most likely the Maddox camp, perhaps?" Something in her manner gave it away - perhaps a slight flinch at the name, and he smiled even broader. "Ah. It was only logical." Noting her tension, he rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to tell everyone, so relax. My name is Finrod."

Gwen stifled a laugh. Finrod? What kind of a name was that? She was surprised at how congenially and casually he spoke, something one wouldn't expect of a fairy. Then again, nothing there was as she would have expected. He offered her his arm and she took it, strolling alongside him into the clearing. Finrod leaned over and whispered, "You're shaking," and cocked an eyebrow. She laughed, and he continued talking with her. "Well, little Maddox girl, you seem to know your fairy stories, but is this your first time among my fair people?"

"Indeed," she replied, and he chuckled quietly. "What?" she demanded, indignant.

"Sorry, it's just... you said that so seriously. Few of the young humans I've met ever replies with ‘Indeed.'"

"You spend time among us?"

His face grew mockingly serious. "Indeed." And they both laughed. "But we're not as the stories always portray us, though," he continued.

"That much is obvious. How so?"

He hesitated, thinking. "For example, when we're here, we're not in our true form."

"Oh? What's your other forms, then?" Gwen asked.

"Well, you can just barely see aspects of it while we're in a revel, as you see here. See that girl, there?" He gestured and she followed his line of sight to a young woman with brownish hair and a gentle green gown. "She has leaves in her hair. Away from this gathering, she's a tree."

"A dryad?" Gwen asked.

Finrod frowned. "No. A dryad is a tree spirit."

"What? I don't understand." She sighed.

"Look. That girl, she has feathers for a cloak? She's a kingfisher in real life. And over there, that guy with the helmet? He's a centaur."

"Then what about him?' Gwen asked pointing at a young one clad in white.

"Well, he looks like that outside, too."

"What?" She screwed her eyes shut and tried to concentrate through the scintillating threads of music.

"You don't understand?" Finrod sounded amused.

"It's just difficult to concentrate."

"If you have any questions, I'm willing to answer..."

"Why?" she asked bluntly.

He seemed startled by this. "Why what?"

"Why would you be so willing to answer my questions? Aren't the Fair Folk supposed to be mysterious? I was practically invited here..."

He cocked his head, a bemused smile flitting across his face. "Because you might have more to do with us than you realize."

She squinted at him suspiciously. Suddenly he turned, changing the subject. "See the person at the head of the table?" The person had a golden circlet, laughing and drinking from his goblet as he talked with some women. "That is our king," Finrod's voice was dripping with scorn. "It is he who punishes disobedience with the sullying of our bodies."

"So the others weren't like that before?"

He shook his head. "Before, we were all the same."

"Who gave him the authority to do that?"

"A good question." Finrod smiled. He picked up a loaf of bread and broke it, eating a piece, and the offered her some.

Ah. Another cardinal rule when dealing with the Folk - never eat their food, or you could be ‘fairy-struck.' She politely rejected it, which made him smile again and give an appreciative nod. He continued walking with her. "To answer your question would require a great deal of time. Suffice it to say that he is our king."

Gwen frowned and turned towards him, trying to discern what his sullied form was. There were no leaves, no feathers, no décor that would indicate what it was. "What are you all, then? You all look like the same kind of race."

"Elves. We're all Elves."

"Oh." She shivered again, suddenly cold. Walking around in jeans made her feel naked next to all of the finery, but no one seemed to care. In fact, no one even glanced her way. It wasn't that they didn't care, but more of a sense that she was inferior and thus not worthy of being noticed.

One of the elves turned to address Finrod with a jeer. "What's with the Only?" Finrod ignored him. "Time for you to go," he murmured, and gently pushed her in the direction of the shore. He walked quickly and quietly behind her until they reached the rock where the boats lay waiting. He picked up a pole and jumped into the nearest one. Gwen hesitated, looking back at the glow of the trees, fully aware of the starlight and darkness behind her. This glimpse of the beautiful and fantastic made her hate the idea of returning to her dull existence. Finrod hissed, "Come on! You're fairy-struck!" and she turned, stepping into the boat.

The island slowly shrank behind them and she stuck her hand into the frigid water to remind herself of the real world around her. Then she mustered the courage to look at Finrod, who was busy looking at the shore. The warm glow of the fires had diminished, and it was replaced by the gentle silver of the stars. He looked weary, perhaps even more weary than her first escort, and then they were at her dock, the boat thumping against the wood. She stepped out - Finrod did as well - and walked along the rough boards to the shore. He gave her a wan smile, saying "I'll bet you were wondering what my form was."

She smiled sheepishly. "Yes. But I figured you didn't have one."

"No, I do." He looked down, and stepped off the dock onto the shore. Instantly the star-glow vanished, and his pointed ears shrank to rounded forms, his skin acquiring a few moles and blemishes. He stood before her astonished eyes, looking wholly human.

"There are a fair number of us who look human." He smiled and jerked a thumb towards the cabin - "You'd better get going. Get some sleep before dawn." She moved slowly towards the cabin as he walked towards the road. She turned to get a glimpse of him before he vanished into the trees.

Chapter 4.

 Be fleet of foot, O fair Hunted One
From the dark of shadow, across the clear sun...
Take flight from life's bane, to the land of the Dream.
Come to the Sidhe-mound under the hill,
Come to the Country ruled by my will. - from The Wyrd of the White Lady

Gwen awoke, blurry-eyed, to blazing sunlight. She got up, and when she swung her feet down she noticed their soiled hems, and the dirt on her feet. Immediately she remembered the events of the night before.

"Good morning, sleepyhead! You sure slept late!" her mother called, but Gwen ignored her and headed straight outside, through the screen door, which jangled and slapped against the cabin, out into the late morning air. Bugs flitted to and fro in the shafts of sunlight, and she ran quickly to the shore, down the embankment, and onto the dock. She gazed out over the churning waves, the wind sighing through the trees behind her, and looked at the island. There were no boats in sight, and the trees of the island looked like ordinary trees.

Her mother leaned out of the door and called out to her, "I kept some bacon warm for you!" and Gwen turned reluctantly towards her mother's voice. Had it all been a dream? It was so realistic... she reached the end of the dock, remembering the elf who had stood there the night before. Then she followed the smell of bacon.

That afternoon, she felt particularly lazy (and still a bit tired), and even though there was a stiff breeze, there was still a fair amount of sun, so, catlike, she stretched out on the dock to soak up its warmth. The orange glow of the sun through her eyelids was suddenly eclipsed. She opened them sleepily to find her brother standing beside her with his notebook. He sat down on the old wood, which was crusted with lichen, and turned to her. "Will you listen to this?" he asked, and commenced reading. Gwen rolled her eyes and closed them, receding into her thoughts.

She came to with her brother's annoyed voice saying "You didn't hear a word I just said, did you?"

She smiled at him. "How could you tell?"

"Well, I did just say I was going to cut my hair into a mohawk and dye it pink."

"Ah. Would you really do that?"

John shrugged. "Creative license." He looked up at the sky. "A storm's blowing in." Indeed it was. The wind had died down to nothing, leaving the air still and stagnant. There was no birdsong - everything was waiting in fearful anticipation. Then came the first distant rumble, the bass resounding in the empty caverns above their navels. There is nothing on earth that compares to the frightening expectation of a storm - the baited breath, the tingle on the skin, the pounding of the heart, the ripe smell of the air, the distant roar with the power to pulverize your bones. Your mortality becomes pressing, as when someone lays cold steel across your neck.

As the first strike of lightning streamed across the sky and the wind lashed at them, the rain slapping them in the face, they ran for the safety of the cabin and waited with baited breath for the darkness to pass. Alicia came up beside Gwen to watch the rain slap against the windows. Gwen knew this was difficult for her - Alicia was very afraid of thunderstorms, particularly during the nighttime. As a younger child, she had hidden asked to sleep with Gwen on those nights, huddling up against her in fear. Gwen eyed her closely as a clap of thunder made her jump. Gwen put her arm around her sister, but Alicia drew away. "I'm not a little kid anymore!" she snapped and walked away. Gwen pursed her lips and looked back outside.

After the sun once again came out and filtered through the trees, she went for another walk through the woods. She noticed how the sunlight caught the raindrops on the trees, covering them in stars. Then she tripped on a rock and landed hard on the ground. Frustrated, she sighed heavily and got up, brushing the dirt and pine needles off her clothes, continuing on, still adamant on finishing her walk. Along the way, she looked down at her feet more often, fearing tripping on another rock or an exposed root.

On the way back to the cabin, she came to a golden line that crossed her path. It glowed, taking in the sunshine and letting it out along its length, even through the dark woods. "What are you?" she murmured, reaching down and touching it. It was as insubstantial as the sunlight itself, her fingers tingling as if they were near a static charge. Suddenly, there was a sigh that seemed to come from the woods themselves, and her hand jerked back as the line underneath her fingers shifted and moved, rippling forward to about three feet in front of her. Gwen studied the phenomenon, knowing in her bones - especially after last night - that it was fey, and that, somehow, it was important. So many questions unanswered. Where did the Fair Folk come from? How did they fit into the structure of God's universe? What had Finrod done to deserve his form?

As the sun set, she made her way back to the cabin. She readied herself for bed, and, after a moment of hesitation, picked up her sneakers and put them by the bed. Then she went into the darkened kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, and poured a saucer of milk, setting it out on the porch.

That night, lying alone in the darkness, she couldn't get images from the night before out of her head. Fairy-struck, indeed. As she slowly drifted off to sleep, she was innocently unaware that the line, the golden fey-line, shifted past the cabin and beyond the lake.

She was awakened by the frantic cries of the loons - shrill and harsh, the way they did when an eagle got too close for their comfort. She slipped her shoes on and walked outside, but the night was not like the one previous - the lake, instead of reflecting the stars, was now turbulent and wild. The slender sickle of the moon barely gave enough light to see the black and churning waves, which terrified her, along with the roar of the wind. She had never seen the lake as wild as this, although her father once had.

When her father was much younger and she was but a glint in her mother's eye, he had gone fishing on the lake in the morning, like he usually did. Suddenly and unexpectedly, a wild wind blew up on the lake, creating large waves that nearly capsized the boat, and as he rowed along, he prayed fervently to get to any shore. Her mother was literally sick from worry, but nevertheless, he made it home through eight-foot waves. Gwen had always assumed that he had exaggerated, but now she began to believe him.

Then she heard the music - haunting, hanging eerily over the sounds of the winds and waves. It came from the forest, and she followed its call, stumbling through the dark forest until she came to a clearing. What immediately caught her attention was the ‘king' who was sitting on a throne of twisted dead branches, white and stripped of their bark by the harsh elements. Flanking him were elf-maidens dressed in white, so that in the bleak light they looked more specter than fey. There were other elves there too, but in the darkness she could only make out writhing dark shapes amidst the thrashing trees and haunting tune.

Fear twisted her stomach, worse than the onset of the thunderstorm because, unlike the storm, these beings could touch her, harm her. Then the king turned his face towards her, and she noticed instantly with bile rising in her throat, that he wore a mask - a silver cherubic face with nothing but darkness where the eyes should be. He laughed, a clear sparkling laugh, with the elf-maidens joining in, a chorus of cruelty. Then he gestured, and the hornpipes and drums picked up their pace, the maidens rushing towards Gwen and taking her hands in their cold fingers. As they came close, she noticed shrouds about them, thin as though a wedding veil still clung to them. She couldn't help tapping her feet to the rhythm and the maidens took her and they were off, dancing to the wild beat. She heard the maiden's voices in her head -

            Come and join us, and dance for eternity, for to dance is to live.

            Music for a while shall all your cares beguile.

            We can give you fey-life, for we were once mortal.

            Come and dance for eternal life unending.

            Join the Elf-King...

            Cold be heart and hand and bone,

cold be heart and hand and bone....

and she turned, looking at the horrid angelic mask, wanting to run away. She couldn't - her feet were too far along in the dance, moving of their own will. She was exhausted, ready for a drink, wanting to lie down on the moss and sleep forever, but she couldn't stop dancing.

Strange thoughts go through a person's mind when they are in peril. Instead of thinking about her imminent danger, her mind kept racing back to the story of the Red Shoes, ones that an angel gave a girl to punish her for her vanity. Once she put them on, she couldn't stop dancing for years, even in sleep, nor could she take them off. Finally someone took pity on her and cut off her feet, and the feet in the Red Shoes are said to still be dancing, somewhere. Tears of fear and exhaustion fell from Gwen's face. Would she too have to cut off her feet?

The drums beat through her body like cruel blows, and her heart was thumping in her chest so hard that she thought it might give out. Gasping for breath with every step, legs and arms feeling more wooden, more heavy, the voices of the maidens screeching through her mind. Then Gwen screamed with all the breath in her lungs, all the fear in her body wanting desperately for anybody to answer, to save her from agony in the darkness, but she knew no one could hear.

She cried out to God, too broken to pray. One moment she was cursing the Fair Folk around her, the next begging them to run her through and lay her in eternal sleep under the ground, or at least to give her a drop of water. They asked her to join them, and she wept, No! No! for even in unbearable pain Gwen could be stubborn to the last. Her knees buckled, her body crashed to the ground (though why she could stop now she didn't know - her feet were still moving to the dance.) and they merely laughed. She knew that by stopping she was giving in to their will, to join them for eternity as they produced a fine white veil, laying it over her, laughing as she tore at the white cloth. It tightened and clung to her, choking her and binding the cold chill of death into her bones. Then, in the face of death, even in complete exhaustion, even bound by the shroud, she managed to get her heavy legs underneath herself and struggled to stand. As she did so, their laughter died, and looking at the sky filled with clouds, Gwen saw that they thinned, a star just barely shining through. So, wrapped in a burial shroud, she stood on shaky legs before the Elf King. "No," she said, trembling.

He laughed again, now at her audacity, then walked up to her, leaning towards her and whispering in her ear. "No doubt you would like a drink," he murmured and offered her his chalice. She shook her head and he threw it aside in anger, screeching to the crowd, "Give her a drink, then!" They picked her up, howling in glee, and carried through the dark trees. Even though she was afraid, her body was glad of the short rest before they threw her down on the ground.

She stared up at the Elf-King, wiggling a little to achieve more stability on the ground, and her legs flew out over nothingness. Scrabbling with her body, she managed not to fall, but the knot in her gut squeezed even tighter, because she knew exactly where she was.

The waves were smashing far below her, not whispering on the shore, but crashing against rock. It was called, according to local legend, "Maiden's Drop," a deadly cliff fifty feet in height, so named because over the course of a hundred years sixteen girls' bodies had been found floating in the bay of the island opposite. It was assumed that they had committed suicide, but now she knew otherwise.

The Elf-King laughed once more at the pure terror in her eyes, and with one foot pushed her off the edge. Her reflexes instantly kicked in - she twisted around, her arms ripping through the shroud, grabbing on to the first thing she could, which happened to be the booted ankle of the Elf King. He shook his head - "What a waste," he murmured, and then he lifted his foot and stamped it one the ground. Her fingers lost their grip, and then she was falling, struggling to get her legs free of the shroud.

She had felt a similar sensation only once before, when she was twelve and, for swimming lessons, her instructor had blindfolded the students and had them jump off the high dive. She had stood on the high dive for five minutes before she worked up the courage to step into empty space. Now it felt the same, falling in the darkness, unaware of when the water would rush around her, not knowing if she would resurface. In those few seconds, when you're gasping for breath in fear and hope, every breath like eternity as your mind races before your doom. She was fortunate to have had such an experience previous, so that she knew to hold her body rigid before she hit the water.

A rush of bubbles, the crash of waves, the pounding of the heart, and the frigidly cold water surrounded her. She sank for an eternity, not knowing which way was up, holding out her arms to slow her descent, then swimming away from the perilous current near the cliff. She surfaced amidst rolling waves and the sound of the wind, shivering and gasping for breath.

Instead of heading for the island, she decided to swim parallel to the cliff until the land leveled out and there would be a camp. Easy, if not for the waves, potential hypothermia, and her exhaustion from dancing. She began to side stroke parallel to the waves, when something caught her foot and pulled her under.

I knew it wouldn't be that easy, she thought as she went down and down, flailing, fearful, clutching at her ankle until she felt the cold fingers around them. Another hand clutched at her wrist, still pulling her down, the lake-weeds brushing her face and knotting themselves into her hair. Her body screamed for air, her mouth opening involuntarily and sucking in water. Black spots danced at the edge of her vision, but she had not come this far to die now. She would not be one of the corpses they found floating in the water, fair maidens with their hair swirling around their white faces and their brows crowned with lake grass, Ophelias drifting in their white nightgowns.

And so her tired body renewed its struggles, jerking free of the weeds, free of the hands as she clawed her way out of the depths. She broke the surface, coughing out water and gasping for air, then, as she had no strength to swim, she floated on the dying waves. The wind's roar had died to a whisper, and the first pale fingers of sunrise were creeping over the treetops. The small waves pushed her to the rocky shore, and, safe at last, Gwen's body gave out and she lost consciousness.

 "Camp calls" are an emergency unit's worst nightmare. Such calls usually mean a long ride into the middle of nowhere, onto bumpy dirt roads, facing bad accidents that get worse due to the length of time it takes to get there. This call - made by a frantic and frightened family of campers, was little different. When they had found a body that was facing downward on the shore, they had feared the worst, but the girl was breathing shallowly and she was badly bruised. After a doctor had examined the girl, they began to treat her for hypothermia and internal bleeding. The nurses clicked their tongues and shook their heads - the girl had been frantically reported missing by her family - what had she been thinking?

Her family came and stood by her side, holding her hand through an arduous recovery. They stayed at a hotel nearby; the nurses reported her restless cries and tremblings at night. Though none of the receptionists noted a young man in a sweater and bright red hair walk into the ward, down the hallway, into her room. They did not see the pale hand gently stroke her forehead and the way Gwen's body relaxed in her sleep, now a sleep untroubled by night mares, a healing sleep. They did not see him as he walked once more into the sunlight.

Gwen woke up with a jolt, thankful that her eyes opened up to the comfort of her room instead of the pale sterility of a hospital. It had now been six weeks since that fateful night. She had gone through some physical therapy in order for her muscles to accept walking again, and even more mental therapy while people asked her questions she didn't want to answer. Are you suicidal? Were you assaulted? Did you run away? Do you like to cut yourself?

The answers she gave were crazy enough that even the real truth sounded better. I was sleepwalking, woke up, wandered around, and fell into the water. They still gave her suspicious glances. Her parents watched her closely out of concern - they immediately noted her fear of returning to the lake, but, more subtly, her mother noticed how Gwen got rid of her white sheets, refused to wear white or red, and no longer went to the pool with her friends.

For Gwen, her fear of what had happened was tempered by the glory of what she had seen before. At church, her worship was evermore fervent and thankful, because she had been near death and found strength. And so she lay in her bed, contemplating the sunshine.

Later that morning, a knock came at the door. Her mother opened the door to a red-haired young man with a crooked smile who said he was a friend of Gwen's, and so, assuming that he was from her school, she let him in. Finrod bobbed his head when he saw her, and she shook her head, astonished. "How did you ever..." He interrupted. "I came to see how you were doing."

 "How I'm doing? You know what happened?"

His eyes glinted. "Of course." He took her elbow and guided her outside for a bit more privacy. As soon as they were both out, she blurted, "Why?"

"Why? What kind of question is that?" he laughed.

She bridled. "Well, it's pretty encompassing."

He kicked aside a twig. "I'd assume your first ‘why' question would be about the differences between the two courts." Gwen nodded. "Our numbers, when we first came to this world..." She raised an eyebrow. "Later. When we arrived, our numbers were divided in two. Your people decided to call us the Seelie and Unseelie courts."

She gasped. "I know that - I remember it now. But which one's the good one?"

 "Like many things, it's not definitively ‘good.' The Seelie court has traditionally been friendlier towards humans, while the Unseelie court has traditionally had animosity towards them. However, many of the Seelie court look down on humans, and see them as beneath them."

 "Like that guy that called me the Only?"

He winced. "Only is a slang term." He fell silent. Gwen tilted her head quizzically. "For what, exactly?" she asked.

 "Ownling," he spat with distaste. "Don't ask, please. I don't like to talk about it."

Sensing Finrod's discomfort, Gwen decided not to press the matter, since he was giving her some answers. She thought carefully. "I saw a golden line one day. It seemed - "

 "Yes. It's amazing that you saw it. That's the literal boundary between the territories of the two courts. We've been fighting one another for a long time. The boundary line shifts as our territory shifts. Six weeks ago, after a struggle, the Unseelie court managed to take control of your area. We have since taken it back."

"Is my house here in Seelie court lines?"

 "Yes." He stopped and picked a daisy, twirling it between his fingers.

 "What were you saying earlier, about coming to this world?"

"Ah. Well, God didn't create us....on this world."

"That makes sense...none of your kind have been mentioned in the Bible."

 "Indeed. Our world is called Arda. It's run by the Valar, who are....powerful beings. A group of us, about ninety in all, set sail for the island of Numenor. Most importantly, there were about twenty Numenoreans on board. Before we were even close to arriving, the crew noticed something different - a change in the wind, if you will, or a smell in the air. Before we knew it, we happened upon a green isle, which turned out to be Britain."

 "What had happened?"

 "Well, we've had a long time to figure that out. Our best guess so far is that we went through a...hole in the universe. It is theoretically possible that such an anomaly could occur."

"Like a wormhole?" She asked, recalling books she had read by Stephen Hawking.

"No," he said patiently. "A wormhole is like a road from one point to another. This hole, or rip, or tear, is like taking that point in linear space and bending the world. Sometimes, in our tangled universe, a hole is accidentally created, so that a person could step through with spectacular ease. There's no time travel - the two points exist simultaneously in the same place. It's like sweater lying in a heap on the floor, rumpled. There are places that touch, and, if there's a hole in the fabric, an ant could crawl through to a completely different point."

"You sound like quite an expert on this matter."

"Well - I've actually done research with professors, and I've actually gone through some, visiting other places -"

Gwen's eyes widened. "Holes!" She blurted, and turned, running back to the house.

"Wha - " Finrod took off after her. "Humans!" he muttered under his breath. Gwen tore through the house to her room, pulling out drawers and boxes from her closet, until she came to the one she was looking for. Finrod arrived in her doorway, and watched her pull out of tissue paper a large silver object.

Chapter 5.

"Where does it come from - this quest? This need to solve life's mysteries when the simplest of questions can never be answered. Why are we here? What is the soul? Why do we dream? Perhaps we would be better off not looking at all. Not delving. Not yearning. But that's not human nature. Not the human heart. That is not why we are here. Yet still we struggle to make a difference. To change the world. To dream of hope. Never knowing for certain who we'll meet along the way. Who, among the world of strangers, will hold our hand. Touch our hearts. And share the pain of trying."  ~ Heroes

When Gwen was eleven, she spent time with her father's grandfather, her great-grandfather. Even though she had, at times, felt very awkward around such an old man, she had grown very fond of him and had grown up on his wild and fantastic stories. It was an emotional time for her - her first real experience watching the utter finality of death. But as she sat in the hospital room watching over him as her parents and grandparents were conferring with doctors outside, her great-grandfather's rasping breaths felt like an eternity. It pained her to see such a vitally strong man be hooked up to so many awful machines. Then he woke up, opened his eyes, as the old bark-like fingers, trembling, gestured for her to come near. She walked over to him, quietly, worried that he needed something. But instead he smiled at her young worried face. "Go over to my things," he rasped. She went to the box where his personal effects were being kept - a wallet, a seashell, a diary, a button, and his odd silver watches. "Bring over my watches, love," he said, and she did so.

Her great-grandfather had taught astrophysics and the sciences for the university for many, many years, with crackpot theories about the universe at which most of academia had laughed. He had learned watchmaking from his father, and these watches were the last remnants of dreams long gone. His shaking fingers caressed worn metal, the sun through the shades glinting off his wedding band. There were five watches in all, linked together on a chain, but the one on the end was much larger than the rest. A gentle smile lit up his face as his fingers reached the last one. "Open it for me, will you? You've never seen it, have you?" he asked.

She shook her head, clicking the small catch on the dial at the top so that the intricately patterned lid snapped back from the watch face. On the inside was a faded black-and-white photograph of his wife, who had died fifty years before in a car accident. "Let me see her," he whispered, and she held up before his bleary eyes the watch, with its worn picture glued to the watch cover. His body relaxed, and he turned to her, whispering.

"When I published my papers on theories about the universe, all the new scientists laughed in my face. At that point in time, they were more worried about getting scientists out into the world than trying to understand its very nature first. Hasty men they were, with minds full of gears and wheels. They didn't understand that such a method is like trying to ride a horse without watching how it acts or moves first. Foolish! But there was one scientist, one who believed in me and encouraged my research..." he broke off in a fit of coughing. Gwen reached for the nurse button, but he held up a trembling hand. "Over time, love, after much study and careful research, I realized it could be possible to leave this planet without..." Again he broke off into coughs, making Gwen ever more anxious. He smiled at her again. "This watch I made to detect holes...it's both a watch and a compass..."

She placed a hand on his arm. "At least let me get mom and dad, grandpa - "

"No! I'm not done yet!" he declared. "Open it again." This she did, looking more closely at the watch face. It had three hands, like a normal watch, but also had an inlaid face and the gears making its workings visible. Unlike a watch, however, it had three circles around the edge. Each hand was a different length, one silver, one red, one black. "The outer circle...shows what world," her great-grandfather rasped. "The dial adjusts the silver hand so that you can choose it...The next layer, the direction of the hole, like a compass....the innermost circle tells how long the hole lasts...and the inlaid face points...the vertical degree it's located. It's yours, Gwen, the watch..." As he was trembling, she ran to the door and got her relatives. They stood around him in his final moments, a family, united. And so it was that he passed from this earth, one story ending, another beginning.

Gwen looked down at the watches in her hand, and, while standing later over his grave, forgot her great-grandfather's crackpot theories and silly rantings. She packed the watches away in tissue paper, leaving the box on her closet shelf, collecting dust.

Now, seven years later, she stared down at this watch, remembering. Finrod came up behind her, looking over her shoulder. He sucked in his breath, and she looked up abruptly, her trance broken. "I'd wondered where that had gone," he said.

"You know about this?" Gwen was startled, staring at him curiously.

"Yes." He smiled a wan smile. "I worked with your great-grandfather, a long time ago."

"And you never told me?" she cried indignantly.

He frowned. "This only our second meeting," he said curtly. "Plus, I didn't want you to be too frightened. He was a kind and brilliant man."

"You were the person who encouraged him."

"Yes. He and I and a group of others worked on finding physical evidence to back up his theories. We never found the original hole that we came through." Gwen continued staring down at her watch, overwhelmed by this revelation. Finrod continued on, hoping she would internalize what he was saying. "We arrived in Britain during the Dark Ages, just as the Romans were leaving. It was a brutal time. We sailed back, trying to find our way, but ended up back in Britain. In the end, we didn't want to leave."

Gwen stirred. "Why not?"

Finrod stopped, shifting uncomfortably. "There are lots of reasons," he said evasively. "One of them was that we dicovered we had powers here unlike those we had in our own world."

"Magic?"

"No - well, not in the hyped-up sense of the word, but inexplicable nonetheless. Perhaps it is the nature of your world, or the will of God."

Gwen frowned. "I don't understand."

He rolled his eyes. "Like Superman. When he was in his world, he was normal, but when he came here, he found this world wasn't like his. He wasn't bound by gravity, etcetera. However, the Numenoreans were not subject to such a change."

"The king you have - why is he your leader?"

"He is a Maia. It's hard to explain. If Elves are a step up from humans - which, in my opinion, they're not - then a Maia is the next step. He has authority over us." The door opened as Gwen's father returned home from work. Finrod glanced up with a worried look. "I fear that something is coming," he said softly, "Something that none of us has expected." He nodded to her and turned to leave.

"Wait!" She got up quickly, holding out the watch. "Do you want this? To maybe find a way home?"

His eyes flickered enigmatically. "Keep it. A family heirloom," he said, and left, politely excusing himself from her parents' offers to stay for dinner. She looked out the window to see him walk with heavy step into the woods.

Chapter 6.

Occasionally in life we come upon things we can't understand because we have never seen anything similar. ~ Memoirs of a Geisha, by Arthur Golden

The next night, Gwen slept peacefully in her bed, the covers rising gently up and down. Alongside her lay the curled figure of the cat. The refrigerator clicked and hummed; Gwen turned over and sighed. The dark figure that haunted her dreams, the angelic face crowned by twisted branches, had come back, making her heart beat faster and her quilt rise and fall more quickly.

A car hummed by the house, its lights shifting through the blinds, lighting up her room briefly, shadows moving and widening back into darkness. In the bathroom, water plunked into the bathtub from the showerhead. The cat suddenly pricked his ears, then raced off the bed and into the depths of the house. Gwen's parents both woke up in the darkness and lay in one another's arms, afraid, as a quick flash of lightning filled the room with blinding light. They counted the seconds to the boom of thunder, relieved that the storm was distant. Gwen too jerked awake, the rumble of thunder throwing off the beat of her heart.

Indeed, it was not just the Maddox household that had such unrest - all of Ash Mills listened, frightened, to the stormy night, lying in the dark and recalled the terror of the hot, swollen summer from the year past. Teens on their computers that late at night got up from their screens and stared out of their windows at the heavenly lights. The trees shook and birds took flight in droves, fleeing as the storm rumbled around them.

Gwen's room was suddenly illumined by a brilliant red light, quite unlike the white lightning. She started and, now truly fearful, ran towards her window. Gwen had a deathly fear of fire - as a result, her nightmares had once consisted of the forest near her house being set afire, and now this concerned her, as the lightning might have caused it to burst into flames.

She opened the blinds to see that her worst fears had been realized. Rolling smoke was rising from the direction of the town. Then, from the thundercloud above, red fire began raining down, hitting the ground with cracks and booms as loud as thunder. Judgment day, was her brief thought before a fireball landed in the forest near her house with an explosion that rocked the ground and made her ears ring. She grabbed the windowsill to steady herself as her panicked father ran to the door of her room. "Get away from the window," he yelled, grabbing her hand. Without thinking, she grabbed her great-grandfather's silver compass off her dresser before her father pulled her down the hallway. Another explosion made them lose their footing and crash against the wall. "Go to the basement!" he shouted over the shriek and whine of falling fire, "We're under some sort of attack!"

"But if the house burns, it will come down on our heads!" She yelled back. Her father charged down the stairs as her mother ran down the hallway to get Alicia, who was weeping in fear. Her father, having woken up her brother, opened the door - "Let's go!" and they ran outside. Gwen stopped in her tracks. "The cat!" she cried, and turned to get it, but her father grabbed her. "He'll be all right! He'll take care of himself!" Lightning flashed once more, and they saw that cars from the houses near theirs were streaking down the road. Cinders from the acridly burning forest were floating on the wind now, and another explosion rocked the ground. His gaze taking in everything, her father flung open the garage door. "The roads will be clogged!" he yelled, and pulled out their bikes. They hopped on them and in their pajamas they started biking towards the main route.

When they got there, the road was indeed backlogged with cars, families fleeing the blaze of destruction. Another lightning flash suddenly revealed troops along the road, pulling people out of vehicles, brandishing guns and yelling. Her father, on an idea, deftly turned and led them through a nearby forest - "If we get to the river, it should provide a natural fire break!" - and they bumped through among the trees, reaching the logging river that wound through the town. By then, most of the buildings around it were ablaze, or thrown flat by the blasts; the forest was burning hot behind their backs.

They jumped into the river, hoping that the water would save them from a horrific death. The night passed thus - full of blinding lightning, dark choking smoke, screams, explosions, and gunfire. Cinders blew past them on the wind as they ducked, tearing their clothes to put over their mouths to breathe and over their heads so that the cinders wouldn't set their hair on fire. They weren't alone in this idea. Nearly forty people bobbed alongside them, coughing, not talking as they listened to the destruction around them, shocked. As Gwen watched, the roiling clouds briefly parted, flashing metal within their depths.

Then, barely visible, the thundercloud moved to the east taking its destruction to yet another town. The sun faintly dawned, barely visible through the thick smoke. A gunshot cracked close by, and Gwen looked at the southern bank. There a group of soldiers stood. "Come out of the water, or we'll start shooting you one by one!" shouted their leader in a thick accent. "We have more troops on the other side! You can't get away!"

Gwen looked at her family, eyes too dry from the heat for tears. How could this happen? Her father nodded wearily, and they started swimming slowly for the bank. They stood there dripping before the soldiers, shivering, as the soldiers eyed them. The leader turned to them, gesturing for the troops to lead the soggy group somewhere. They prodded them with gun barrels to get them moving, then herded them through the broken remains of what had been a vibrant community. Flames still flickered in the hearts of buildings, which were being searched. Other groups, worn and haggard, some protesting, some badly wounded, were also being pushed towards the southern end of town - to the graveyard, Gwen realized, her heart sinking in her chest. They were going to die.

Another shock awaited her bleary eyes. The graveyard was a mess of broken headstones, and sitting among them was a dark silver, greasy ship - a spaceship, it appeared. This was odd, since their captors were quite human, but they did speak a different language as well as English, so they might be foreign invaders. Why then were they destroying small towns in an unimportant state with such technology?

Their captors were lining up the survivors in rows, brandishing their weapons and shouting. Gwen waited in a row, silently praying fervently. An old lady beside her rocked back and forth, muttering under her breath about fire and judgment. Their captors suddenly stiffened and performed some sort of salute, and Gwen glanced towards the ship. A dark cloaked figure emerged from it, then turned towards the prisoners. The sunlight, turned sour yellow-red by the burning black smoke, glinted off a horrifically cherubic mask. It was the Elf King.

So there they stood, among standing gravestones and broken ones, standing over death and facing it in the eye.

The Elf King spoke to a group of commanders out of her hearing, then they in turn spoke to their soldiers, as they started moving along the lines. They would ask a person their name, which a scribe would scribble down, then the guard pulled a knife from a sheath. People suddenly got visibly agitated, some of the women screaming; Gwen herself couldn't help but gasp.

Then the guard pulled out as well a large clear stone, yanking the person's hand towards him. The knife flashed, the person flinched, and the guard held out the stone, which turned red. The scribe's pen scratched some more, as the red faded away from the stone. Eventually they came to her, and she held out her hand. The guard lifted his eyebrows in surprise at the furball, then looked at her. "Gwendolyn Alexandria Maddox," she said, cringing in anticipation of the knife. She closed her eyes as the cold blade slashed across her finger, causing her to flinch. The guard pressed her fingertip to the stone, which began to turn red as symbols flickered through its depths. The guard sucked in his breath, murmuring in his own tongue to the scribe, whose eyebrows lifted as he wrote eagerly. Then they moved on.

Behind them, soldiers began pulling people out of line, dragging them, kicking and screaming, into the depths of the ship. Families were torn apart, mothers crying for their children, some who wouldn't be quiet were hit brutally. The elderly were left behind; those that were taken into the ship, she noticed, tended to have brown or black hair, with blue or grey eyes. A soldier came for her brother, putting him into a headlock, pulling him into the ship. Then a solder came for her and shoved her towards the ship.

An odd sort of calm stole over her - she was numb from the shocks of what she had seen. Up the ramp she walked, shuddering at the sight of blood on the metal surface. She couldn't stop her shaking as she walked into the darkness, a corridor barely lit by sickly oil lanterns. The sound of weeping filtered down to her. The soldier unlocked a door and the weeping grew louder, and he shoved her into the dark. She stumbled on someone, crashed to the floor, and curled up, surrounded by people and by the utter darkness. Her shudders didn't die away for a long time, until the ship thrummed beneath her, and she drifted into a fitful sleep.

No one had seen it coming. Twelve ships in all rained down devastation and took prisoners in various spots throughout the Northeast, starting wildfires that burned for months in the forests of the Appalachians. But even more damage had occurred than the humans could count - the ships had taken the Fair Folk home as well. Over a hundred thousand souls were taken to the heavens.

The crowd left behind wept and cried out as the soldiers left, their ship shuddering and flying into the churning clouds. The town smoldered , the forest in burning ruins. Lightning from a thundercloud arced along the ship's hull, giving it a jump of power as it thrust itself out into the stars.

All had turned to ash and dust.

Chapter 7.

A metallic groan resounded through the darkness - shaking the metal floor and causing the people around Gwen to shift and whisper. She didn't know how long she had slept, but wished she had slept longer. She reasoned they hadn't been inside the ship for more than a day.

Then, suddenly, the ship began to shudder more violently. More groans accompanied it, making it feel as though the ship was going to fall apart around them. Then it all stopped with a clang that reverberated throughout the corridors endlessly, then there was silence. Well, Gwen thought. Something's happened. Perhaps we've landed.

Footsteps sounded, voices talking. Their captors were coming - opening doors with bangs, people yelling, fighting. When their door was flung open, letting in the greasy yellow light, it seemed too bright after such a long period of blackness. She followed the crowd calmly, detached, as they were led to the glaring light from the open hatch. The soldiers marched down the exit ramp ahead of them.

Gwen looked up at the sky, which was brutally brilliant from the setting sun, which was not golden, but rather a pale yellow, because before them lay a great city, with factories letting out dirty smoke. The evening star was visible, but she didn't know where on Earth she could be, since the city looked unlike any other she had seen.

They then stepped onto the cobblestones of a great plaza. There were people standing and gawking at the scraggly crowd of survivors, people that had been walking by and stopped to see the sight. Gwen sighed, annoyed that she was part of some spectacle, but the people watching collectively gasped and pointed towards the night sky.

Was another ship coming in? she wondered. She turned and looked at whatever the crowd was pointing at, and saw that the evening star was brighter then before and moving across the sky, getting larger and brighter. A trail followed it, and the soldiers gaped as a great cry seemed to rise from the city. The shooting star disappeared over the horizon of distant mountains with a bright flash that was echoed by a great boom, as of distant thunder.

People continued to talk amongst themselves, aghast. Soon all the captives were off the ship - more people, she realized, than she had seen go on - and she craned her neck to see if she could find her family, but they were lost in the sea of people. She saw the lamplighters come out, lighting old-fashioned oil lamps across the plaza. The city began to twinkle and shine as lights were lit and darkness descended. Gwen quickly scrutinized what she could see.

The city was built around the base of a large mountain, which was so high that its top was lost among the clouds above. On her left, a large dirty white wall ran from the mountain to what looked like the ocean, off in the distance. The wall was tall enough that it dwarfed all the surrounding buildings. On the opposite side of the mountain, skyscrapers stood looming over city. Beyond the white wall on the left, however, a single white tower rose high and slender alongside the mountain.

The crowd that had formed around the captives had drifted away, as staging was quickly set up by servants. Men were coming now, clustering in groups, calling out for drinks and slugging them down. A fog began to thicken in the corners of the plaza, as the air began to get cold and goosebumps rose on Gwen's arms. Men wearing dark capes of various styles, top hats or none, some carrying canes or wearing rings on their gloved fingers. She blinked as someone obscured her vision, the guard who had cut her finger hours ago. He grabbed her elbow, jerking her up awkwardly. She followed him out from the group, joining about 300 others who were being prodded towards a gate leading out of the plaza. Then she realized none of her family was in the group, and she lost all composure, screaming for them. She struggled past bodies, trying to go back, and she managed to burst free of the group, sprinting towards her family. The guards were shouting - why didn't they just shoot her? she wondered - but it was too late. A guard caught up to her and grabbed her from behind. She struggled against the iron grip - "Mom! Dad!" she dried, but she was hauled off and placed in a locked cart as she sobbed.

Her cries died away as the rhythmic clopping of the horse drawing the cart soothed her. The faces around her were either grim or shell-shock, eyes vacant. The cart stopped, was unlocked, and they were let out. They were now by a river, next to a wooden building that seemed to be rotting from the ground up.

After being given some water, they were led through a side door into the establishment, where they were put in a large bare room. As she scrutinized what she could see in the light of the flickering oil lamps, she noticed, her heart plummeting, that there were bloodstains on the floor and walls. A girl about her own age was sitting next to her, and Gwen turned to speak with her and quell her own fears. "What do you think is going to happen to us?" she asked.

"I don't know," the girl whispered back, sweat beading on her forehead. "Maybe they want us to compete or something. Or we could be executed."

The guy next to her leaned over, frowning. "I don't think so. The soldiers take care of us as though we're property of some kind. They didn't shoot us and they gave us water."

"Where are you from?" she asked.

"Waterville," the guy replied.

They both looked the girl expectantly. "Augusta," she said.

"And yourself?" the guy asked  Gwen.

"Ash Mills," she said, reflecting morosely on the irony of the name.

Then one of the guards appeared through the door, holding a piece of paper. "Jonathon Scathings," he called out. The man beside her sighed and stood up. The guard moved toward him, beckoning for the man to follow, flashing his gun as a silent reminder of what awaited him should he disobey. Jonathon followed him reluctantly out of the room. The crowd outside went quiet, a person spoke, then there were single shouts. The effect on the people around her was nearly instantaneous. A woman burst into tears, sobbing, "They're auctioning us off!" and buried her face into the shoulder of the man next to her. "We're slaves," the girl next to her murmured. "I don't believe it."

One by one people were called out and auctioned off. Eventually, when there were only about seventy people left, the guard came in and called out, "Gwendolyn Alexandria Maddox!" Gwen stood up, heart racing as she walked behind the guard, wondering if she could get out of the situation. Unfortunately, there were also guards outside the door. She sighed and followed him out of the room.

He took her down a hallway and up a short flight of stairs, onto the stage, in front of the eyes of many men, who were sizing her up. The room was smoky and dimly lit, but that rarely matters in most auctions. The bidding began - furious, loud, and heated - more so than she had heard earlier. The auctioneer and the guard exchanged pleased glances. Eventually, the bidding slowed to two people furiously betting against one another, giving each other angry glances. One was short and pudgy, with greasy long hair that hung down in strings over his face. The other had a hooked, pointed nose and long, clawlike fingers. He was dressed in red and black, eerily remniscient of a vampire.

Then a man dressed in black from head to toe stood up, wearing a top hat and holding a silver-tipped cane. He quietly named a price, at which heads in the entire room swiveled in his direction - some agape, some frowning, some angry. A murmur started and the auctioneer fidgeted nervously. The two who were bidding on her before looked at each other, then at the auctioneer, sitting down slowly. The auctioneer banged his gavel, and the gentleman in the back gave a small smile under the gaze of his peers, then sauntered up to a table on the side as a guard led her down to it. The gentleman paid with gold, which was duly counted as the next round of bidding began.

After the coins were counted, the gentleman signed a paper. The guard escorted them to yet another room, where a man waited next to a furnace. He pulled out a brand from many sticking in the flames, and Gwen started and turned around to run, as a cold muzzle was stuck at her chest. She glared at the soldier, who was sympathetic. "I'm sorry," the soldier whispered, and she looked pleadingly into her owner's eyes, which were cold and unforgiving. "No!" she cried as the brander took her left hand and laid it on the table, holding it with a firm grip.

She turned her face away, tears coming to her eyes in anticipation as she felt the heat of the brand coming close before actually touching her skin. She squeezed her eyes shut and screamed as fire set itself into her flesh - a pain like she had never felt before - and she struggled against the man who held her wrist. The hand let go and the pain eased a little, as she fell to her knees and pulled her hand in front of her swimming eyes. What she saw was not what she had expected from a brand - a red black burn that would pucker the flesh - but rather a perfectly formed circle of faintly glowing metal that sat on her flesh, no puckering, no burn around it, but it still was hot and painful. She clawed at it, burning her fingers, but it wouldn't move - it was a part of her now.

"Get up," came the smooth voice of her owner, and she did, following him out of that wretched hovel into the street, where a carriage sat waiting. Gwen realized that there were no soldiers nearby, and bolted. Idiot, she thought, to not do anything. Her heart beat fast as she got farther down the street, but her hand suddenly flashed with pain, gradually getting worse until she thought it must be on fire. She stumbled on a cobblestone and fell flat out, and before she passed out from the pain, she saw the mark on her hand glowing bright with the dark figure of her master coming towards her. Then all went dark.

Chapter 8.

"But be warned, you who thirst for knowledge, be warned about the thicket of opinions and the fight over words. Whether beautiful or ugly, wise or foolish, opinions are unimportant, anyone can follow them or reject them." ~ Siddhartha

Gwen woke up suddenly inside a jolting carriage. The pain in her hand had eased to a dull ache, and her skull throbbed from cracking on the cobblestones. She met her master's steady gaze. He smiled wanly. "I assume you learned your lesson."

She stared at him sullenly.

His tone was level as he continued. "There's always a first time, they say. Your brand is your identification and your discipline. I wouldn't pull that again."

She gazed down at it, noting the red of hot metal was gone, cooled to a dull silver. "What this symbol?" she asked.

He pursed his lips, glancing briefly at her hand. "The letter F. For my name, Feanor. All brands are in the letter of their master."

She struggled to keep him talking. "How many...slaves...do you have?"

"Well, one. You." His hands were resting on his cane. "I've never had a slave before. But I'll be a better master to you than any of those idiot louts in that auction house."

She raised her eyebrows. "I beg your pardon?"

He looked back through the window and spoke in a clipped accent. "That trash - they're breeders. Everyone sold in that auction house was chosen for breeding stock."

"What?" Gwen couldn't believe what she was hearing. She took a breath and calmed herself. "I'm not sure I understand."

He gave her a dark glance. "The slaves that were in the auction house had the highest amounts of Numenorean blood amongst all those that were captured. Breeders bid on them so that they can...breed more slaves with high amounts of Numenorean blood. It's a status symbol, to have a slave with good blood. They're highly sought after."

"So I'm your status symbol," she said bluntly.

There was a long uncomfortable silence and the horses' hooves beat their tempo. Eventually, he sighed. "No. I was merely saving you from an unsavory fate."

She had more questions; she wanted to keep him talking. "How do they determine this ‘Numenorean' thing?'"

"I'd assume they used a bloodstone."

Ah, yes. The cut on her finger.

"But we're the same," she said abruptly. "Why are you enslaving people of your own race?"

He closed his eyes briefly, then looked at her stoically. "We're not the same race, Gwendolyn."

Her mind raced back to the sunny green times before she was ripped from her home. Red hair, blue eyes - an elf that looked like a man. "Finrod," she whispered. She looked at him. "You're an elf?" she blurted.

Several emotions flickered across his face - sadness, resentment, anger. "Finrod," he spat out. "How is it that you know that name?"

"I knew him at home." Her once dry eyes grew wet once more with tears that she managed to hold back.

Rain began to streak the grit on the window. He spoke bitterly. "Don't say that name around me. He's getting what he deserves." Seeing her questioning look, he continued, gripping his cane tighter. "The ships that bore you also brought back those recreants."

She internalized this. Good, a friend here in a foreign place. "The Elves aren't slaves, then?" she asked.

"Indeed. But Men are not the only slaves here. Dwarves and Halflings are as well."

Gwen blinked. Halflings? All of these terms were being thrown around, which she didn't understand. Then the carriage stopped. "We're here," Feanor said, and opened the door, stepping out into the dreary rain. They walked quickly through a fence gate and through a front door into a warm, cozy room.

*

Finrod sighed. Kneeling on a stone-cold floor was not his idea of fun. It had been over a thousand years since he had even set foot on this planet, and he was already in deep trouble. Well, that's life, he concluded.

He was in a large pillared hall, surrounded by finely dressed Elves. The Valar were holding court, judging the Elves that had been returned to their world. The twelve bright forms looked solemnly at him. The most powerful, their leader, Manwe, summed up the evidence the Maia had given him.

When Finrod and the ship landed in Britain, they landed at the point in time when the Romans were pulling out from the furthest reaches of their empire, which included Britain. Britain was under threat of invasion, and it was amidst this turmoil that they arrived, a group of individuals in a strange land.

Rumors spread quickly throughout the countryside - a boat had come bearing fair and otherworldly people that could save them from extinction. The Elves found then that they could do things they could never do before - in this world, they had power beyond dreaming. They could make things the way they wanted, walk unseen, and more. The Maiar among them also discovered an increase in their power, unlike the Numenoreans with them. They saw that these people needed their help - left without defense, farming with poor practices, their society falling apart.

So they conferred together, Elf, Human, Maia, trying to come up with a solution. They didn't want to go back, they decided, but to help these people. A small group of them refused to help, left, and went their own paths, forming what would later be called the Unseelie court. Their leader was Caranthir, the spiteful son of Feanor. The rest banded with the best warriors in the land, fighting and defeating the invading enemy.

To strengthen the land, they decided to create the fortress of Caerleon (Camelot, it was later  named) and the Britons desired the hero of the battle, the leader, to become king. He was Arthur, the youngest and noblest of the Numenoreans, the last remnant of their ancient kings. It was thus decided he would become High King.

The Unseelie court perceived this and grew angry. Why did those who helped a low people gain such a position of power? To sow discord amongst the Britons and the Numenoreans, the Unseelie court planted a sword set in a stone with the plaque - "Whosoever draws out this sword will be king of all Britain." They watched in glee as different noblemen vied for the crown. A miracle, it was whispered throughout the country. The will of God.

Nevertheless, Arthur still drew the sword, to the relief of many who had watched the strife. The power of the Numenorean line, the Elves would find, was enough to break many bonds. The Elves, to unite their world and that of men, gave Arthur the hand of an Elf maiden.

Under their rule the land prospered. The term Maiar was shifted in stories to Myrddin, a term of respect, and they were consulted for many reasons related to the kingdom. Numenorean lords and the noblemen of the land united under the king and served him as knights - Cai, Arthur's foster brother, Gawain, his cousin.

As for Finrod, he roamed the land, learning as much as he could about their culture, as he had once in Middle-Earth, in his younger days. He went to the farthest reaches of the isles, playing his harp, singing such wondrous music that he was welcomed as a bard everywhere he went. Wondrous music indeed - the Elf that had challenged Morgoth to a duel sang songs that made sick people well and tore down the castles of evil kings. Taliesin, he was named in the Welsh tongue, meaning "bright-brow," for indeed he was an Elf, with the glimmer of the stars about him.

But as he roamed, a Briton nobleman, Mordred, began spreading rumors of the infidelity of Arthur's wife. Being an Elven maid, this was improbable, but nonetheless the court began pressuring him. Eventually, however, the queen bore Arthur a son. Despite the prosperity of the kingdom, Mordred despised the rule of a foreigner, and gathered forces to fight Arthur. The Unseelie court joined him, and the two armies clashed with deadly consequences.

Arthur and Mordred grappled with one another until they both died, and with the loss of their leader, Arthur's army was decimated - though some of the knights escaped the carnage. Mordred's army continued to Caerleon and burned it to the ground, tearing down the stones of the beautiful fortress. There was barely anything left, and the rest was leveled by peasants who used the stones to build their own homes.

The queen died in the destruction, but the Maiar managed to spirit away the son of Arthur to safety. Arthur and his knights were buried in a tomb carved into a hill; residents to this day tell of the king buried under it. It said that one day he will ride forth with all knights to save mankind from destruction.

The brutality of their fall shook the Numenoreans and Elves to their core - they determined amongst themselves to strengthen and keep the last remnant of the line of Numenorean kings. They settled deep in Wales, giving their sons and daughters to be wed to Arthur's children, to keep the vitality of the Numenorean bloodline.

Both Elves and Maiar, distressed, dispersed into the world. They traveled under different personas and learned much before returning to perceive the black-haired grey-eyed descendents of the Numenoreans. The Seelie court decided to sever most contact with humanity after being perceived as evil - however, they also decided by lot which one of their numbers would marry into and strengthen the line of Numenorean men. Even the Maiar kept the tradition until one was left. The last Elf to marry a human before the Elves were returned to their world was Jaime.

The sullying and punishment of Finrod on Earth was the result of his meddling in the affairs of humans, which even in Middle-Earth the Elves were loathe to do, and after the head Maia's patience wore thin, he punished Finrod by making him look like the people he so loved.

At court, Finrod once more shifted his weight, somewhat uncomfortable under scrutiny. The twelve figures of the Valar began to confer amongst one another.

"My concern with your past behavior," Namo stated, "is that your love of humans might cause you to meddle with slave affairs."

Finrod blinked. "I understand your concern, my lord," he said, "but I assure you I know my place in this world."

"Do you really?" asked Tulkas, bemused. "In the army, you disobeyed direct orders by not making slaves on another world. You set us back years in their occupation."

"I've since learned my lesson, my lords. If you'll remember, I have already paid for those actions. I would never cross your power again - you have demonstrated it considerably by bringing us back from another world."

"Indeed," interjected Ulmo. "My brothers, we cannot condemn the Elf because of what might happen in the future."

A couple of the Valar nodded in approval. Manwe looked at the Elf dubiously. "Very well, Finrod, you may go with no penance for your actions. Be warned, however - if you meddle with the Ownling system, you will be punished."

Finrod bowed deeply and left the court, pleased with the decision. Then he made his way to the Libraries to find the slave records.

Chapter 9. The City of Broken Dreams.

According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way that a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway. Because bees don't care what humans think is impossible. ~ Bee Movie

Gwen looked around Feanor's house from where she stood, not budging from the door. Feanor was stocking wood on the coals in the fireplace, which sent sparks swirling up the chimney. He then reached up and took a jar from among the various pictures on the mantelpiece. Opening it, he shook a few of what looked like clear marbles into his hand, and said something clearly in another language. Immediately, his hand filled with light. He spoke again, and four lights floated from his hand to face height. He plucked them from the air and proceeded to position them strategically throughout the room.

The house itself was small and cluttered - a sofa and two chairs covered in worn faded green were facing the fireplace, and a secretary desk and dusty bookshelves lined the walls. Over the mantle, two paintings of dark and turbulent landscapes hung, and Gwen started as a cat rubbed up against her legs. "Don't mind her," Feanor said. "Her name's Melda, and I have another, named Revion. No animals are allowed through there -" he pointed at the door to her left - "which leads to my workshop."

Gwen still gazed about the room. Also on the left wall was a hallway, beyond the fireplace. On the wall opposite her were some thin leaded glass windows, and another doorway on the right wall lead to the kitchen and dining room. All the walls were made of unpainted wood, showing much wear and tear.

"I'll get you some blankets," he said, "and you'll have to sleep on the floor next to the fire. It gets quite cold at night. I expect all your bedding to be put away before I eat breakfast in the morning. I get up just before sunrise to heat up and tend to the furnaces. You should have my breakfast made before I come back inside." He sat down on the couch, shifting to a comfortable position. "You will be, essentially, a housekeeper. I am obviously in dire need of someone to clean, but I also need someone to cook, deliver goods, and - eventually - entertain guests. You will - ‘ he eyed the remnants of her pajamas - "need a new wardrobe, and I'll see about building an addition to the house as a room for you. Tomorrow we'll go into the city and get supplies from the markets."

"What shall I call you?" she asked dryly. "Master?"

"Sir will do around others, and Feanor when we are alone will be fine." He got up and disappeared into the hallway, pulling blankets out of a chest at its end. She got up and took them from him, putting them on the floor in front of the fire. He locked and bolted the door, and called out a word to the lights, at which they went out. Then he disappeared once more down the hallway. Gwen lay down on the odd-smelling blankets, tracing the pattern of the worn carpet beneath her with her fingers. The fire cracked and popped as one of the cats lay beside her. Oh, no, she thought, her eyes stinging with tears as she thought of her cat. She stroked the cat's fur as she sobbed herself to sleep.

*

Exhausted as she was, Gwen couldn't help waking up suddenly during the night, hoping she hadn't missed Feanor's waking, worried about how to make breakfast. She had just managed to get back to sleep when she heard Feanor get up and quietly enter the workshop, letting in a blast of frigid air. She quickly got up, startling the cat, folding the blankets and putting them in the chest at the end of the hallway. Then she entered the kitchen.

Feanor was quite right about needing a housekeeper - the kitchen was absolutely filthy, with crusty dishes stacked haphazardly in and around an equally crusty sink (although, in truth, she was surprised that he had running water.) A small cooking stove occupied one corner of the room, and an icebox the other. Cupboards lined the walls, and she opened each of them, noting the fact that her owner kept very little food or supplies in the house. Some flour, unidentifiable substances in bottles, brown sugar, withered apples, stale crackers, and in the icebox: eggs, cheese, a bit of unidentified meat, milk that was a little sour, butter, and a small amount of bread.

Pancakes, she decided then and there, and, managing to find all the ingredients, mixed them together. She managed to find a clean cast iron skillet, but found that cooking on a fire stove took much longer than an electric one. For one, she had to clean out the ashes and start the fire, then wait for it to get hot enough to even melt butter. The pancakes eventually turned out more like thin bread, but they were edible and somewhat tasty. She had just finished setting the table with a chipped dish and mismatched silverware when Feanor came in, looking a bit sooty. His eyes scanned the arrangement as she stood by expectantly, and he nodded slightly in approval. He sat down at the oversized table, and she came to sit in her place. Feanor gave her a dark look and said, "You are not to eat with me. It's not proper." She quickly got up, annoyed and afraid, quickly gathering up her dishes. He began eating. "It's good," he said, "better than what I've had in a long while. When we go out, we'll go to the food markets, and I'll give you money weekly to get supplies."

"If you don't mind me asking, sir," Gwen said quietly, "I was probably expensive, and, well, where'd you get all the money?"

He smiled, seemingly amused. "Since I live in the Desolate District and only here by decree, I don't pay much for this house. I live frugally not just because it's prudent, but also because it's how I wish to appear to my customers, and to those thieves who are more desperate than I in these hard times. I'm a smith and inventor by trade, and craft many things, from jewels to swords, or make things like the trains that run throughout the city, or the ship that brought you here."

"That's...incredible, to say the least."

"Indeed. So my invaluable services to society are well paid, but I keep it in the bank, so I have a substantial fortune saved up over hundreds of years."

"If your services are so valuable, why can't you live somewhere nicer?"

He hesitated, taking a sip of water before continuing. "I...committed very great transgressions when I was younger. This is part of my punishment. That's why we'll be attending social functions, so that I might gain friends who will join me when I petition the Valar once more." He finished his meal, licking his fingers, then got up. "Leave the dishes," he said. "We should go." He went to the coat rack next to the door, taking a coat and putting it on, along with his top hat. Then he eyed her, took another coat off the rack, and handed it to her. "Cover up with this," he stated, and she put it on. The musty coat swallowed her up - it was much too big, sleeves hanging off her hands and the hem puddling a bit around her feet.

As they went out, Gwen scrutinized her surroundings. Directly beyond a cobblestone road was not another row of houses, as she expected, but rather a canal, with turbid dark water that slowly swirled by. Feanor's house was on a crossroads, and just beyond it was a great factory, the morning light barely reflecting off its smudged windows. Dark smoke poured out of the tall smokestacks, and she realized why no one wanted to live here. More factories obscured her view of the rest of the city, and the morning whistle of the work shift blasted and echoed through the alleys.

They walked right, along the canal towards the factory, then took a right once more, onto another narrow road, which was more akin to an alley, tall shacks of houses pressing in on both sides. Laundry hung above them, crisscrossing lines and shirts. Everywhere she looked was rotting wood and rust, moldering thatched roofs, missing shingles, and an awful smell. As they went on, the alley became a street with single-story houses more akin to Feanor's, an odd mixture of East and West. She noted Japanese-style post construction, and leaded glass or arched windows.

They eventually reached a train station, where Feanor paid for tickets and they stood waiting in the bitter cold. Gwen clutched her ticket with numb fingers, holding the coat more closely around her as she looked up and down the tracks expectantly. There was a decent crowd waiting as well, a hodge-podge group of people whose breaths formed white clouds. She noted a pinched man with round spectacles and a full head of hair that was vibrantly green and thick as grass, complete with frost. Another woman swathed in woolen coat and scarf reached up and fed a large bird that was sitting on her shoulder. A more fancily dressed woman held a young boy with golden curls closely to her side. He stared at her blankly with big brown eyes, playing with a ball. Another man stood next to a real live dinosaur, which she recognized as a parasaurolophus, loaded with bags. He was whispering to it, soothing it, and rubbing it with a blanket to warm it. Then came a great whistle and roar, and the heaving, clanking train came to rest before them.

She boarded, following the lead of her master as she gave the ticket to the conductor, then entered the only slightly warmer car. She looked out the grimy window as the train lurched forward, grinding its way along the tracks. Gwen glanced at Feanor, who was looking out the window, deep in thought, and then stared out at the sights passing by - great towers and domes, markets full of people, stores, grand houses, all eclipsed by the great white wall and mountain beyond.

"Feanor?" she asked, and the elf started in his seat, bring his dark gaze to bear on her. Then his eyes creased in a smile, the first she had seen on him. "You look utterly ridiculous," he said, then looked out the window.

 "The Blessed District," he said, almost mournfully. She waited for him to explain, and he looked back at her, eyes colored with a dark emotion she couldn't recognize.

"When the Elves come to Valinor from Middle-Earth, our birthplace," he said at last, "They sail into the harbors of the Blessed District. There they are joyfully received and taken to see the Valar. They're brainwashed into being content and to think that everything they've expected the Undying Lands to be is here - not noticing that something's wrong. Then, it happens."

"What does?"

"The horror that's happened to every elf here. ‘Blooded' elves start to notice that something's happening to them - a few skin imperfections, a rounding of their ears, a change in hair color or voice, and they begin to suffer from the cold. After a while, even one's memory becomes impaired."

"So, you essentially become like Men."

"In nearly every sense of the word, yes, but we're still inexplicably immortal." He shifted in his seat and continued. "I know that you'll ask about immortality. We don't age, or get sick. When we're killed, our fea - sorry, soul, I think you call it - separates from our body, or hroar. It goes to the mountain - the one you see out there. There we can choose (or, more than likely, be forced) to have another body. But we can never leave this world. Human mortality is quite the mystery to us, and it's been debated to its finer points by the scholars among us."

Gwen frowned. "Have you ever died, then?"

His eyes smoldered. "Yes. Several times."

The train slowed and ground to a halt. They got up out of the hard wooden seats and stepped out into the smoky air; ahead of them were bustling streets. She shyly followed Feanor into the throng, where he strode with purpose towards a brick building. Gwen nervously rubbed the metal that had been seared into her skin. It still throbbed uncomfortably to the touch, but had gotten better with sleep.

The door to the clothing shop jingled as they opened it, and they entered the space filled with racks of clothes and the vague scent of spices. The room seemed empty until Feanor coughed surreptitiously. There was a bump under the sales counter, then a small woman appeared, smiling, quickly tying up short curly brown hair. "Sorry, I was cleaning up some pins." She eyed Gwen in her voluminous coat. "I assume you're here for her?"

He nodded. She continued as she came around the counter, "I'm frankly amazed you even bought an Only, but no matter. What sorts of things does she need?"

Feanor started ticking off his fingers. "For winter - a warm long coat that actually fits, scarf, woolen hose, boots, warm tunic..." the list continued to some length, including a formal dress. Gwen realized with a sinking heart that she was going to be there a while. Even when she was young, she had loathed trying on clothes. Feanor stopped, then looked at Gwen with some sympathy. "I'm not one for this sort of thing, so I'll be back in -" he pulled out and looked at a delicate pocketwatch. "-three hours." He then turned abruptly and left. The shopgirl came up beside her. "He's never been good with people," she said. "My name's Lariath."

She took Gwen to the dressing room, rolling her eyes at the night gown, pursing her lips as she measured Gwen's dimensions. The hours that followed were a blur of questions and colored fabric. Fortunately, Feanor frequented the shop often, and Lariath knew his tastes. While modest in color, the items tended to be of good quality fabrics, more lush than at first glance. When he returned, he nodded in approval at the choices, which would be shipped later so as not to burden the buyers.

Feanor looked over Gwen, who was now dressed in a simple dress, with kirtle and cloak. A faint smile flitted over his face. " A good choice in colors. They suit you," he said, as he escorted her out of the comfortably warm shop back into the chilly air. "Stay close to me."

He turned left and crossed three blocks before turning once more, onto a cold hard street populated mostly by finely dressed Elves. The building fronts were tall, made of streaked grey stone instead of brick, ornately decorated with gold." Pay attention," he said, as he stopped in front of one of the more modest buildings. "This is the bank I frequent. It is small and trustworthy, and since you are registered as mine, they will recognize you as able to access my account in limited ways. But I must fill out some forms, and you must give your fingerprint."

Then they stepped inside, adding to the queue of patrons. Polished stone shone beneath their feet, and the room was filled with the sounds of typing - clicks and dings as balances were accrued. Desk after desk filled the small room, pillared but lined with file drawers. Feanor tapped her to get her attention, with a gleam in his eye, pointed upwards. She followed his gaze and was astonished - not by the floating lights, which were Feanor's trademark, but the sight above her. Whenever a banker was done with a customer's papers, he put them into a folder, and then in a box, which was lifted by a pulley system up to the ceiling, where a suited monkey quickly picked it up and climbed along pipes on the ceiling, down pipes on the wall and onto the drawers, where it found the suitable location and placed the folder in. This explained why the drawers were stacked impossibly high. A number of monkeys waited for a name to be called by one of the bankers below, then retrieved the file and placed it in the appropriate box, which was lowered down to the desk below.

 Intimidated by the tall imposing people around her in line, she inched closer to Feanor, carefully hovering just centimeters away from his clothes. Even though she liked to hug friends, Gwen hesitated to touch people she didn't know very well, even on the hands. She treated physical contact as though it was a form of intimacy, only reserved for those she knew best. Feanor, she thought, might be the same way. For some reason, though, she felt protected around him, as one might feel around their father. An odd sensation, to be sure, but it made sense, since he was the only person she knew who understood this strange world that used monkeys for clerks.

Since they were still waiting in line, she whispered at his back, barely audible over the clacking of machines and chirrup of monkeys, "Sir, where is my family?" Feanor stirred slightly and turned towards her. "I don't know," he murmured. They stood in silence until a banker could take them at his desk.

Feanor bowed slightly and shook the banker's hand. "Mae govannen," he said, and the banker, with short golden hair, repeated it back to him. They spoke rapidly in their foreign tongue, and then the banker shouted at the ceiling, "FEANOR!" as a monkey started and skittered over to the files. The banker opened a drawer and licked his thumb as he began to flip through forms. He pulled out a long sheet covered in alien writing (although, she reflected, she was the alien here) and Feanor, after giving it a cursory glance, took a feather pen from the inkwell on the desk and signed. The box from the pulley clunked on the desk as the banker pulled out a much smaller form and placed a dish holding an ink-soaked sponge in front of her. Feanor handed and pointed. "Sign here." She did so, then dabbed her fingers in the sponge and carefully laid down her prints, after which they pricked her finger and put a drop of her blood. Gwen winced, sucking her finger for the second time in two days. The banker put both forms into the box, which was whisked into the air.

After they left the bank, Feanor decided to take her to the nearest food market, which also happened to be close to the banks, "for convenience," Feanor said, although some products were best bought in other parts of the city. "The rapscallions here would rob you blind, then ask for more because of taxes," he said, ‘but here can be found the best meats and cheeses in the city. Produce is better found at the Duntstan Market, near the wall." They crossed a couple canals and a river on which, Feanor explained, when frozen, people would skate on as an easy method of transportation, but until then, boats were used.

The market wasn't as crowded as it would have been earlier in the day. "Slaves get here earlier to buy the best products for their masters, some of whom work for restaurants," Feanor said as they moved along the street. Once more they were caught in a throng of people. Suddenly, Feanor turned and grabbed a skinny grimy boy by the scruff of the neck, plucking his wallet back from dirty fingers. "Watch out for pickpockets," he said over his shoulder, "when you have money to be picked."

"I personally like this vendor," he said as they stopped in front of a stall that looked as though it had languished there for a long time. Nonetheless, the smell of bread was mouth-watering. Gwen had seen that back home, different cultures had their own kinds of bread. Aside from the usual kinds of baguettes and loaves, there was a kind of shortbread that was in the shape of a six-pointed star. There were some flatbreads and a smaller square biscuit-like bread that Feanor pointed out. "Lembas bread," he said. "It's authentic - hand-made - and therefore expensive, because nowadays more machines than Elves make them. Machines always make things inferior."

He showed her how to haggle over prices - "Never buy at the first price offered." - how to tell of meat or bread is fresh, and the different values of coins. Eventually Gwen's arms were filled with groceries. The sun was at its apex, and Gwen's stomach was growling. They left the market and, under a spontaneous idea, Feanor suddenly sat down by a canal, legs dangling over the water as he motioned for Gwen to sit beside him. He took out one of the long loaves of bread and broke it in half, giving one to her. She smiled and sat down beside him on the grimy walk, tearing off pieces and relishing their taste. A haze obscured the farthest parts of the city as the sun gleamed off bits of metal.

People and carriages hustled by on the street across the canal -the epitome of diverse folk and dress. People were as tall as horses or as short as three feet. Animals of all sorts were walking, carrying bags or people - panthers, elephants, hounds, horses - even creatures she didn't realize existed, triceratops, centaurs, fauns, even the occasional griffon. She gawked at a brachiosaurus as it plodded along, towering over buildings. Dress ranged from the ever-present top hats to women in full skirts and straw bonnets, to men in breeches or robes, women in wraparound skirts, and even veils. There were turbans, tricorn hats, merchants hawking their wares from tall sticks, and even the occasional kimono. A woman even walked by with a cloak made entirely of brightly fluttering ribbons.

Suddenly she spotted in the sky something long and dark, but quite obviously flying. She turned to Feanor - "Sir, what's that?" as she pointed. His eyes scanned the sky and he smiled a little.

"A dragon," he said, "they're very rare this far south. They're more prevalent up North, but even there it's considered good luck to spot them." The dragon twisted, then flew out of sight beyond the mountain. "They help deliver mail up there, and sometimes they come south with important mail."

She looked down again at the shiny metal on her hand, then looked once more at her master. "There was some sort of meteor that fell, the night I got here. Have you heard anything about it?"

He shifted uncomfortably, still looking at the sky. "It wasn't a meteor," he said, "It was a ship."

"Like the one I came on?"

"No, indeed not. It's much better, more splendid. It's the ship of Earendil, the Mariner, which I built an Age ago."

"Who's he?"

"Earendil? He was a half-elf that sailed here from Middle-Earth to petition the Valar to help the humans and remnants of the Elves fight against Morgoth."

"Morgoth?"

"The most evil of the Valar, one could say. Earendil was banished for his efforts, doomed to sail the sky as a star, and the Valar wreaked absolute havoc over Middle-Earth."

"Why make Earendil a star?"

Feanor's black eyes flicked away from her gaze abruptly, putting the rest of the bread back in the bag. "I don't want to talk about it anymore," he said under his breath as he stood. "Come along. We're going home. I've business to attend to." He was silent the entire ride home, lost in thought.

When they reached the house and opened the door, the cats greeted them with a great chorus of meows. "Why didn't you feed the cats this morning?" Feanor snapped, and in a burst of anger threw his bag onto the floor. "Put this stuff away," he spat, "I've got work to do." He spun on his heel and strode angrily through the workshop door, slamming it behind him.

Gwen stooped to pick up what had been scattered, trembling. She took a few shaky breaths as the cats purred and rubbed her legs. He was so unpredictable - what had she done? Asked too many questions? She put the food away and fed the cats as the cold autumn sun bore down on the City of Broken Dreams.

Chapter 10.

My heart is bathed in blood,

Because the multitude of my sins

Makes me, in God's holy eyes,

Seem to be a monster.

Ah, unspeakable anguish,

My heart is so parched

No comfort can fructify it,

And I must hide in shame before the

One before whom the very angels

Hide their faces.

~ Johann Sebastian Bach

Feanor pulled out of the furnace some of the white-hot steel that was his signature blend, and, placing it on the anvil, he beat it heavily with a hammer. Its familiar sounds soothed him and he tried to lose himself in its rhythm, in his work, but his thoughts were in turmoil.

His insides twisted as he pounded harder and harder. He hadn't expected that having a slave would be this difficult; she was probing into things he didn't want to talk about. He could beat her, as other masters would, but it wasn't her fault when she didn't know their customs. Why exile as a star? she had asked, grey eyes curious.

She was a juxtaposition, he thought, and the hammer missed its mark, ringing a louder sound as it hit the anvil. A shadow grew across the sunlight that shone weakly through the open workshop door. The workshop was in itself not unlike a barn, with rafters and a wide door. The floor was merely an extension of the street, gritty uneven cobblestones that had been laid well over two thousand years before. When he had been living in the Derelict District earlier, in nothing more than a shack, he'd desired a better workplace and found it. The cobblestones wouldn't catch fire like wood, and the rafters above stored extra pieces of wood and metal. The previous owner had used it as a carriage house, not wanting to give up his lifestyle simply for having displeased the Valar.

The shadow stopped, and Feanor looked up at the hooded and cloaked figure. Beneath the shadow of the hood, a silver mask gleamed faintly. "Caranthir," Feanor said. "I did not think you would visit so soon."

"Blackheart," Caranthir purred, using the popular nickname for Feanor. "Indeed, it is always a pleasure to see my father. Aren't you glad to see your son?"

Feanor was silent, staring at the metal, which had cooled to red. Caranthir clicked his tongue. "Tsk, tsk. What a poor father you are, Blackheart." He glanced around. "Still living in this god-forsaken district, I see." He glided over to one of the worktables, covered in dust and woodchips, models of various machines. He picked one up, pretending to study it. "You should have gone into the army like me, father. It's a profitable business. Slaves are where the money's at - no one wants handmade swords nowadays. Although....I've heard a rumor, just a rumor, mind you, that you bought the most valuable piece of stock that I brought back. Is that true?"

Feanor picked up the steel, inspecting it. "Indeed," he finally said. "The rumors are true."

Caranthir stared darkly at his father. "Quite a sum to pay for a housekeeper." Feanor gave no response, hammering the steel once more. "Tell me, Blackheart," Caranthir continued, "where is this wondrous prize, that I might see it? In truth, I had no idea our raids would turn over so much, and I have not yet seen this marvelous slave in person."

"She is not at home," Feanor snapped. "Is that all you came for?"

"Will you not invite me in for tea? Or coffee, perhaps - an offworld drink I find quite stimulating. Here, I brought a box with me from our raids."

Feanor leaned on the anvil. "I want no gifts from you."

Caranthir waited a moment, an awkward silence. "When can I expect a lovely new mask, father?"

"Find another smith to make you another of those wretched things. I'll take no part in it."

"Now, now, father, I would not have another person see what I have become."

"Why hide it? The Unblooded Elf's looks reflect their heart, or so they say." Feanor glanced at his son, eyes smoldering with anger. "Leave this place, and go back to your bloodthirsty troops."

"As you wish, father." Caranthir walked to the doorway, then looked back. "You've taught me everything I know. Never forget it," he said acidly, then disappeared to his carriage.

Feanor bent over the anvil, the weight of a thousand memories and misdeeds pressing on his hunched back.

*

Gwen had finished working in the kitchen, sweeping, wiping, cleaning. She had one thing left - the leather bag that Feanor had thrown, now empty of the groceries it had carried. It stood on the dining table, a potent reminder of anger. Gwen had always despised the violent tendencies and outbursts brought upon some - her father had a tendency to do what had just happened, then apologize. For Gwen, anger manifested itself much differently, but still in a brutal way. She kept it locked up inside her, never talking about it, which leads to bitterness and resentment. She needed to put the bag away, though.

She picked it up and carried it into the living room. Where had it come from? Not the coat hooks, she recalled. He had gone to his room to get it. She walked past the worn sofa and ink-stained desk into the hallway, which had a lead glass window at the end, and three doors lining the right side. The first on the right, she knew, was the bathroom. The second she pushed slightly open, revealing a surprisingly clean, albeit dusty room. Probably the guest room, she decided, then moved to the next room. What she saw there disturbed her, as the bag slowly slipped from her grasp to the floor. There were two windows, with stones and jars on them, and the walls were made of wood, like the rest of the house.

But in those walls, carved deep as in a fit of rage, were words gouged out. Their very shape and use indicated the pain he was feeling as he sunk a knife into the wood. 

MONSTER

 was written more than once. BLACKHEART, said another, and other cruel words, like TRAITER, MURDERER, FOUL, DESPICABLE were written, although he hadn't finished writing some of the words. But there was also a symbol carved deep - though she didn't what a six pointed star had to do with him.

He had also painted words in red and black - FOOL, WRETCH. The paint had run down the deeply grooved boards as though the letters were bleeding.

In contrast to the horrific sights on the walls, most of the rest of the room showed signs of normal life. Aside from scorch marks on the floor that indicated he had tried to build a fire in the room, there were papers and books covering the bed and tables that lined the room. She picked up one - a detailed drawing with notes in foreign writing.

There was an upright piano, the top also covered in papers, as well as an easel with a palette - holding a dark landscape with turbulent clouds. She set the bag down on the floor, next to the nearest table. Then she closed the door on that terrible room and went to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

When Feanor came in from the workshop and went into the bathroom to wash off the furnace soot, Gwen rushed to finish setting the table. He sat down to eat, then said, grudgingly, "You can sit at my table, Gwendolyn. But only when we don't have company." She looked up, smiling, and set another place.

As they ate quietly together, Feanor asked, "Did you have many friends, where you come from?"

She shook her head. "Not many. I had some a few years ago, but they all moved on with their lives."

"I know how that is."

Gwen looked up dubiously. "You do?"

"I'm an elf that's lived before years were counted by the Sun and Moon. People change, and after a long time, one accepts that far more easily. But some of us still live within the perceptions others have created around us."

"Like you?"

Feanor looked up at her abruptly, then glanced back down at his food. "Yes," he said finally. He tried to change the subject again. "Gwendolyn Maddox is a name that slips easily off the tongue. Why did your parents give you that name?"

"Well, both Maddox  and Gwendolyn are Welsh names, and since my parents liked them..."

"It doesn't have any meaning, then?"

"It means ‘white ring,' but they weren't thinking about it when they were naming me." She frowned. "What about you?"

"Elves are given a father-name at birth - one chosen for us. Then, later on in our lives, our mother gives us a more personal name. Even then, we can be given nicknames that we are known by."

"Feanor isn't your given name?"

"No, it's Curufinwe, but it's a bit of a mouthful."

"It's your mother-name, then."

"Indeed." He was silent, then began cleaning up his dishes, and went to work on a letter at the secretary desk. As she washed the dishes, Feanor's room kept coming back into her mind's eye. She imagined him working feverishly in a room of nightmares, finishing some important work like Mozart finishing his requiem mass.

The living room was dark when she entered it. She stood in the doorway, twisting together her fingers, unsure of what to do. Feanor glanced up from his work. "Is everything fine?"

"Yes, I'm finished with the dishes."

He set the pen down and sat down in a chair by the fire, one of the cats jumping up to sit on the arm beside him. "Have you questions?" He called out to the lights, which brightened the room considerably.

"What are the lights?" she asked, settling down on the couch, disturbing Phoenix, who gave a wide yawn and stretched.

Feanor's eyes creased in a smile at this. "A very useful invention of mine. They're incredibly complex, but can be transferred to any user. They can light up to various degrees of brightness, and even follow you around outside, or indoors. Most useful, indeed."

"In our conversation earlier, you never mentioned what happens to Elves after they begin to look like Men."

"I did? Oh, well - when they become Unblooded, they're, for all intents and purposes, kicked out of the Blessed District. They come out on the Bridge of Sorrows, mortified of what they've become and what's happened to them. They are left with nothing."

"What happens then?"

"Their family usually comes to pick them up. If no one comes, then a smart elf would go to one of the temples of the Valar, to ask for help."

She raised her eyebrows. "Wow. Did you have to go through that?"

"No. I died in Middle-Earth, which expedites the process."

Gwen frowned, puzzled. "How so?"

"I said before that we receive bodies when we die and return to the mountain - after I did so, receiving a new body in which to live, I went through the same process - blooded to unblooded. Except that once you are given a new body after death, you are simply let loose into the city, coming out of the mountain to wander."

"That's awful."

"Indeed. It's why you can sometimes see Blooded Elves around the city." They sat in silence for a little while. Gwen shifted uncomfortably and finally summoned up the courage to ask what had been on her mind. "What's in your past, Feanor? I mean, there are things you don't talk about." She looked down at her hands. "I saw your room. No one would do such things without good cause."

His face creased in contained anger. "Do not go in there again," his voice was threateningly low. "Not even to clean." Seeing her flinch, he stared at her stoically. "Are you afraid of me?"

She didn't know the answer to this - thus far the kindnesses he had shown were not polite but genuine, however, he harbored a deep rage of the most deadly kind - this she had seen already. "I don't think so," she replied.

He smiled enigmatically, as one would to a child. "I was born when the world was still young and had not seen the many troubles it has now. My father loved my mother deeply, and when he found out she would give birth, he was overjoyed.

"But my mother struggled deeply in my birth, and they say that during her labors I reached out and stole the life of the Eldar from her - our fiery soul, the fea - so that as I came into the world, the life left her eyes and the weariness of the world settled on her. So she named me Feandro, or in Sindarin, Feanor - the "spirit of fire," for I had enough fire within me for two.

"After I was born, she no longer loved life. I remember her, listless, and remember the day she left for the Lost Forests of Lorien to never come back. Her spirit left her body for the Mountain, the first death of an Elf in this world. My father loved me dearly, but there was sadness in his eyes every time he glanced at me. Eventually, he fell in love again, and remarried."

Gwen stroked one of the cats. "I thought you said Elves could come back from the mountain, and become unblooded."

Feanor frowned. "Oh. That hasn't been happening for all our history - we used to be Blooded all the time. It's only been happening for the past 6,000 years or so."

Gwen rubbed her forehead. "It's hard to comprehend how long Elves have been alive."

He smiled wanly. "And it's hard to comprehend how short yours is. Mortality is quite a mystery to Elves. However, I hear that there are many religions on your world, dealing with God and life after death."

"How did - "

He sighed. "Weren't you listening? Elves in your world have died, you know, and come back here, bringing information and ideas into our culture. I suppose in your religion you have human mortality all figured out."

She cocked her head. "You could say that."

"Now, where did we leave off? My father remarried after a trial to see if my mother would return. She decided to never again return to Arda, so my father married and had other children. We didn't get along well because of this, but I was doing my own work at the time, so it wasn't a great bother.

"I found I had been gifted with great skill of the hands, and I learned how to make all sorts of things - even jewels. I invented a script for our language - but I eventually crafted the pinnacle of my work, the Silmarils. At the time we had no Sun or Moon, but instead two great trees, each with a unique light. I captured their essences into two jewels, and blended them both together in the third. So proud was I of my work that I lusted after them, hoarding them. But I also perceived another, darker thing - that the Valar were not doing the Elves well, as they had promised, that they had some secret purpose for harboring us in Valinor, usurping the place of God, and desiring to be worshipped as gods. That they had chosen one of their number, Morgoth, to be their scapegoat for evil, but they themselves were not doing well.

"So I began to speak to others about leaving their domain, about freedom from the oppressive reach of the Valar. They perceived this, and sent one of my half-brothers to speak with me, knowing nothing good would come of it. Indeed - my half-brother questioned after my Silmarils, and in my fury I drew my sword and threatened him, for which I was banished.

"There the evil Melkor visited me and tried to persuade me to give up my quest, but I turned him away. Presently thereafter he enlisted the help of the great spider Ungoliant and sucked the Two Trees of their light. The Valar called a meeting, inviting me back from exile. There they bid me to give them the Silmarils to give the Trees light. Consumed by my lust, I refused, bringing forth against them, in public, my accusations.

"Meanwhile, Morgoth broke into my stronghold and stole from there all my works, including the Silmarils, and there slew my father, the first Elf to be slain in this world. I was lost in grief." There he stopped, a complex array of emotions playing across his face, his eyes dark and clouded with memory. He picked at one of the seams of the couch as she waited in the silence to regain his composure. The cats, sensing his feelings, came and rubbed themselves against his legs.

"Morgoth fled with the Silmarils to Middle-Earth, and I called together a great assembly of the Elves, bidding them to leave the reign of the Valar and come to Middle-Earth." He closed his eyes. "Then I did a most terrible thing, which I have since regretted. I and my sons swore  to  pursue anyone who possessed the Silmarils, and I along with many others swiftly set forth. My brothers dissented with me, following behind as I hurried towards my goal. I came to the Sea-elves, the Teleri, and bid them join us, but they would not, nor would they give me ships. So in my wrath and grief I took them by force, killing many by my own hand.

"The Valar cursed me, but we continued on, losing many of our ill-gotten boats, trembling at the grinding ice. We had too few ships to carry all to Middle-Earth, and we fought amongst ourselves. In my continued madness, I stole the ships and made it to Middle-Earth, burning the boats and leaving the others to cross the ice. There we were attacked by the orcs of Morgoth - "

"What? Orcs?"

"Twisted, evil, black-blooded creatures that originally came from Elves. We followed them, and were beset by Balrogs, or fire-demons, but we defeated them. It wasn't without cost - I was gravely wounded and died there on the ashen plains. I was told later that the fire of my spirit consumed my body to ash, and thus my fea went to the mountain outside, Taniquetil, and the Halls of Mandos.

"Back then, death was a new and fearful thing - but now, there is no fear in death for us. To threaten an enemy with death is now not an end in itself, but to incur the wrath of the Valar in any form can result in torture, and that is something to be feared. When I came to the Halls of Mandos, it was there that they first discovered the power of torture. There they can torment a person, bringing them down to hover on the brink of death, in agony, for hundreds of years. If you die, it is of no consequence. They merely give you another body and continue."

Gwen flinched, hands tightening on the armrests as she imagined what that would be like. And she had thought that being a slave was terrible. "But when did you get out?" she asked. "Did you escape?"

"No - it's nigh impossible to escape from there.  I only left when they needed my help, of course. The Silmarils had a long history and changed hands many times. Inevitably, it fell into the hands of Earendil and his wife, Elwing."

Gwen nodded. "The story you told me earlier. He was to be exiled."

"Indeed. He had sailed, along with the Silmaril, and, inadvertently, his wife, to Valinor, asking for help in defeating Morgoth. But, like me, he had seen and knew too much - that the Valar had been planning to go to Middle-Earth, to ‘defeat' Morgoth and redeem their actions in the eyes of the Elves. So they sent him into exile, under the pretense that he was part human. (And he was, but that's not the point.)

"They brought me back into the sunlight to build a ship - a flying ship - for his exile. After feverish work, I completed it, a craft of beauty. We named it Vingolot. For Elwing, they built a solitary tower - the tower you can see looming over the Great Wall. They used the ship in the fight against Morgoth, then sent it forth to wander the heavens. It became the very symbol of hope to the Elves, the victorious hero that saved them all from an evil foe. It is said that the fall of his star will signal the coming of the end of the world. An ill omen for the night of your arrival, I think.

"After that, they realized my worth and kept me around. You'll see my inventions all over the city, and used in the army."

"Then what is the six-pointed symbol?"

"It's a Silmaril."

"And the name Blackheart - "

"A nickname for me, one once used for Morgoth."

"What happened to him?"

"He was ‘defeated' and brought here quite publicly in chains, but he was then set loose. The Valar are treacherous, Gwen, and he is one of them. They need some form of legitimacy. Even in capturing Morgoth, they did great damage - they sank half of Middle-Earth into the ocean in the process."

She thoughtfully stroked the cat's fur. "But if you have sons, you must have a wife."

He looked down, and the faint wrinkles around his eyes showed the long years of sorrow he had to have endured. "She was there for me, even when my eyes were only for my own work and not for her. She followed me even into exile, ever trying to dissuade me from the path I had taken. When the Trees were destroyed and I set my face towards Middle-Earth, she finally told me I was going where she could not follow. So as I left, she stayed behind. I was unaware of this, but she later changed her mind and caught up with the dissonant group we had left behind on the shore. When I left them behind to cross the ice, I left her to that fate as well. As she endured the long dark cold, she fell between two blocks of ice, they tell me, and even as Finrod reached out to save her, she fell into the frigid black water and sank to her death."

"Then that's your grudge against him," she realized.

"Yes." He pressed his lips together in a tight line. "The Numenoreans aren't the only slaves here, Gwen. We are slaves as well, slaves to the whims of the Valar. True, there are no physical bonds, no fleshly marks burned into our flesh, but there are far more powerful than us, and we live their will, even if it brings us to ruin."

"Who are the Numenoreans? Even Finrod didn't tell me."

"Well, remember that Earendil was part elf, part man? He and his wife had two sons, and the Valar gave them a choice to be either an elf or a human. One chose the former, and the other, Elros, chose the latter. The curious line of the first elf-human marriage continued in the race of men that sprang from Elros - the Numenoreans. It has been said that the Valar raised an island from the depths of the sea for them, in close proximity to Valinor - the island of Numenor. They were forbidden to ever sail here, although we were allowed to sail to their isle. It was our first taste of freedom for a long while, and it was during those halcyon days that Finrod and a contingent of Elves and Men disappeared on a ship. The Numenoreans became great mariners, and offered to funnel us to Middle-Earth, but the manifests of our ships would betray those who left. We could not even say that a ship had been lost, because the dead would appear in the Halls of Mandos. There was no way to get around it.

"But after a time the falsehoods of the Valar grew more apparent, and our burdens increased, so that a group of individuals broke off and decided to fight the Valar, begging the Numenoreans for help. They responded in full force, sailing their great fleet towards Valinor, when the Valar perceived their plan and in their fury sank the Numenorean isle. They did not forget, however, to miraculously bring the remaining inhabitants of the island to Valinor.

"It was then that their doom of slavery was paced upon them, and they have dwelt here ever since."

Gwen absorbed this information, realizing this pertained to her heritage. Feanor glanced at the clock on the wall as she frowned and asked, "Why don't you just sail to Middle-Earth now? Are you that afraid of the Valar?"

"We are barred from doing so by the Iron Wall, as our sailors so aptly put it. It's an impenetrable, and looks like a wall of rain, or mist, but no one can get past it - only the Elven ships coming from Middle-Earth can get through."

"Why do the Elves even want to come back here?"

"The belief that they were wrong, for one. Nostalgia, if you will, but primarily because the Valar have made it so that if an Elf gazes upon the sea, even for a moment, they will greatly desire to cross it and return to Valinor. They call it the sea-longing."

"How treacherous!"

"Indeed."

They sat in silence as the clock ticked and the flames died down to embers. Feanor stirred. "I hope to teach you our languages, Sindarin and Quenya, without which you cannot hope to survive here. Another absolutely imperative language you must learn is Breech - the tongue that has sprung from so many different cultures here being forced to intermix. A mixture of Elvish, Westron, Dwarvish, and other languages of Men, it is the primary form of communication between all the races who don't know the other's language. Doubtless you will pick up phrases from it along the way."

"How is it that you know English, though?"

"I and others, like your dresser, are fortunate to have made a study of such languages. But that's not the norm. However, that does mean that certain words from different Earth languages have made their way into Breech vernacular. Certain fashions and inventions had migrated here as well, as you may have already seen."

"How did you create them, if you'd never seen them?"

"I saw diagrams, I heard them described. Your world is most peculiar." He glanced at the clock. "But for your sake and mine, I think we ought to go to bed. I've several deliveries to make tomorrow, after lunch."

When Gwen woke up the next morning, she was immediately confronted by three worried furry faces. She rolled her eyes. "All right, don't worry! I'll feed you," she mumbled as she got up off the floor, sending the cats scurrying. She made breakfast, which Feanor commented on enthusiastically, "Better food than I've had in years!" he said.

Then he set her to cleaning the living room, which was no easy task, she realized as he went out into the workshop. She went about dusting, straightening things. She wiped grime and cobwebs from the windows, swept the dust out the door, beat the dirt from the cushions and rug, took out the hashes, then started on the bookshelves.

Books had always enthralled Gwen, and nothing got her more excited than visiting the library. She would walk deep into the familiar maze of stacks until the thick tomes insulated her from all sound, then she would run her fingers along their spines. She would walk to her favorite sections, fingers hovering over the pages, closing her eyes and feeling the essence of the story thrum through her fingers and her body. She was many times able to identify the kind of story it was even with her eyes closed.

Feanor's books were aged, bound in different color cracking leathers, their names stamped in a foreign script in gold or black. Her fingers hovered over their spines, as their stories showed in her mind's eye - epic stories, as epic as the ones he had told her the night before. She came upon an English title - Paradise Lost - and she laughed quietly to herself. Then she was disturbed by heated voices raised in the workshop. She didn't know what to do - should she go outside, or stay? Either way risked incurring the wrath of her master. She went to the door, trying to discern what was going on. There was definitely anger in their tones, but to interfere in an argument - she didn't know what would happen. Then something crashed, and, startled, she flung open the door. She stood there, bewildered, seeing that Feanor had a sword drawn, as did the red-haired elf standing opposite him. 

"Finrod!" she gasped.

"Hello, Gwen," he said tersely as he kept his eyes on Feanor. "How do you find life in Valinor?"

"Finrod," Feanor said through gritted teeth, "I demand that you leave here at once!"

"No - I must talk to Gwen," he said, sword point unwavering.

Feanor glanced at Gwen, then back at Finrod. "I have just quarrel with you."

"Perhaps only perceived, Uncle."

"Uncle! He's your uncle?" Gwen demanded.

Finrod shrugged. "Half-Uncle, really. You'll find more people here are related than you would think."

Feanor's eyes were dangerous. "Very well. You may speak with one another. But I must be there."

"Have no fear, Uncle. I can't make off with her - I know that."

"To the kitchen Gwen," Feanor said, "And I'll be following."

Finrod sheathed his sword and followed Gwen. She set a kettle on the stove to boil for tea as Feanor came into the kitchen, wiping his greasy hands, sitting across the broad table from Finrod.

Finrod looked around. "Really, Uncle, this place is far better than that shack you used to live in."

Feanor smiled smugly. "I'm sure it's better than where you're living - you've been gone so long I've heard your summer home was sold."

Finrod rolled his eyes. "I've bought a new place here in the city. I left money in the bank, so interest has accrued over the past thousand years." He glanced at Gwen. "You might like it there - it's designed by one of our most famous architects, who returned here from Earth nigh over 500 years ago. He designed the Alhambra in Spain."

"Ah." Gwen nodded knowingly.

Feanor's brow was creased. "You bought the Lasse-lenta home, in the Medling District? I wasn't aware it was for sale."

Finrod shrugged. "It wouldn't matter to you anyway."

"That's true."

Finrod shifted his attention to Gwen as she stood there. "I thought something was going to happen," he said. "I just didn't know what. I'm sorry."

"You didn't know?" she burst. "Finrod, everything I knew was destroyed and my family was led into slavery. How couldn't you see that coming?"

"I know it must have been hard - "

"Hard? Hard?" She felt like a dam going to burst, all the sights she had seen, all the anger she had felt rising to the surface. "You have no idea - " Furious, she whirled around to the stove, trying desperately to contain herself before she lost the only person she knew on this desolate world. Suppressing the tumult of emotions writhing within her, she poured hot water into handle-less teacups and set them firmly on the table before the Elves.

Looking at his tea, Finrod said quietly, "I've found where your family is, Gwen."

"You have?" Relief flooded through her. "How?"

"I looked in the Hall of Records, and that's how I found you, as well."

"Where are they?"

"Your family was split, Gwen. Your father was sold to a merchant who lives in Sous, but I'm unaware where that is. It must've been built since I was last here."

Feanor considered this. "Southwest of here, around the Bordering Mountains, in the desert."

"Your mother was sold to the Gona, a group of monks dedicated to Irmo, the Vala of dreams and visions. She's working as a cook for them, in the northern highlands, which is, incidentally, part of my realm."

Gwen frowned. "Your realm?"

Finrod rolled his eyes once more. "The United States has states, ruled by governors, right? I'm essentially the governor of the Northern provinces."

"Why do you live here, then?"

Feanor spoke up. "All lords are required to spend certain amounts of time here in the capital, and usually are by law required to be here in the late months of summer, until the Feast of Yavanna."

Finrod continued. "Since it's my realm, I can keep tabs on her. The monks are gently and won't treat her badly. Your brother, however - your brother was sold to Arfiniel, a large labor company - which means he could be doing work in either the various factories around the city, or in plantations to the west."

Gwen started. "If he's here in the city - "

Feanor interrupted her quietly. "Don't try. They wouldn't let him out of the factory, or you in. We have no way of knowing where he could be."

Finrod took a final swig of tea and pulled out a silver watch. Gwen's eyes widened as she recognized it, and he slid it across the table to her. She picked it up, eyes smarting. Her grandfather's world-finding watch. "How-"

"I stole it from you the day you showed it to me, just in case. I figure you would appreciate it more than I."

"Thank you," she said, holding it tenderly.

Then Finrod checked his own watch. "Well, I really must go - I have some pressing engagements. I hope I have not kept you too long from your work, Uncle." He stood and bowed, holding his hand over his heart, as Feanor stiffly did the same.

"Show him to the door, Gwen," he said, and she did so, opening it for Finrod. He laid a hand on her shoulder and looked deep into her eyes. "All of us have our own share of tragedy," he said. "Feanor has had his, and you yours. I too am not exempt. Keep well, and I shall return." Then he ducked out into the foggy morning. She closed the door and looked at Feanor, who was standing in the kitchen doorway, eyes black and emotionless.  Then he went to the workshop, tossing her the dusting rag as he went. "Back to work," he murmured.

*

That afternoon, Feanor took Gwen with him for deliveries. "Once you understand the layout of the city and our customs, I'll expect you to do the deliveries," he told her as they stood waiting for an available carriage. When one arrived, Feanor told the driver, "Upper Wharf, 32nd North Main," before joining her inside.

"Why is it so foggy in the mornings and evenings?" she asked.

"I don't know the science of it," he replied,"but a fog is formed offshore and is blown in by the prevailing winds. It helps to disperse the smoke and keep things slightly cleaner than they would be otherwise, but the sun usually burns it off. It helps decay wood, and causes mushrooms and mold to abound, but it remains useful. We receive it less in winter. You're fortunate to have missed our blazing hot summers, but soon we'll get some absolutely cracking frosts, and decent amounts of snow. It's cold, but livable."

Then they arrived, next to a harbor and its piers. They walked along a narrow and twisted street, with creaking houses built close together. Their bricks were deeply grooved, cracked, or missing, and what must have been fine decorations of ironwork had now rusted through, leaving streaks running down the leaning buildings and flaked of metal on the ground. As they went on, the streets became more like a maze, the houses changing from brick to rotting wood, with some houses that were abandoned, with broken windows, old pamphlets plastered to their walls, adorned with graffiti. Shady characters were lurking in the shadows, and rats scurried away from their footsteps as they echoed on the grimy cobblestones.

Finally, they came closer to the end of the neighborhood, where the piers were more visible. Tall-masted ships, their sails and rigging visible over the slate roofs, sat in the sea water, sailors and merchants bustling about them. She saw an empty rotting hull, crusted with barnacles, swilling about in the shallows.

Feanor took her up to a building, with a sign in cracked peeling paint that said, "Thorontur and Company Shipping." He turned and looked at her. "This is the oldest district in the city, aside from the Blessed District, if you couldn't tell. The owner of this company - Thorontur himself, is old and thrives on tradition. Walk quietly behind me and don't look anyone in the eye. Understand?"

She nodded. They walked inside the musty office, where a desk was inhabited by a twitchy old man who reminded Gwen of a rabbit.

"Y-your name, s-sir?" he asked.

"Feanor. With a delivery for Master Thorontur."

The old man leaned over to a trumpet-shaped spout attached to a copper pipe that was turning green and ran straight up through the ceiling. "A Master Feanor to see you, sir." Gwen noted a metal slash mark on his veined and spotted hands. "You may go up and see him now," he said, gesturing to a steep staircase. As she started up them after Feanor, she realized that they were tilted, bowed, and otherwise quite worn from use. She touched the walls on both sides, terrified that she would fall backwards.

They entered a doorway and into a carpeted room, with shelves holding various nautical instruments, as well as large globes on clawed feet. She glanced at them, strangely unsettled by the unfamiliar shapes of continents. A full-scale map was pinned to the wall, with two major continents. Between the two, a heavy black line wavered, showing what must be the Iron Wall. Around the left continent, which must be Valinor, various colored lines marked shipping routes.

In a great chair behind a sumptuous desk, a black-haired bearded man sat, wearing an old-fashioned suit and high-collared jacket. "Master Feanor!" He bellowed when he saw him. "Have you got it?" He stood up.

Feanor walked up to the desk, pulling out a large rolled piece of paper and spreading it across the desktop. "The designs for the clipper ship, as you requested. It should be far faster than any other ship on the market, because its prow is designed to cut through the waves."

Thorontur studied the prints, then smiled in glee. "Well done, Feanor! Well done. I'll begin production immediately. You've a fine head on your shoulders." Feanor smiled, one of the first full smiles she had seen on him. The bearded man pulled open a drawer. "About payment-", he said, and Feanor bowed slightly. "A check from your bank will do fine, sir," he said. As he scribbled his signature, Thorontur indicated one of the plush chairs in front of the desk. "Please, have a cup of something, and we can chat - it's been a while since I've had suitable company." He leaned over to the tube that came out of the floor next to his desk. "Frank! A pot of coffee, quickly, please." He tore off the piece of paper, then handed it to Feanor as he sat down.

Gwen hesitated, unsure of what to do. She was fairly sure that she was supposed to sit, from the way Feanor had acted the first day. She came and stood behind the chair as she recalled medieval pages doing. Thorontur leaned back in his chair. "So! A new Ownling! You've been quite the talk of the town, Feanor."

"Indeed. I didn't think it would be so unusual or for word to spread so quickly."

"Gossip spreads faster than fire, they say." They both chuckled. Thorontur looked at Gwen curiously. "But this one's from the new stock."

"Indeed."

"I may have sailed the seas, but I've never been offworld. Tell me, what's it like on yours?" It took a moment for Gwen to register that the question was aimed at her, and Feanor turned in his chair to look at her. Her lips parted slightly as she glanced at her master, trying to ascertain what she should do.

"It's nice, sir," she managed to say.

"That's all? It's nice? Tell me, I have heard that you have ships that sail beneath the ocean."

At this point the dumbwaiter clattered and Thorontur got up to get the coffee, pouring some for himself and his guest. "The very idea is wondrous. How does it work?"

She kept her eyes on the floor. "I couldn't say, sir."

"Do you think you could build a ship that sails under the sea, Master Feanor?"

Feanor looked up from his cup in interest. "An interesting idea, Master Thorontur, but it would be a dubious one at best. But this coffee - quite an interesting drink."

"Yes - I find it most stimulating."

Feanor sat the cup on its saucer, standing and bowing slightly as he gave it to Thorontur. "No doubt I too will find it so, but regrettably I have other business to attend to - deliveries. May your business prosper, and may we meet again."

"Farewell, Master Feanor."

Gwen carefully navigated the stairs, following Feanor out of the door into the salty air. "Thorontur used to fish, before there was significant overfishing and the populations depleted. Now, he does shipping work, and he is one of very few friends who treat me with respect. A little eccentric, perhaps, but kind nonetheless." Then they were off to the Medling district, where Gwen recalled Finrod lived.

"Yes," Feanor said, "Along with every popinjay and those who've curried favor with the Valar - we call them cocks. We'll be visiting a family household, the house of Thingol and Melian the Maiar, who bear me little grudge as well, but will have little to do with me. When you come, go to the kitchen entrance and the Onlies will take the delivery."

The houses they passed became larger and more ornate as they progressed towards the mountain, weak sunlight glinting off marble pillars and ceramic tile. The carriage stopped at a grand house, walled off and standing tall, blazing white, with a dome and pillars giving it a Tuscan feel. They entered through a wooden door rather than the main gate, traipsing down a path amidst a lush garden and perfectly manicured lawns. Entering the house through a small door, Gwen and Feanor stepped into sweltering kitchens, bustling with activity as the head cook shouted orders in Breech. Gwen immediately felt in the way, as she tended to do anyway. Meats were being roasted over a fire pit and stews in cauldrons. Dishes were clinking and clattering as dishwashers quickly washed and stacked dishes. Onlies were bringing food from the cellars, one of whom was a short, pointy-eared fellow with bare hairy feet. She nudged her master and discreetly asked him what the Only was. "A halfling," Feanor murmured back, then stepped forward to interrupt the head cook, giving her a box containing a well-made sword.

A gruff voice suddenly addressed Gwen. She turned, startled to find a fat, very hairy dwarf carrying a large basket of apples. "Porish met!" he said, and seeing she didn't understand, tried indignantly in some other languages. Feanor appeared by her side. "He wants you to move." 

"Oh!" she said, jumping closer to her master. The dwarf gave her a surly glance and set down the basket where she had been standing. as they turned to leave, the cook shouted at them, "Hey!" Feanor turned to find a greasy envelope shoved in his face by fat fingers. He took it gingerly, and left. As they walked down the path, he opened it, trying to touch as little of the envelope as possible. He read the creamy white paper in its flowing script (I've got to learn to read, Gwen thought, annoyed) and he smiled grimly.

"What is it?" she asked as they reached the wall.

"An invitation." He finished reading it and looked up. "There's a party here tonight, and I'm invited. This is dated a month ago, so that idiot of a cook must have forgotten to give it to me."

"Why not mail it?"

"Why waste postage? They know I deliver to their household." He frowned. "That means you'll be coming with me."

"Surcoat or dress?" she asked.

"What?"

"Surcoat or dress? Which is more appropriate?"

"Oh. The invitation says servants will wait on us, so surcoat." They got in the carriage, to the Cloven district. "You'll stand around the sides of the room until we are called to dine, when you'll go to the kitchens and fetch food to serve us. Blast and smoke!" he cursed. "I'll have to teach you how to serve and carve tonight. Afterwards there will be dancing, which I abhor, and small talk, which I like even less. You'll wait around the room once more, doing small tasks people ask of you."

"Why not refuse to go?"

He stuffed the invite back into its envelope. " Any chance I can have to climb the backbiting social ladder, I should take. Climb it, climb in favor of the Valar. And please remember, you're a symbol of stature for me, so people will watch you as they would me."

"I'll try my best not to mess up."

He smiled wanly. They were on a road that went along the Lesser Wall, which soared above them. Suddenly, they started to take a slowly inclining ramp up the side of the wall. Feanor smiled. "Look out the windows - this is my favorite part of going this way to the Cloven district." She did as he suggested, gaining a better perspective of the city. They reached to top of the wall, which was busy with diverse forms of traffic.

Then they were flying, it seemed. They were on a bridge to another part of the city that stretched out before them away from the sea. They were riding beside a railway track, over wide expanses of rice paddies that stretched from the city wall into the hazy distance. Tiny figures were visible wading through them, and then they reached the other side, descending carefully down another ramp. The Cloven district, she saw, contained the fruits and vegetable markets Feanor had mentioned earlier. "Fruit is brought by ship or train here for selling," he told her. They got out of the carriage before a friendly-looking cafe, which was crowded with people. "The only way to deliver here," he said, "is to order here. It's the best cafe in the entire city." They went in, waiting in line. A tall wolfhound brushed past her, carrying a paper bag in its mouth. A sassy Only with bright eyes came up to the counter, wiping her hands on a towel. Feanor quickly ordered, then slid a black box across the counter, the waitress taking it with a wink. She came out with their order in paper bags embossed with a red M.

They ate in the carriage - onion soup with crisp sandwiches. They stopped at a train station, needing to take it to the Temple Complex. The train passed through the Arts district on its way, which had wide plazas and large theaters. The train stopped at its edge, where they got off. "We have to walk from here," he told her. "The Valar don't like noisy trains and carriages in their serene spaces." The streets became boulevards as they got closer to the sea once more. Feanor pointed out the Court of the Valar, a large imposing building built in the style of the Tibetan palace, soaring above them along the mountainside. Wide plazas separated the temples of the Valar. Two of them, he told her, were on top of the mountain Tanaquentil.

He steered Gwen towards one pillared in green brass, a little smaller than the others'.  "The temple of Vana," he told her.

"Vana? As in Yavanna, the feast?" she asked.

"No, indeed not. You would do well not to confuse them. Vana is the sister of Yavanna, for whom the feast was named."

"Ah," she murmured, not having understood a word of what he said.

"We'll be going through the front so try, at least, to look a little contrite. Follow me straight through, don't gape at anything, since it's considered rude. We'll be meeting directly with Vana, so don't speak unless spoken to." He seemed nervous, wiping his brow with a kerchief, leading her underneath the columns into the temple. Inside was lush with grass and flowers, a giant tree standing in the center of a great hall, its many branches seeming to hold up the very ceiling. More trees dotted the lawn (indoors, Gwen noted, this was quite a feat) and what appeared to be worshippers of Vana strolled around them. Feanor and Gwen walked quickly amongst them, reaching the far wall. Lounging against it was a faun who eyed them carefully. "Feanor. What're you doing here?"

"What do you think?" he said softly, indignation apparent in his tone. "I'm delivering."

"Do you have an appointment?" asked the faun, studying its fingernails.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."

The faun gave him a surly look and rapped twice on the stone wall behind him. It began to move supply - to writhe and open as though it were made of living branches instead of cold stone. It formed a doorway that Feanor stepped through, Gwen quickly following suit. The entered a room with yet another green lawn, but before them stood the Court of Vana. The Vala stood tall, a head above the others, sitting on a throne carved out of wood. She looked not unlike the Fair Folk Gwen had encountered before, but the people surrounding her were far more interesting - some centaurs, fauns, fox-faced girls, trees she was pretty sure weren't trees, and unblooded maidens dressed in white. A chill ran down her spine as she remembered a nightmare, then shook it off as she faced the present. Feanor knelt, and Gwen hastily followed suit before looking more closely at the Vala through her eyelashes. Vana had auburn curls, leaves and flowers in her hair, clad in white, with eyes burning like the sun.

"Elen sila lumenn omentielvo," Feanor said his traditional greeting in Quenya, and the Vala repeated it back. Then Feanor hesitated, and the Vala smiled in encouragement and said something. "My lady," he said hesitantly, "if we may, I ask that we might converse in English, that my new Ownling might heed our words better, and understand us.

"If that is what you ask, it is easy answered," she said with a smile, "but I wonder at your concern for the Ownling. If only all masters were so dedicated. You've come with the lights, I presume?"

He pulled from his bag a jar of glass marbles, and Vana clapped her hands in joy. "Show me, please!" and Feanor demonstrated for her the entire jar, with which the Vala was very pleased. After taking them into her hands, she noticed Gwen and addressed Feanor. "This Ownling, they say, comes from the new stock."

He nodded in agreement. "There is nothing that does not reach your ears, my lady."

She looked impressed. "All the way from Earth!" She shifted her gaze to Gwen. "You must not be afraid of me, Gwen," she said. "All things have a purpose. Sometimes we must do things because we must, not because we wish to." She looked down at the jar and smiled a brilliant smile at Feanor. "You have brought a most excellent gift with which I am well pleased," she told him. "Go now with my thanks."

As they journeyed back home to get ready for the party, Gwen asked Feanor, "Why did you give the lights to her?"

He looked at her with a still face, an unreadable expression. "She was the favorite Vala of my wife. I do it in her memory, and I know she'd like them."

"Your wife hasn't decided to come back, has she?" she asked softly.

He cast his eyes downward. "No, she hasn't."

"Here are some of the terms to be used when one is carving:

Reak the deer, Sauce the capon, Spoil the hen, Umbrace the duck, Unlace the rabbit, Dismember the heron, Display the crane, Disfigure the peacock, Unjoint the bittern, Wing the partridge, Mine the plover, Thigh the pigeon, Chin the salmon, String the lamprey, Side the haddock, Tame the crab, Splat the pike."

~ Book of Kerving: Wynkyn de Worde.

As soon as they entered the house, Feanor hurried off to get dressed, and she did the same, carefully pulling on the leggings and boots, as well as the surcoat marked with Feanor's crest.

Feanor came out, looking splendid in a blue velvet coat, suit, and neckerchief. "Now," he said tensely, "we must go over serving." He sat down at the table, giving her a board to serve as a platter. "Now, you come through the door from the kitchen, and place it gently, GENTLY, in front of those you are serving. Then take the fork in your left - no, your other left - hand and the carving knife in your right. Cut along the spine if it's poultry, cutting inch-thick slices. Give one to me, placing it on the plate as if you're nestling an egg onto grass. Good. If it's anything else - rabbit, venison, or, gods forbid, beef, - you won't have fish - cut perpendicular from the spine, starting here-" he pointed. "And going this way." He relaxed visibly. Bow to the lord and lady, the hosts of the party, then leave to get the wine. Bring it back, asking if they would like some wine, the pour it carefully, leaving the pitcher. Then bow to the lord and lady once more before leaving for the kitchen, returning with supplemental dishes, which you will simply leave, bow, and return to stand by the walls. If someone needs something, they'll beckon to you." He pulled out a pocketwatch and stood up quickly. "We have little time. Come."

When they were in the carriage, he told her, "You'll get out ahead of me and offer a hand to help me out. Walk beside, but always slightly behind me, and refer to me as sir. Forgive me, Gwen, I've never owned a slave before, so I'm unused to following protocol." They rode on in silence as the fog began to congeal outside. Gwen shivered, quite aware that she had forgotten to put a coat before leaving the house. The cold crept up her legs, her toes already numb. Even so, her stomach twisted as she thought about the party. What if she did something wrong? Would she be beaten? Worse?

Eventually they arrived in front of the main gate, surrounded by carriages and flaming torches. People were stepping out of them, their servants in brilliant surcoats. Feanor smoothed down his coat and nodded as their carriage came to a stop. Gwen stepped out, performing his instructions flawlessly, to her relief. She followed him through the main gate, through the garden and into the entrance hall. The hall was brilliantly lit with Feanor's lights as guests chatted, the household Onlies passing among them with glasses of wine and plates of appetizers. This, she gathered, was where they were to wait. "Go to the side," Feanor whispered. "Look at the list!" Then he left her, walking through the throng to the wall, heart pounding.

List? What list? He hadn't mentioned a list. She looked around fervently, finally seeing an Only in a  surcoat go to a table before standing by the wall. She surreptitiously darted over to the table, where a great list on creamy paper was sitting. Scanning it, she noted pairs of names. Squinting, she was able to make out her name - Llewellyn, in roman letters. Fortunately, roman letters had been adopted for use in Breech, being one of the more versatile methods of writing. However, an understanding of Breech wasn't necessary for reading names - and those beside hers were Elwe and Melian. Tingles ran up and down her body as she moved to the wall, receiving a look of annoyance from the Only who had been standing behind her. She wanted to throw up.

The lord and lady of the household. She would be serving them, the very center of scrutiny. And Melian was a Maia, she recalled. More powerful than the Elves. She clasped her hands together to still their trembling. The elegant Onlies wearing white gloves opened the doors to the dining hall. The guests poured through into the brilliant room, and when they were all gone, Gwen followed the surcoats through a small doorway, down some stairs, and through a hall. Gwen realized suddenly that language was going to be a very large barrier for her cross.

The first Onlies had entered the kitchen, giving the names of those they were serving to the cook, who shouted back for the platter, which would be given to the Only by a kitchen boy, and carried off to the dining hall. She distinctly heard one girl shout "Feanor!" and when it was her turn, she yelled "Elwe! Melian!" The cook laughed at this, then shouted incomprehensibly. A steaming silver platter was set before her, which was heavier than it looked.

Gwen bore the platter up another flight of stairs, following the other Onlies up to the dining room. (By her very nature, Gwen was a person that could bear a great deal of pain without a single complaint. Oftentimes, she wouldn't complain about a sickness to her mother soon enough to do something before it got worse. Thus she bore the weight of the platter, its handle chafing her neck, with no complaint.) It was dark, and she discovered they were in line before a door. The girl before her, with black braids, was frantically gesturing to her and speaking in Breech. "I don't understand," Gwen said, and the girl whispered, "Front! You front!" She nodded, shifting past the others, lifting the platter above theirs, then waited with baited breath for some cue to enter. It's like a stage, she told herself. You're the actor, this is the performance. Everyone else is the audience. Just do the job, ignore everyone else. Then the doors flew open, and the show was on.

She stepped forward into the room, walking forward as she quickly assessed the situation. In any case, she had the easy job because she didn't have to identify who she was serving. A table was raised on a dais at the head of the room, with two adorned chairs that indicated the hosts. She made for them, stepping up onto the dais, swiftly but carefully setting down the platter. She served them quickly, relieved when that job was finished. Following the other Onlies, she went down to the kitchens for wine.

When Gwen returned to the hall, she walked up to the dais, then froze mid-bow. She couldn't say "Would my lord like some wine?" in Elvish, or understand their answers. "Crap!" she swore lightly under her breath, then stood up, smiling. "Would my lord like some wine?" addressing the person she assumed was Elwe. A frown passed over their faces momentarily. "                 ," he said gently, touching his cup. She assumed this meant he wished some wine, so she poured it out. When she turned to Melian and asked, "Would my lady like some wine?" She gave an imperceptible shake of her head. So Gwen set down the pitcher, heart pounding, bowed, and left for the other dishes.

The rest of her serving went more smoothly, and once she was done, she went to stand by the wall and by another Only, the one who had helped her beforehand. The two looked at one another and gave wan smiles. "Thanks," Gwen said, although she was sure the other girl didn't understand. The girl nodded and looked away. Gwen cast around looking for Feanor, finding him on the farthest table away from the dais. He looked a bit dour, but was eating well. She looked around to see if she could recognize anyone else of the few people she knew in this land. Perhaps Finrod was there.

And indeed he was, sitting on one of the closer tables to the dais, and he caught gaze, giving her a broad smile. Perhaps parties weren't so bad, after all. Elwe turned around in his chair, gesturing to her, so she went to him. He tapped his wine goblet again, and in a quick glance she saw the pitcher was empty. She bowed again and left for the kitchens, which, she noticed, she wasn't alone in doing. Other Onlies were going for refills, asking the cook for specific things. When she came to the cook, who looked at her expectantly, she went red with embarrassment. "Elwe," she said, then pantomimed pouring from the pitcher. The cook screwed up her eyes, not understanding. "Wine!" Gwen said. "I need wine!" The cook shoved her out of the way to help the next person, and Gwen realized with a sinking feeling that she was on her own.

She darted deeper into the kitchen, dodging stacks of dishes and silver platters as she went. She looked around, desperately searching for any pitchers or wine bottles. She finally found a table with pitchers and bottles, next to the dark entrance for the cellars. It was currently unmanned, unfortunately, because she didn't know what kind of wine to get. There were at least ten different types, lined up, ten to a row. But there was one that stood apart, in a different-shaped bottle, and this was the one she chose. Perhaps Elwe had a specific type he liked. She poured it into a pitcher, noting it was about the same color as the wine she had taken out before. She then grabbed the pitcher and dashed up the stairs, nearly spilling the wine as she passed an Only, then slowed to a measured walk when she entered the room.

She quickly replaced the pitcher and took the empty one to the table of dirty dishes that was being bussed to and from the dishwashers in the kitchens. Then she stood by the wall as the meal was finished. As the lord and lady stood, the rest did as well, even if they weren't finished with their meal. Then the doors to another great room were thrust open, and the Elves traipsed in to dance, followed by the Onlies, who went in and stood by the walls. The dancing hall consisted of two levels, the top one lined with French-style doors opened up to the night garden, mysterious in its mists and lit by the occasional Feanor-light, like fireflies. The top level overlooked the dancing floor, with its musicians, and had a grand staircase the Elves descended into its brilliance. The Onlies, however, stayed on the top, along with groups of Elves who laughed and chatted. Gwen did not desire to watch the dancing. Instead, she noticed one of the ornate doors open, and a group of children's faces peered out, giggling at the finery. Then the door closed.

Gwen pressed her hands against the cold wall behind her, staring at her feet, not comprehending the babble of unfamiliar words around her. Suddenly, shiny boots stepped into her field of vision, and she looked up into the dark-eyed face of her master. "Why did you do it?" he said quietly, hidden anger lurking dangerously beneath, suppressed for the public. "Did you do it on purpose, because you bear me some great grudge?" Gwen's face went white, eyes widening. "Master, what did I do? Did I offend in some way?"

"Offend? Of course, with the stunt you pulled!"

"Master, whatever I did was out of ignorance - "

"Is everything all right, Uncle?" Finrod's red hair materialized over Feanor's shoulder.

"All right? Gwen served Lord Elwe vinegar instead of wine, that's all!"

Gwen's mind reeled, replaying her tramping through the kitchens. "Vinegar - I didn't know! It looked the same!"

Finrod put a hand on Feanor's slightly heaving shoulder. "It was an accident, Feanor. She doesn't speak the language."

"Yes, but she could have at least -"

Elwe suddenly appeared next to them, as well. He smiled at them, puzzled, but said something in Elvish. Feanor relaxed as Elwe kept talking, and laughed. Elwe looked at Gwen, smiled, and left to join the dancing. "See?" said Finrod. "He even took it well."

"Yes, well," Feanor sighed. "Be careful next time, Gwen."

Finrod winked at her over his shoulder as he guided Feanor back to the crowds. She stood there, shifting her weight back and forth so that her legs wouldn't fall asleep, watching the general frivolity. She noted the way the ladies carried themselves, with Melian being the most noticeable, moving with stately grace throughout the clusters of gossiping people. Gwen noted that Melian had a much darker complexion than the women around her, but someone tapped her shoulder. She turned to face one of the elegant Onlies who had opened doors. He licked his lips nervously. "Are you Gwendolyn?" She was immediately on guard, worried that they would take her away for serving vinegar.

"Yes," she said cautiously.

Relief flooded the visage of the little sweaty man. "Oh, good! At least you understood me - barely anyone speaks English."

She frowned. "Are you from Earth?" she asked.

"Yes! I mean, I arrived just a few days ago."

"Me too - we must have been on the same ship. I'm from Ash Mills."

The man mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. "Yeah, I'm from Bangor - we were raided before you. I'm a professor at University of Maine - a linguistics professor. You were a student, huh?"

"Indeed. Are your new masters good to you?"

He glanced over to the throng. "They're pretty good, I guess. Nice family, nice house. Yours?"

"He's pretty cool -he saved me from breeding."

The little man made a face. "It's unbelievable, that they do that here! The whole thing's pretty surreal.  I mean, when I was sitting at home watching TV a week ago, I wasn't expecting to be a slave."

"Our lives can change pretty suddenly, Professor," Gwen said, as Feanor walked up to them.

"Come Gwen, we can go. The night may be long, but the next day longer still. These cocks might be able to sleep in, but I have an honest living to make." He glanced at the professor. "Who are you?"

The man licked his lips again. "Mark, sir. I lived around Gwendolyn's area."

"Oh. Well, good night."

A week later Gwen was standing in front of the canal, watching the faint winter sun rise and holding a dripping water bucket. The dark canal water whispered quietly by, slivers of ice beginning to form by its bricked sides. She shivered there silently as the shift whistle blew. Her hand tightened on the bucket. She was upset at her master, furious that she had to get up earlier than her master.

Two days ago Feanor showed her how to light the furnaces, fanning the coals to get them warmer and beginning to set pieces of metal in the blazing warmth. This, she was told, is what she should do in the mornings, so that her master could sleep in. She stood there holding the bucket, then abruptly turned and entered the workshop. In contrast to the heat of the furnaces, the rest of the barn was frosty cold. There had been a cold rain the night before, and the grimy cobblestones that came underneath the cracked wooden wallboards had turned white with frost crystals. Her breath made clouds in the air as she pumped the bellows, and  she went inside to finish making breakfast.

The large tub of water that she had painstakingly filled earlier that morning and set outside for the wash had already frozen over. After breakfast, she chopped through the ice with a knife, then dragged it up the steps indoors. She washed the clothes in the frigid water, hands going numb, then raw. She strung up a line from the ceiling in front of the fire, clipping the clothes on.

She then sat down in front of the fire, cranky and exhausted already. She had five deliveries to make that day, so she shrugged on a jacket over her dress and threw on a scarf. Then she picked up the basket of goods, slung some swords over her shoulder, and flung open the door, swiftly walking out into the sunlight, as it began to burn off the fog.

 The first person on the list, written in Feanor's florid English script, was the name Caranthir. She slid through alleyways, heading towards the district written on the paper, one she had never heard of. The Escher District, which, she was told, was on the other side of the city, opposite the Blessed District. It lay in shadow from the morning sun.

There, visible over the rooftops, were great steel constructs. The city was still quiet, but early morning workers were making their way about, and the ruckus of the food market could be heard several blocks away. A tiger sidled by her, giving her a sultry amber glance. She crossed some planks that had been made into a bridge over a canal, into a far richer district. The wealthy Elves walking around her gave her dark glances, making her aware of her already shabby clothes, and she hugged the basket closer to her. Ten blocks and some stairs later, she came to a wall guarded by soldiers.

Gwen seemed to visibly shrink before them, the soldiers dressed in the same uniforms as those who had caused such destruction before. They looked at her coldly, then asked her something in Breech, then in English - "Who are you here for?"

"Caranthir," she stated, and they looked at one another, surprised. Then they opened the bolted door.

She walked into a very different world, there - one that was all metal and technology. The ground was sheeted with painted metal, and before her was a vast flat plain, with great ships sitting upon it. Troops were training in ranks, and steel constructs and towers broke up the skyline, butting directly up against the great mountain. She turned silently, in awe, to the guard behind her. He grinned, white teeth flashing behind his helmet. "It's amazing, isn't it? Technology, that is. Here, I'll escort you to the Commander. Follow me."

She walked quietly behind him, noting he stayed within marked lanes. The ship she had been  brought to this world on was a peashooter compared to the immense size of the cruisers she passed. There were great pools of water used for cooling off engines, and they approached one of the skyscrapers that surely housed troops. They eventually reached the doors, and she went inside the lobby to an elevator. The clunky thing took a while to drop down, and they opened the metal grate and stepped inside, Gwen standing in silent fear from the apparent safety hazards, careful not to get too close to either wall. They passed floors with bustling activity, and rode swiftly to the top.

The guard pulled open the grates to show a lushly carpeted hallway, paneled in wood, Gwen meekly following the guard to opulently great doors at its end. He knocked. "A delivery for you, sir!"

The doors swung open, and a suited butler bowed. "Follow me."

She followed him into another lush room, with a wide window overlooking the ships and the city. A figure was silhouetted against the light, and then it turned to face her.

Instantly her mind reeled, and she dropped the basket in shock. The silver mask from that dark night - no. It couldn't be.

The Elf King was just as surprised as she. "You!" The voice snarled forth, unseen lips propelling it forward. "Impossible-" And he strode quickly around his desk, coming towards her with clear intent. She stood there, transfixed as he drew close to her, reaching out to grab her. She reached down, grabbing the basket, then ran for her life. Down the hallway she bolted, hearing him running behind her, and reached inside the basket, grasping the package wrapped in paper for him and throwing it behind her.

Frantically searching for a stair exit, she found it and flew down them, stumbling and slamming against a wall. She could still hear him behind her, her heart pounding frantically as she got up and passed floor after floor. She glanced behind her to see him rounding the staircase directly behind her - "You're mine!" he howled at her as she started jumping steps. Then she got to the bottom, throwing open the door to the lobby and rushing outside. Picking up running speed, she looked behind her and saw him still pursuing, with guards behind him.

"Help!" she screamed, but no soldier or worker looked her way; a commander was behind her, and no one would cross him, especially not for an Only. She realized that not even the guards at the wall would open the door for her. She halted in front of the shallow cooling pools, watching as her nightmare came closer, trying to catch her breath. She involuntarily stepped back as he drew closer, and immediately stumbled backwards into the pool, which was knee deep, and surprisingly warm.

Caranthir stopped short at the edge of the water, then stepped in, coming closer to her. He emitted a low animal-like purr of satisfaction, and halted his advance, towering over her. He ran his fingers along the side of her face as she shivered. Then the water suddenly coalesced upwards, and Caranthir started back in fear. It formed the shape of a man, then took solid form of a tan man wearing a brilliant blue robe. Gwen blinked. This was weird.

A shiver shook her opponent, and he dropped to his knees in the water, prostrating himself, as did the soldiers around the pool. The man, aside from coming out of the water, was much larger than normal proportion, and spoke calmly, with a bit of an otherworldly echo. "This girl is under my protection now, Caranthir." "My lord," came a sniveling voice from behind the silver mask," She cannot stay in the water forever. I am within right to pursue her if she leaves."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Has she broken a law?"

"No, my lord."

"Then, 'under the law' she is the untouchable property of her master. You may not harm her."

"I am the son of her master, my lord. I have biological right." Gwen nearly choked. Son of Feanor?

"But not legal right. You are not his heir. You have the insolence to question me?"

After glaring at her, Caranthir slogged out of the water, throwing his cape around himself and striding angrily off. Gwen stood in the water shivering, looking at the strange man before her. He cocked an eyebrow. "What, no prostration from you?"

"Are you a Vala, or something?"

"Indeed."

Gwen stopped down and picked up the delivery list, which was floating in the water. The ink had run together, making the letters unreadable. "Rats," she said with a sinking heart. "Why did you help me, then?"

"You're a Numenorean, in danger from a ruthless commander. Of course I'd help. But now I must go." With that he disappeared back into the water.

Gwen, dripping, made her way back through the gate. She opened the basket to find that the paper packaging around the other package was destroyed, too - along with its address. She sighed and trudged back to the house. When she opened the cracked wooden door, grateful for the warmth of the fire, Feanor was eating lunch. He looked up at her as she entered the kitchen, dropping the basket on the table. "Did everything go well?" he asked, continuing to read the paper.

"Oh, yes," she snapped. "Really well. Your son was most cordial."

He looked up, raising an eyebrow at her tone. "Really?"

"No, of course not! How could you do that to me?"

He frowned, shoving aside the newspaper. "Did he harm you, Gwen?"

She collapsed into a chair. "Scaring me half to death, maybe. He certainly wanted to do something."

"Why would he have any interest in you?"

She looked at him. "He nearly killed me back at home."

His eyes widened. "Oh. What stopped him this time?"

She closed her eyes momentarily. "A Vala."

He sat forward suddenly, his voice intense. "Which Vala, Gwen?"

"I don't know."

"What were its features? Was there an element about it?"

"Water. He had something to do with water."

He sat back in relief. "Oh good. Ulmo."

"Who?"

"Ulmo is the most inclined towards humanity, Gwen. He's the best one who could have helped you. But we need to go to his temple to thank him."

"He sounded completely fine with it, Feanor."

He looked away, frustrated. "You don't yet understand this world, Gwen. The Valar are highly unpredictable. Even if he sounded fine about it, he may change his mind. We cannot afford to get on the bad side of another Vala."

"What should we do, then?"

He got up, going to a window. Then he said decidedly, "We write letters of thanks, and take that as our offering. We'll burn them at his temple."

"It's like he's a god - that's not right. I worship only one God."

"They desire to be gods, Gwen. That is the quarrel against them. They were not originally supposed to act like gods, but they have taken that role."

"So we pay lip service to them? It still isn't right."

He faced her solemnly. "I'll do the lip service, Gwen. You just come along."

She sighed, and checked to make sure her dress was dry while Feanor wrote his letter. Then they took the train to the Temple district.

The Temple district stood overlooking the shore and the vast ocean, which Gwen hadn't seen so closely before. Canal water, funneled from mountain rivers, ran directly into the ocean, and many people were gathered by it, children playing in the surf, women washing clothes, men trying in vain to catch fish or crabs. She leaned against a railing, watching scenes unfolding below her. Feanor came up beside her.

A ways off the shore, the Greater Wall extended out into the ocean as a breakwater, ending in lighthouses to guide boats to the Blessed District. To her right, a makeshift breakwater had been made out of the hulls of white ships. "The ships the Elves use when they come from Middle-Earth," Feanor said quietly, as though reading her mind. Further out from the shore, another, less beautiful lighthouse stood on its own. "That lighthouse is for trading routes," Feanor said, pointing it out, and then straightened, craning his neck. The crowds gathered on the beach pointed as well - a white ship had appeared, small, against the horizon. "Another group," he sighed, "lured to their doom. Come Gwen, we must go."

He guided her to a large building, built with great white stones. In front of it an elaborate fountain splashed, and they walked up several steps before going into the dark shadowed colonnade, entering the temple. The sounds of splashing water and guttural chanting reverberated in the space around her. She followed her master, crossing pools of clean water as they walked deeper and deeper inside. As the sunlight filtered away, the light began to come from the pools of water. Feanor's lights began swooping overhead, providing faint light from above. Then, the columns stopped, as did the pools of water, and they were in an open space, where people were standing and whispering in groups, others kneeling and praying, and still others standing before an altar of sorts. Gwen followed him up to it, where he burned the letter he had written, clapped his hands twice, bowed, and seemed to pray. Suddenly a monk, dressed in brilliant blue robes and a shaved head, came up to him, laying a hand on his shoulder and whispering quietly in Sindarin, whose softer sounds she recognized as different from Quenya. Feanor opened his eyes and nodded, gesturing for Gwen to follow, then trailing the monk.

They walked to a wall with blue glass writing set in it, letting in the sun as would stained glass, then entered a doorway into a more brilliantly lit room. There, on a throne, sat Ulmo himself, looking stern.

 "I'm worried about your son," said the large figure.

"As am I," Feanor said, shifting on his feet.

"I think the Valar are doing something of which I am not aware," Ulmo said. "It may be that only a few have decided to commit such acts."

"What acts?" Feanor asked, as Gwen struggled to keep quiet, unsure of her place before the Vala.

"I hear rumor - just a rumor, mind you - that orcs are breeding in the underground sewers."

Gwen heard Feanor's sharp intake of breath. "Have they harmed anyone?"

"No - they're confined, I think. There have been occasional sightings below. The concentration of sightings, however, have been beneath the Escher District. I think if the soldiers were suspicious, they would have taken care of the problem."

Feanor nodded. "Unless they had been ordered to stand down. Are they being bred for the army?"

"I'm unsure. But this casts a bit of suspicion and the army itself, especially its commander. You're aware he attacked your slave."

"Of course."

"There's good reason for it. You are quite unaware of Gwen's background in her world."

Feanor shrugged. "I merely know that she has strong Numenorean blood, and that she had been attacked by him in the past."

Then Ulmo told him the story that Finrod had recounted - the plans for strengthening the Numenorean line. Feanor nodded. "I was unaware that so much Elvish and Maiar blood had been invested in her ancestry. That means there are several Elves unaccounted for, then?"

"Yes." Ulmo looked at Gwen curiously. "It has been speculated that such a spectacular heritage would result in an exceptional person. It is for that reason it should not be spoken of. There may be some who would seek to harm her, like your son."

Gwen blinked. She loathed it when people talked about her as though she wasn't in the room.

Ulmo continued, "You may also be interested to know, Feanor, that a ship just sailed in, carrying quite a fascinating load of people."

"People? I've never heard that term used in reference to the white ships."

"It carried with it two halflings, as well as your niece, Galadriel, and Elrond, the son of Earendil."

Feanor raised his eyebrows. "Exceptional, indeed."

"Yes. We've a welcoming party for them, one for which I am already late." Ulmo rose, and Feanor bowed, then the Vala turned and vanished into thin air.

As they were walking out of the temple, Gwen asked, "Would I have been able to say anything, properly?"

"No. But note that he spoke in English, so you could at least hear."

"True. But what did he say about halflings and Earendil, and such?"

"You've probably seen halflings around, but not recognized them. They're short, like children, but are fully grown and usually walk barefoot, with large hairy feet."

Gwen squinted, thinking. "I think I've seen some, at the markets. Oh! and the one in Elwe's household."

He nodded. "Galadriel is Finrod's sister, then only one he has. He will be most glad to see her."

"And the son of Earendil? I seemed to recognize the name."

"Elrond is his name, and he's the brother of Elros, your direct ancestor."

"Oh." Everything clicked into place. A direct relation to her - how strange.

When they returned to the house, the mail lay waiting in a heap on the floor, pushed through the slot. Feanor went to tend to his furnaces as she shuffled through it. By nightly lessons in Elvish, she was slowly beginning to recognize letters. Naturally, they were all addressed to her master, so she left them on the table for him, when he came in for dinner. One envelope in particular stood out from amongst the rest. It was larger, whiter, with particularly calligraphic writing.

Feanor came in and began tearing open envelopes. "This is interesting for you," he said. "Finrod is returning to the Northern Reaches to rule his realm, until he is required to return." Her heart sank a little at that. She supposed it was to be expected, but she had secretly hoped it wouldn't happen. Then he opened the white envelope with a frown. He read it once, then twice, and sighed, dropping it on the table. She froze, holding the kettle. "What's wrong?"

He sighed. "You must stop inferring into everything I do, Gwen."

"I don't mean to, I just get worried about you."

"You needn't."

There was an awkward silence. Then he finally spoke up. "I've been selected to do service for one of the Vala, Manwe, for a month."

"Is it because of your purchase of me, or your son's actions?"

"It's actually by random lottery. The time of service and who we are to serve is by complete chance. Not even slaves are exempt from it."

"So what does that mean?"

He sighed once more. "It means I have to leave for Taniquentil, and do Manwe's bidding for a month. I've a week to settle my affairs."

"Where does that leave me?"

He pursed his lips. "I couldn't leave you here alone. There's too much of a chance for my son to do something to you. It is possible to 'lend' you out, where a master will pay a set price for your work, then you work for them for the duration of my term."

"Who would do such a thing?"

He cocked his head. "At a different time, I would have suggested Finrod. You could go with him, I suppose, but I'm merely serving for a month. It'd be best to give you to someone in the city." He thought intently for a while. "I think that Melian's household would be best."

She closed her eyes, annoyed. "After my fiasco? I'm not sure I'd enjoy it."

"It's not something to be enjoyed. They would be the family that would by far treat you the best. Slaves of other masters are required by law to be treated well, but one's honor is based on one's hospitality. Yes. I'll write them, and see what they think."

Companies of Beasts and Birds:

A muster of peacocks. An exaltation of larks. A wakefulness of nightingales. A charm of goldfinches. An unkindness of ravens. A clattering of choughs. A pride of lions. A business of ferrets. An impatience of wives. A doctrine of doctors. A sentence of judges. A flattery of taverns. A melody of harpers. A tabernacle of bakers. A frenzy of maidens. A skulk of foxes. A peep of chickens. An eloquence of lawyers. A blast of hunters.

~ The Boke of St. Albans

The first snow was beginning to fall, snowflakes drifting out of the sky. The first snow is always a wondrous time, a time of excitement, of something new. The dirt and grime of the city began to fade underneath a white cover as Gwen stood beside her master, waiting for the carriage to arrive. The cats were being taken care of at a friend' s house, he told her. He was dressed simply in black, with few possessions in his bag. She too had her clothes in a bag, anxiously bouncing up and down as the flakes caught in the curls of her hair.

As the carriage neared Thingol's house, the snow seemed to intensify. Then the carriage stopped, and Feanor hopped out, reaching out his hand to help her. She slipped on the damp cobblestones, and he caught her. They made their way through the garden encrusted with white, and into the warm kitchen, where they stomped their feet on the rug to get rid of the snow.

They walked through the kitchen and up the stairs, where a butler greeted them and showed them to a room she had not yet seen. There Thingol sat in front of a broad fireplace, reading a book. When he saw them, he stood up and bowed, placing his hand over his heart. "Feanor! It is a pleasure to see you." His eyes flicked over to Gwen. "And this is your servant - I remember you."

Feanor gave a wry smile. "And the payment?"

"In the bank already."

Feanor looked at Gwen. "What will Gwen be doing while I'm gone?"

"We need her to look after the children, and act as a nurse."

Feanor smiled again. "Ah." Gwen's heart sank. She had no great love of children. She nearly preferred her master's angry bouts than children.

Thingol shifted a little. "Her mark has been transferred as well?"

"Indeed. I filed the paperwork, it's all in order."

Feanor turned to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Here's where I leave. Don't try and run away - Thingol now had just as much a right to punish you as I do."

She smiled wanly. "Don't worry. I hope all goes well for you."

His eyes hardened a little. "Yes, well." He stood up suddenly. "Farewell, Gwen." He bowed towards Thingol. "Master Thingol." Then he left quickly.

She stood there awkwardly. The butler came over to her, then. "I will lead you to your room," he said stiffly. She followed him through more elaborate rooms, then up a grand staircase. There was another great room, then a hall where the living quarters must be. The butler led her into what looked like a playroom of sorts, then to an adjacent bedroom. "Here you are, miss," he said. "The children's rooms are all attached to the nursery, so you will be close to them."

"Oh," she said, looking at the room, "It's perfect. Thank you." The butler nodded and left her there. A room with a bed - it was more than she had under Feanor. She set her suitcase on the bed and looked around. There was a window looking out upon the snow-covered garden and a radiator - Gwen blinked. A radiator was a technology she had not yet seen here, but it reduced the fire hazard. She walked out into the 'nursery,' and noted three other bedrooms adjacent to it, doors closed. Melian swept into the room, grey eyes smiling.

"So you're the loaner from Feanor - I'm pleased to meet you once more," she said, smiling hospitably. A few heads peeked around the open doorframe, and Melian held out her hand to welcome them in. Five dark-haired children traipsed in, and Melian introduced them with pride.

The first - Glin - was a sturdy boy who looked to be about nineteen, although Melian stated his age as 38. He had a dark brooding face, short hair, and a lanky frame not unlike his father's. "A wonderful painter," Melian stated proudly. The next, Seer, was a girl who looked nearly two years the younger, with long hair and a quiet bookish face. She seemed like the kind of person Gwen could get along with, she reasoned. She had musical talent, able to sing and play many instruments.

The next two, boys with wide curious eyes, were twins - an incredibly rare occurrence among Elves. Chen and Bo, they were called, and showed promise as writers, she was told, and were prone to mischief when you weren't looking. They looked about seven or eight, as opposed to the next youngest, who looked to be only about four. She didn't greet her, as the others did, and seemed no more than three or four. Amy, as she was called, clung to her sister's hand, staring.

After Melian sent them off to dinner, she led Gwen to the kitchens, where the servants were to eat. "I hope you don't mind," Melian said. "They're wonderful children, and we could simply use you to keep them occupied throughout the day. Thingol and I have business we must tend to during the day. You most certainly can take them into the city, and Glin is more than capable leading you around. It's just the others don't respect him at all - there's such an age difference, see. Seer would love someone more her age to play around with, a girl who isn't so young..." Melian continued rattling off inter-sibling relationships until they reached the kitchen door, where she left after a kind farewell.

Gwen opened the door to the wondrous smell of turkey. She sighed, contented. Feanor had no desire for such a large bird to be bought, since they would never be able to eat it all before it went bad. She skipped down the steps and into the kitchen she remembered, with its herbs hanging from the ceiling. It was bustling, but not as much as before, with no current feast. However, the entire staff was eating together at long wooden tables. The cook took notice of her, then laughed broadly. "Ee plab neesta!" she said, gesturing over to the tables, shouting for them to make room for her on the benches. She sat down in the proffered spot, between much laughter and talking. Food was passed to her - turkey, mashed potatoes, apples, cheese, rolls - and she partook of it, listening to the conversations around her. The man next to her, a rough-looking man, glad in dirty clothes, turned an inquisitive eye toward her and asked her something in Breech.

She sighed - "I don't understand Breech," she said, realizing she needed to learn that phrase quickly. The man laughed, took a large bite of his roll, and bellowed - "You speak English, then?" She nodded, and he spoke quickly to those around her - a woman holding a young child, a boy, and one of the butlers. They nodded, seemingly interested. "Where are you from, then, if you don't know Breech?"

The mother spoke up. "You're from that new batch, aren't you, dear? From offworld?"

The gardener beside her frowned. "What? They brought slaves in from offworld?" Gwen nodded. "Non-Numenoreans? Won't that ruin..."

The butler interrupted him. "Nonsense! Of course you're Numenorean, aren't you?"

She nodded once more. "What is it that Master Elwe does for a living, though?"

The boy started. "You don't know? You are from offworld, aren't you. He imports things from offworld."

Gwen frowned. "From my world, Earth? That doesn't make sense."

The butler leaned in. "To clarify - other worlds, not yours."

Gwen blinked. This had not occurred to her. Of course - with spaceships, one would be able to explore other worlds. "That must be a lucrative business."

"Yup." The boy dug into his potatoes.

An old man leaned over. "Who's your master, child?"

"Feanor."

They all exchanged knowing glances. The gardener poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher. "You should be wary of him, girl - what's your name?"

"Gwen." They nodded. A young man looked at her intently, holding his corn on the cob. "What's it like, offworld?"

It seemed as though the entire table had eyes on her now, maids, cooks, cleaners. "Well - it is - was - nice. Really nice."

"Is it true that you've got automatic carriages there?" someone asked.

"Yes. But we don't have halflings, or dwarves, or floating lights."

Looks were exchanged. "But you were free," the gardener, Ned, said quietly.

She looked down at her food. "Yes. There was that." Then she reconsidered this. "That depends on your definition of free, I guess."

The butler set down his spoon in his soup bowl. "How so?"

"Well, it was an awfully dull existence. After I was done going to school at the age of eighteen, I'd leave my parents' house and go off to school for another four to eight years. Then, I'd get a job, most likely in an office, and do that for most of my life. Then, maybe, I'd retire from working and sit around the house until I die."

Now everyone was definitely looking at her. "That is most certainly better than what we do here," the butler sniffed. "We may work the same job our entire life, some illiterate, some doing manual labor, and get beaten for our troubles."

She winced. "That's true." She pursed her lips and went back to eating, as did others, conversations starting again.

When the meal was done, she helped clean up, unsure of what to do. Then she discreetly made her way upstairs to the bedrooms. There in the nursery the children were already present. Glin looked up from his blank canvas, Seer from her book, Chen and Bo from their puzzles, although Amy kept putting the pieces together. Gwen stood there, still uncertain, and broke the silence. "Well, I know we already met, but I don't think you learned my name. I'm Gwen."

The twins got up, as though to peer at her more closely. "Pleased to meet you," said one of them solemnly, while the other giggled behind his hand. She stooped down to his level, a smile playing across her face. "Why are you laughing?" she asked.

"Because you're so funny," he said, giggling louder. It made sense to a child, Gwen reasoned. The twins drew her over to the puzzle, which was decently complex. She helped the three of them put it together, until it was late enough that Amy fell asleep with her head on Gwen's lap. Seer got up, quietly closing her book and setting it on the couch. "Off to bed, you two," she said to the twins, herding them off to one of the bedrooms. Gwen picked up Amy, who was heavier than she looked, and followed Seer into the bedroom.

It was a plastered and wallpapered room, like Gwen's, which was a far cry from the wood Gwen was used to. She gently set Amy down in the crib, covering her gently with a blanket. The twins, each in their own bed stared at her as Seer reached for gas lanterns, turning them down nearly all the way. Then, after a chorus of goodnights, they closed the door.

Seer in turn picked up her book and retired to her room, and, taking the hint, Gwen did the same. She was fortunate to a have a substantially-sized window, which looked over the garden and the cityscape. As she turned down the gas lamps, luxuriating in the feel of a mattress and warming her cold toes under the blankets, the light through the window grew quietly brighter as her eyes adjusted to the dark. The white flakes drifted lazily by, illuminated by the street lamps. She stretched, smiling - ever since she was a child, staring up into the sky as snowflakes floated down, she felt as though she was rising through the air, rather than staying still. Her nose had just begun to go numb before the radiator clicked on, and she drifted off to sleep.

*

She woke up to see that the city was completely covered in snow - no trace of its dirtiness remained. She got dressed, then went out into the playroom, which was devoid of anyone, so she went downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast.

Some of the servants were already eating. Gwen helped herself to oatmeal from a steaming pot, seasoning it with some brown sugar. As she was eating, a hound nuzzled her leg, looking for treats. She looked under the table. "I don't think so," she told him, then resumed eating. The gardener sat down with his bowl across from her, with a nod.

"You comin' to the dance tonight?" he asked.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, unsure if she'd heard him correctly.

"The dance."

"I'm afraid I don't know about it."

The gardener smiled, showing crooked teeth. "There's always dances around the city these weeknights. It's one of the few pleasures we're allowed together. Will you come?"

"If I can. Are others going?"

He rolled his eyes. "Only the entire household. Nine o'clock, down here in the kitchens. We'll all go together."

She nodded. Taking her bowl over to the sinks, she left to go upstairs before the children woke up. Seer was the first to come out, already looking pristine. Gwen figured that such a strong demeanor was simply a family trait. The girl smiled a little, then came over and sat down beside her, blushing. "I'm so glad you're here, really," she said shyly. "I'm glad Mother brought you over. It gets awfully lonely here."

"I'm happy to be here," Gwen said earnestly. "I've been treated so well here."

Seer looked down at her hands. "My parents try to treat Onlies the best they can. It's hard sometimes, because others don't view you the same way." She looked up, interested. "I heard you were born offworld. Is it true?"

Gwen nodded, to Seer's delight. "I've never been offworld," Seer said. "My father has, many times, but he's never wanted me along."

Gwen frowned. "Why is that?"

"He's very protective of us. He doesn't want me to get hurt. I'm also young. It would be difficult to get a permit."

"Permit for what?"

Seer looked at her and laughed. "To go offworld, of course. In order to leave and be able to board a ship, you have to have a permit issued by the Valar. Even the soldiers have to have them."

"I didn't know that you had explored other worlds."

Seer cocked her head, thinking. "Since we're unable to expand on our own world, the pioneers among us had to have somewhere to go. The Valar desired resources from other worlds, so we've set up trade routes. Of course, the army decided to conquer some worlds."

"You seem to know a lot about it."

Seer shrugged. "My father talks about it a lot." She looked around the room. "I'm surprised the twins aren't up yet."

"How do you normally wake them up?" Gwen asked. Seer rolled her eyes. "Sometimes we sing to them."

Gwen brightened. "I know the perfect song!" She got up, Seer following, and burst into the nursery.

"Way up in the sky, the little birds fly. Way down in the nest, the little birds rest.

With a wing on the left, and a wing on the right, the little birds sleeping all through the night.

Shhhh! They're sleeping!

The bright sun comes up! The dew falls about!

'Good morning, good morning!' the little birds shout!" 

Seer went and picked Amy up from her crib as the twins fought over what they were to wear that day. Together they traipsed down to the main dining room, with large windows that let in the ambient light, and a finely set table. Melian and Elwe were already there eating, silver clinking quietly against porcelain and glass. Gwen stopped short of going inside, once more unsure of what to do. The butler from the night before brushed past her, carrying a platter of something, then returned, frowning at her.

"What should I do?" she asked. "I feel so awkward."

"You wait here for the children," he said. "Life at many times consists of waiting." And so she did. She positioned herself to at least be able to see what was going on inside the dining room. The platter that the butler had brought in had held the mail; Elwe was opening it, frowning. He opened one letter, read it, and closed his eyes, as if in sadness. Without a word, he handed it over to his worried wife, who read it and pursed her lips.

"Since when have the Valar begun drafting?" she cried, frustrated. Chen looked up. "What's drafting?" he asked, suddenly serious. They explained the process to them, and Seer said quietly, "Glin's been drafted, hasn't he."

"Yes," her father said, equally as quiet. The rest of the meal was eaten in a somber mood.

*

Feanor sighed quietly. He was standing with about thirty other lottery servicers, in the Temple of Manwe on the top of Mount Taniquentil. Manwe was explaining their duties, and it was not like the duties he had performed before in the service of the Valar.

Since there was a greater volume of Elves at this point in time in the Blessed District, it was necessary for more people to keep tabs on them and to prevent them from sticking their noses where they shouldn't. The general aura of contentment that the Vala cast over the Blessed District was one that would prohibit Blooded Elves from noticing the Unblooded ones. For the sake of language and culture, Elves were needed for this task, not slaves.

It was the very nature of the lottery that placed Feanor in this situation - no Valar would have picked him for this job. He was incredibly lucky, he reflected. He had never seen the inside of the Blessed District. He was, however, aware of the protocols that were in place for arrivals. They were assigned a specific house to stay in during their time there. Feanor was assigned to keep track of the residents of one of the houses.

As he walked out into the brilliant sunlight (for the sun always shines on the Blessed District, no matter the weather. It had been postulated among the more scientifically-minded elves that this diversion of resources resulted in the desertification of the South and the generally turbulent weather patterns throughout Valinor.), he was amazed by the cleanliness of the District. The buildings were made of white stone, as were the streets, which were evenly paved and framed with flowers. He ran his fingers over the vibrant and soft petals - colors he rarely ever saw, even in the gardens of the affluent. He walked to the house indicated on his map and stopped before it, still marveling at the cleanliness of the streets.

Then he went in - the foyer decorated with bouquets atop polished wooden tables, and went into the great room, which was decorated with equal panache. Velvet sofas stood beneath toweringly great windows, and the pillars that held up the ceiling were decorated ornately. All was gold and airy glass. He went up the grand staircase and found his bedroom - a neatly made bed with white covers, a wardrobe, and a tall window. He looked at his list - the inhabitants were Gildor, one of those who had served Finrod when he was a lord of Elves in Middle-Earth, and Elrond, brother to Elros. An interesting group to keep track of, he thought. A small number. But then, he supposed, they were more likely to cause trouble than others.

Fortunately, he reflected, neither of them personally knew him either. If he had been assigned to one of the Noldor, there would have been problems. He winced a little. Hopefully he wouldn't run into Galadriel.

 He walked downstairs, hearing the sound of voices. Indeed, there they were, his charges, looking surprisedly at him. It was going to be a long month.

*

Glin stood in the bitter cold, breath rising in clouds as he clutched a small bag of goods. The entire staff and Elwe family stood there to bid him farewell. Elwe spoke to him sternly as Melian enveloped him in a great hug. Then Glin moved on to Seer, who hugged him tightly, weeping. Chen and Bo seemed rather clueless as to what was going on, as was Amy, but they gratefully accepted hugs from Glin.

In order to get out of the tense house, Gwen and Seer decided to take the children to the streets, even with a more limited knowledge now that Glin was gone. Seer was fortunate enough to have a strong handle on the four languages she needed to get by, and knew the more interesting places for children to visit.

After some argument, they decided on the Library and Hall of Records, which was, unfortunately, located on the complete other side of town, where Gwen had never been. They took a train, which ran parallel to the Great Wall and then ran around the mountain, over the Escher District. The twins marveled at the large spaceships, and Chen crowed, "Glin's going to ride in one of them!"

Gwen marveled once more at the great field of ships, now covered in a melting layer of snow - the outlines of those being built, and the smoke from the steel works behind it. Then they were beyond it, and she saw a part of the city she had never seen before - row upon row of identical brick apartment buildings - the ghettos for slave workers who worked in the factories. Gwen closed her eyes for a moment, and then they arrived at their stop. Stepping out of the station with the children, she glanced around, interested in the architecture around her. There was a great proliferation of universities in this area, and they wound their way past students changing classes to the faint ringing of a bell.

Then they arrived at the library - a winding maze of tall books. Seer let the young ones loose - they were apparently in no danger, and elves have a strong affinity for young children, so they would be looked after. The only problem would be finding them again, but, as Seer assured a worried Gwen, they wouldn't be hard to find. Seer was used to their favorite locations.

There appeared to be no rhyme or reason as to the organization of books - and as Gwen was still illiterate in terms of languages, she couldn't make heads or tails of it. The stacks were not straight, in fact they seemed to curve, forming spirals, mazes, labyrinths of books. Gwen followed Seer carefully, not wanting to get lost. "What do you want to know?" Seer asked Gwen, who considered this carefully.

"Family trees?" she ventured. "Bestiaries? Maps? Legends, perhaps, but I doubt they would be as readable."

Seer grinned. "Genealogy - that's important to know. There are intricate familial ties here..."

"Yeah - I mean, Feanor has sons, but he's the half-uncle of Finrod, and it gets awfully confusing."

They had to go downstairs for this, into a great network of unique rooms, each housing a different subject. It was fortunate for her, Gwen mused, that she had a guide who knew the surroundings. It seemed that rooms of one subject would connect to a room of a related subject, such that beneath the library was an elaborate labyrinth of books. They had to traipse up and down stairs, into rooms of startling variety in their decor. What most had in common was places to read - whether it was long wooden tables or cushions on the floor. All of the rooms were lit by Feanor's friendly lights, and many of those that they went through were already occupied.

A highly inefficient way of accessing books, Gwen thought, but one indicative of its culture. By far the majority of those who would be reading would be Elves, who, by default, are willing to take time in all aspects of life. If not, then the slaves who are looking would most likely be illiterate, and better able to find a book by its visual category than any other system." Why are there books upstairs, if this is the way books are categorized down here?" she asked.

"The books upstairs are the ones that are read or requested the most," Seer answered as they entered the genealogy room, which was decently crowded. There were books that were being worked on by scholars, actively scratching down new names and relations as children were born. A great tree grew in the center of the room, spreading out its branches over two stories of volumes. "Some say that the library is alive," Seer whispered to Gwen. "That it grows to accommodate new volumes and these trees. Some say there are even forests in the deep levels, with wild animals roaming freely. My mother wonders why I love it here  - but I love to explore these rooms. Even in all my time here, I've never met a dead end. I've even heard that the library has trapped people, moving walls to keep them inside, but I suspect it's a myth. Nevertheless, people have come in and never come out for a thousand years."

Gwen nodded solemnly. From what she had seen so far, she could believe it. "And you let the children loose in here?"

"They know better than to come down here," Seer said, laughing.

Most of the volumes were of the same color, by the first generation Elves whose families they represented. This was a more detailed genealogy than they needed, Seer explained. She instead went over to the honeycomb shelves that housed scrolls, looking at their tags and pulling one out. She rolled it out on one of the tables, showing the elegant Westron script that was quite similar to that of English, and easily enough read for names.

Intricate indeed, she thought as she browsed through names, most of which she did not know.

As the hours waned by and they traveled from room to room, looking in depth at maps of Valinor and Numenor, with Seer explaining the stories behind such places. They decided then to leave.

However, after walking a ways, Seer began to frown. "What's wrong?" Gwen asked.

"I'm unsure of where I am," she said. "And that's unusual." Gwen herself did not recall the room they were in, made of white marble with statues scattered amongst benches. Seer pursed her lips, looking worried. As usual, there were doors on all four sides of the room, and she was glancing at each of them, deep in thought. Then she strode confidently to another room, stopped, went back to the previous room, and tried another.

"You aren't making me feel better," Gwen said. Seer sighed. "We'll just have to try. It's the best we can do."

And so they went on. At one point they came to an orchard of fruit trees, and they gathered up their skirts, filling them with ripe fruit, just in case they were going to be down there for a while. Food might be scarce. Gwen was truly worried now, as they passed from room to room. There were no people to be seen now, and the lights had begun to dim with the onset of night. They found a room that was mostly dark, with stars that shone dimly from the ceiling. After eating, they fell asleep, exhausted.

*

Feanor jolted awake, his sheets wrapped tightly around him. All was dark and quiet, but something felt wrong. He lit a taper and walked into the hallway, noting that Elrond's door was open, moonlight streaming through. He rushed down the stairs, worried where the Elf had gone.

The past evening there had been a large party, grander than any he had seen in the upper districts. He had expected to sleep well, having tired himself from dancing, but his sleep had not been the same as nights past. Typically, Elves would relive memories as they slept, but Feanor's nightmarish memories were not present that night - instead, there was a confusing mash of stories, as vivid as through they were real.

He stumbled out into the cold night, eyes searching the well-lit streets. A guard, ceremonially carrying a spear, was walking past, guarding the wall. The lights of the city beyond were not visible past it, which worried Feanor, but he began jogging to look for his charge. He looked down every street, which had been laid straight for just such a purpose.

He found Elrond at the base of the Tower of Elwing, which soared upwards from the center of a plaza. Made of white stone, there were no windows except at the very top. Elrond was standing there, robes blowing in the faint breeze, staring at it, brooding.

Feanor sat on the bench beside him, buttoning his coat against the chill of the night. "What are you doing?" he asked, frowning.

Elrond didn't answer. He and the others were in complete thrall of the Valar, which always made Elves a bit less intelligent than usual. Feanor had never seen anything like it - he had heard tales of it, but he had never seen it up close. It was a disassociation, a disconnection from reality, eyes distantly focused. Even so, Feanor found it difficult to communicate with these Elves. Traditional Quenya and Sindarin were rarely spoken in common use, but were used for most high functions, and when they were used, there were slang words that had been picked up from Breech that were inserted every so often. The two languages had diverged slightly from Elvish as it was spoken in Middle-Earth, and this caused usage problems. Nevertheless, it was still possible to hold an easy conversation.

However, Elrond's eyes seemed clear, and even though he was distant, he was alert. Feanor understood why he was here. Elrond's mother, Elwing, was somewhere in that tower.

Finally he spoke, with clarity that Feanor did not expect to hear. "We were on the ocean when we saw his star fall."

Feanor sat forward. "You mean - the star of Earendil? That was nearly a month ago. I was unaware it took that long to cross the sea."

"Indeed." Elrond looked at him, then frowned. "Who are you? Pray tell, what is your name?"

"Feanor," he stated, expecting the normal reaction, the shrinking back, the hostile look, which he received. Elrond searched his face, puzzled. "That's impossible," he said.

Feanor raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon? All Elves can come back from the dead. It's not impossible."

"If you're back, then..."

"Then what?" Feanor demanded.

"....then the end of the world is here."

*

Gwen woke up suddenly, disoriented by her surroundings. She looked around, wondering what woke her up, and then realized that she could hear faint singing. She shook Seer, who sat up, hearing it as well. They quickly gathered up the remainder of the fruit, rushing in the direction of the singing, throwing open the door. They ran through rooms towards the sound of potential escape, until Seer grabbed her arm, stopping her short. "Did you hear that?" Seer hissed.

They were in a room lit by a single electric bulb - the first she had seen yet in Valinor - and the room's books were in large floor-to-ceiling shelves. Gwen strained to hear anything aside from the singing, and then she heard it - an animal snarl, the faint sound of movement. Her heart skipped a beat. "We'll be safer if we stick together," Seer murmured, then led her down one of the rows. Gwen cast around looking for the exit they needed to take - a fair distance away, especially since Seer was pulling her away from it, and away from that nasty sound.

Glass cases were scattered around the room, holding various types of swords. Seer pursed her lips. "We could use a sword now," she whispered. Gwen thought for a moment, then heaved a large book off the shelf, smashing the glass of the nearest case. There was a howl behind them - the beast was getting closer. Seer grabbed a sword, pulling it from its sheath, and Gwen did the same. "We really should split up," she said breathlessly. "It's coming for us. We could confuse it - " Seer nodded, and they ran in different directions, looking down the rows of bookshelves.

Gwen stopped next to one of the bookcases, out of breath. She hadn't seen the monster yet, and she hadn't heard any more noises that gave a clue to its whereabouts. Then she heard the snarl right behind her, and her stomach twisted as she turned to face it. It sprang at her, and she barely had enough time to see the flash of another sword before she deflected it, pushing it to the side.

"Seer! Help!" she cried, but the monster was on her once more, striking at her, and she awkwardly parried its blows. Then she got through, feeling the sword slice through flesh. The monster screamed, and Gwen nearly did the same. Seer arrived just in time to see the creature drop to the floor. She walked over to it, nudging it with her foot to see if it was, indeed, dead. After confirming this, she walked over to Gwen, who had dropped to her knees. "It's alright. It's dead."

Gwen was pale. "I- I've never done anything like that before. Killing." She shakily looked at the body. "What is it?"

Seer's grey eyes looked over the body. "I can't be sure. I've never seen anything like it, but I've heard enough about them. I do believe it's an orc."

"I remember Ulmo saying something about them breeding in the sewers."

"In that case, we should be very careful from here on out. It is most likely that's how he got in here. That's very disturbing - I was under the impression that orcs were left in Middle-Earth." Seer helped Gwen to her feet, then took her sword. "You need to clean this. My father showed me how - I've never had the occasion to so before." She cleaned it, then retrieved the sheathes. "We may as well keep them. We've used them in battle now, so we have the potential to claim them. I don't know whose they are, but they obviously have no need of them, if they're stored here."

They opened the room's door, which led to a black expanse. From the doorway a hanging bridge crossed to platforms that held shelves of books, hanging by ropes from the ceiling, obscured by the darkness. The singing was coming from this room - echoing around them - a young man's voice, hearty and strong. The bridge swayed unsteadily as Gwen started to cross it, but they made it to the platform. "Shall we split up?" Seer asked, and Gwen nodded. They crossed separate bridges to different platforms around the room. Gwen looked around hers frantically - she knew she was close to the origin, she knew it - and saw the source of the song.

It was not a person, as she had expected from the voice. Rather it was a leopard of sorts, but different than one she had seen before, with long hair, white coat with black spots, and a longer tail. It was sitting contentedly, as cats do, singing to itself. When it saw her, however, it stopped, raising its eyebrows. "Why, hello there," it said.

Gwen jumped back, startled. She heard Seer yell, "Did you find him?" and come running up beside her. "It talks," Gwen said to her softly. Seer rolled her eyes. "Of course he does! I keep forgetting you're not from around here."

"She's not?" the beast asked, cocking his head and looking at her curiously.

"No, she's not," Seer said firmly, "but do you know the way out of here?"

The leopard nodded. "Oh, good," Gwen said, relieved.

"What's your name?" Seer asked the great cat, whose tail was swishing in irritation. "Amrod," he said, and stood. "Follow me."

As they walked on the swaying bridges, Gwen spoke up. "So - what are you, Amrod? I'd think you were a leopard, but I must be wrong."

"Indeed. I'm a snow leopard - but normally I'm an Elf. I've been punished by the Valar, and forced to take this form."

He was tall, up to her waist, and led them to a doorway, which opened up to a forest. Gwen was amazed at how large this library was. The forest was not unlike those she had seen in Maine - and they padded through over moss and dirt. A white stag suddenly bolted across their path, and they heard the reverberation of a horn. A group of hounds tore across their way, tongues lolling, and they heard the sound of hoofbeats, a bright host of Elves in bold pursuit. Then they were gone, deep into the forest.

"They've been here longer than I have," said Amrod.

"They were Blooded," Seer said ponderously. "I wonder why that is."

"They have been far from the influence of the Valar. Perhaps lack of contact with them has led to their continuance in that form."

A few rooms later, they came to a dead end. "This is remarkable," Amrod said. "I'm familiar with this section of the library, and this has never been here before."

The only way out was a door, which Gwen opened and found a winding staircase that led upwards, which they took. Onward and upward it spun, and Gwen's legs began to ache. "Where could this possibly go?" she asked. Amrod paused, thinking. "I have no idea. It might be a direct way out."

And so they climbed. Before long, there were small slits in the walls, which let in faint moonlight. Seer peered through one of them and gasped. "We're above ground!" she said.

"Where?" Gwen tried to peer over her shoulder.

"I have no idea. I've never seen this part of the city."

The staircase began to wind wider and wider, and before long, a door appeared on one of the side walls. Gwen pushed it gently open, revealing a kitchen of sorts, bare and dusty. Slits let in the faint moonlight, and Gwen shivered suddenly. What was this place? It looked as though no one had been there for a while. She glanced at Seer, who was frowning. "What?"

"There's only one place in the city that I think we could be."

Amrod sniffed around a bit. "And where would that be?"

"The tower in the Blessed District."

Amrod looked up quickly. "No - the Tower of Elwing?"

"It must be."

Gwen frowned. "In the Blessed District?"

They both nodded. Seer closed her eyes. "I've never seen the Blessed District, and to be in it...wow."

They left the room as it was, climbing higher, passing doors. Eventually they reached the end of the staircase - a trapdoor in the ceiling. Seer opened it as Amrod leapt up, onto the floor. They followed, scattering birds left and right.

They were at the top of the tower, a roof covering them, panoramic openings showing a dizzying view of the city below them. The floor was covered in feathers, stuck to the thick layer of dried guano. There were tables with various items on them, a fireplace in the center of the room, and a woman, staring out across the city.

 The wind swept through, ruffling the feathers. She turned towards them - black hair, pale skin. What was most shocking, however, were her eyes - completely white. She was blind. She wore a white dress, with a faded blue velvet mantle studded with pearls like stars. They stood there, somewhat in shock, as the sky began to lighten from dawn.

"I heard you come up," she said softly, "No one has been up here for thousands of years."

Gwen started, astonished. "How is it you know English?"

She smiled wanly. "The birds know many things, and I have much time to learn from them." She walked over to the fire, pulling out a kettle and pouring tea for them. "Forgive me," she said, "I have no chairs. I don't normally expect visitors." Gwen took the cup, grateful for the warmth seeping into her fingers. Seer took a sip, and said, "Forgive me, but why are you..."

"Blind?" Elwing said with a gracious smile. "I've spent thousands of nights searching the sky for my husband, and once a month he comes close enough to earth that I am able to fly up and meet him. Nevertheless, the brilliance of his craft is great enough to blind. I am still able to see him - the bright Silmaril cuts through all darkness." Her hands tightened, clutching her dress. "I saw him fall. Have you heard any word? Perhaps our exile is over at last."

Seer shook her head. "No, I'm afraid not."

Gwen was puzzled. "Forgive me - perhaps this is a stupid question. How exactly do you fly to meet your husband?"

Elwing smiled again, and in answer drew her mantle off her shoulders, revealing white wings attached to her shoulders. Seer laughed at Gwen's wide eyes.

"Why can't you just fly free from here?" Gwen blurted out, still startled by what she saw.

"If I deviate from my course, my wings, which are given to me by the Valar, would disappear and I would plunge to my death."

"Wouldn't that be better than this? I mean, you could....live again."

Seer rolled her eyes. "Do the words 'eternal torture' mean anything to you?"

Gwen frowned. "There must be an awful lot of people down there."

Elwing nodded. "It's a profession, torturing. The Halls of Mandos ring with cries of pain." She cocked her head, thinking." How did you get here?"

Amrod spoke up. "A door at the bottom of the stair, via the library."

Elwing shook her head. "That's impossible. That door was sealed by the Valar."

Seer and Gwen looked at one another. "It's worth a shot," Amrod said. Downward they plunged, running their fingers along the walls, nearly tripping over their skirts. When they reached the door, Seer took hold of the handle, pulling with all her strength. It didn't budge.

Elwing also tried, but it didn't move. They sighed collectively. Seer leaned against the wall, exhausted. "We're stuck in here as well," Amrod said quietly. "It's my fault - I lead you in here."

"No," said Gwen, "I opened the door."

The three of them looked at her. "You haven't tried," Seer pointed out.

Gwen walked past them and pulled at the door, which opened easily. She walked out into the library, and they followed her out. She turned, but Elwing was unable to see the change of scenery.

Sunlight crept across the City of Broken Dreams. It filtered through the windows of Elwe's house and fell softly across Elwing's shoulders as she sat in a chair.

The first lash of the whip lanced between Gwen's shoulders, sending fire up her spine.

Seer leaned against the window, stomach curdling at what Gwen must be going through. She had tried to convince her father that it was not Gwen's fault that they got lost, but Gwen was to look after the children, and fallen short of her duties. Blame must be assigned somewhere, and her father had reluctantly ordered Gwen to be lashed twenty times for her disobedience.

Gwen lay prostrate on her bed, since any move she made was painful. Snow drifted past her window, and her door creaked open. She turned her head, but didn't see anyone. Then Amrod's furry face filled her view. "I'm sorry," he said.

"You always seem so sorry. Stop it, it's not your fault."

Elwing walked in behind him; Gwen smiled to see her. She sat down at the end of her bed. "No matter the cost, it is wondrous to be somewhere else, talking with people. I am grateful for your help in rescuing me."

Gwen murmured, "It was nothing."

Elwing rose, coming up beside her, then kneeling to her height. "I can help you," she said, and placed her hand on Gwen's back. Gwen flinched at the touch, which was cooling, then icy. The cold spread over her back, then receded, and she tested her back, amazed it didn't hurt.

"I had heard of Elves with the power to heal," Amrod said softly, "but I have never before seen it. You are truly lucky, Gwen."

She got up, putting on a robe, and hugged Elwing gleefully. It was at this point that Seer walked in and frowned. "What are you doing up?

"Elwing healed me!" Gwen blurted, and Seer's eyebrows rose in surprise. "That's incredible!"

They traipsed down for dinner, Amrod and Gwen heading down to the kitchens. "Why are you coming down with me?" she asked.

Amrod looked at her quietly with his icy blue eyes. "I'm not exactly welcome at the dinner table. I require meat, and thus it wouldn't be polite to eat so in front of children."

She sat down, helping herself to a hearty beef stew. The gardener, Ned, sat down heavily across from her. "How could you possibly be here after the beating you got?"

She bit into a buttery roll, smiling. "Elwing healed me."

Glances were given across the table. "You've caused quite the uproar around the house, leaving the children like that," one of the servants said.

"Seer told me they'd be alright."

"Is it true?" One of the girls leaned in. "You nearly got lost forever in the library?" Gwen nodded seriously.

One of the cook's assistants put a pot on the table, wiping her hands on her apron. "That's why people should never go in that place. It's wretched, horrible, how people get lost down there."

"Oh, I don't know," Gwen said, playing with her spoon, "there were some amazing places down there."

*

At that night's revel, Feanor stood uncomfortably on the sidelines, watching the lively dancing. In a singularly strange occurrence, the last batch of Elves brought with them two halflings, for some reason. They were sitting off to the side as well, conversing with one another. The Valar sat in their usual spot, heading the feasting tables. He noticed a messenger run in, quietly whispering something to Manwe, the head Valar, who frowned and murmured to others, who seemed visibly agitated.

One of the other Elves on assignment under Manwe drifted over to Feanor. Feanor turned to him - "What's going on?"

The Elf said, seeming disturbed, "It seems as though Elwing has escaped from her tower."

He frowned. "How is that even possible? The Valar sealed her in."

"That's precisely the problem. There's no conceivable reason why that should have occurred."

Perhaps the world was ending, after all. But if there was a way to thwart the Valar, he desperately needed to find out more. A week had gone by, and he had three more weeks of service. One of the Valar stood and left, most likely to examine the situation.

Later that night, he stole out into the cold fog, taking a lantern with him. He came to a stop a couple blocks before the Tower of Elwing. The Valar were gathered around it, conversing in low voices. Around them workers were scurrying, checking the base. A sewer dwarf hoisted himself out of a grate in the street, walking over to the Valar.

Dwarves, due to their highly underground nature, were usually given over to the industrial building projects of the city. After burrowing out many of the train tunnels and water and sewage pipes, they now maintained them. It was rumored that there were underground Dwarven cities that reached under the ground like latticework but, of course, it was just a rumor.

The dwarf confirmed that the door had been left open, and Feanor heard the Valar discussing what they should do - namely that they had to find Elwing.

*

The troops came for Elwing at dawn. Elwe stood opposite the masked face of Caranthir, with Melian clutching Elwing behind him. "She is my kin, my flesh and blood," Seer translated his words for Gwen, "I do not by law have to hand her over to you."

Caranthir spoke in turn. "However, this is matter of the Valar. It supersedes all law."

"Are not all things governed by law? How would the Valar be responsible if they were not bound by law?"

"Such disputes are best settled by a dual. I see you have little choice in the matter, old man. Your family is implicated in her escape - a punishable offense against the Valar."

Elwe's eyes flamed. Melian spoke to him softly, "He's trying to incite you, Elwe. We can take this to court."

"No." Elwe's eyes were hard. "Let's finish this."

He signaled for the butler to bring him his sword, which he did. The troops gathered around to watch as both of them drew their swords, both things of great beauty, but crafted to kill. Both of them held their swords comfortably, seemingly used to combat. Seer sucked in her breath. "I have never seen my father fight," she said.

"Is the duel to first blood?" Gwen asked.

Seer looked at her strangely. "Of course not. It's to the death."

Gwen's stomach turned abruptly. Then Caranthir leapt into the air, bright sword blocked by Elwe. Thus they fought, in a way that would have been beautiful if it had not been so deadly. Several times one of them would take a hard fall, or a slash to their arm. Then Elwe stumbled, and Caranthir grabbed him, running him through brutally. There was a collective gasp from the family, and Gwen screwed her eyes shut, wishing she hadn't watched, glad that the younger children weren't there. When she opened her eyes, Elwing was being led away, a hollow look in her eyes. Melian was kneeling by her husband, snow accumulating on her cloak, murmuring something. Gwen glanced at Seer, who was blinking back tears.

"What happens now?" Gwen asked her.

She took a shaky breath. "We burn the body and wait for him to return. This happens all the time, apparently." Melian took off her cloak, draping it over her husband's body. Two of the butlers came forward, picking up the limp body and taking it inside, with Seer and Gwen following. Gwen grabbed the twins as they came rushing forward, not wanting them to see their father in such a state. Melian turned to one of the servants, saying, "Call a carriage."

As the carriage pulled up, Seer and Melian putting the body inside and climbing in with it. Melian beckoned for Gwen to come with them, and Gwen climbed up onto the outside seat, beside the driver. Snow whipped in her face as they drove towards the edge of the city, the Desolate district. There was great column of smoke coming up from their destination - a large section of funeral pyres, with Elves bringing their dead. The driver slapped the reins, stopping the carriage, and Gwen got off. Melian stepped out; Gwen helping a servant with the body. Two tall figures in black approached them, servants of the Vala Nienna in dark cloaks with no faces. They picked up the body, taking it over to the nearest pyre and heaving it into the flames.

The snowy wind lifted the putrid smoke, carrying away the reek of burning bodies. Seer clutched her coat around herself, and Melian's expression was vacant, as though she was remembering past events.

*

The fire crackled in the fireplace as Gwen colored with Amy on the floor. Seer was folding a piece of paper, and when she finished, she handed it to Amy, who took it with glee. It was a paper bird, and Gwen bit her lip. What was going to happen to Elwing?

Melian swept into the room, and all the children looked up. "Seer - you and Gwen get the children to bed. We must go to your father's office."

Gwen pulled back Bo's covers as he got in. "What's going on, Seer?" She looked worried. "I have no idea - my father's office is open all hours of the night, and he often is gone all night. But even though he died, I don't know why I'm needed."

She laid Amy in her crib. "But has he ever died while you've been alive?"

Seer shook her head and shut the door behind them. Gwen grabbed her cloak, which was still wet from their previous trip. She shivered as she slid it on, running to catch up with Seer as she went down the staircase. Melian was already waiting for them, opening the door and going out to the waiting cab. Gwen got in with them, snow forming a frosting on her shoulders.

"What's this all about, Mother?" Seer asked as the carriage jolted, beginning its journey.

Melian pursed her lips. "Your father, fool that he is, was going to leave tonight to negotiate an important trade agreement. Someone from the family needs to do it."

"And I'm doing it? Offworld?"

Melian nodded. "Glin has gone to the army, and I must stay and manage the estate. Besides, you're the only member of the family who has a functioning permit. Your father got it so you could go with him soon."

Gwen frowned. "Am I coming along?"

"The permit does not allow a servant to go along with her, no."

"But I can't-" Seer was really worried. "But I don't know how to negotiate treaties."

Melian gave a wan smile. "I'm sure you can figure it out, for the sake of our family. You'll be briefed on the details by some staff."

There was at least six inches of snow outside when they stepped out in front of a tall skyscraper. The elevator dinged when they reached the twenty-fourth floor, doors opening to a bustle of activity. People were talking, typewriters clicking, papers changing hands. The elevator opened, with two of the house servants bringing in Seer's luggage. Melian was speaking with one of the staff, then came over and handed Seer a packet of papers. "Here are  your papers. The ship is leaving within the hour."

"Within the hour?" Seer gasped.

"Yes," Melian said firmly. "You need to get going now."

*

Gwen gaped at the size of the ship through the window of their carriage as they pulled up beside it. There were a great many passengers in line, handing their papers over to sullen soldiers as they hauled their luggage up the ramp. They stepped out, Seer sighing heavily. She struggled to carry all her luggage as Melian kissed her on the forehead. Gwen watched Seer trudge forward, the soldiers leafing through her papers, disappearing into the inside of the ship.

The ship was entirely different from the streaked grey one Gwen had been taken on. This was painted blue, with white symbols that clearly meant something. It was a bit larger that the ship she had been on, and its immensity was lost in the distance as the carriage took her away.

 The children ran out the front door when they saw their mother coming up the snow-dusted drive. She gathered them in her arms, in a way that made Gwen's heart ache, then herded them inside.

*

A week passed by, a rather dull one, since Chen, Bo, and Seer missed their siblings quite badly. Gwen was fortunate enough to be offered once more to go to a slave's revel, and, after carefully washing her dress, met with the others outside the house. It was raining, soaking into the snow and freezing into slick ice. Gwen had to watch her step to make sure she didn't slip. She hugged her cloak around her to ward off the chill.

The lot of them packed onto the train, which was filled with others going to the dance. Gwen found herself squeezed between the cook and the professor she had met at the party a week ago. She smiled while trying her best not to touch either of them.

The doors opened when they reached their stop, and they poured out into the snow, feet crunching over the new layer as Gwen followed them towards a great storehouse that had been converted into a dance hall. They entered through the great wide doorway, stomping their feet to get rid of the snow. It was brilliantly lit by lantern light, already full of people, as the band played loudly over the clamor.

Many of the servants were already dancing a line dance, the type Gwen loved the most. While the Elves at their ball had danced merely as couples, alone in one another's arms, the slaves were laughing and talking even as they danced. Another woman came to her - "Come," she said, smiling. "I'll teach you to dance." And she took her into the fray.

As she began to fumble with the steps, she suddenly froze, violent memories coming forward. The woman took her hands, looking into her eyes with mirroring grey ones. "It'll be all right," she said. "Don't be nervous." Gwen's irrational fear dissolved, and she joined in the dance.

 *

A cold rain washed away the snow, and the twins were beginning to go a little stir crazy until the rain finally let up and the winter sun shone down weakly. Gwen let them play in the garden as Melian worked on it, planting bulbs in the dark dirt.

A servant came rushing out of the house. "There's news from Seer!"

Melian got up quickly, brushing dirt off her skirt, then ran into the house. The children were still interested in their game of tag, so Gwen decided to stay outside with them.

Perhaps an hour passed, maybe more. The servant who had fetched Melian came out and called to Gwen. "Come in, please, and bring the children."

It took a while for Gwen to get the children to come inside, but when they got in, all of the servants had gathered in the main foyer. Melian was standing on the staircase, nodding as the few servants remaining came in. The gardener came to stand close to her. Then Melian began speaking in Breech, with the gardener translating for Gwen.

"I'm sure you are all wondering why I've gathered you here," she began. "One of our shipping lanes has been overtaken, one in which we had considerable investment. One of our major deals has also fallen through, and our family is now falling on some deep financial trouble." She held up a piece of paper with slightly trembling hands. "I've decided that we must sell some of you to take up some of the cost, and rent some more out impermanent. I deeply regret this, but I must do what must be done." She took a breath, then began reading out names.

Some began weeping, others were more stern, but Gwen's heart sank when she heard her name mentioned to be lent out. To whom would she go? How would she be treated?

Later that afternoon, Gwen stood before Melian in her study. She was looking at Gwen evenly. "It's not unheard of to lend out a slave that has been lent. Slaves whose masters are gone for five or more years are commonly lent out again."

Gwen shifted her weight. "Have you already found a buyer for me?"

"Indeed, an ambitious apprentice priest in the Temple District. You are lent at quite a price, Gwen, and this priest has taken out a loan to pay for you, wishing to impress his superiors. You'll have quite an interesting time there, of that I'm sure. You'll be leaving this evening."

Gwen bowed and left, going up to the playroom. Amy looked up at her with a tear-streaked face, Chen and Bo coming to hug her legs. "We don't want you to go," one of them said, and she reached down to hug them. "I must do what your mother says," she said in reply, and went to pack.

 *

 When Melian had told Gwen her new master was a priest, she had expected to be closer to the Temple District, but when Melian handed her the name of the train stop, she frowned, but nevertheless boarded the train. She got off at the stop, standing among the crowd, waiting to see her master.

The train stop was the closest to the mountain on her side of the city - right in front of a large stone building, with tall pillars glinting in the sun, and a copper dome that had turned green with age.

 A man approached her, clad in long robes of embroidered velvet. "Are you Gwendolyn Llewellyn?" She nodded. "Come," he told her and turned to go. She picked up her suitcase and ran to catch up.

As they entered through large wooden doors, Gwen was impressed by the building's clean grandeur. Gilded pillars lifted a vaulted ceiling high above them, and Gwen stood there for a moment, taking it in, before hurrying after her master. "What is this place?" she asked him. Barely glancing at her, he answered, "These are the Halls of Judgment, ruled by the Valar Namo, whom I serve. It is here that his courts convene." He turned and stopped. "Can you write?"

"Of course."

"Then you can help me transcribe court proceedings."

Gwen frowned. "I do not, however, speak Breech or Elvish fluently."

Anger flashed across the elf's face. "I paid expecting someone who could speak something other than this filthy tongue."

"I can help in other ways!" Gwen blurted desperately. "I clean your office!"

His jaw clenched. "No. I want you to be present in court with me, so instead you can copy what I write. I have to make duplicate copies anyway, and perhaps you can learn our language that way."

He shoved a stack of paper into her arms, striding up to the set of large wooden doors, pausing to compose himself before striding into the courtroom. Gwen followed, clutching the papers, taking in the sights as she followed her new master. She would have mistaken the room, built with white stone, to be a cathedral if she had been on Earth. Light from the sunrise streamed through stained-glass windows, while those on the other side were dark, covered by the shadow of  the Great Wall. Great pillars lifted her gaze up to the ceiling, adorned with a painted sky with clean airy clouds. On either side of the aisle were wooden benches, already filling with elves to watch the trials.

Before them was a wide space, then stairs leading up to three thrones, which were at the moment empty. Her new master turned left abruptly, leading her to a row of desks where a few other priest-scribes and their servants were sitting. He stopped before one, indicating to her that she ought to place the papers down, then sat down. She sat down beside him, noticing that he opened a box before him filled with quills, selecting two and cutting them carefully to make pens, handing one to her. He then took out an intricately decorated stone, which had a depression in it that he began to rub an inkstone against. After a while of scraping the two together (as the other servants were doing, she noticed), he poured water on the stone, creating a black ink. "Use this," he said, then pulled a piece of paper towards him. She imitated him, then carefully began to copy what he was writing, most likely the date.

"Why are there three thrones?" she asked, fully aware she sounded like an idiot. Her master pursed his lips. "At every trial there are to be three Valar present to pronounce judgment."

At this point there were elves standing in the wide swath of floor in front of the thrones, one standing in handcuffs with a guard, and three others standing together. They gave one another annoyed glances, then fell to their knees as a herald came out to announce the Valar. Gwen looked over at her master, who got out of his chair, kneeling. When in Rome, Gwen thought, annoyed, and got down on hers as well. As the great door behind the thrones opened, all in the assembly bowed prostrate, foreheads touching the ground. She pursed her lips and did the same. When her master got up, she slid into the chair and began copying his furious writing, tongue sticking out of her mouth as she struggled to form the script correctly. When he finished, she looked up, noting that one of the three Valar was Ulmo. The other two she didn't recognize, but ventured to guess that the Vala sitting in the largest seat was Namo.

"This case," her master murmured quietly, "is sure to be a quick one. This elf's neighbors are accusing him of suspicious activity, of being in collaboration with rebel factions. The law is simple - three witnesses are needed to accuse someone, then the Valar can discern the truth from his mind." Gwen's eyes widened - she had been unaware that this was possible. Then she returned to writing.

As the Valar pronounced their judgment, the elf struggled against his bonds shouting. Her master raised his eyebrows, but kept writing. "What was his punishment?" she whispered.

"He's an important leader," he said softly. "He is to be executed, then tortured until further notice." She winced, then watched as the rebel was led out. He walked calmly, a confident air about him, then broke free of his guard. The courtroom was reduced to mayhem as the rebel pulled out a knife and charged up the stairs towards the Valar. Gwen's heart stopped as the drove the dagger towards Namo' heart.

To her surprise, however, the elf's hand passed through the Vala as though he were made of mist. The knife broke against the stone seat as the guard pulled out a pistol and shot the elf where he stood. Namo looked on, unperturbed as the elf slumped to the floor. Servants came forward and removed the body, cleaning up the blood. Gwen started, realizing her master was still writing. A smirk crept across his face. "A futile gesture," he said quietly. As she worked hard to catch up, the court room began to fill for the next case. As her master reached for a new piece of paper, she looked up and noticed that the room was quite full of Elves murmuring amongst one another. Even the Valar were talking amongst themselves, exchanging worried looks.

Even her master looked tense. "I thought this was all to be a quiet affair," he said. Then the crowds drew silent as the accused was brought in. It was Elwing.

Elwing stood before her judges, unable to see them. Her hands clenched the folds of her dress as the crowds behind her murmured and whispered, hundreds of stares drilled into her back.

Gwen held her breath as she waited for the charges to be levied against Elwing. She had certainly not expected to see this forlorn woman again after being led away by scores of troops, but now she wondered what the outcome of such a trial could be. She leaned over to her temporary master. "What's going on? Are the Valar just going to read her mind?"

He shook his head. "The Valar do not know how she got out. She broke their bonds, but there were no witnesses, so there is no proof of wrongdoing. That's what this trial is for." At this point, noting Gwen's interest, he continued. "I can roughly translate for you what's going on, but we cannot neglect our duties. Write while I talk."

And this she did, as he translated for her.

"The charges," the herald read aloud from an edict, "are breaking the sacred bonds which the Valar laid upon you. Do you, Elwing, daughter of Dior, understand these charges?"

She lifted her chin boldly. "I do."

Namo looked her straight in the eye. "Tell us, Elwing, how you escaped the tower."

A brief smile flitted across her face. "I go down the stairs of my tower every seven years to see if my bondage has been lifted. This time when I went down, I discovered the door unlocked, and escaped."

"Was it truly that simple?" Namo asked, frowning.

The Vala at Namo' right hand, Orome, clad in elaborate armor, stirred. "Why then were you seen exiting the library with the children of Melian?"

Elwing's tight grasp on her clothing loosened. "They found me walking the labyrinth and recognized my name when I gave it. They were kind enough to take me to their parent's home."

"You were aware of our judgment - why did you disobey it?"

"I thought perchance you had changed your mind!" Elwing protested. "My husband's craft has fallen out of the skies; of this I am fully aware! I thought that since my husband's exile is over - "

"Silence!" hissed the other Vala, Vaire, the spouse of Namo. "Your husband disobeyed us as well, by returning from exile."

The crowds stirred and murmured, but fell silent when Namo put up a hand. "He is currently paying for his disobedience in the Halls of Mandos."

Her new master stopped writing for a moment. "So it is true," he said. "Earendil and his crew died when they landed here."

Gwen's eyes widened, and she glanced at Elwing to see her reaction. She stood there, still as stone, face expressionless. "Ever have my husband and me borne the brunt of your wrath, "she said softly," for an offense that could well have been avoided. If my husband had known that Morgoth would be let loose to roam Valinor, he would have never sailed here - "

"Do not forget the reason behind your exile," Namo said coldly. "You are descended from a human, and they are not allowed to come to Valinor."

"That doesn't really apply now, does it?" Elwing's words cut through the air. The tension in the room was palpable.

The Valar turned to one another, presumably discussing what course of action to take. Gwen hurried to finish as she tried not to drip inkblots onto the paper.

The Valar finished speaking and turned towards Elwing. "We have decided. You will return to exile in your tower, until we have cause to bring you out of it."

"Please!" Elwing slumped to her knees, broken. "I can't go back there. You don't know what it's like - the solitude, the empty whistle of the wind, the faint noise of the city below. I've only the birds to keep me company, and my husband, but now even he is gone."

Namo motioned to the guard. Gwen held her breath.

"Please, I have a son," she sobbed. "He's come back - I haven't seen him since he was just a child. I've done no wrong."

The crowd was motionless, watching the Valar.

Namo closed his eyes, thinking.

"Quite an emotional defense," said Gwen's master. "But passionate."

Namo shifted under the scrutiny of the crowds. "Very well," he said. "We release you from your doom. You are free." He gestured, and her wings dissolved like dust, and her eyes cleared, so that she could see for the first time in years. She wept quietly, drained, and left.

Gwen leaned over to her master. "What about Earendil, though?"

He looked at her strangely. "My lord's judgment still stands."

*

That night, Gwen tossed and turned restlessly. The stone floor was cold, and perhaps the hardest thing she had ever slept on. Apparently the priests of Namo slept on the floor, the majority on thin pallets. How this could possibly be related to justice, Gwen was unsure, but it was, perhaps, part of their training. Around midday, her master had been relieved, retreating with her to a room where novices were practicing their calligraphy. He sat on one of the benches and indicated that she sit next to him. What followed was an intense afternoon of language, such that her head was still reeling from the bombardment of foreign words.

The court proceedings, her master informed her, were only for Elves and their matters. Traditionally disputes about slaves were decided amongst their masters, or taken to a smaller court presided over by the priests in the service of Namo. At the court proceedings that morning, she had seen Elves found innocent or guilty, with an endless variety of punishments - she had even seen an Elf transformed into a centaur for a hundred years before her eyes.

Dinner had followed, all the priests dining in a great hall while the Onlies served, then her master went to a frost-covered garden to meditate in the cold. Before going to bed, he finally gave her his name, Erumollien.

Gwen shifted, clutching her cloak around her to keep warm. Its crusty edges, covered in city grime, chafed against her bare feet. The moonlight shone gently through windows, illuminating the sleeping bodies. She rubbed her eyes, trying to sleep.

As she lay there, pondering her circumstances, a hollowness grew within her. Even though she had entered Feanor's house with trepidation, she had considered this a grand adventure, finally having to be self-reliant and keeping house. Even meeting new and strange people, seeing monkeys as clerks, a woman with wings, and dinosaurs brushing past her in the streets, she had considered this an adventure, an escape from a world that had become stale, dull, and hollow. But now the immensity of her situation weighed on her heart like a stone.

She might never go back, she realized. She might never see the lake again, read her favorite books, see her relatives that had been left behind. She missed the music, the laughter, and most of all, her family. Tears slipped from her eyes as she held her breath to keep a sob from coming. What were her parents going through? Her brother, working in a factory or farm? She had read plenty about the conditions of factories or laborers in fields - she knew it would most likely be no different here.

She might never see them. They might even die at the hands of their masters.

She drew her hood over her head, shutting out everything, and, with the taste of salt on her lips, finally drifted off into sleep.

*

Gwen's dreams were restless, anxious nightmares about disappointing her masters, doing something wrong and being beaten for it. As with most dreams, people are more feelings than actual people, with barely a face but more the impression of anger, of jealousy or disappointment.

Then her dreams became deeper, and she found herself standing on the top of a mountain overlooking an island. It spread itself out beneath her, green trees and white cities - as star in the midst of the cerulean sea. The sun shone down brilliantly around her, and she realized she was standing on the roof of a large temple, built from shining black obsidian. The wind began to buffet her, and the sky grew dark with clouds. The sea turned from a refreshing cerulean to a turbid grey, and watching the ocean froth, she felt sick in the pit of her stomach.

The she saw it, the sea gathering into a great wave that grew ever higher above the horizon. The land seemed to crack and jolt beneath her, throwing her to the ground. She clambered up to look off the edge of the roof, watching in horror as the wave began to swallow the land beneath her, trees and cities alike disappearing underneath the sea.  The wave broke against the mountain, spray soaring above her, then raining down, as the land seemed to crack again and she felt it beginning to sink. Whirlpools and eddies formed in the raging sea as the mountain began to disappear under the waves; she blinked, and the landscape changed suddenly - she was standing on beach, the waves thundering into the sand, surrounded by thousands of people. Then she awoke, confused, as Erumollien shook her.

"Come," he said. "There are court proceedings we must attend to."

*

"Are we going to the Lower Courts today?" Gwen asked as her master stood in line for paper.

He shook his head. "I am not yet important enough to sit as a judge, but I am high enough to scribe in the courts of the Valar. I hope to someday become a judge." As he approached the person handing out paper, the priest shook his head. "We're out," he said.

"What?" Erumollien was astonished. "How am I supposed to do my job if I don't have paper?"

The priest shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know," he muttered. "There are fewer trees now than before, and the parchment-makers are on strike. Would you have them cut down the trees of Lorien to make paper?"

"If I can do my job, then yes!" He pulled out a watch, started, and turned to go. "Come on! We'll be late!"

They entered the court room, but instead of the scribes and audience sitting in their assigned sections, they were gathered in a group on the large floor. They quickened their pace to see what was going on.

On the white floor were characters painted in slick black, angry by their strokes. Gwen could spell out the words, but did not know their meaning. "'There is no justice,'" her master translated for her. "If Namo finds out who did this - " he was speechless. Already servants were coming with buckets of water and cleaning brushes, and as the scribes each began to scrub at the floor, Gwen followed suit, getting down on her knees.

The words did not come off easily - it seemed as though they were made of some kind of tar - and even though they began to come off, water smeared the black worse still.

Reluctantly, her master ordered her to run into the city and find paper. She had no idea where to look, or any money for the train, only for the paper. She immersed herself in the crowds, looking for the Elvish word for book, parma, which happened to have filtered down into Breech. eventually she saw a sign with the word book in it, a wooden sign, painted red with golden flowery Elvish. She waited for a cart to pass her, then entered through its doorway, open to let the unnaturally warm air for a winter's day inside. Inside were rows of books, and the rhythmic sound of a printing press.

The printer was leaning over the rack, assembling type stamps into a page for printing. When he noticed her, he stood up, wiping his deeply ink-stained hands on his apron. "What is it?" he asked.

"I'm in desperate need of paper," she said sullenly.

The printer raised his eyebrows, and gave her some, charging what was most likely an exorbitant price, but she paid it, running back to the courtroom. The guards stopped her from going in, and after telling them who her master was, they agreed to let her in after the first trial of the day was finished.  When the doors opened to let the audience out, she rushed into her master's side, laying the paper on the desk. He nodded in thanks as the next person was led in for trial. 

The day drifted on lazily, Gwen's monotonous copying made her drift into a kind of stupor. The Valar presiding that day were, along with Namo, Ulmo and, coincidentally, the other Valar she had met, Nessa. Her hand had become used to forming the Elvish characters, and she no longer even glanced up to see who was being tried. The sunlight through the windows shortened and moved through the course of the day, darkening as the shadow of the Great Wall was cast on the court. Her master had not been relieved at mid-day, as she had expected. Rather, they stayed on throughout the afternoon, not eating lunch. There were trade disputes, grievances filed, murderers jailed. Executions were given out more often than she expected, but for Elves such a thing was hardly trivial.

After the day's activities were concluded, Gwen began to clean up and categorize the papers. Erumollien noticed that Ulmo motioned aside the herald, murmuring something to him. After the Valar left, the herald approached the scribes, speaking to Gwen's master. After she was finished cleaning the desk, she turned to Erumollien.

"Ulmo holds his court tomorrow," he said, "and we have been asked to be his scribes."

"I hope this will not hurt your career," Gwen said, turning to go.

"No, it won't!" Erumollien said, eyes shining. "It shows I'm moving up in the world."

The next morning, her master woke her up early in the morning, at about four. She trudged behind him wearily, squinting to see in the early morning light. The lamp flames flickered quietly, the streets shrouded in fog as the lamplighters did their work, dousing the lamps.

"Why must we go so early?" Gwen asked, hurrying to catch up.

He barely looked at her. "Before serving the Valar in such intimate closeness, we must purify ourselves. That may take some time.'

As they approached the temple of Ulmo, they did not go through the main entrance, but rather through another, smaller entrance. There they stood, waiting, as a woman dressed in blue approached them. "Good," she said. "You're here."

Gwen waited as the woman took Erumollien down the corridor, disappearing out of sight. Then she came back for her. As she led Gwen down the hallway, she glanced at her with a bemused expression. "It is very rarely that my lord Ulmo has slaves so closely in his service. But the scribes of Namo are of great renown, and those slaves in service to his priests must be of great worth as well." She opened a door into a room where five maidens stood, dressed in white. Their arms seemed to shimmer in the light of the gnat-lights, and as Gwen looked closer, she noticed they were covered in scales.

The room was obviously a bath-room, a pool of warm steaming water set in the floor. The room smelled fresh, clean, as though it were spring and the earth awakening from its slumber. The woman beside her nodded. "Disrobe," she said.

"I beg your pardon?" Gwen stuttered. There were, after all, six others in the room.

The woman snorted. "It'll be nothing that we haven't seen before."

Gwen looked at her balefully, but nevertheless did as she was told. The woman in blue gathered up her clothes to be cleaned thoroughly, as the other women checked Gwen's hair for lice. She bathed, the women making sure she washed thoroughly, her long hair soaped and cleaned. Afterwards her hands and feet were scrubbed, the dirt under her nails scraped away.

Her clothes were given back to her, soft and clean, and she donned them, still self-conscious. They gave her a leaf to chew, freshening her breath. Then she was escorted to her master, into the presence of Ulmo, who was sitting on a throne of coral, fully clothed in deep blue velvet, so dark it was nearly black. He looked at them, expressionless, then indicated that they come up on the dais. Low desks and rugs were brought, and they sat cross-legged before them, Gwen handing her master the paper they had bought that morning. Erumollien made his ink as the priests made ready for the crowds to be brought in. The herald of Ulmo came and stood before them. "It is the request of Lord Ulmo that a copy of the records be written in the English tongue." Her master snorted, but nodded. "I'll translate for you," he told Gwen, "and you must write in English. I do hope your handwriting is good." The doors leading into the black-pillared hall banged open, and a man of vigor walked in, striding before the dais. He was fair of face, not unlike the Elves she had seen on her own world. "Osse," her master said for clarification, "a Maiar, and servant of Ulmo."

The man bowed, and related something in Quenya. Gwen was able to catch a couple words, but Erumollien leaned over. "He's reporting on the state of Valinor. There's been general unrest throughout the land ever since the star of Earendil fell. The wreckage of his craft has been combed over several times, but the Silmaril he bore aloft has not been found. Some have even begun mining around the area, to see if it has been thrown into the ground. The rebellion was beaten back in the town of Islena, but has taken most of the western forests, what's left of them. The general fish population has continued to drop, and the silt in the major farming delta, Nenruyn, will soon cause the river rising, which will deposit silt on the farming grounds in the south. The mountain of Meneltarma on the rising island of Numenor has spewed fire once more, increasing the size of the island, and cooling the air, so that we will have more days of winter than expected." He sighed. "I had hoped it would be a short one."

The man bowed once more, leaving the way he came. Then the masses were let in.

BELOVED, gaze in thine own heart,
The holy tree is growing there;
From joy the holy branches start,
And all the trembling flowers they bear.
The changing colours of its fruit
Have dowered the stars with metry light;
The surety of its hidden root
Has planted quiet in the night;
The shaking of its leafy head
Has given the waves their melody,
And made my lips and music wed,
Murmuring a wizard song for thee.
There the Joves a circle go,
The flaming circle of our days,
Gyring, spiring to and fro
In those great ignorant leafy ways;
Remembering all that shaken hair
And how the winged sandals dart,
Thine eyes grow full of tender care:

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.
Gaze no more in the bitter glass
The demons, with their subtle guile.
Lift up before us when they pass,
Or only gaze a little while;
For there a fatal image grows
That the stormy night receives,
Roots half hidden under snows,
Broken boughs and blackened leaves.
For ill things turn to barrenness
In the dim glass the demons hold,
The glass of outer weariness,
Made when God slept in times of old.
There, through the broken branches, go
The ravens of unresting thought;
Flying, crying, to and fro,
Cruel claw and hungry throat,
Or else they stand and sniff the wind,
And shake their ragged wings; alas!
Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:
Gaze no more in the bitter glass.
~"The Two Trees," by William Butler Yeats

The crowd filled in the back of the room, searching eyes trying to find meaning in the demeanor of the tall being.

"Ulmo is going to be trying cases, right?" Gwen asked, curious that there seemed to be a great presence of Onlies.

Erumollien snorted. "Of course not. The Court of Ulmo is held for requests and information. Since Ulmo holds sway over the seas, lakes, and rivers, and therefore heavily influences trade."

Gwen's morning was fairly busy, requests and petitions were frequent, often having to do with trading routes. One in particular caught her attention, a question from an elderly man with a tan and woolen cap. "Begging your pardon, my lord," he said. "Fishing is getting more and more scarce. When will the fish be coming back?"

Ulmo closed his eyes, not wanting to have heard this question. "This year is the worst crisis we've had so far as fishing is concerned. I have been trying hard to remedy the problem, but there are significant amounts of toxic materials being buried in the ground from the mills surrounding the city. They've been filtering into the rivers, then the oceans. Unfortunately, while we are trying hard to clean these up, there is such a high demand for fish that the rest of the population has been overfished. Not much can be done unless the mills are cleaned up."

The man's hat was off, wrung tightly in his hands. "Then what are we going to do?"

Ulmo pursed his lips. "You'll have to bring it up in high court. I do not have the authority to ban the factories from their activities."

Flustered, the man bowed low and went back to the crowd.

*

When the court was finished, the herald came out stomping his staff on the ground, and, talking amongst themselves, the crowd left the great hall. Gwen and Erumollien gathered their papers, making preparations to leave, when someone approached the platform. Gwen looked up at him - it was Thorontur, whom she had met earlier. "You're still the slave to Feanor, I presume?" he asked.

"Of course."

"When your master comes off duty, please let him know that the southern trade routes through the Blessed Isles have opened, so he may tour them at his leisure. There will always be room on my ships for him."

Erumollien came over to them. "I beg your pardon, sir, but what purpose could Feanor have on the Islands?"

Thorontur shook his head, surprised, apparently, at such a foolish question. "Even those living on the isles want Feanor's wares, if it's any of your business. His goods are of particular quality, and useful to many." He inclined his head. "A pleasure to meet you, scribe, and you - " he looked at her firmly. "make sure Feanor gets the message, will you?" He put on his hat and turned on his heel, heading towards the exit.

Erumollien frowned. "I don't like him. Gwen, we have been invited to be entertained with our lord Ulmo. He's quite fond of the game faroth, and I've accepted, of course, so please follow me."

He strode ahead of her, leading her to a courtyard open to the sky, clouded over. There, underneath a pavilion of white stone, Ulmo was already sitting in another throne. Before him was, Gwen assumed, the gameboard and pieces for faroth.Handing her the papers from the trial, Erumollien quietly sat on a stool opposite the Vala. Gwen stood there awkwardly as a woman came and stood by Ulmo's side, giving her a dark look with eyes that were an unnatural shade of blue. A shiver ran down her spine, so she looked at the game board.

"You may begin, scribe," Ulmo said, glancing up at Gwen. Erumollien was looking intently at the board, lips pursed as he considered his first move. Faroth, Gwen had been told in one of her Elvish lessons, was Sindarin for "hunt." As the game progressed, Gwen's brow wrinkled as she tried to determine the rules of the game. It was not unlike chess, a game she had played quite often with her mother, but there were different rules. The pieces were different for both sides, and each piece moved in a different way than the others.

Bored as the game wore on, she scrutinized the Vala, the closest she had come to one of these beings and had time to observe. How could one be so insubstantial, yet interact so intimately with the environment? His azure eyes looked intensely at the board; white clipped beard and tan skin wrinkled in a frown. His movements suggested no frailty or age, as she would have guessed from his face. His blue velvet cloth was rich, embroidered with silver and pearl. Erumollien made a move, and Ulmo's eyes wrinkled in a smile. He made a move, captured a piece, and stood. Erumollien stood, bowing, and left the pavilion with Gwen in tow. As they left the compound, rain began to fall as the day grew dark. The lamplighters were out, moving between the lantern-posts like ghost under the sheet of rain.

*

The rest of Gwen's time on loan to Erumollien passed rather uneventfully. As he was instructed, on the last day of Feanor's service Erumollien walked with  Gwen to the Bridge of Sorrows, where a small crowd had gathered in expectation of those exiting the Blessed District. Having never seen it, Gwen was surprised at how common the whole affair was. There was no pomp, no ceremony, no Vala present. From hearing Feanor's stories, she had wondered why there was a bridge here, but now she understood. There was a large canal that butted up against the Great Wall, a great distance that was intended to stop people from trying to scale the wall on their own. The bridge sloped down from a decent height as well, as the Blessed District was physically above the rest of the city. Bored, as usual, with waiting, she glanced around at those who had gathered. To her surprise, she saw Elwing there, along with another woman with golden hair. The others she did not recognize, but they were noble in stature and bearing, more so than many Elves she had seen around the city. As the morning sun was just beginning to sink behind the mountains, the great doors from the Blessed District opened.

The group that came through the doors walked with heavy step. They drew a little closer before Gwen found Feanor among the faces. He looked troubled, and met her eyes with his dark gaze. A chill ran down her spine.

As the Elves reached the end of the bridge, the crowd murmured as they looked for their loved ones. Feanor made his way through the crowd, coming to stop before her. They stood there, neither saying a word as they watched tearful reunions between family members who had not seen one another for thousands of years. Elwing, with a clear smile on her face, enveloped someone in a hug, as the blonde woman kissed him.

Feanor and Erumollien were speaking rapidly in Elvish, most likely about her, and Feanor turned to her. "Everything is all set," he said. "Let's go home."

He called a carriage, and they rode together back home in silence. He stared out the window all the while, lost in his thoughts. Deja vu, Gwen thought as they pulled up in front of the shabby house, all the more dingy from lack of care. Water dripped on them from the tiled roof as Feanor fumbled with the keys, finally letting them in. There were no cheerful cats to greet them, as their caretaker had not brought them back yet. Feanor took his things to his room as Gwen put her suitcase by the couch. At least sleeping on the floor here would be better than a stone floor, she contemplated.

"Would you like me to make you anything?" she called. "We still have flour and salt."

He came out from the hallway. "No," he said, and picked up an umbrella from the desk. "You may make something for yourself. Enjoy a night off." He strode over to the doorway.

"Where are you going?" Gwen asked, worried.

He turned to face her, snugly placing a top hat on his head. "Out," he said. "To get really, really drunk." With that he opened the door and shut it behind him, having to jerk it where it sticks. Gwen was alone.

She sat on the couch, placing her head in her hands. It would be nice to not have to do anything, but when would he be back? If she knew anything about drinking, he might not return the next morning.

She found the matches and lit a fire in the fireplace, transferring some of the coals to the stove for baking. The pan sizzled and fried as she made pancakes, eating them at the table where her master normally sat. The rain pattered down on the roof as she perused the shelves, searching for something to read. There were, of course, few titles in English, but among them was a book she did not recognize. The Silmarillion read the title, and she pulled it out, flipping through the pages. It was quite large because it was lavishly illustrated, and as she looked, she realized it was a history of the Elves. It was precisely the sort of thing she needed to read.

*

Gwen jolted awake to a knock on the door. Sleepily she slid the half-read book off her, and slowly she got up off the couch. The knock sounded once more, insistent, and Gwen pulled open the door. A woman stood there, holding a basket with the cats inside. "These are yours, I believe," she said, handing them to here with trembling hands. Looking at the metal mark on the woman's hand, Gwen was moved. "Please, come in out of that rain."

The woman shook her head. "Your master will be angry with you."

"Nonsense," Gwen replied. "You'll catch your death from cold. Come and warm up a little." Taking the basket, she shut the door behind the woman, who lowered her hood and went to the fire, holding her hands over it to warm them. After being let out from their basket, the cat wrapped themselves around her legs in greeting. Stroking the cats, she went to the kitchen, filling a teapot. "I appreciate this," the woman said. "We get few kindnesses in this world."

"It's the least I can do for someone who's carried the cats! They've been getting fat," Gwen exclaimed.

The woman gave a wan smile. "I must be going now. My mistress is expecting me."

"No, no! Please, I'm making tea," Gwen said, rushing over. She shook her head. "No, thank you. You've been kind enough." With a slight nod, she opened the door and vanished into the early morning light. Shutting the door, Gwen leaned against it with a sigh as the teapot began to whistle. The cats looked up at her expectantly. "I've nothing to feed you," Gwen said bitterly, going and pouring herself a cup of tea. Still tired, she laid her head down on the table, studying one of the complex knots. The patter of rain on the roof lessened, then stopped altogether as her eyes closed.

Another knock assaulted her ears. Thinking perhaps it was Feanor, she got up and answered the door. It was not, however, Feanor but a ragtag boy in an old hat and a coat several sizes too large holding up several pigeons. "Pigeon, miss?"

"Since when have vendors started going door to door?" she asked, laughing. He lifted his chin impudently. "My idea, miss - I'm an entrepreneur, I am!"

"Very well," she said, smiling, going to the jar that held money for household use. "I'll take two, if you will. But where is your master?"

He shrugged. "Dunno, and he doesn't care anyways. Barely enough money to feed himself, let alone me. I'm hungry, so this my solution. Getting rid of pigeons, and making a little money in the process!" He handed her the pigeons as she gave him more change than he needed. He looked down at the money in his palm, and gave her a wide grin. "Thanks, pleasure doing business with you!" he called, walking away. She looked at the pigeons, then at the cats. "Yes, these are for you," she said as she went to the trash to pluck them.

She was putting the meat into bowls when the door crashed open, Feanor stumbling in. He stood there, breathing heavily, as Gwen rushed to wash her hands. She took his coat and hat, guiding him over to the couch, where he sat and put his head in his hands. She picked up the book and set next to him, gently putting a hand on his back. He cringed away. "Don't touch me," he said. She snatched her hand away, sitting beside him in awkward silence. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "This is why I don't drink," he said. "The morning is the worst. I don't want any of your sympathy. Just go. Get out and leave me alone for a while. Take money and go somewhere, and don't come back until at least four." She hesitated. "Go!" he barked.

Angrily grabbing a fistful of coins from the jar, she pulled on her cloak and went out into the foggy morning. Standing in front of the canal, she realized she didn't know where she could go. Robbed of a home for the day, what would she do with her stolen time? The library was an option, she thought, but she had no desire to peruse Elvish texts or get lost once more. As hard as she thought, her mind kept returning to Melian's household. Not really wanting to use the coins in her hand, she began walking.

When she reached the side gate into Melian's home, she hesitated before going in. Was she going to be welcome if she had no errand to run? Taking a deep breath, she strode up the walkway, knocking on the kitchen door. It was opened by one of the maids, who smiled upon seeing her. "Yes?" she asked.

Gwen shrugged. "Is Seer back? I would speak with her, if she is here."

The girl nodded. "She is out with her mother, but they will be back at noon. Please, come in and wait for her."

Gwen thanked her, going in and sitting at the servants' tables. It was not long before Elwing came downstairs, dressed in a subtle grey gown. She raised her eyebrows, surprised that Gwen was even there. "I saw at my trial," she said. "You've been getting around!"

Gwen smiled and stood, bowing. "May I congratulate you on your freedom," she said.

Elwing shook her head. "None of it would have been without you. Please, come upstairs. I would like to introduce you to my son, Elrond."

Gwen followed her up the stairs, into the great room, where Chen, Bo, and Amy where sitting, staring wide-eyed at Elrond, who had clearly been telling them some sort of tale. They smiled upon seeing her, and Bo got up and hugged her. She smiled, ruffling his hair, and bowed when Elrond stood. It was clear he had recently been in the Blessed District - much of his previous grandeur was evident in his appearance, clear brow and sharp eyes.

"Elrond," Elwing said in Sindarin, "let me introduce you to one of my rescuers, Gwendolyn Llewellyn. She is currently in the service of - Feanor, isn't it? - yes, Feanor."

"Ah, yes. He was my keeper in the 'Blessed District.' We met under inauspicious circumstances, I'm afraid. I would have liked to have gotten to know him better," Elrond replied, glancing at Gwen and noting she did not understand their speech.

Gwen blushed, looking down at her feet. Elrond continued. "She is Numenorean, then, I presume?" Elwing nodded.

He looked at her curiously, scrutinizing her from top to bottom. "Elrond knows many of the Numenoreans who live in Middle-Earth," Elwing told her. "You are one of the few west of Numenor he has met."

"What is the language you are speaking?" Elrond asked. Elwing smiled a little. "It is English, Gwen's native tongue. She is new to Valinor - she has spent most of her life in a distant land, and does not know any forms of Elvish."

"Is she familiar with Westron?" Elrond frowned thinking. "I am familiar with many tongues, but not this one. Would she be willing to teach me, and I her?"

"I think it might be best for you to pick up Breech before studying English, my son," Elwing stated. "It is a difficult one to learn, and less useful here than you might think."

Gwen pursed her lips, annoyed once more at a language she barely understood. It was clear they were talking about her, and Elrond gave her a glance of pity. Anger rose up in her - she did not need to be pitied, not by an Elf or anyone else. She was her own person, and was getting along fine for someone thrown into an entirely different culture. Then she understood how the woman she had taken in earlier must have felt - that no one ought to pity her, that she was independent, not dependent.

Those who live in Maine are notorious for being fiercely independent, not wanting to accept help from anyone else, and unwilling to ask for it. Perhaps this was a Numenorean trait, she thought idly as one of the other children came over to hug her skirts.

When she looked up, Melian and Seer had come in. A broad smile lit up Seer's face when she saw her, but Melian frowned. "Are you here on an errand, Gwen?"

"No, just a social visit," Gwen said. "My master gave me the day off."

"Perfect!" Seer was practically singing. "Come upstairs!"

"Space was beautiful!" Seer told her when they reached the privacy of the nursery. "It was incredible to see the stars so clearly, and our planet - it's breathtaking to see from the ship."

"I heard the negotiations went badly," Gwen said, trying to put it delicately.

She closed her eyes, smile collapsing. "It was just awful. They expected me to negotiate with these people, but I've never done anything like that before. I was so nervous, I accidentally insulted one of the delegates. People shouldn't be expected to just be thrown into a situation and do well! I'm a musician, and everything I perform I practice for months beforehand. I don't know what father will say when he gets back - he may revoke my permit, or worse."

"I don't envy you," Gwen said softly, and they sat there for a while in silence. "You seem to really have liked the voyage," Gwen said, trying to cheer her up.

"It was wondrous." Seer looked away, lost in memory. "I didn't know this, but Arda is encased in a sphere. The sun and moon, as you are aware, move around us, and we are at the center of the rotation. They differ in angle throughout the year, to give us the seasons, but I didn't know that the entirety of our system in encased in a nebulous sphere. The stars we see down here are not actual stars, but simulations of them, painted, it would seem, on the inside of the sphere. Earendil must not have roamed the far reaching skies, as we were told, but rather circled around us like the moon and sun. When I was in the ship, we went through, and I saw the outside of the sphere. It was like a dirty fog - nothing could be seen outside of it. But I saw the real universe, and it has even more stars than we see at night in the utter wilderness. They tell me there are thousands of worlds like ours, and too many stars in the universe to even count. I never realized that we were so sheltered. Many of the delegates I met were angered by being conquered by us - but before, when I was young, I heard the extravagant tales of our army's conquests, it seemed we were conquering wild and untamed peoples, helping them, in a bizarre way. But these people were intelligent, refined...I look at everything now, and I don't see it the same. I think your master was right, Gwen. I think the Vala are up to something."

Gwen nodded thoughtfully. "My people grapple with those problems as well, Seer. We have lorded ourselves over people we considered 'others' and given them great offense. But there are many among us who have seen the error of our ways and trying to remedy our ideals."

Seer looked down. "I'm afraid even I have looked down on slaves as callous and uncivilized - it is easy for an Elf, who has an eternity to live, to think of other beings as lesser. But we are made by one God, and I must not forget that, though I may be told otherwise. It is difficult when all of society seems to be against you."

"I agree. But that is the true measure of one's mettle, I think. To hold to one's beliefs when others tell you they are not so."

Seer nodded, looking out the window. "You listen well, Gwen. I fear you may think me a silly child."

Gwen smiled. "I am younger than you, Seer."

She laughed, sadness gone for a brief moment before seriousness took over once more, like a break in a cloudy day. "I do so wish I lived in the Elder Days that I so often sing about. Those were clear times, of truth and beauty that could only be found when the world was young, not worn out like it is these days. My mother tells me such stories - of verdant forests and the excitement of a race still young, that I ardently desire to have lived in those days! I have always lived here, in the city - rarely have I ever visited the old forests to the west. I was born in the wrong time, or so Glin tells me."

"You are an elf, Seer, and will live to see these times change. I do not think that this world will stay the way it is now. Once you leave the care of your parents, you may yet be able to see the forests of your mind's eye."

"Not if they are gone," she said softly.

*

They talked for a bit longer, until the sun began to sink closer to the horizon, and Gwen realized it was after four. Quickly excusing herself, and thanking Seer for her hospitality, she left the house feeling refreshed, ready for the storm that might come when she got home. She stopped at a stand to pick up dinner for herself and Feanor, then traipsed home as the factories' whistles signaled the end of the day shifts. Opening the door to the greetings of the cats, she noted the house was quiet, and Feanor was nowhere to be seen.

Setting dinner on the kitchen table, she went to Feanor's room. While the door was mostly closed, it was also ajar, so she gently pushed it open. Feanor was asleep, black hair spread across his pillow. More words had been painted across his walls - LIAR, written over and over in black ink, which stained his fingertips as they dangled over the edge of the bed. The ink had spilled across the floor, velvet night in a pool, reflecting the light. She quietly shut the door with a sigh.

After eating her portion of dinner and putting the rest of it on the stove to keep warm, she sat down once more on the couch to read. She was not surprised to see Feanor mentioned so often, in such a negative light, but was rather impressed by Finrod, whose history she had been unfamiliar with. He had done much during his life in Beleriand, more than she had given him credit. What also surprised her was the fact that Melian had borne another child before the ones she had met, but it made sense. Reading the descriptions of idyllic life, she was not surprised by Seer's desire to live during that time. However, with glossiness over the actions of the Valar, she would simply have to ask if life was truly like that back then, although it seems as though in an official history there would be no blatant contradictions.

Then she heard distinctly Feanor's footsteps coming slowly down the hallway. She set the book down and looked up expectantly when he appeared in the doorway. He had circles under his eyes, but otherwise seemed better than when he had stumbled through the door that morning. "Have you made something? It smells good."

She nodded. "It's on the stove. Would you like me to get it for you?"

He lifted a hand. "No, I can get it. Please, light the furnaces. I've slept enough."

She stood quickly, remembering. "Sir! When I was in the Court of Ulmo, Thorontur told me to give you a message. He said that he is willing to give you room on one of his ships, to trade with the Southern Isles."

He raised his eyebrows. "Thank you for telling me so soon," he said wryly. "I will write him and take up his offer."

Did you ever see a wild goose
  Sailin' o'er the ocean
Ranzo, Ranzo, weigh, heigh
They're just like them pretty girls
  When they gets the notion
Ranzo, Ranzo, weigh, heigh

The other mornin'
  I was walkin' by the river
When I saw a young girl walkin'
  With her topsails all a-quiver

I said pretty fair maid
  And how are you this mornin'?
She said "None the better
  for the seeing of you."

Did you ever see a wild goose
  Sailin' o'er the ocean
They're just like them pretty girls
  When they gets the notion

~ The Wild Goose Shanty 

The ship, newly built by Thorontur's company, cut through the cerulean waves, wind filling the canvas sails. Gwen leaned against the railing, its white paint already chipping, and squinted through the sunlight, watching the horizon.

The two months before leaving had been hectic as Feanor worked hard to produce the goods he knew the islanders would need. A bout of influenza had torn through the city, most likely brought by the new slaves, causing hundreds of deaths throughout the city. As the resistance cut through supply routes to the city, food began to run short for even the wealthiest of Elves, and Feanor's household felt the pressure. The prices of even the basic foods skyrocketed, and Gwen went hungry for more than a few days, watching lines at the temples grew longer as the people pleaded with the Valar to stop these burdens. Nevertheless, no miraculous solutions had occurred before Feanor and Gwen left on the ship Horthien, and one of the first things the captain did was to order a restocking at the next free port down the coast.

Now, though Gwen had lived in Maine, known for its coastlines and seafood, she had never sailed over the ocean. Her first few days on the wintry grey seas off Valinor left her weak-kneed and violently sick, but she quickly regained her strength, declining to go land-side when they made port for fear of losing her sea legs. She found that she rather enjoyed sea life, where there were far less duties for her aside from helping the cook and serving at mealtimes. She quickly learned Breech from communication with the Numenorean sailors, and they regaled her with stories of Numenorean legend, not found in the book she kept in her cabin but rather stories passed down from sailor to sailor, from the deep roots of sailing in the Numenorean past.

The Only sailors were far less restricted in some ways than their land-locked counterparts; outside of the rigid formality of the upper ranks, the Onlies had free run of the ship, and were allowed freedoms in port not generally given to slaves. The captain himself was more friendly to Onlies than some, one of the best captains and crews available to Thorontur for his new clipper ship. Feanor devoted more time to teaching her Quenya and Sindarin, and as she was free from most other duties, she learned quickly. The navigator showed her maps, filling in the edges, and reluctantly showed her how to calculate her position from the stars.

The islands were usually covered in plantations, and the smaller ones with fishing villages or winter homes. Tanned laborers would eye her as they traded, lifting heavy baskets on their backs, and she winced at the thought of what her family might be going through as the saw the scars on their backs. Feanor was invited to decadent parties, with ladies in fine silk dresses spun by the labor outside and wine in crystalline glasses. The men, however, did their own carousing, and would heave the lines groggily the next morning.

More than the horizon the shores of Valinor would often be seen, or the "Iron Curtain." The first time Gwen saw it she wondered over it, for it extended out of sight into the sky, sparkling gently in the sunlight. "More than one ship has crashed upon the wall, never to be seen again," said one of the nearby sailors. "But the southern passage, those are by all rights the seas that haven taken most men to the deeps." Many ships had to round the southern tip of Valinor, the passage rife with gargantuan waves and cold that would freeze seawater to the ship. However, the journey would often have to be made in order to reach the other side of Valinor, even though trade was far more profitable by land.

Winter was, however, the time of year when there were far less storms in the south and trade-winds were favorable. This did not, however, mean that there were none. On the open horizon that made her uncomfortable, as she was used to mountains, it was quite easy to see storms coming from a long way off. Her first storm did not occur until a month into the journey, and Feanormade her stay in the cabin, where it was safe. However, the cabin made the rocking of the swells all the more apparent, so she grew violently sick. The captain was unable to shake the storm, and continued for days until Gwen could not take staying in the confined space any longer and went on deck. It was no easy task, but as soon as she got out into the lashing rain, she regretted her idea. Large waves were washing over the ship, and as soon as one of the sailors saw her, he snatched her arm, yelling. "Why did you come up here? Don't you know it's dangerous?" He was guiding her to the hatch when another wave washed over the deck. As hard as she held on to the sailor, she lost her footing and was swept into the ocean.

Primal memories kicked in as she sank below the tumult of the storm. She couldn't remember which way was up, and in the blackness threatening to close on her she saw a vision, clear as day. She was standing before Ulmo seated on his throne of coral, but he was not in his temple. Rather, the room was made of glass holding back the water, and the sun was shining faintly from the surface above. He stood and walked over to her, and she stared at him, puzzling out thoughts. He took her hand, he fingers warm against hers, and said, surprisedly,  "You can do it. You've had it in you all along."

Then she surfaced suddenly, gasping for air, hands pummeling the ship that was directly beside her. Ropes were lowered, sailors shouting, and they hauled on deck, taking her below. Then she lost track of everything.

Gwen came to under the warm covers of her berth, and Feanor, seeing she was awake, stood from his chair and came to her side. "What you did was foolish," he said sternly. "You must never do that again, if you value your life. You must obey me Gwen, in all things. I've made quite an investment in you and cannot afford for it to go awry."

She closed her eyes briefly, considering telling him about what she had seen, but decided not to. "The sailors respect you know, for obvious reasons. It is not often that the sea gives back what it has taken. You were quite clearly aided by Uinen." Gwen looked at him quizzically. "The Maiar who aids Ulmo and calms Osse's stormy nature. The sailors carve her likeness into the prows of their ships, and regard greatly those she spares. Please be careful around them, Gwen. They are unsavory folk that may harm you."

She shook her head. "I think not. They have done nothing but treat me well."

"Nevertheless, they are a lot of men, Gwen, and you are a young woman."

"I'm your slave, and I'm a woman. Does that not raise questions from society?"

His eyes darkened. "Of course not. Such questions are unfounded, as I would have to give up immortality to...be with you. Since that would never happen, the question is never raised. But that is not a proprietary barrier for them, Gwen. There are places on this ship they could take you where the captain would never know."

She lowered her gaze. "I will be careful, but I still do not think they mean me harm."

Feanor then left her, and she ventured back up on deck, where the sky was a clear blue. Gwen greatly appreciated the change from the polluted air of the city - she was glad to see clean white clouds once more.

That evening Gwen was dishing out food for the sailors, listening to their stories as they laughed amongst themselves. As she placed a bowl of biscuits, one of them playfully grabbed her arm, and, laughing, she tried to wrench it free - but the sailor's grip was strong from years of handling ropes, and she could not get him to release his grip. While the others were still laughing at some unknown joke, the sailor (who was known among the others by the Breech equivelant of "Scallions," for it was the food he loved most) looked at her, frowning, and let go. "You can't defend yourself at all, can you?" he asked, and she shrugged. "There is nothing more important than learning how to handle oneself when it's needed the most," Scallions told her. "Meet me next watch and we'll show you how to handle a shiv."

She met with a group of sailors in their main cabin, where their hammocks swung to and fro under the shifting light of the oil lanterns. There they showed her as best they knew, handed down from sailor to sailor, defensive positions and ways to handle a knife. She was in the midst of a bout that was going quite badly for her when Feanor came charging down the steps. They all froze when they saw him, aware that they were breaking one of the most fundamental laws of Valinor, and his dark eyes surveyed the scene. "Sir," Scallions said, "I can explain - "

"No need." Feanor pursed his lips. "If you are intent to learn defense, Gwen, you need to do so properly. Hand-me-down moves with a rusty scrap of metal are not going to help you if you need it. I am more than capable of teaching you." The sailors shifted their feet, then went back to their duties, Scallions taking the shiv and quickly hiding it once more. Gwen turned to follow her master, but Scallions grabbed her arm. "You're lucky," he told her, "in more ways than one. Your master isn't going to beat you, and that's a rare thing in and of itself. But he's also a master of weapons. Whatever he teaches you, pay close attention."

 From then on Feanor focused on teaching her the use of weapons, focusing primarily on hand-to-hand combat and knife work, as they had little time before they would be reaching home. When they came to the last city on the mainland before their own, named in Breech Abros, Feanor insisted on going ashore to acquire new materials, as metals were brought to Abros to be refined. "The metals here are the best on the continent," he said. Abros was the city where the Vala Tulkas was centered - while the City of Broken Dreams was the capitol of Valinor and thus the center of Vala activity, each Vala also had cities and realms to their own. Ulmo's cities were underwater, Gwen found out, the only Vala who made his home anywhere other than the mainland.

Even so close to the capitol city, the clime was noticeably warmer, no doubt due in part to the months past. As the primary industry of the city was refinement, factories stretched for miles along the river, utilizing water power to churn their machinery. Further out in the distance, beyond the limits of the city, vast plains of farmland could be seen. In the center of the city, the temple of Tulkas towered over the other buildings, rows of shabby housing built to accommodate slave workers. Children were not exempt from working, so families moved between their shifts like haunted shadows.

Gwen followed her master to some of the factories' shops, watching as he perused scrap metal and metal sold in bulk with interest.  Smiths clustered around him, interested to hear his opinion on various topics. This was, she reflected, the city most likely to admire rather than reject him.

Later that afternoon, they were walking the streets when they heard the sound of some sort of horn, different than the whistles that called people to work. The workers not on shift filtered towards the temple, and Feanor followed them, where they congregated before the steps. Out into the sunlight stepped Tulkas with all his attendants, particularly scantily-clad women, who clustered around him. The slaves before him knelt, then bowed low, their foreheads touching the ground. Reluctantly, Gwen followed suit, pressing her forehead into the gritty stones beside her master. She heard a commotion, and, unable to help her curiosity, turned her head to look. Tulkas had come down the steps, striding among the people, who scrambled to get out of his way. It appeared that one of the laborers had not been quick enough to get to the ground.

"Are you unfaithful, Only?" Tulkas spat out angrily. "Are you not devout?" The man nodded, looking down and pleading to the towering Vala, kissing the ground before his feet. Tulkas held out his hand, and the man began to scream, clutching his ears in agony. The screams pierced through the bodies bent low - Gwen could see them flinching. Each successive cry tore through her, and her gut cramped as they stopped. The man was not moving, blood trickling from his ears. Tulkas walked back to the steps, holding himself high for one who had just been wronged. One of the guard came up to him. "My lord, we could have done so for you. You need not have troubled yourself.

Tulkas glared at him. "And who are you to question me?" he said softly.

The man hurriedly bowed low. "I didn't mean - "

"I find doing it myself far more satisfactory." Tulkas glanced around at the people prostrated before him. "I was going to bring you a message of encouragement," he said. "But after that display, I find your presence unsavory." He then turned on his heel and disappeared back into his temple.

The people got up slowly, and she heard some sobbing gently. It wasn't until she got up herself, brushing the gravel off her forehead, that she realized she was shaking. She looked at Feanor, but he seemed distracted, staring at the temple with pursed lips. He then turned to go.

*

The coasts of Maine are well-traveled by visitors; the "down-east" section heavily populated. Every year after their summer at the lake, Gwen's family would visit the far lesser-known section of the coast, the state park named West Quoddy Head. There lies the easternmost point in the contiguous United States, and the most breathtakingly beautiful views of the ocean not taken over by rich mansions. There a single lighthouse stands over the rocky shore, with nothing but sky and sea and the dark forests around it. There one can hike along cliffs that drop straight into the ocean, looking over the edge to the surf seething below. The dead trees sill stand on the cliff's edges, bleached white by sun and salt, standing bare like bones under the harsh wind. The forests are lush, with soft moss underfoot and cooling trees, with dark brooks dyed red from wood flowing gently to the sea. Gulls wheel overhead, whales diving deep into the cooler waters. 

Gwen was standing at the edge of a cliff, looking out to the straight horizon beyond. She was alone - her family nowhere to be seen as the wind whistled around rocky towers built by visitors in times past. Here it seemed as though it was the edge of the world - or the world as she knew it, at least. Beyond the horizon lay some other land, a land that her ancestors had tried desperately to leave and begin a new life. Hands suddenly pushed her forward, and as she fought to regain her balance they pushed her off the edge. The last thing she saw before hitting the ocean was the sun glinting off a silver mask. Then water swallowed her whole.

She woke up with a start. A nightmare, she thought as she breathed in and out, trying to calm her still-beating heart. The cat that had been sleeping beside her stretched, annoyed he had been woken up. She got up off the floor, storing the blanket and going into the kitchen to make breakfast. It had been three weeks since they had returned from their voyage, and she had never been happier to have a normal freshwater bath. Feanor had quickly resumed his work, but their lessons in knife-work proceeded as they had on the ship. She was getting better, her movements less clumsy and thought-laden, more reflexive.

The season had shifted wildly, and instead of the sweet innocence of spring, the full weight of summer was already bearing down on the city. Such wild swings of weather were becoming more common, and the heat was becoming worse without a fair breeze from the sea to give it respite. Gwen was used to living in the mix of countryside and town, and the expectant greening of things, both grass and flower, was something she missed dearly. The few trees present in the city gave shade, so many would seek its shade, with many activities occurring underneath the branches. After the chill of winter, Gwen was quite unprepared for the change, and had to go shopping for some cooler clothing. Turbans had apparently come into style, an easy way to pull hair up and off the neck while keeping it clean from the dust of the city. Silks and cottons were, fortunately, plentiful, and women ditched their heavy petticoats for lighter skirts. The rich had taken to being carried around the city in litters and sedans, with silk curtains sometimes drawn for privacy, but more often than not open to keep cooler. The slaves, bathed in sweat, would carry them on their shoulders, with their owners holding horse-tail whisks to keep away the flies. Feanor rolled his eyes and snorted at the pompousness of it - "It's too hot to even walk?" he would jeer. Gwen watched him sweat heavily in the heat of the furnaces, and tried to keep him hydrated. The cleansing fog that came out at night brought brief respite, but would only serve to make the days more humid.

Gwen checked the icebox, which even with ice was becoming less and less effective as the days got warmer. She was having to make trips to the market daily to make sure they ate only fresh food, so that none of it would go to waste. Even the flour was going bad. She went out and fetched the newspaper, setting it by Feanor's place just as he came in. "I'd like to get out of the heat of the furnaces today," he told her, "so I'll go with you on deliveries and your visit to market."

The market was crowded with people, even so late in the day. Vendors yelled over the crowd, hawking their wares, and the press of sweaty bodies was stifling. Gwen pulled her basket of deliveries close, worried that someone might steal it as she made her slow way towards her fruit stand of choice. There was a great cry over the shouts of the crowd, and over the multitudes of hats and turbans she saw a litter making its slow way through the crowd. The crowd grew quiet, the vendors' cries dying out, and the words of the procession were finally clear. "Out of the way! Kneel before the Vala!"

People at once began kneeling, and Gwen made out the form of the Vala Tulkas. She pursed her lips, remembering the screams of the man who had not knelt in time, and a deep rage was kindled inside her. All her life she had been Christian, and she had never faced this situation before stepping foot on this world - the worship of other gods. This rage, this utter disappointment in having paid service to beings that were in effect not gods, made her decide without thinking. As all around her dropped to their knees, even her master, she stood there, for a brief moment elated at what she was doing. Rebelling. The utter act that cried out to her frustration of her circumstances, her grief at losing all she had lost, so she did nothing.

Feanor looked up at her. "Don't do this!" he whispered. "It's not worth it, not yet! You are still my property - do what I say!" The mark on her hand began to faintly burn, but she ignored it. The guards of the procession had already noticed her, shouting and stepping through the mass of bodies to come to her. They looked at her with utter contempt. "Kneel!" They demanded, shoving her, trying to force her down.

"Stop!" The thick voice of Tulkas rang over their demands. "Bring her to me." He had gotten out of his litter, and her vision exploded as one of the guards punched her in the stomach, winding her, and dragging her over to the Vala. He stared at her, calm facade barely hiding the rage roiling underneath. She finally was able to gasp for breath, and she got off her knees shakily, looking the Vala in the eye.

"Are you not devout?" he hissed. She stood there silently, the entire crowd looking on. He raised a hand, and she flinched. Then he did something totally unexpected - he laughed. "For all your bravery, you are still afraid! Surely you know what will become of you. You are nothing to me-" he leaned over to her. "You are worthless. I will pay your master the purchase price, and take pleasure in making an example of you." He pulled a knife from his belt, and the guards laughed.

She reached into the basket, pulling a knife out of one of its sheaths - one that was to be delivered. This made Tulkas laugh once more. He opened his arms wide. "Go ahead, strike! Come, nobody, and strike me down!" A vision of the poor soul who was shot in the courthouse flashed through her mind, and she hesitated. Tulkas lunged to kill her, and she slapped away his hand, new reflexes taking over, plunging the knife hilt-deep into his chest.

When Earendil left the Green Lands/and cleaved to the salty sea/around his brow a golden band/and as worried as could be./When first his shadow darkened here/and thought his hope was won/seeing diamond dust glittering/and gently sparkling shone./Puzzling alone he stood/and thought that it was odd/until onto the wharf he stepped/and found his feet unshod./Diamond dust/pretty as can be!/Diamonds are sharp/and cut your feet, you see!/Call the Valar/Call us lost/but the prettiest thing/has a cost.~ Field Song, Numenorean

Tulkas looked at her, shocked, then down at the knife sticking out of his chest. With a sick feeling, Gwen let go of the dagger, her fingers covered with blood. Everything with silent with shock, except for her rapid heartbeat, as Tulkas fell to the ground, dead.

Immediately there was chaos - some in the crowd lept to their feet, shouting, some stood where they were, transfixed in shock. The guards started after her, and she turned to run as hands reached out to grab her. Some of the fanatics managed to grab hold of her, wrestling her to the ground, and as she looked into their horrified and malicious faces, Feanor knocked one of them back, then the others, with the help of some in the mob. He grabbed her arm, and, running through the rush of riotous people, he found a horse, helping her up. She looked down at his worried face.

"It truly is the end of the world," he said. "You must ride to the other side of the city, then flee north, as far as you can go. This mob will hold up things for a while, before they come looking for you." There was a gunshot, and the horse shied, then took off down a side street. As she rode hard underneath overpasses of train tracks leading to the other side of the city, the clouds seemed to roil and coalesce overhead, and coming to the northernmost walls, lightning cracked and thunder boomed, echoing against the Lesser Wall. She took one of the bridges over the rice fields, which eventually petered out into marshland. When the bridge reached its end, running into a hill and coming down to the ground to form a road, the land around turned to wheat fields. The horse slowed, needing a rest, but began to gallop once more when lightning flashed across the sky. The wind began to howl, and rain lashed her face. The horse beneath her jolted when lightning struck not fifty feet from where they were, and it reared, throwing her from the saddle, - she landed hard. It bolted away, and she was left standing in the pouring rain. A nearby oak was standing alone by the road, spared by the farmer whose fields surrounded it. She ran to it, leaning against the trunk and finding some respite from the elements.

A ditch was in front of her, and, with shaking hands, she reached down to wash off the blood. She sat down, exhausted and dripping. How was this possible?

She had seen the futile assassination attempt before, and it was her understanding that no one, absolutely no one, could touch one of the Valar. A defensive measure they had adopted long ago, Feanor told her, for fear of death. Because they were so powerful, not even the Maiar could stand up to them. Why then could she do so? Numenorean blood undoes many things, Feanor had told her, and perhaps this was so.

She closed her eyes, the seconds of the fight playing mercilessly over and over again in her mind. She had done murder, and her stomach roiled at the thought. It was in defense, her mind attempted to justify. The orc in the library had been no different. Nevertheless, the Vala had been unaware of what she could do. She closed her eyes, feeling more sick, then dizzy, and placed her head in her hands and wept.

Worried that the army would be searching the city, she decided to keep moving, even though it was still pouring. Worried that someone would point out the road she had taken, she decided to cut through the fields to one of the more western roads, then continue north. She set out across the wheat, feet prickling from being wet for such a long period of time. She was going to need to find a better means of shelter if the rain wasn't going to let up - she had heard of some horrific foot disease that might come from extensive damp  - especially if she was going to be walking to the northern reaches. The wheat fields petered out into rice, and she slogged through the mud, trying not to trample the young plants. It was fortunate that the sudden onburst of rain had broken the heat wave, but she was beginning to shiver. Before coming upon a northern road of any sort, she came upon a set of railroad tracks that were headed the same direction.

Over the sound of the rain and thunder, she could hear the reverberation of a coming train, and she crouched down, glad that she would be blending in with the surroundings. She waited, the cargo train lumbering by, then carefully grabbed on, getting in to the shelter of one of the cars. Curling up in the shrieking dark amongst pieces of furniture, exhausted, she fell asleep as water puddled around her.

She woke up briefly, her heart stopping as she thought she was in the ship that had destroyed her home. Then she drifted back into restless dreams.

*

When she woke up, the train was still heaving and swaying beneath her, the furniture rattling, and Gwen had no idea of how long it had been, except for the fact that she was quite hungry. The thrum of the train increased as it accelerated, and she climbed up the furniture to look out the top of the boxcar.

Wide plantations spread out from the tracks, going up to meet a mountain range that soared into the clouds. The air was much cooler here, tempered by the ocean and the snows. The range extended across to the sea, and before she knew it, she had to duck as they entered a tunnel. When they came out once more, the train track curving into a glacial valley, where it began to slow.  Wanting to avoid being seen, she quickly got out, climbing down the side and waiting for a clear angle to jump.

Gwen landed hard, going down on her knees and hitting her shin on a rock. She lay on the ground a while, clutching her leg in pain, but tore off a bit of cloth to help staunch the bleeding. She stood up hesitantly, aware of her need to keep going. She was standing next to a field being tended to by Onlies. They barely took notice of her, intent on their work - hoeing and seeding. One of them looked up, eyebrows rising as he looked her state. He beckoned her over, giving her a hoe. "Use this - you don't want the foreman to notice," he said, then bent over to continue his work. "Why are you here?" he asked quietly, wiping the sweat from his tanned brow as she whacked at the hard earth.

She thought quickly, then lied. While they might be descended from the same people, it didn't mean she could tell the truth. "My master...he sent me to deliver money to a buyer of his, up north."

He squinted against the sunlight. "Didn't trust the mail system, eh?" She shrugged.

He snorted, giving the earth a derisive blow. "Deliverers don't tend to hop trains, though."

"I just wanted a ride." She looked at him. "I wasn't going to walk the entire way. Look, are you going to help me or not?"

"Why would I help you?" He stood up, looking her in the eye. "What's in it for me?"

"The gratitude of my master."

He rolled his eyes. "Because that's worth a lot around here. For all I know, you could be a runaway slave."

"I'm hoeing for you. That's worth something, right?"

He shifted his hoe over his shoulder. "Come on, kid. I don't know what sort of trouble you're up to, but you need that cut taken care of, and a bath." He extended his hand. "My name's Stoddard, by the way."

She shook it. "Gwendolyn."

He nodded. "Follow me."

As she walked, wincing at the pain from her leg, she couldn't help but stare at the mountains. She had never before seen mountains that high, with sharp angles rising towards the sky. In Maine there were mountains, but where weathered down.

They passed pastures where horses were being kept, and soon came upon a large house of grey stone and large windows to let in the view. However, Stoddard passed it and crossed the main road, where old wooden houses had been built to house the plantation laborers. The houses were heavily used, though large to hold a great number of Onlies, patched with wood and blackened from water damage and smoke. It was for the most part empty, but Stoddard went into one of them, walking down hallway of doors that led to one-room quarters, opening the door to find a heavily pregnant woman getting up out of a chair. She kissed Stoddard before looking squarely at Gwen. "This is my wife, Amain. Amain, this is Gwen. She's traveling to the North - do you think you could give her a bath, something to eat?"

Amain nodded, and he left them to go back to work. She glanced over Gwen, sizing her up. "We'll need to take care of your leg first," she said. As she cleaned the cut, Gwen asked, "Why are you here when the others are at work?"

Amain touched her belly. "I'm very close to my time," she said. "No owner would risk losing a baby - not even for the work."

Gwen frowned, not understanding. Amain pursed her lips. "A baby is an investment for my master, Gwen."

Her eyes widened. "That's..." She couldn't think of a noun to describe it. "...deplorable."

 "I -" Amain closed her eyes. "I'm coming to terms with it. He'll probably sell my child once it's weaned. I don't know if I can find the strength to do such a thing." She began to clean up the cloth she had used to clean the wound.

She then took her outside to the kitchen, the setting sun giving a hot light to the packed earth. The workers were singing in the fields, far enough away that she could hear the melody, but not the words. The cook gave her a sullen look before slopping some soup in a bowl and giving it to her, the silver mark on her hand dark in the twilight. Gwen took the bowl, careful not to spill it before sitting at a long wooden table. The mess hall was less a hall and more a set of tables sheltered by a roof, open to the surroundings. A kitchen boy went around lighting the lanterns hanging from the posts above, standing on the tables as he did so.

One by one, the Onlies returned from their work, filling the mess hall with talk. Stoddard, wiping the dirt from his hands, sat down next to his wife and took a swig of something Gwen was sure was not water. Young men filled in the spaces around them, chattering about the latest gossip. One of them slapped Stoddard on the back, shoving the others aside to sit next to him. "Who's the new girl?"

Stoddard gestured towards Gwen. "She's sitting right here. You could ask her."

The Only stretched his greasy hand across the table. "Who are you?" Amain thrust a napkin at him. "You could at least wipe your hand before you shake hers, let alone eat!" He shrugged, wiping his hands, then thrust his hand out once more.

She shook it, smiling. "My name's Gwendolyn."

"Gwendolyn," he said, satisfied, and sat back. "I'm Braden - I work on the machinery here." He dug heartily into his food. "Whereabouts are you from?"

"The city," she said loudly, trying to be heard over the ruckus.

One of the other men snorted, looking around at the other Onlies. "Which one?"

"The City of Broken Dreams," Gwen answered, annoyed that she didn't actually know the name of the city.

"Broken dreams..." came a weak voice, from an elderly man who sat not far from them. The general merriment of the table died, and he looked at her with eyes milky from cataracts. "Let me tell you about broken dreams."

"Oh, come on, Jaroslav! We're trying to eat here!" one of the men protested. Braden grabbed his shirt. "Show some respect, will you?" He turned to the old man, who was shakily holding his soup spoon. "Go on, tell us a tale." But he stayed silent, dipping his spoon back into the weak broth. Stoddard shook his head. "Pity." The noise about them began to grow once more as they looked at one another. Braden took a drink from his mug, wiping his mouth on his sleeve before turning to Stoddard. "Have you heard? The prince is on the move."

Amain leaned in to see him better. "From whom did you hear it?"

He pursed his lips. "From Eder."

Stoddard nodded in acknowledgment. "North, I take it? From the front down south?"

"Aye." Braden eyed Gwen. "You don't know who we're talking about, do you?"

She shook her head. Annoyed, Stoddard turned to Braden. "Perhaps that's something best kept quiet - " But he was interrupted by a shout. A farmhand, panting, came into the light, gesturing frantically behind him. "The Police! They're coming!"

Gwen froze in panic as people quickly stood, acting unusually quiet, solemnly gathering their children and disappearing into the dark. Braden, Amain, and Stoddard stood up with the rest, and, her heart skipping beats, Gwen did the same, stumbling after them. Living in the capitol city of Valinor, she was vaguely aware of the presence of the Police, a far more subtle force than the highly visual soldiers. She had heard references to them, that they skulked around the seedy parts of the city, mostly at night. She had heard horrific stories of the measures taken to enforce the law. The thought of what they might do her to if she were caught made her break out into a sweat even in the chilly night air, lit by the full moon.

She saw something move out of the corner of her eye, and she stopped, but saw nothing in the shadows. Amain grabbed her arm. "Come on, quickly!" Their pace quickened towards the buildings, but somewhere nearby a woman screamed. Braden turned on her, stopping her so quickly she nearly ran into him. "I know they're looking for you," he said hoarsely, trying to keep his voice down. "It's probably best if you leave - don't go in the buildings. The Police will most certainly search them."

Braden looked at them all, taking in this new information. "Stoddard, look after your wife," he said, nodding towards Gwen. "I'll take her to the fields."

Stoddard shook his head. "It's too dangerous. You don't owe her anything."

Looking around, her heart pounding, Gwen hissed at him. "If you're going to come, then come on!"

He shoved Stoddard towards the buildings, then strode towards the fields with Gwen hurrying behind. The new wheat barely stood up to their knees, but it was enough to make noise. Another scream pierced the night, and they quickened their pace. Gwen looked back, and in the ill light of the moon she saw the grass part and shake, but there was no wind, and she saw no one there. "Braden," she choked out before she tripped over something, falling hard on the ground. Braden rushed to her, trying to help her up, his eyes widening as he looked behind her. She struggled up.

"Gwen!" The fear was evident in Braden's voice. "Run!"

They bolted. Beside them the grass moved - the Police were flanking them. Gwen, breathing raggedly, finally saw the Police - menacing panthers moving lithely across the ground, barely making a sound, their coats so black they absorbed the sunlight, and yellow eyes she could have sworn were faintly glowing. Braden cut to the right, trying to lead them back to the houses, but a black shape lept from the grass, white teeth  and claws sinking into his body.

Gwen gasped, stopping short, her abdomen feeling as though a hole had opened there. Braden's body was still under unyielding paws. Desperately, she looked around for a route of escape, but the dark bodies surrounded her on all sides. Suddenly one of them leapt at her - she screamed as she felt the claws sink into her back, and she hit the ground. She could smell the wheat better than she could feel the pain - then the claws dug in deeper and the pain hit her like a wave, sending her flying into darkness.

We live in a flicker of light/Swift as a swallow's wings/A day of sunshine and pain./Then dusk falls./And the bird flies home in the evening./I have sailed the blue ship with the silver prow/Over the sea of eternal stars/I have crossed the guardian's rim of fire/And passed into dreaming.  ~ OR Melling.

"'The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater. Some there are among us who sing that the Shadow will draw back, and peace will come again. Yet I do not believe that the world about us will ever again be as it was of old...Alas for Lothlorien that I love! It would be a poor life in a land where no mallorn grew. But if there are mallorn-trees beyond the Great Sea, none have reported it.'" ~ Haldir, The Fellowship of the Ring, by J.R.R. Tolkien

 

The coming of the Vala Tulkas to the City of Dreams was in no way surprising to Feanor. In fact, he had almost expected it. So he had no second thoughts when he knelt before the pavilion. When Gwen did not kneel beside him, his heart nearly stopped. "Don't do this!" he whispered to her urgently, then remembered her reluctance to show piety before the Valar. "It's not worth it, not yet! You are still my property - do as I say!" He focused in order to cause punishment, but it had no effect before the guards came for her. He winced, concerned for her and, momentarily, for his damaged reputation. As the guard punched Gwen, he gasped, not knowing what would become of her.

He was horrified when, in defiance, Gwen pulled out the knife. "Don't do it. You can't do it," he whispered. He'd seen it several times, in person and in the papers, attempts on lives of the Valar. Every one had failed, and with the expertise of Tulkas, she wouldn't even touch him.

Feanor had a long history of hating the Valar, and he himself had tried to kill them through various means since he was released, but learned quickly that these efforts, even when done in secret, were futile. So he laid low in order to stay out of the Halls of Mandos. Feanor could hardly believe that Gwen's dislike of the Valar would lead her to do something so stupid. She was such a meek, uncomplaining, inquisitive girl that he didn't think she could do something like that anyway, even if there was no enchantment on the Valar.

So when she stabbed Tulkas, his jaw dropped in astonishment. For a second he thought his eyes deceived him. Then as the crowd roiled around him, he stood on his feet and punched  one of the people reaching for Gwen. It felt good.

He hadn't fought for years.

Others rose by his side and pulled soldiers away, so he grabbed her arm and, looking around, seized the reins of a nearby horse. He helped her up onto the horse and looked up at her, emotions raging through him. Recalling his conversation with Elrond, he sighed. "It truly is the end of the world." The unthinkable had happened, and it was going to change everything. "You must ride to the other side of the city, then flee north, as far as you can go. This mob will hold things up for a while, before they come looking for you." There was a gunshot, and the horse shied. Feanor ducked, and when he looked after her, she was gone.

He thought of something, then fought his way towards where the Vala had fallen. But his body was gone - Feanor searched frantically around, then saw the palanquin being carried away by soldiers pushing through the crowd. It was too riotous for him to follow them directly, so he headed for one of the nearby shops, reaching for the ladder that led up to the roof. Clambering up and looking around, he could clearly see the direction of the palanquin, which was being swiftly borne towards the center of the city. He ran and jumped to the next roof, landing with a jolt that reminded him acutely that his body was not the same as it once was. But he scrambled over it and went on to the next one, following the body. The soldiers changed direction abruptly, and he had to climb down across streets to follow them. There was a faint boom that echoed across the city, then a crack. Feanor looked briefly over the rooftops to see smoke rising from several important buildings. Some of those aligned with the rebellion were trying to build on the chaos that had already occurred.

When he got to the wider venues he had to continue on foot, but there were no riots here, and he ran, trying to keep the pavilion in sight as it was hauled to the Court of the Valar. He knew then what he must do. He cut around the side, searching for a servant's entrance. When he found it, he squeezed around a large dwarf to get inside, then ran across hallways and up stairs, to a gallery on the side of the Court. It was usually used by courtiers - people of very high rank to watch the proceedings in comfort. Crouching behind a pillar, he watched as the body of Tulkas was brought in.

The rest of the Valar materialized out of the corners and shadows of the large empty room. They ran to the still body of Tulkas, and a great keening wail came from Nienna. Feanor heard their hurried talk - "How could this have happened?" "He was stabbed!" "They'll have to pay for this!"

Feanor hoped desperately that Gwen had made it out of the city. He was honestly surprised at how emotional he was - it had been a long time since he'd had someone to look out for. The Valar were now moving the body to another room, so he stood on his feet and followed quietly, hoping he wouldn't be seen.

* 

Gwen woke up to cold water splashed over her face. Blinking rapidly to get the water out of her eyes, she slowly became aware of the pain arcing up and down her body. Her arms were strung up above her, lifting up her pained arms so that her toes barely touched the floor. She could feel the scratches the Police had given her acutely, and running her tongue over her lips to catch what water she could to quench her thirst, she looked around.

There wasn't much to see.

The cell was barely lit by a cluster of glowing crystals from the ceiling in one corner, and the cell had been crudely carved out of solid rock. Perhaps the most prominent feature was the dwarf who had thrown water on her. He grunted, noting she was awake. She twisted her body painfully to watch him exit through the door, made of solid wood that scraped loudly across the floor as it was closed, then locked. She twisted to the left to note a small window, more of a slit, that let in a view of solid, rather grey sky. She closed her eyes, willing every straining muscle of her body to sleep, but it never came. She stared at the crystals, feeling time creep ever so slowly by. Every minute she shifted, trying to get into a more comfortable position so that her shoulders could get a break. To make things worse, now that she had woken up, her hunger was beginning to ravage her insides.

The problem with pain is that you can't even hear yourself think. You feel every minute acutely but your mind can't distract you from it.

The door finally opened, and the guard stood to the side to let someone through. She was a tall, imposing woman - the kind whose mere presence commanded respect and attention. She wore robes of heavy black, her hair of the same color flowed loose around her shoulders, and as she moved her hand to stroke the butt of her pistol, Gwen saw her hands were tattooed with a pattern she didn't recognize.

She paced furiously around the room, then reached up and grabbed Gwen's chin, forcing her to look up into amber eyes.

"It is unthinkable," the woman purred, "that an act of such magnitude could be started by one so low." She looked Gwen over judgmentally. "It is fortunate, however, that such accurate records are kept - that a slave can be identified by the mark of her master. Gwendolyn Llewellyn," she said, rolling the name off her tongue. "You've made quite an impact after such a short stay on our lovely planet."

Gwen couldn't contain herself. "What about Braden?" she blurted. "Is he here too?"

The lady frowned, then smiled. "That Only who tried in vain to save you, I believe. An unfortunate incident, I must say. But his master was duly compensated for his death."

Gwen bit her tongue hard, her throat closing as she thought about his still body - sacrificed to save her.

The woman in black studied Gwen's reaction closely, then laughed lightly. "The murderer is sorry for her friend's death. Ironic." She paced around Gwen. "It is most unfortunate you are not mine to interrogate - that a servant of Mandos must defer to Manwe!" She gave a bitter smile, leaning close so she was inches from Gwen's face, hot breath making Gwen shrink back. "How did you do it?" the woman hissed. "How did you kill  god whom so many have sought to destroy?" She brought out the pistol lovingly, then slammed the handle into Gwen's face.

Gwen cried out, head throbbing, blood trickling from a split eyebrow. "Why did you succeed where others have failed? Tell me!" she shouted. The door scraped open, and the dwarf walked in. "Lady Amarie," he said in a gravelly voice, cringing in expectation, "I am obligated to remind you that the interrogation must wait until Lord Caranthir arrives."

"I know that very well!" Amarie snapped, then composed herself. "This is not our last conversation," she told Gwen softly, then her form blurred, slinking forward, lengthening and solidifying into the form of a panther. The great cat exited, along with the dwarf, leaving Gwen to hang there.

She was quite unable to wipe away the blood now trickling from her head, so she closed her eyes and hoped the wound clot quickly. Time trudged its sullen pace. Eventually, she heard a small amount of noise outside - the changing of the guard, no doubt. She opened her eyes carefully, not wanting to be blinded. The light outside the slot had faded into darkness.

Her mouth was dry - her body pleading for water. Looking around, she saw none - no water dripping from the ceiling for leaking down the walls. Hours passed, and she began to tremble as any strength she had faded. She could acutely feel every wound made by the cruel claws down her back. In order to get her mind off the pain, she had angrily started to rant at the wall, imagining herself before her captors, bravely withstanding whatever they might dish out. Of course she knew what the end result of her imprisonment would be - a very public trial leading to her death. This filled Gwen with foreboding, and to dispel it, she shouted.

"Why, why did this happen to me? I was happy at home, and then it was ruined! It's all gone - all of it..." A sob wracked her body. "I just want to go home," she whispered. "I hate it here. I don't want to die..."

The light through the slot had long since lightened when Amarie returned, sweeping into the room followed by the dwarf and another person who Gwen brightened to see in such a dark place - Finrod. But when she could more clearly see his face, her heart dropped. For surely his hair was a similar shade of brilliant auburn, but his brown eyes and profile were not the same He was wearing a black velvet surcoat emblazoned with the emblem of Mandos and a seasoned sward at his side. Amarie nodded to the dwarf, who gave the key to Gwen's manacles to the newcomer. He silently strode up to her, reaching up to unlock the manacles, unscrewing. As soon as she could, she put her arms down, but cried out at the pain it took, lifting them up to relieve it. She didn't look at her captors, embarrassed at her blatant weakness. Slowly she lowered her arms, but the muscles still protested.

Amarie stepped towards her, and involuntarily, Gwen drew back. Even though they had met only briefly, she didn't think Amarie had any good intentions. She disliked unpredictable people - Elves more than anyone were not easy to understand, which made them very dangerous in her book. Amarie casually plucked off her gloves, revealing the black tattoos that writhed over her hands. Tossing the gloves to the dwarf, she walked towards Gwen, who hastily backed up until she was trapped in a corner.

Amarie gave a curt smile. "Did you know, Gwendolyn, that this here," she gestured at the stranger, "is my son? I'm sure you didn't. He's very secluded in his work." She clasped her hands. "You see, I get very annoyed when I can't get information from my prisoners. So I asked my patron Vala, Mandos, if he couldn't do something about it. Well, there is always a price to be paid for such things, so I gave up my son to his service. In return, I've been given many powers. Shall I demonstrate?" She suddenly moved, quite quickly, and Gwen in vain tried to slap those tattooed hands away. But Amarie grabbed her wrists with a strong grip. Gwen struggled, but Amarie wouldn't let go.

Then every nerve ending in Gwen's body spasmed in agony, stopping as Amarie hissed. "How did you kill the Vala Tulkas? How did you kill a god?" The pain began again, and Gwen screamed, "I don't know! Please - I don't know!" Her vision clouded under the pain as Amarie grilled her. "Was the knife enchanted? Did Feanor give you a magical knife?" she snarled. It went on for ages as Gwen begged, screamed, pleaded, and cursed under the unrelenting watch of Amarie's son.

Eventually, Amarie tired of the charade. She let go of the girl's wrists, watching in distaste as Gwen fell to her knees, weeping. She turned on her heel, annoyed that id hadn't worked, and left, her son and the dwarf following. As the door was locked again, Gwen heard Amarie's voice dripping with disdain. "I've never seen such a pathetic display with no results." Then the footsteps faded away and the cell became quiet once more.

Over time, Gwen as able to stop sobbing. Her body was still in great pain, though it was less than before, and it hurt to move. She examined her arms and was surprised to see three bloody lines on both of them, as though the skin had cracked open, extending from the wrist to the elbow. She tore off cloth from her skirt to staunch the bleeding. Perhaps, she thought sullenly, she might die of thirst or infection before her execution. It would be less humiliating, she concluded, and would not give the Valar what they wanted.

Exhausted, she hoped that sleep would com, and it did - her exhausted body drifting into a thin, dreamless sleep.

She awoke only a little refreshed. The pain had reduced somewhat, but her tongue was swollen for want of water and she had lost all track of time. Quickly she got up and reached for the window slot, hoping to catch a little bit of dew or rain, but the slot was far out of reach.

Tired already from the effort, she slid against the wall to sit on the ground. She closed her eyes, remembering the incident that landed her here. Then she prayed more ardently than when she was drowning, more desperately than when she lay in the bowels of the ship bearing her away from her home. "Lord - " she whispered, and opened her eyes, feeling it was a futile effort, then stiffened her resolve. Lord, she prayed, help me please. Anything you can do, I'd really appreciate. I'm lost and alone, confused and I'm frightened, Lord. I very well might die.

This made her feel a bit better. To occupy her mind and keep it off her raging thirst, she mentally recited the Quenya, Sindarin, Numenorean, and Breech names for the months and days. When she ran out of these, she recited as much of the history of Arda as she could remember, but she soon lost interest and she sat in mournful thought of her bitter end. She knew full well the human body could really only go about three days without water. She started trying to count how long it had been since she had last taken a drink.

Halfway through her count, there was a commotion outside and the door was unlocked and opened, with Amarie once again coming into the room with her son. Gwen did not rise - she didn't want to expend energy she didn't have. A slew of attendants brought in platters of food and set them on the ground before her - meats with steam still rising from them, fresh fruit and bread. But Amarie took from her side a skin of water, holding it before Gwen's eyes - a prize worth dying for.

"You have done well in your purposes," Amarie said. "For that, we think you can be trusted. The ability to kill a Vala is one that is not just dangerous, but even more so in the wrong hands." She paced back and forth, black robes swirling across the floor. "I serve Mandos, the mighty judge, and it is he, not the lofty Manwe, who holds the power in this world. He deserves the complete rule of Arda, with me by his side, and he's giving you, Gwendolyn, a chance. If you will serve him and kill the other Valar, he will let you live." She held out the water, and all Gwen could think about was its wetness running down her throat. "I do not think," said Amarie, "that it is a hard choice. But you will be given all you desire, when your task is finished. And if you thought my methods were terrifying, think of the trial you will face later under Lord Caranthir."

This was a good offer, Gwen thought. Whatever principles she had once held were deeply diminished in a time of great need. God, it seemed, had deserted her. But as she shifted forwards to grab the flask, and its promise of life, she looked to the figure that stood shadowed behind Amarie. The son of Amarie had been watching her impassively, and now caught her gaze. But instead of the cold she had expected of him, there was something else in his look - not sympathy, but something akin to it. Slowly he shook his head, and though he said nothing, she understood his intent - Don't give up, it said. Don't give in.

All temptation fled then, and she stood, supporting herself against the wall. As she looked once more at the water, she instinctively thought of grabbing it from Amarie's hand, but she tore her eyes away and managed to speak her mind. "No."

Amarie raised her eyebrows, genuinely surprised. When she saw Gwen was serious, she chuckled quietly. "You know I would have you perish before Lord Caranthir arrives. The soldiers of Manwe cannot earn such a prize as you." She opened the skin and drank from it, drops running down her chin, smiled, and left once more, the servants taking the food. At the doorway she stopped. "If," she said, "You happen to change your mind, call for the guard." Then she was gone, and the others with her.

Gwen didn't doubt her words. Trembling, she slumped to the floor. Why had she done that? Taken the silent message of someone she didn't even know? Now she would die for sure. Briefly she considered going to the door, pleading, but she knew in her heart she had done the right thing.

Hours crept by, and she heard once more the changing of the guard. Suddenly, the door was unlocked and opened. Gwen closed her eyes, not wanting another confrontation with Amarie. When she opened them, however, it was not the cruel woman who stood in the cell, but rather the small elf that was Amarie's son. He was no longer dressed in the raiment of Mandos, instead he was wearing several worn shirts beneath a light sweater with many holes in it, as well as amulets on leather cords around his neck.

What drew her eye, however, was not his presence, but rather the fact that he was carrying a flask of water. "Is this a new tactic of your mothers'?" she asked. "A sort of good cop/bad cop routine?"

He looked annoyed, and swiftly strode over to her, uncorking the water and handing it to her. She picked it up and, with her hands shaking, drank greedily. "Slowly," he said. "I can't go out for more, and I don't know the next time I can come - my mother isn't often distracted."

Gwen wiped her mouth on her dirty sleeve, examining him more closely. He was a bit shorter than the average Elf, with a tightly wound body. He was looking disinterestedly around the cell when she finished drinking. "Thank you," she said, a little out of breath from drinking so heavily. "You just saved my life."

He shrugged. "It's nothing, really." He reached for the flask, but Gwen withheld it. "First I must know our name."

He pursed his lips. "Eleyond."

She wrinkled her nose, trying to figure out the Elvish. "What does it mean?"

"I believe the correct translation is 'Behold! A son!'"

"All that in a name?"

"Elvish can at times be succinct."

Gwen looked at him thoughtfully, really wanting more information. "Why did your mother give you to the service of Mandos?"

Eleyond glared at her, then wrested away the flask. He left quickly.

The next night, Eleyond visited again with water and by then food - a handful of grapes and cheese. He spoke nothing, answering none of her questions. Amarie visited once more, clearly annoyed that Gwen was not dead.

The next time Eleyond visited, he spoke as she was eating. "My mother would prefer you to die quietly, I'm afraid. She can just say you refused to eat or something like that. Any evidence of murder would look bad for her. But she will kill you to avoid handing you over to Manwe. Even those who last the longest are those of high Numenorean blood, and they only last at most seven or eight days without water. Lord Caranthir is delayed at present, but he will arrive before long."

"Why then keep me alive?" Gwen asked, licking her fingers.

"Because I'm sure a rescue will present itself," he said carefully. "Though I don't want to raise your hopes. News of you capture has spread rapidly and there are others who want to question you."

"I'm afraid I have no answers."

He shrugged. "But they don't know that, do they? Their hands will be much kinder, I'm sure." Hesitating, he continued. "My story is a long one, but you've asked to hear it."

"If you have time," she said dryly.

He ignored the sarcasm. "I do. My mother is out for a while." Sitting down across from her, he began. "I've read in your paperwork that you've recently come from Earth. This may come as a surprise to you, but there were Elves on Earth - "

Gwen interrupted impatiently. "I know - Finrod told me all about it."

Eleyond looked at her, astonished. "Then you know much of my story already!" He stopped, considering this new information. "Finrod and Amarie knew one another before embarking on the ship that accidentally brought them to Earth."

"Really!?"

"Yes," he said, exasperated. "Let me finish without interruptions! They were married, in fact. But after beginning to settle in Britain, they had strongly different opinions - Amarie thought they ought to try and return home, but Finrod was less inclined to do so. Amarie had a far lesser view of Men than Finrod, so they grew apart. Eventually, my mother joined the Unseelie court, and they became estranged. Yet once in a while, in loneliness and love one would find the other, and spend brief amounts of time together. Amarie earned quite a reputation among the Unseelie Folk." He hesitated. "She was even called by a name later considered Morgan le Fey.

"Their brief trysts grew briefer, then stopped altogether for many years. But after the fall of Arthur, they were troubled and met under the grey twilight. Afterwards they agreed to finally go their own ways, with Finrod leaving Britain for a time.

"It was soon afterward that she found she was pregnant." His eyes drifted. "I am a child of two worlds, born from the crossroads of darkness and light. Love and anger, mingled." Remembering, he gave a small smile. "That is why my Elvish name is 'Behold! A son!'" he said. "My mother was quite surprised at my arrival! But my name was not always Elvish."

He looked down at his hands. "My mother abandoned me soon after I was born. I've asked her several times why, but the only answer she will give is that life at that time was difficult. Nevertheless, a knight stumbled upon me when I was crying alone in the depths of a forest, and took me home, raising me as his own son.

"You probably think I was raised in a castle, but at the time it wasn't so. Knights were subject to their lords, and so our house was nicer than many and we had vassals, but we were not great folk. Few at that time were literate, so I did not learn my letters. Fairly early on, I became aware that I was not the same as other children, though I might look like them. The stories of Elves by that time had long been lost or frittered down into paltry tales, so I never thought myself associated with them. Before long the Crusades began, and I embarked, more than a little afraid on a journey to the edge of the known world, serving my father." He was lost in memory now. The Crusades hadn't been pretty. "I grew up quickly on that journey," he said. "My father was killed in battle, but I stayed to help my lord. When I returned home, I found many I had known, including my mother.

"From here my tale perhaps grows long. I won't bore you with the people I met or places I visited. But I learned much - but as time wore on people began to notice that I hadn't changed. That time hadn't touched me - even I was disturbed when I thought about it. When rumors reached their worst, I left for Italy.

"There I learned many things, including how to paint and to navigate by masters of the craft, and sailed to far-off lands. Over the centuries I moved to Spain, then the Americas - I can admit, I fought in many wars. As puzzled as I was by my about my own immortality, I did at times think of ending my life by my own hand, but never had the heart, even in the darkest of times. I've certainly had brushes with death.

"Things got more difficult as time progressed, especially to give myself new identities, and I needed more contact with the criminal underworld than I would have liked. Nevertheless, I was able to sign up for a few wars." He pursed his lips. "I was killed during World War II, by a stray bullet on a Pacific island. Then I wound up here, to my surprise, and the administrators had no clue what to do with me. So they asked around, and my mother showed up. It was a bit of an awkward meeting, I must confess. But she told me the rest of my story, of who I was, and I grew closer to her for it. But I had no idea she was using me to her own ends. When she brought me before Mandos for the first time, she pledged me to his service. And thus I was sent into his Halls, to torment those who were being punished." Then he closed his eyes, pain flashing across his face. "I've seen much of death - living among Men only reminds me of it more often. I've been in bloody wars, and even now I feel though at times I take pleasure in other people's pain. Call me a monster if you will, but not heartless - it sometimes helps the pain I feel inside to abate a bit. Then I feel awful for it. I haven't slept for days."

"Have you never met your father?" Gwen asked.

"I tried, but it turned out he was still on Earth until recently."

Gwen winced. "Right."

"But what you've done - it's incredible."

"Incredible? It landed me in jail."

He leaned in towards her, excited. "Don't you see? You're a light from the shadows - hope when there is none. You've shown we can't be restricted under the Valar's rule any longer - that they're not all-powerful! Rumors are already flying around the countryside.. The rebellion has renewed fighting because of it!" Suddenly worried, he plucked out a pocket watch, then snapped it shut and leapt to his feet. "I've got to go, but I'll come back when I can." With that, he left.

It began to get cold, and Gwen huddled in a corner to preserve warmth. Then she saw something strange - a sort of smoke was drifting through the slot. Her first instinct was that it was meant to kill her - to make her die of smoke inhalation. It was an inventive method, to say the least. But when she got a whiff of the smoke, but it was not wood smoke. Living in Maine, she had gotten to know that smell well. Rather than the earthy smell of wood, it was a sweet smell. Not cloying and heavy like incense, but light.

Spots began to swim across her vision and a heavy weight lay upon her. She drifted into sleep, but her dreams were vivid, so that she remembered them clearly after she awoke.

It was as though she was transported, through time and space, the stars whirling past her and the entirety of Valinor before her. A great gravitational thrust brought her into the Court of the Valar, stopping so that she was squeezed into a closet - very claustrophobic. Beside her was the huddled form of Feanor, but as she nudged him, he did not answer. It was as though she wasn't there.

He was hunched beside a grate leading into another room, and as she looked through, she saw eleven Valar standing in a ring around the shrouded body of Tulkas. It was the first time she had seen all of them - it was very rare for Manwe and Varda to come down from Taniquetil, but when they did they did not stray far beyond the reaches of the City of Broken Dreams. But a twelfth figure stepped up to the circle, and Gwen heard Feanor's sharp intake of breath. The figure was clad in armor and shrouded in darkness - none less than Morgoth. Nessa and Vana moved to make room for him, and all were clearly uncomfortable with his presence, but he was not rejected.

Manwe broke the silence, speaking slowly. "We have long been caretakers of this world - it was our charge, but now this world has taken one of our number from us. There have always been those ungrateful for our sacrifices, but now their numbers are strengthened. They've forgotten what we've done for them." There were murmurs of agreement from around the circle. "Long has our conflict been insignificant, but now I submit that, in memory of our fallen companion, vengeance must be wrought upon those who would sanction such an act. They must pay for what they've taken from us. A disagreement will become war, but it will be easily handled." Most of the Valar nodded their approval.

Suddenly, there was a noise behind Gwen and Feanor looked back. Light shone on his face as the closet door was thrust open. He leapt to his feet, but it was too late - one of the soldiers pulled a pistol and shot him. Gwen screamed, but no one could hear. The soldiers dragged Feanor's body out, and the vision suddenly shifted.

She was no longer in the bloody closet, but rather on a grassy hilltop. Before her were two trees.

She recognized them instantly from stories and prevalent artwork. Laurelin and Telperion reached up into the starlit sky, casting off their glow. They were far more beautiful than she had imagined. As she reached up to touch one of the shining branches, she awoke suddenly.

The sweet scent still hung vaguely in the air, but nothing else was in the cell that could have woken her. Then the door clicked open, the person behind it trying successfully to push it without scraping. Eleyond came in, trying to close the door just as silently. He was carrying a flask of water.

"I had the strangest dreams - " Gwen said, but Eleyond interrupted her.

"The guard is asleep," he said. "They've been trained not to - it's very odd, but lucky. Here, I brought - " But before he could finish his sentence, there was a mighty crack.

They looked frantically around to find the source of the noise, and there were more cracks - of something splitting. Gwen looked at the far wall, the one with the slot to the outside, and there were cracks spiderwebbing across its surface. The wall disintegrated with a boom, pebbles flying in all directions. When the dust cleared, Eleyond stared in shock at the figure who stood outside.

The stranger was leaning on a staff with a top tapering into a leafy, flowering twig. His face was serene, head shaved, and half-naked except for white cloth wrapped around  his waist, falling to his ankles. He had tossed the remainder of the cloth over his shoulder. Gwen guessed he was some sort of monk.

"Greetings," he said. "You'd best come out before the guards wake up."

The thrill of release rushed through Gwen, and she carefully stepped through the rubble onto the grass outside. She looked back to see Eleyond still standing in the cell.

"Come on," she said. "Why are you waiting?"

"I'll just make you easier to find," he replied. "I'm in service to the Valar, recall."

"I'm already wanted, and you won’t make more of a difference. Come on, it's your freedom too."

"Well, three is company," the monk said. "Shall we depart in all haste?"

"Yes, let's!" Gwen said enthusiastically.

"Where are we going?" Eleyond demanded.

"Away," the monk replied vaguely. "Specifically, North, if that's what you're looking for."

The police fortress had been built into the solid rock of a hill. It had been built to be as secretive as the Police themselves were, and so it was surrounded by tall scrubs and grasses - the three of them were quickly under cover.

They had walked a solid eight or nine hours before Gwen needed to rest. They didn't build a fire, for they were now in flatlands, but they were able to sit and drink.

"What is your name?" Eleyond asked the monk.

He smiled. "My name doesn't really matter," he said. "You may call me Cerederthan, if you would like. I'm sure you both have many questions. I am a servant of Irmo, otherwise known to us as Lorien."

"Did you send me those dreams?" Gwen asked.

"That you dreamed, I am sure. But what you dreamed, I cannot tell. The guards I sent into Dreaming, as well."

"Are you taking us to your monastery?" she said, worried.

The monk blinked, clearly surprised. "I was not aware you knew of it. But yes, that is where we are going."

"My mother is a slave there," Gwen said. "It's in the records, that's how I knew about it."

He looked nonplussed. "I have not been back to the monastery for nigh on twenty years, so I cannot say whether she is working there. But I am glad it gives you hope."

"How did you know that Gwendolyn was captured?" Eleyond asked, still eyeing the monk with caution.

"Let's say I was at hand. I had a dream of my own and came to help you."

"But how did you get us out? I've never seen anything like that before," Gwen said.

"Everything," the monk answered serenely, "has something that will make it break, physically or not. With a single blow, I could destroy your friend, or with a single sentence disturb his heart. So too stone walls can with a single touch be felled. One must only understand the shatterpoints of the world, and understand much." His gaze was penetrating. "We have found the shatterpoint of the Valar, for example."

She shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Nevertheless, we have a problem - Gwendolyn does not have traveling papers."

But Eleyond was thinking. "Gwendolyn, if you had never seen Finrod, would you have thought I was him?" Gwen nodded. "From what I understand, a slave and master may travel freely together."

"But we are traveling into the Northern Realms, where folk are familiar with Finrod's ways. He never kept slaves before he left."

"Things can change temporarily, I think," Eleyond pointed out, "for our purposes."

As soon as the sky began to lighten with dawn, they set out. The scrubland petered out into wetlands, so the ground squelched beneath her feet. They followed the broken remains of an aqueduct, then continued when it veered away. Mills churned out smoke in the distance. By mid-afternoon Gwen was exhausted, but refused to say anything, wanting to get as far away from the fortress as possible. Presently, they came to a stone-paved overgrown road.

"This was once a commonly-traveled trade route to the North," said Cerederthan. "But other roads have since taken precedence. This road will take us to the monastery, if you would like to traverse it, or we can go by another way. This road intersects with larger ones at various points."

"I'm not worried," Eleyond said, "especially if we are vouched for by a monk of Lorien. Will you do that?"

The monk shrugged. "Perhaps. My order takes a vow to never interfere in affairs."

"Why then did you free Gwendolyn?" Eleyond asked.

"We are allowed to push things towards a course."

This was enough for Eleyond, and they started down the road. Its deep wheel ruts testified to its past usage. I rained for two days as they trudged along the path - for the most part silent, as Cerederthan seemed to have little to say.

Finally on the third day the sun broke through the clouds, illumining the wide grasslands. "This was all once forest," said the monk. "but they have long since been cut down. A tragedy in its own right."

"Was this not once the forest of Lorien, your master?" asked Eleyond.

"I thought they weren't cut down - a clerk asked if they should cut down the forests of Lorien to make paper," Gwen added, surprised.

"That must have been a statement of irony," said Cerederthan. "For this was indeed the home of Lorien and Este, his wife. But when others had need, they cut down the trees, so that the forest grew ever smaller. Este has always slept peacefully on an island in Lake Lorellin, in the center of the wood. When the axes grew ever closer to the lake, he gave up resisting. He placed powerful wards around what remained of the lake and forest, so that no one might disturb the gardens there. Greatly wearied by the hurts his forest had suffered, he took Este and journeyed to the mountains, where he laid to sleep beside her. Our monastery guards them. But a small bit of that forest remains, and by my reckoning we will be there in a week's time. There is a major road nearby, but it forgoes the forest for a straighter path. The path we are on leads to it. The lake is a site of pilgrimage, and when this road was in use there were many pilgrims who visited the forest. Some still do, but their numbers have lessened."

They stopped for the night at a set of statues that lined both sides of the road, seven on each side - statues of the Valar. The Valar strictly regulated what their images could portray - what positions, colors, clothing, and animals they could be shown with. Nevertheless, Gwen felt uncomfortable under their stony stares. Noticeably, the statues of Este and Lorien were missing. The wind whistled bleakly over the land.

It have been fortunately warm at night, so their lack of blankets was not noticeable. But their clothing was getting quite worn. Eleyond, it turned out, was quite good at catching small game and fish, things he said he learned "when I was quite young."

They soon happened upon small farms that quickly turned into a town - albeit a fairly empty one. As the trade route became less and less traveled, many residents had left, leaving abandoned buildings. The three of them decided not to stay there, but to push on through the night. It seemed to them a place that might be crime-ridden or worse.

About two more days out, they came across another traveler, the first they had seen while on the road. He was a halfling, but what Gwen noticed immediately about him was that his hand was not marked. The others noticed this as well, and, their interest piqued, asked who he was.

He didn't understand Breech. The monk gently tried Westron, which the hobbit seemed to understand a bit better. Gwen knew a little, but as the conversation grew more rapid, Eleyond had to translate for her.

"My name is Frodo," said the halfling in answer to Cerederthan's question. "And who are you?"

They answered with their names, although Eleyond gave his as Finrod. If the hobbit knew anything about them, he gave no indication. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"Where the road leads us," said Cerederthan.

"That is my purpose, too," said Frodo. "I am very troubled, and I feel that a journey will help set me to rights, even if I don't know where I am going. I would be glad of company along the way."

"Why are you not marked? Are you not a slave?" asked Eleyond, voicing the question they all wanted to ask.

A dark look passed over the hobbit's face. "No, indeed, I am not," he said. "Although I almost wish I was, for all the trouble it's given me. The Valar gave me the gift of freedom."

This caused general exclamation of surprise.

"How is that so?" asked Cerederthan. "I have never heard of such an occurrence in my life!"

"I came over on a ship from Middle-Earth, with the Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond Half-Elven - "

Here Gwen came in. "My master told me about that ship  - that it brought two halflings. But apart from him talking about it, I never heard anyone else mention it."

Frodo continued his story. "I also came with my Uncle Bilbo."

But he was interrupted again by Eleyond. "But I've never heard of anyone else besides Elves coming through the Iron Curtain. Why did you come through without fear?"

"We were both ringbearers - we bore a Ring of Power  in our lifetimes." And with that he seemed to look off in the distance, as if lost in a memory.

That answer seemed to satisfy Cerederthan, but Eleyond and Gwen looked at one another, confirming that both of them didn't know what the halfling was talking about.

Then Frodo spoke suddenly. "So for our service, the Valar gave us our freedom. But when they left the Blessed District and blinked the haze of joy from our eyes, e realized we had been cast aside, forgotten. I think this bothered me more than my uncle. He was having a wonderful time, talking over great matters with the Elves. But I felt I was missing something. I had hoped for peace, perhaps. One day Bilbo went to the libraries and never came back. Lord Elrond and I searched for him, but he must have gotten lost in the lower levels."

"I nearly got lost there myself," said Gwen. "I narrowly escaped."

"But since then I've observed things, and decided to go looking for something I'm missing. So here I am. I started walking, and now I'm here."

Silence fell between them as fog crept up from a river before them. They crossed the great stone bridge, and when they stopped for the night, Eleyond broke one of the questions pressing to him."What was it like in the Green Lands - or, sorry - no factories, with forests and Elvenhomes of old."

"That is for the most part true," said Frodo. But like many tales it leaves out the bad parts. It has its share of wondrous things, perhaps. But it also has many dark places, full of evil and peril."

Cerederthan sighed longingly. "Here evil and good have faded and mixed, so that nothing is clear or certain."

"Do you miss it?" asked Gwen.

Frodo frowned. "Miss what?"

"Home. Your home," she said.

"Yes," he said softly, after a pause. "I do. I had hoped for adventure here, perhaps, or rest, but have found neither. It's the people that I knew, I think, that I miss the most."

Gwen had to look away, her eyes full of sudden tears.

Fortunately, the others did not notice.

Day is ended, dim my eyes,

but journey long before me lies.

Farewell, friends! I hear the call.

The ship's beside the stony wall.

Foam is white and waves are grey;

beyond the sunset leads my way.

Foam is salt, the wind is free;

I hear the rising of the Sea.

Farewell, friends! The sails are set,

the wind is east, the moorings fret.

Shadows long before me lie,

beneath the ever-bending sky,

but islands lie behind the Sun

that I shall raise ere all is done;

lands there are to west of West,

where night is quiet and sleep is rest.

Guided by the Lonely Star,

beyond the utmost harbour-bar,

I'll find the heavens fair and free,

and beaches of the Starlit Sea.

Ship, my ship! I seek the West,

and fields and mountains ever blest.

Farewell to Middle-Earth at last.

I see the Star above my mast!

               --'Bilbo's Last Song', by  J. R. R. Tolkien

The forests of Lorien could be seen from over a mile away, and Gwen had never been so glad to see trees in her life. It was a blazing hot day, bugs chirping in the grass, and they had run out of water an hour ago. It wasn't just the shade she was longing for, either. It was just seeing a forest after the dust and closeness of the city - it reminded her of home. When they drew closer, she noted that it was not a thriving forest. There were no young trees at the edges, or inside. Just old ones that soared loftily above them. There were pines, so that the ground they walked on was soft with pine needles.

Bird song drifted through the interior , and Gwen, following Cerederthan around trees, felt herself feeling more and more at peace. Her thoughts, in turmoil still from the things that she had done, stilled. It was like a breath of fresh air. They came quickly to the lake ringed by trees. There wasn't a breath of wind. The leaves didn't rustle, and the lake was smooth. Gwen guessed that it might be due in part to Lorien's wards.

Smooth worn stones led across the water to a tree-covered island, sticking perhaps two feet above the surface. Cerederthan strode across with assured steps from practice, but Frodo and the others were more careful. The hobbit seemed uncomfortable with the water, and even Gwen thought it odd to be standing on the surface of the water.

They made it without getting wet. The gardens there had long been untended, so flowers grew on shrubs wild and unpruned. But there was a path, which they followed to a clearing. There was a fountain made of stone, but it was unlike any other fountain Gwen had seen. Stone maidens with water dripping from cupped hands surrounded a tree, delicately carved so that she could barely tell whether or not it was real. Water plinked from its leaves into a pool at the center of the island, which was surrounded by stone steps leading into the water - built when pilgrims flocked to bathe in its clean waters.

Cerederthan took off his sandals, with Gwen following suit, unlacing her worn boots. She wiggled her toes, happy for them to be free. As the others stepped into the water, she hitched up her skirt to wade. The water was cool and soothing on her blistered feet. Evening crept near, and the sun's last rays illumined the tops of the trees. None of them dared to break the silence with a word. As night approached, the lawn began to bloom with white flowers opening to the starlight. They lay in the grass, drying, and Gwen happily drifted off to sleep. It was not a sleep of dreaming, but merely a deep rest, so that she woke up feeling better than she had in many days.

Eleyond was awake before her, but the other two were still asleep. He gave a small smile. "I could stay here for ages," he said. "But we cannot stay here long. Every day is another where the Police can find our whereabouts."

Gwen's heart sank, hating to be reminded of the outside world. She rubbed her arms, trying to ward off the morning chill. Eleyond had been generously allowing her to borrow his hole-ridden sweater, but it didn't hold everything at bay.

"I couldn't help but overhear," said Frodo, startling the both of them, "that you are running from the Police."

Gwen winced. "You heard correctly," she said.

"Have no fear. I don't know what you've done, but my lips are sealed. You seem like decent enough folk, and since you are with Finrod Felagund of renown, and a servant o fthe Valar, I'm sure it is a matter of little consequence."

Eleyond glanced over to Cerederthan's sleeping figure. "Do you suppose we ought to wake him?"

"He's a monk of Lorien," said Gwen. "He might sleep forever."

They decided to give him a bit more time, and Gwen dunked herself in the water to clean off sweat and grime.

Without constant care while she was in Valinor, her long hair was difficult to manage. It would get knotted, matted, and greasy, so she had taken to wearing it in braids for as long as possible. Short hair on women was not common, but women cut it when they were in mourning, and some did so to make a statement.

While she was re-braiding her hair, Cerederthan awoke. He looked at the bright sky, and said, "Why didn't you wake me?"

"We didn't want a grumpy monk to keep us company," said Frodo with a small smile. He looked up suddenly, as a stranger entered the clearing. Catching a glimpse of the person, Gwen looked away with a blush. He was stark naked. She heard Cerederthan talk to the stranger in hurried Sindarin, then a rip, which she assumed was the ripping of his robes - the only real clothing to spare between them. Eleyond laid a hand upon her shoulder. "It's fine," he said softly. "You needn't worry."

"Why did you come, pilgrim?" asked Cerederthan, whose robes now reached his knees.

The stranger answered haltingly, as though he were surprised at being able to speak. "I'm...broken," he said. "I think...I need to be fixed."

"Fixed?" asked Eleyond, frowning.

"The people on the road told me...that here I might be healed," said the young elf.

"I'm sorry," said Cerederthan, " but I know these gardens well. They can provide rest and dissipate weariness, but they have never healed."

Disappointment flooded the elf's face. "Oh," he said quietly, and turned to go.

"Pray tell us what your ailment is," said Eleyond. "Perhaps the monk can direct you to a better place for healing."

"I don't know what it is," said the man.

Gwen frowned. "What's your name, then?"

He turned mournful eyes on her. "I don't know. I don't know anything, really."

"You've lost your memory?" exclaimed Cerederthan. "I've never heard of that affecting an Elf. Elves have forgotten memories before, but not all of them."

"What's the first thing you remember?" asked Frodo curiously.

"Waking up in the grass next to the big road," said the stranger. "Then asking people about myself."

"Perhaps you were robbed and the thieves hit your head," offered Cerederthan.

The elf rubbed his unmarked hands through his dark hair. "My head doesn't hurt," he said.

Cerederthan shook his head, puzzled. "Perhaps those in my order can help find your memories for you. Come, we travel to the Monastery of Lorien, and we will not leave you here alone."

The elf considered this, then nodded.

"But what shall we call you?" asked Frodo. "We can't call you ‘Mister' or ‘No-Name'!"

They looked at one another. "Perhaps you ought to decide," said Cerederthan, turning to the stranger.

"Let the lady name me," he said. "I cannot think of any names."

Gwen pursed her lips, thinking. "How does the name Touchstone sound?" she ventured. "It's the name of a character in a book I once read, before it turned to dust. You remind me very much of him."

"It's a curious name," said Cerederthan.

"A fool's name," said Eleyond under his breath, looking, disturbed, at Gwen.

"Nonetheless, I think it suits me," said the elf. "Call me Touchstone."

*

Frodo, as he was walking carefully across the lake, was lost in thought. Here it was peaceful, and for the night his unrest lifted and memories did not plague him. He would have liked to stay there - a remnant of Valinorean legend, in peace for the rest of his days.

It would have been rather lonely, though, and he came to the sudden realization that something greater was going on, something he needed to be a part of, rather than turn his face away and ignore it. So he reluctantly departed with the others.

Gwen too as sad to go, but as she was traveling towards her mother, the desire to meet with her family was encouraged. So she strode on with purpose.

Aside from her family, one of the things Gwen missed about Earth was sleeping in a good bed. One doesn't really appreciate something until it is gone, and Gwen's aching back was a testament to that fact.

The time it took to get to the road was skewed according to Touchstone's reckoning, and it took them two days before they met the younger road, merging northward. Cerederthan assured them that it indeed did separate later, so that they wouldn't be on it for long. The next night, lying under a cloudy sky, Cerederthan shook Gwen awake. She started, looking up at him. "I wanted to catch you when the others aren't paying attention," he said, reaching into his bag and bringing out a knife. Gwen tensed suddenly, ready to bolt if need be. But instead Cerederthan handed it to her. "You can never be too careful," he whispered, then stood, going back to his watch. Gwen looked at the knife disgustedly, a bitter taste in her mouth from memories.

They continued as the next morning dawned, brooding thundershowers lurking on the horizon. Before evening came, they saw a place along the road built up with what could only be called a small village. There was an inn and stable, a farm and bar. They looked at one another, ragged and tired, and decided that, despite all risk, they ought to stay the night. However, there was a distinct problem - between the five of them, they had no money. "What a sorry bunch we make," said Eleyond. It had begun to pour, which made them all sullen. "A monk, a no-name, a Halfling, an Only, and a servant of Lorien. Together."

Cerederthan gave them a gentle smile.

"Can you see what the outcome of this might be?" asked Gwen.

"No. But I have seen us here. Whether it is the right path, I cannot tell. But we are going on the right one, I think."

But instead of going into the inn, he gestured for them to go into the bar. Gwen followed them, puzzled. She had never been inside a bar - Ash Mills had two, but she'd never been inside them. She had some drunks in her family, to be sure, but had never been a person to go to parties. Nevertheless, if they were broke, it didn't make sense to buy drinks.

When they entered the smoky interior, the bartender eyed them warily. Cerederthan sat down at the bar as the rest of them slid into seats around a table. The bartender leaned over to the monk. "We don't serve unless you pay first," he said. "We've had too many people run out without paying. Policy."

"I tell stories," said Cerederthan.

*

All in all, he made more than enough for them to stay the night. He became a different person when telling stories - lively, entertaining. Some of the stories had points, and Touchstone in particular had listened with a rapt expression.

Gwen found out that she was to share her bed with a complete stranger. Eleyond looked at her with a strange expression when she was confused. "It's been done like that for a long time on Earth," he said. "It conserves beds."

"They're women, don't worry," said Cerederthan. "It's a room meant for Elves, but the only space for a woman left in the inn. We had to pay a lot to get you in there, being an Only."

"Thanks," she said sarcastically.

"Hey! We all have to share beds too," said Touchstone.

"We'll be rooming together," explained Cerederthan.

Gwen walked heavily down the corridor, opening the room door. The bed took up most of the room, but no one else was there yet. She'd never been happier to see a bed. She threw herself on it, scooting over to the far side, and then pulled up the covers and immediately fell asleep.

She woke up sore but happy  - it was still dark out. She was instantly aware that there was someone beside her, smelling strongly of wine. Slowly she turned over so as not to wake them, but her heart stopped when she saw who it was.

She would've known that face from a mile away. It was Amarie, no doubt in the search for her. Very slowly she turned back over and got up, looking anxiously at Amarie's sleeping form.

She could kill her right now, she realized. Amarie would never know who did it and the temporary loss of their commander would delay the Police, at least. Just a simple slit across the throat. She reached for her knife, but stopped. She couldn't do it - what she had done before was defense. This would be murder, plain and simple - even if the Elf would still be alive. Taking the knife, she slit the pillowcase beside Amarie's face.

Softly she sheathed the knife and quietly left the room. It wasn't until she got to the end of the hall that she broke into a run, until she reached Eleyond's room. Gasping for breath, she shook Eleyond. Sleepilty he opened his eyes.

"Police! The police are here!" she whispered hoarsely, and he was up in a flash. Gwen woke the others and they hurried together, out of the inn. Cerederthan looked to make sure there was no one outside, then led them away from both roads. A hundred feet out from the road, they began to run.

Of course, they had to slow down for the Halfling, but it was imperative that they go quickly. The country was hilly and thus difficult to navigate, but Cerederthan did so with skill, using the hills to mask their escape. At perhaps midday they slowed, but still kept a hard pace.

They also walked into the night. Gwen was exhausted and very nervous, often glancing back to see if they were being followed. When the new day dawned, they stopped to sleep, with a careful watch. As they ate a meal together, Eleyond said, "Do you mind, Gwendolyn, if I ask how you knew the Police were at the inn?"

"I woke up next to Amarie," she said.

They stared at her, amazed, and Cerederthan laughed. "Really? That's a story in the making, and no mistake!"

"It must have been quite a fright," said Eleyond.

"What did you do?" asked Touchstone, his eyes wide.

Gwen hesitated, but couldn't tell them the whole story. "I left, quiet as a mouse, and came to get you."

Cerederthan was the only one who noticed her lie, but didn't say anything. Whatever it was she had done, he would find out later. "This tells us how close we were to capture," he said. "From now on we must take great haste in reaching the mountains."

They strove onwards for many days. They had to skirt towns, fording rivers so as to avoid meeting mills. Although they often talked and sang to pass the time, Gwen found herself deep within her thoughts. She desperately hoped her mother was all right, but seeing a monk of Lorien and the way he treated people made her feel better about the affair. She was more worried about her father and brother. She had found that, during her time in Valinor, many slaves were strongly resentful of all Elves. Perhaps in part because of a master who clearly explained all sides of the issue, Gwen found herself sympathetic to both sides.

Gwen winced, remembering her master's death. She couldn't be sure it was true, but she felt it was. What would become of Feanor? Would he be kept once more in the Halls of Mandos?

Gwen examined her arms. The tears in her skin, six in all, had healed into thin white scars. Cerederthan sat beside her. "What happened in the inn?" he asked, his keen eyes fixed on hers.

She looked down. "I thought about killing her. I've never been more ashamed of thinking like that."

"Why didn't you?" he asked.

"I couldn't commit murder. Other people can call me a murderer, but that wasn't my intent. I was defending myself."

"So you say. But many think that your defiance before the murder was proof of your intent."

She shifted uncomfortably. "Please don't call it that."

"Killing, then. Your likeness, I've found, is being spread throughout the continent. You may not be able to stay in any public place."

"What will we do?" she asked.

"I'm sure we'll think of something," he said, and disinterestedly watched Frodo and Touchstone talking.

"I did something else, though," she said softly.

Cerederthan raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"I slit the pillow beside her. I wanted her to know how close to death she came."

"If you are looking for me to approve of your action," he said carefully, "you should know I cannot. It is not for me to choose what your story will tell. That is up to you. But that may make their search ever more ardent, so we ought to keep close watch."

Steadily, day by day, great mountains loomed out of the distance. At first they looked like clouds obscured by smog, but they grew to great heights, white-capped and majestic, untouched by the industries below.

One night, the vague stars obscured by greasy clouds, Eleyond caught a pair of doves. Cerederthan prepared them, and after dishing them out, one by one, he noticed Gwen pause before eating, closing her eyes briefly before eating heartily. Afterward, when the others were readying for sleep, he sat down beside her. "Do you pray to a god?" he said softly, clear eyes searching.

She lowered her eyes. "Yes - but why on earth do you ask?"

He stared into the small fire. "Well, I was just wondering. To whom do you pray?"

She considered this. "The Christian God. We just call Him God, really."

"Curious." They sat there in silence for a while. Finally, he stirred a bit. "Why do you believe in your god?" he asked slowly. "You've made it clear you do not believe in ours, even though they stand before you."

"I'll ask you this first," Gwen said. "Why don't you believe in Ea?"

"Why should I?" he asked. "If the legends are true, he has abandoned us to the care of the Valar. Never has he made himself known to us, and the ancient hopes we once had we have long forsaken. What creator would take so little care of his created? The Valar shaped this world - we might have been one of their thoughts, and none have taken the credit. Aule brought forth life himself, and it has been rumored that Morgoth has, as well. Trust me - scholars have long debated upon these questions."

"Why then do the Numenoreans still speak of him?" she asked.

"The Numenoreans have long held hope in Ea, even against all odds. I would call them foolish beliefs - believing in something one cannot see. The true gods walk among us."

Gwen pursed her lips. Cerederthan was a firm, solid person, and she did not want to get into an argument with him. "I believe in my God for many reasons, many more difficult to explain than others."

"Do you believe in Ea, then?" he interrupted abruptly.

"I hardly know what to believe anymore. Before my town was attacked, I had believed that there might be other worlds and such without question, because God is powerful and can do anything. He never needed to let us know. I think that perhaps Ea might be Him, but I'm hesitant to make that assumption. Perhaps He works with different worlds in different ways."

Cerederthan's eyebrows went up. "Are you saying that this god has spoken with your people in the past?"

"Well, yes. He's shown Himself in many ways."

"Then he could not be Ea." Cerederthan's voice was firm. They said nothing to one another for the remainder of the night.

Soon they came upon a clear river that rushed from the mountains, and they followed it northward. The river water was freezing cold. "I comes from the glacier Aeglironion, up north," said Cerederthan. "There lies our road. The trade route we were following led to it, as well. But partly what led to the collapse of the trade route was the advance of the glacier, which destroyed the bridge that crossed the lake before it. Ever since then, those that follow that route must cross the glacier. We will go that way."

"Cross a glacier?" asked Gwen dubiously. "That's rather dangerous."

"How so?" asked Touchstone.

"We could fall into a crevasse - big holes in the glacier. Sometimes the snow covers them and you step into unsafe ground," she said.

Cerederthan nodded. "It's claimed many lives."

Frodo was frowning. "Couldn't we cross the river earlier, before the lake?" he asked.

"There's no other way to the path going through the mountains. We cannot reach it on another approach."

"Have you not gone that way enough to know where they are?" asked Eleyond.

"Glaciers shift and move, melt and freeze over! No, indeed not" said Cerederthan with a smile.

Within a week the mountains loomed before them brightly and the river began to widen. The crystalline lake, a cold, clear blue, stretched towards the glacier, a white wall, streaked with grey, stretching between two broad mountains. Gwen shivered. None of them were ready for a cold journey, with thin clothes and no cloaks.

They heard deep thumping sounds, like the deep rumbles that come before a thunderstorm. For a moment, Gwen thought it was coming from the glacier, but the sound drew nearer. Eleyond clasped his sword, and the others readied their weapons, except for the monk. Rounding over a hill, Gwen saw first a tall dinosaur head, swaying on a long neck before others came into view as well - people riding dinosaurs or horses, with some carrying loads on their backs or in carts behind them. The fastest of the riders quickly surrounded them.

Their hands were bound and the rest of the convoy halted to make camp.

As preparations were made around them, they were hustled to the leader of the convoy, who stood proudly amongst the clamor. He was tall, swarthy, with white stubble on his chin and a weathered face, sizing them up with cold blue eyes.

"To where are you traveling?" he finally asked.

They all looked at Cerederthan, who answered calmly.  "We are traveling to the Monastery of the Vala Lorien."

The man nodded the thugs standing beside them, who proceeded to roughly search the group. They took all their weapons, Eleyond's amulets, as well as Cerederthan's staff and bag, including the money they had left over from their night at the tavern. The leader looked over it all with an expression of disappointment. "I had hoped for more," he said with a sigh.

One of the women came up and whispered in his ear; he then smiled and thanked her. Coming up to them, he seized Gwen's hand and examined her mark. "We shall feast tonight!" he exclaimed. "The price on your head is no small sum." The thugs took their arms, Eleyond and Touchstone struggling hard against their captors. But Cerederthan looked the bandit in the eye. "Whatever you'd get paid, there are others who would pay more."

The leader sneered, baring white teeth. "All prisoners say that."

"Do you know what she did?" ventured Eleyond.

The man shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

"She killed one of the Valar," Cerederthan's smooth voice cut over the noise. "Now imagine what she'd do to you."

The leader squinted at Gwen, then looked at the woman who had informed him. She nodded. The thugs, worried, loosened their grips. Striding up to Gwen, the man scrutinized her. She held her chin up, gaze unwavering. The leader then motioned to let them go, handing Cerederthan his things. "My mistake," he said.

"You chose wisely," said Cerederthan. "However, you can still make a profit for your trouble."

"Oh?" the smile returned to the thief's face.

"If you help us make the glacier pass safely, with food and warmth, my monastery would make it worth your while."

He considered this briefly while the others in his band watched him, awaiting his decision. "Very well," he said.

A fire was built that snapped and crackled high, and the group was treated to a feast, at least in Gwen's eyes. They all sat on the ground, eating with their fingers, and Gwen was beckoned by the leader to sit on his left. Cerederthan grabbed Gwen's arm as she went to join the elf. "Be careful," was all he said.

The leader was licking his fingers after finishing off a bit of wildfowl when Gwen came, and he gestured once more for her to sit. "My name is Herion," he told her, then motioned to the young person sitting on his right - "and this is my eldest son, Suiauthon."

"Greetings," said Suiauthon, peeking around his father.

"It is truly an honor to have one more powerful than the gods dining with us," said Herion, selecting an apple and biting into it.

Gwen paused. "Sometimes it's not a matter of power, but of weakness."

A smile twitched around his mouth. "Indeed."

"Do you mind if I ask - why did you turn to thievery?"

"This civil war. And, well, profit. Both sides are willing to pay for technology and information. The war has long been a stalemate."

"Why is there fighting, though? I've never been told why."

"Over the Valar, of course - whether or not they have the right to be gods. Those who support the Valar, or are conscripted into their army, are fighting against the dissenters. When you're immortal, these disputes can last for a long time. But you've brought something new to the equation, that's for sure."

They ate for a while in silence. Then Gwen thought of something Herion might know. "Who's the ‘Prince'? I've heard some people talk about him, but I've never known what they were talking about."

Herion gave a laugh and took a deep quaff of his wine. "The Prince is a title that refers to the leader of the Numenoreans - his ancestors long ago went underground. He is the descendent of the Numenorean kings, giving great hope to your people. The Valarian armies have looked for him long and hard - I myself have tried to gather information as to his whereabouts, but to no avail. He is considered great among men. I myself wondered if the young man with you might be him, but the Prince would not be so careless to wander around and allow himself to be captured so."

Still, it was an option Gwen hadn't thought of. Touchstone had no memory of what had happened to him, and the Prince, never a slave, would not have a mark on his hand. The line between Elves and Men was very thin, indeed.

*

The next day the convoy split in two - the thieves kissing their wives and children goodbye, and leaving all the cold-blooded dinosaurs behind. "They'd never survive the cold," said Herion, taking what he needed from his mount. The group of them were given clothing to survive - warm boots for everyone besides the Halfling, woolen sweaters and mittens, as well as cloaks and scarves.

The thieves were geared with a wide variety of weapons - everything from knives to bows to guns - but offered none to Cerederthan or the others. Then they set off up the mountain.

The way was sharp and steep, but not grueling - the path was worn from many feet, and the way was smooth or stepped for easy passage. But soon their way became covered in snow, and Gwen began to feel the effects of the thinner air. Herion handed out crudely-made goggles of brown or green glass to protect their eyes against the wind and harsh glare. One of the bandits pulled out a rope and tied their waists together, then handed out knives to everyone. He showed them what to do if one of them fell into a crevasse - how to stick their knives in the snow, dig in their feet, and try to pull them up. And thus they set off across a breathtaking landscape pitted with canyons.

No matter how clear the view was, the task at hand required constant attention. Twice one of the band fell into a crevasse, jolting them down into the snow, stopping Gwen's heart as they worked together to survive.

After two grueling days they reached the other side.

They trekked along the mountain range, using the well-worn trade route, moving past long-deserted villages, where the wind whistled around the crumbling houses. Wild sheep would obstruct their paths during the days, and the men kept wide-eyed watches at night for leopards.

Two weeks into their journey together, the wind was sending clouds scurrying around the mountains.  Cerederthan leaned over and whispered in Gwen's ear, "We're nearly there."

Then, like a crane flying through a cloud, the Monastary of Lorien rose above the mists, gleaming white in the sunlight. It clung to the mountainside, and its details grew ever more apparent as they drew nearer. They had to cross a valley on a bridge of rope, then another under the shadow of the monastery. A monk, dressed in robes of dark green, came out to meet them, arms open wide. "Greetings," he said.

Chapter 22.

"All ye Elves deem that we die swiftly by our true kind. That we are brittle and brief, and ye are strong and lasting. We may be 'Children of Eru,' as ye say in your lore; but we are children to you also: to be loved a little maybe, and yet creatures of less worth, upon whom ye may look down from the height of your power and your knowledge, with a smile, or with pity, or with a shaking of heads." - Andreth, Morgoth's Ring

Cerederthan bowed before the monk. "I return with much news."

"And you are welcomed," the monk in green said calmly, dark eyes scanning over the group. "But you bring a host with you!"

"Indeed. Some have given us safe passage and seek reward."

The monk nodded. "It will be given. The return of our brother is worth much. But who are the others you have brought?"

Cerederthan squinted against the sun. "All in good time, my friend."

The monk inclined his head, then turned and led them up several flights of stairs, carved deep into the mountain face, to the monastery. The walls were thick, but once they were inside, it was very warm - enough to flush Gwen's cheeks. Her heart was beating quickly and her stomach was doing flip-flops. They were so close to her mother! But she was sure there would be a way to meet her soon, so she said nothing. They were shown to a small room filled with heavy yellow woolen robes and their stale smell, where they unloaded all their cumbersome trappings. The monk in green called another monk and spoke with him briefly in quick Quenya.

Their group was led into a large hall, quite obviously a banquet hall, with short tables and cushions for sitting on the floor. The walls were covered with great tapestries, hung from ceiling to floor and with lavish colors. They were instructed to wait, and the monk in green disappeared down the hallway. They stood there awkwardly. The faint smell of incense hung in the air, as well as a light touch of smoke from the fire crackling in the center of the room.

Gwen wandered around, beginning to look more closely at the tapestries. They were not covered in large pictures, but rather sequences of smaller ones, woven tightly. While some of the pictures seemed connected, others did not. Then she saw one picture of a star falling, and looked to examine it more closely. Cerederthan came up behind her.

"These are tapestries that the monks weave, depicting the dreams they have had of the future," he said to her softly. "Some of these have already happened, some never will. The future is always changing." He glanced at the star. "That one has certainly happened. More and more of them are coming true - like this one" - he pointed at a woman, carrying wings in her hands and fleeing a tower.

"Does Lorien help you to see the future?" she asked.

"Yes and no. Both Men and Elves sometimes have - to a degree - the ability to see the future, or the present. We call it foresight. But before Lorien retired to his deep dreaming, he taught us ways to see the future far more clearly, so that we might be able to guide the world far better than it has fared in the past. The monks weave them here so that we might all perceive them. There are even more written down in scrolls and placed in the libraries. It takes time to weave these, and there are always more visions to be had."

"Do you receive these visions naturally, then?"

"Foresight comes naturally, yes. We try to induce this through meditation. But deeper dreaming, and sight of the future, comes from the herbs we use - like the ones I used when you were in your cell."

"Ah," she said, but was interrupted when the monk re-entered, bearing a sack filled to the brim with gold.

"Will this do?" he asked. Herion made a show of hemming and hawing over it, but accepted it nonetheless. He bowed to Cerederthan. "You're an honorable fellow," he said, "and I wish you all the best luck can offer." His gaze flicked briefly to Gwen, then he turned and left, along with the others from his band.

The monk indicated for them to sit around the fire, and pulled a teapot off the flames. He spooned some powder to cups, filling them with hot water and dishing them out, one by one. Gwen gratefully accepted it, wrinkling her nose at the pungent smell. She wasn't much of a tea drinker, but it was hot.

Cerederthan spoke with the monk in indiscernible Quenya. Frodo and Touchstone exchanged glances. "Do you know what he's saying?" Touchstone murmured to Frodo.

"Very little," said the hobbit. "I know some Elvish, but only words and phrases."

"They're talking about you," whispered Eleyond. "See? They keep glancing your way."

"Can you make it out?" she asked.

He concentrated hard and shook his head. "It's too archaic. Those aren't the forms I know."

She sipped her tea until the two of them rose. "Forgive my rudeness," said Cerederthan. "This is one of the head monks in our order - Daeron. He'll be showing you to the rooms you'll be staying in."

They were escorted to another section of the monastery, busy with the comings and goings of monks. Gwen's room was windowless, lit by the same crystals as had been in prison cell. Carpets covered the floors, and a single feather bed was heaped with blankets. The others were staying just down the hall.

Fairly quickly a maid came in to draw up water for a bath from a spigot. "Hello," ventured Gwen. She showed the maid her hand, and the woman's eyes widened.

"How does a slave come to a place like this," the woman asked, "and not be housed in the slave quarters?"

"It's a long story," Gwen said dismissively. "What's more important is that I believe my mother works here. Her name is Shannon?"

The woman considered this for a moment. "I've heard of her - she works in the kitchens. But I don't know much more than that."

Gwen leapt off the bed. "That's good enough for me! Can you tell me where the kitchens are?"

The woman answered with a string of complex directions, but Gwen wasn't really listening. In her mind, she was safe in her mother's arms. She took off without a moment's notice.

She went down the hall and up two sets of stairs before becoming completely lost. Gwen decided to keep heading upward, and ended up on the roof - which was covered in a greenhouse, steaming and full of plants. Deciding on a floor-by-floor search, she went back and forth downwards. On her way through one of the hallways, she came across a set of three large red-painted doors. Cautiously, she opened one and slipped through.

The smell of incense grew stronger; her eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness. She was standing on a balcony within a larger hall. It was faintly lit by small windows near the ceiling, but a large pair of statues was illuminated by candles. These statues, carefully carved out of stone, were clearly of Lorien and Este, both reclined, sleeping. The room was carpeted in red, with monks sitting and chanting softly before the figures. Before she was discovered in a place she shouldn't be, she immediately left.

By the time her nose found its way to the kitchen, it was running on night staff - four sturdy women baking bread and pounding rice for the next day. "Is Shannon here?" she queried, but the women shook their heads. Her mother, it turned out, would be in the slave quarters, as it was the end of her shift. Gwen made sure she understood the directions before following them.

She wound up having to go outside in order to get to the complex. There were coats available, but she was from Maine - she could handle a short bit of cold. She took a deep breath of warm air, and burst out into the mountain air. She ran the distance, her fingers in her armpits, and entered the building, grateful for the warmth. Going down the hall, she asked the first person she saw what room her mother might be in. The girl told her, and she ran to it, knocking on the door.

It opened to her mother's face, puzzled and then joyfully relieved when Gwen hugged her tightly. There were tears on both their parts - Gwen's suppressed grief surfacing from deep within.

She found out that what she had suspected was true - that the monks treated their slaves well. Her mother needed nothing, aside from being united with her family once more, and, of course, freedom. Gwen poured out everything that had happened - all the strange things. Her mother sucked in her breath when she heard about the death of Tulkas.

"You killed someone?" she breathed. "Your reasoning is sound, but still - I'd never thought you would be able to do such a thing."

"There's more," Gwen said, and told her the rest of the story.

"You're a fugitive? Here?" her mother burst out, her grip on Gwen tightening. "Gwen, you've put yourself in extreme danger!"

"Mom!" she protested, breaking free. "There's nothing I can do about it! Besides, can't you see? There's something bigger going on here!"

"Like what?"

Gwen faltered. "I don't really know. This is all leading somewhere. No one's ever been able to kill one of the Valar before, and my doing so proves something. That they aren't gods? I don't know. But certainly the society here is ripe for change."

"I've never known much about the ways outside of this monastery, Gwen, and from what you're telling me, I agree."

"Cerederthan's brought me here for a reason, that's for sure. It's not just for asylum."

Her mother nodded.

*

Gwen went along with her mother for the morning shift. She was given a bowl of fruit-laden oatmeal for breakfast as the kitchen busied in preparation for the monks' morning meal. The dining commons was extensive, with long wooden tables that had to be set. Gwen was pushing a cart of bowls for another servant when Cerederthan found her.

"I have been looking everywhere for you! Where have you been?" he scolded.

"With my mother."

His face relaxed. "Oh - I'm sorry, it's just - you had me worried, since you're wanted across the continent."

"Yes, well, I should've told you, but I was eager and didn't know where you were."

"Fair enough. But we have much to do, and there is little time. Locals are bringing in reports of the police asking questions in outlying villages. They may be here soon. This monastery may be forgotten, but they're searching hard for you. They may be here before we know it. Come with me."

Gwen apologized to the servant and followed Cerederthan's billowing robes. He had gotten new ones - blue this time, made of rough wool edged with faint embroidery.

"Leave you alone for a night, and instead of enjoying luxury, you return to the slave's life," he said wryly. "Your mother is doing well, I hope."

"Well enough, for her situation."

He nodded disinterestedly. "You are going to meet with the heads of the monastery - a group of very old and powerful individuals. Your arrival is very important to us all. Just be respectful, something I'm sure you'll have no trouble doing. But first we need to get you out of those clothes."

Gwen looked down at her dress - the one Feanor had bought her what seemed like ages ago. The hem was ragged from abuse and where she had torn it to staunch her wounds. It was bloody and stained from mud and food.

Cerederthan stopped in front of his room. "Come, there isn't much time before the meeting. I've laid out some clothes I could find on the bed."

She went in, and he closed the door behind her. She was in a hurry, and didn't take time to look around. She grabbed the clothes and put them on - a maroon linen wrap-around shirt with faint embroidery at the hems, and brown pants. Then she burst out of the room and followed Cerederthan's long strides.

*

Early that morning, Tegalad, a newly elected junior member of the Elder Council, woke up to attend one of the meditation sessions he enjoyed. It was not nearly as relaxing as he'd hoped - more visions of war.

He went to one of the kitchens to quickly have a biscuit, passing through the laundry room bustling with slaves tending large cauldrons of steaming water to get there.  He couldn't focus when he was hungry. Then he went to the special session called for an important visitor - he had no idea who the visitor was, though.  The novices were huddled in groups talking, not yet settled down, their bright colored robes in sharp contrast to the red tapestries that hung ceiling to floor behind them in the great space. Tegalad  stepped up onto the slightly elevated dais reserved for the elders, glancing at his cushion, not wanting to kneel just yet. Glancing around, he saw his mentor, Arandur, talking to the head of their order and went up to them.

"...that's why the entire thing is so exciting," Arandur was saying, then noticed Tegalad. "Ah, you're here!"

"Yes, I wouldn't miss something like this. But I haven't heard anything about the meeting itself. Who is our visitor?"

They looked at him, bemused. "You really don't know, do you?" said the head monk with a short laugh.

Tegalad's cheeks flushed. He felt like an idiot.

"It seems that Brother Cerederthan has brought the girl to us whom he believes is the one we're looking for," said Arandur quietly.

Tegalad frowned. "Is that so?"

The warning bell sounded, and there was a rush as novices bustled to their places, the late ones hurrying through the doors. Tegalad calmly strode and knelt on his assigned cushion, as did the other council members, arranging their crimson robes around them. Calamaethor, a noted fierce monk, sat next to Tegalad. He was highly honored by all as a master of melcinitan, a form of defense now taught to all monks that were being sent out into Valinor. Tegalad himself had to learn from Calamaethor before going, and had come to respect the elf. Beneath the gruff exterior was a passionate person who enjoyed meditation as much as he did fighting. Glancing at the statues of Lorien and Este behind the head monk, Tegalad wished he had that kind of dedication.

His attention snapped back to the present as the heavy wooden doors opened to reveal Cerederthan along with a girl who was far younger than he expected. She looked worried, gazing about the room, and spoke with Cerederthan briefly before the two came forward to sit on the cushions provided.

The bell sounded once more to begin the meeting, and the head monk stirred. "This meeting will come to order," he said. "Since our guest understands only Breech, we ought to use it for this meeting."

They all nodded. The head monk turned his attention to the girl. "Would you please tell us more about yourself?"

She wet her lips. "My name is Gwendolyn, and I'm a slave of Numenorean descent. My family, along with many others, was brought here from another world, where a Numenorean population was residing."

Tegalad had heard of this - one of the monks had brought the news of the events surrounding the fall of the Star of Earendil, a significant prophecy in the monastery's lore.

"Feanor was my master," she added, unsure of what more she could say.

"Are you quite sure of your Numenorean heritage?" asked Veryamorcon, one of the monks across from Tegalad.

She looked at Cerederthan, who gave no reaction. "I'm fairly certain," she said. "I was chosen for breeding stock, and my master says I have strong bloodlines - he had to pay a lot for me."

"It is also our understanding that you killed the Vala Tulkas," said Arandur. Tegalad's heart stopped. Had he heard right? A Vala, killed? How was that possible? The novices stirred and whispered with one another as they processed the same information.

"Would you please describe the incident for us?" asked the head monk. "Every detail is important."

Tegalad half-listened to the story as thoughts roiled around in his head. He had suspected for a long time that the Valar were not gods, and here was the proof. He had always kept his doubts secret, having come to the monastery as a young elf. His parents were part of the roving northern tribes that hunted and trapped for a living, where belief in the Valar was a daily part of life, perpetuated by Maiar living among them. When Cerederthan, then as he was now a roving monk, saw something in him, he was sent to the monastery to begin a different kind of life, despite his doubts. So he had kept quiet and advanced.

Gwen had finished her tale, and the elders were nodding.

"This is an event we have long foreseen," Calamaethor said firmly. "We just never knew that the fall of Earendil would herald it."

The head monk looked troubled. "If our visions are true, then this event will lead to war - a very long one."

"Why would such a person have that power in the first place?" asked Veryamorcon. "The girl is only of the race of men."

Cerederthan opened his mouth to speak, but Gwendolyn cut in before him. "Actually," she said, "I do have Elven and Maiar ancestry."

"Of course," Calamaethor said with a smile. "That would be the influence of Melian and Luthien, would it not?"

"In fact, I was told by Finrod that my ancestry is far closer than that," Gwendolyn pointed out. "Maiar and Elves have married into the Numenorean bloodline ever since they were stranded on my planet."

The elders whispered amongst one another. "That's a span of about fifteen-hundred years, yes?" asked Arandur.

Gwen shrugged. "Perhaps."

"A very short amount of time. Do you know how many of your ancestors were of other races?" asked the head monk slowly.

Gwen shook her head. "Maybe Finrod would know."

Tegalad took a shaky breath. This was impressive. The effect of a single union between elf and human had lasted for thousands of years - the tight timeline for Gwen's description had never occurred before, not even in Valinor. The unions between races remained very few, particularly because of the way they viewed one another - elves feeling superior to men, and men angry against their aggressors. Maiar were usually kept too busy by the Valar to form any attachments. 

"This may be the determining factor for Gwen's ability - the strong union of races within her blood," said Cerederthan. "I believe this has been hypothesized in the past."

The elders nodded. "We and the Numenoreans both have long awaited for your coming," said Calamaethor.

Tegalad couldn't keep quiet. "What is the extent of your abilities?" he asked, forgetting to speak in Breech. "Do you know what power you have?"

The girl looked blankly at him, uncomprehending. Arandur jumped in. "Forgive him. He asked about what abilities you've observed as having. Have you noticed anything else of importance, aside from being able to kill a Vala?"

She thought for a long while. Tegalad looked at his hands, unable to meet Arandur's solemn look. Finally she spoke.

"I guess I hadn't realized it, but as soon as I stepped on the planet, Earendil's star fell. I don't know if that was just a coincidence, or what it was. Then I later rescued Elwing from her tower, by opening the doors barring her in."

"We were as of yet unaware of the fact you rescued Elwing personally! She did not mention that," exclaimed Cerederthan.

"So if this was not coincidence, you may be able to break the bonds of the Valar," the head monk concluded.

"There's something else I think is related - I think I can touch the Valar as well, which explains why I could kill one," she said.

Veryamorcon frowned. "How would you know that?"

The girl looked uncomfortable. "A visit with Ulmo, I believe."

Silence filled the room, the weight of many minds thinking pressing all around.

"And so begins the end of the world," murmured the head monk.

Tegalad recognized what this meant with clenching of his gut. Dagor Dagorath.

*

Soon afterwards, the end of the meeting was called, much to the relief of Gwen. She had felt quite uncomfortable under the scrutinizing gazes of so many people.  The room began to empty, and she stood as the council got up and began to cluster around her, some waiting austerely while others clasped her hand and spoke in rapid Breech.

Eventually, all had left but one, the big-nosed one that had spoken in Elvish. "I'm sorry about earlier," he said sheepishly.

"Oh, it wasn't your fault," she told him. "I'm sure you're just not used to speaking Breech here."

"Gwen, may I present Tegalad, a promising young monk here." Cerederthan's voice was warm. "I brought him here a couple hundred years ago, and he's done exceptionally well for himself."

The elf gave an awkward smile.

"Won't you join us for breakfast?" asked Gwen.

Tegalad hesitated. "Sure."

Upon sitting down at the table, Gwen helped herself to the delicious-looking oatmeal she had seen cooking earlier. Tegalad wasn't as enthusiastic about the food.

"I heard that you came with several other people," he said.

"Yes - including Frodo Baggins, the Halfling," said Cerederthan. Tegalad's eyes widened in surprise.

"What?" Gwen had noticed his reaction. "He's a Halfling from the Green Lands, that's all."

"His story has been told far and wide." Tegalad was impressed.

Cerederthan looked at her solemnly. "And he deserves far more respect from you, young one."

She bit her lip. "What did he do?"

"He was an instrumental part of the War of the Ring in the Green Lands," Tegalad played with a piece of bread, his mind somewhere else. "He was a Ringbearer, and because of that was able to destroy Sauron."

"Wait - who was Sauron? The name sounds vaguely familiar."

Cerederthan got up to get a pitcher of water from another table. "Sauron was a Maia in league with Morgoth. He played an instrumental part in the history of your people, Gwen."

"How so?"

Before Cerederthan could answer, Tegalad spoke. "He submitted himself as a prisoner to the Numenoreans, when they marched upon him. His voice was still heard and listened to, and the lies he spoke took root. As with many lies, there was a kernel of truth - he said that the Valar created the idea of a God to claim authority, and that the Valar themselves did not have authority. This struck directly at the heart of the Numenorean monotheistic religion - but few actually listened. However, it was the latter idea that is actually true - the Valar are not gods, but Eru is - "

"You'd better keep that idea to yourself," Cerederthan said in a dangerously low voice. "More than your career would be in danger. You must not speak so freely about such things."

Tegalad looked down at his plate. "I'm sorry - I'm just so excited after what I've heard, and being with someone so important..."

"What happened?" Gwen asked, garnering a confused look from Tegalad.

"Oh! Right. Numenor," he recalled. "Sauron began an underground cult worshipping Morgoth. Even some of the rulers of Numenor joined in - part of its allure lay in its promises of immortality." He lowered his voice, leaning over to her. "The situation was complex; some believe that Sauron was sent to do this by the Valar to give them a reason for destroying Numenor. The Valar never gave the Numenoreans the island of Numenor - it was found by them. The Valar fear the Numenoreans, Gwen. They feared their monotheistic beliefs and the strength of their heritage. They never thought an elf-human marriage was possible - they never expected a lot of things. But nevertheless, there were some who still believed in the monotheistic ways, and they listened to the pleas of visiting Elves from Valinor. When they set out to help them, the Valar realized it was a prudent time and sunk the island, bringing all of their kind to become slaves as punishment for their disobedience. Thus the Valar strengthened their positions and gained a large labor force."

"There was a group of Numenoreans who split off to found their own country," added Cerederthan. "Led by Elendil. They didn't believe in either religion prominent in Numenor - they followed the beliefs promoted by the Valar. They were heralded as heroes and endorsed by the Valar."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Gwen asked. "They chose what they wanted to believe."

"They deserted us when we needed them," said Tegalad. "Think of a strong host of Numenoreans, coming to help us demand freedom from the Valar."

"But the entire host was destroyed by the Valar," said Gwen. "How could more have helped?"

Tegalad paused midway through taking a drink. "I don't know."

"At least in that way a group of free Numenoreans survived," said Cerederthan, digging into a bowl of rice. "But I think that before, the Valar were working together, and were capable of far greater actions. Now their numbers are fewer, and they are set against one another. I don't think they could sink a host of ships along with an island nowadays."

"There is still a steady number of Numenoreans in Valinor who follow Sauron's cult," said Tegalad, taking a swig of wine.

"There are?" Cerederthan and Gwen blurted out simultaneously. They looked at one another. "How could you possibly know that?" asked Cerederthan.

"They keep themselves very quiet," said Tegalad. "When I was a roving monk, I disguised myself as a slave and walked among them. Part of the reason why they're so unnoticed is that they no longer practice human sacrifice."

"They practiced human sacrifice?" Gwen asked incredulously. "That's awful!"

"That would get them noticed rather quickly," Cerederthan said. "The government tries to keep a detailed record of all slaves."

"So Morgoth holds sway over a number of Numenoreans?"asked Gwen. Tegalad nodded.

Suddenly a hand was placed on Gwen's shoulder, and she jumped. She looked up to see Eleyond's brown eyes.

"Excuse me," he said, "I hate to cut in on such an interesting conversation. But may I steal Gwen away for a bit?"

Cerederthan gave a small smile and a nod. Gwen got up, bumping into the table. Eleyond reached out a hand to help her, and as she took it, she had a funny feeling in her gut. I must've eaten something that didn't agree with me, she thought, and walked beside Eleyond out of the room.

She looked at him, scrutinizing his features. He was quite fair for an elf, with a handsome profile. He looked at her suddenly, and she glanced away.

"I hope you're enjoying your stay here," he said.

"Yes, I am. But what've you been doing? Anything interesting?"

He shrugged. "This and that."

She waited for a more accurate description, but none came. "Where are we headed to?" she finally ventured.

They started up a flight of steps. "One of the meditation rooms. It's quite beautiful - I wanted you to see it."

Gwen opened her mouth and shut it again. She'd been having a good conversation. She didn't really want to see a pretty room. But she liked Eleyond, and was sure he had a good reason for this. When they had gone up perhaps six flights of stairs, he led her down the hall, not making any conversation. Then he opened one of the doors to a room with a glass ceiling. It was quite warm inside, and a tree grew next to a small fountain inside. The room was decently large, and Gwen gave a small smile. "Yes, it's very nice. I hadn't expected to find something like this here." She was about to turn and go when Eleyond shut the door, with both of them inside.

The feeling in her gut increased. "Eleyond, what are you doing?"

He didn't answer, but walked towards the fountain. Suddenly it felt like all humidity was sucked out of the room, and the fountain changed shape. Ulmo rose out of the water, stepping onto the tiled floor. Eleyond bowed before the Vala. "I have done as you've asked." Eleyond's form blurred, becoming taller, and the being that emerged was blue, humanoid, and had webbed hands and feet. The Maia, she supposed, disappeared into the water.

For a moment the Vala and human looked at one another.

"Things have changed since last we met," said Ulmo, his aquamarine eyes mesmerizing. Water dripped from his salt-and-pepper goatee.

"When exactly was the last time we met? Did that visit underwater actually happen?"

He grinned. "You'll find that the boundaries between dreams and reality are very thin. The monks here will teach you that."

She crossed her arms. "How did you find me? Can any Vala locate me? Because if they can, I'm surprised I'm not dead yet."

"No, even I couldn't find you. It seems that you are invisible to us - perhaps one of the benefits of your inheritance. I knew you would be brought here, so I sent a Maia after you."

Her eyes widened. "Has Eleyond been a Maia this entire time?"

He snorted. "No. Just now. Eleyond is safe and sound in his room."

"Why are you here, then?"

He looked at her with an expectant expression. "You've discovered your talents - talents which I guessed you had a while ago. Now that you are in a temporarily safe spot, I think we ought to discern what you can and cannot do regarding the Valar. There are many people with questions, and many who will want you to fight for them. You must discover your limits so that you don't make empty promises."

She cocked her head. "And how do you expect to precisely determine what I can and cannot do?"

He grin returned. "How else? With experimentation, of course."

"What is the first thing you propose?" she asked.

He scratched his ear. "Well, the Valar are unable to find you. This would lead to the conclusion that our powers are unable to work on you. To make sure of this, I ought to try and do something to you."

"Like what?" she demanded. "You could just be looking for a way to kill me."

"Have I ever given you doubt that I'm on your side? If the Valar were able to kill you, they would have by now. You are a great threat. Now," he stepped closer to her, "I'm going to change you - make you a faun, I think - harmless."

Now Gwen was very nervous. Her stomach churning, she glanced at Ulmo, who was squinting, obviously focusing. Then she looked down at her feet.

They were shrinking - growing smaller, changing into...hooves.

"Hey!" she cried. "Stop it! It's working!"

He jerked back in surprise, and her feet returned back to their normal state.

"That shouldn't have happened," he said, frowning. "I don't understand."

She closed her eyes, still shocked by what had happened. She couldn't imagine it happening to someone else, permanently. It was just wrong.

Ulmo was thinking, pacing back and forth. "What were you thinking at the time I was doing that?"

"I don't know. I was nervous. I wasn't really thinking about anything."

"You were nervous. Why?"

"Because it might have worked."

He stopped. "And it did." Walking over to her, he laid a hand on her shoulder. "Look. I've had my first physical contact with another race for the first time in thousands of years, and it's with you. I can touch you, Gwen. Now I want you to believe that I can't hurt you in any way. That for all my trying, I am unable to influence you. I'm going to try again, but don't be afraid, because it's not going to work."

He squinted again, and the knot in her gut tightened. But she took a deep breath, trying to relax. I feel nothing, she told herself. He can't do anything to me. When I look down, nothing will have happened.

She looked down at her feet, and sure enough, there they were, her ten toes. Looking up into Ulmo's face, she noticed it was creased in concentration. "It's not working," she said.

"I have to try my hardest. Any of the Valar would," he answered, and his fingers tightened on her shoulder. He exhaled and relaxed, removing his hand. "You did well."

She smiled a little. "Thanks."

"You must be desiring so much not to be found that subliminally, you're resisting the Valar's attempts," he said thoughtfully, then lunged at her.

She stumbled back, aghast, and ducked to one side to avoid him. He went past her and whirled around, grabbing her arm and knocking her off-balance. With a gasp she went down, landing flat on her back, then stretched and kicked at his knees with her feet. Grunting, he fell, but was immediately on top of her, arms reaching for her neck.  She struggled to kick his groin, but it was to this scene that Eleyond and Cerederthan burst in on, followed by a slew of monks.

"Hey! Get off her!" yelled Eleyond, going to snatch at the Vala, but his hands grasped nothing. Ulmo immediately got up, leaving Gwen on the floor, gasping for breath. Cerederthan knelt beside her, giving a hand to help her up. "Are you alright?"

"What were you doing?" demanded Eleyond, furious with Ulmo but powerless to do anything.

"Testing what Gwen could do with a Vala in a fight," Ulmo said calmly, adjusting his robes.

They looked at Gwen, who stood slowly. "I assume you were just trying to surprise me to get a better reaction," she said.

"Correct."

"If that was a real scenario, you would've died," Cerederthan was serious.

"I suggest that she be taught to fight as swiftly as possible. Every day your only hope of having freedom has the chance to be killed." He glanced at Cerederthan, then at the monks. "Don't expect all of the brethren to be accepting of what they've learned today."

With a nod to Gwen, he was gone, dispelling into the air like mist.

Cerederthan sighed with relief. "I'm sorry, Gwen.  I had no idea that Eleyond wasn't Eleyond until the real Eleyond came into the hall - "

She brushed some dirt off her tunic. "Don't worry about it. The visit was educational, to say the least."

The monks, seeing she was alright, left the room.

Eleyond crossed his arms. "He was clearly winning, and the Vala themselves as far as we know have no battle training to their benefit - they always use their powers. He's right, you're in for a lot of work." He looked at her mischievously. "Besides, how could you have possibly thought a Maia was me? Didn't you notice anything off?"

Gwen rubbed her neck. "No, nothing that wasn't normal - the brooding eyes, the constant frown..."

"The slouching posture," Cerederthan added, "the whining voice...."

Eleyond held his hands up with a smile. "I get it, I get it."

***Author's Note****

It’s been quite a long hiatus! Life tends to get in the way of things like this, so this project was shelved – for a looooooooong time. I sort of hit a bit of writer’s block and dreaded writing the next chapter (I just wanted to skip ahead to the next chapter!) Nevertheless, I hope anyone still keeping up with this enjoys a new chapter!

I fully intend to finish a massive re-writing to make characters more character-y, but due to the begging of some of my readers *cough*you knowwhoyouare *cough* I’m adding more chapters to this edit for your enjoyment. You may notice a few non-continuities in these chapters – this is due to irrevocable changes in the storyline – I cannot tailor them to fit this story’s lore since it is too important to future development. Sorry! But I wish you all a happy summer! ~slflew

Chapter 23.

Alice! a childish story take/And with a gentle hand/Lay it where Childhood's dreams are twined/
In Memory's mystic band/Like pilgrim's withered wreath of flowers/Plucked in a far-off land. ~Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

The days began to fly by for Gwen, there was so much to do. Cerederthan had requested that Calamaethor begin to teach Gwen melcinitan, the form of combat refined by the monks of Lorien, and the master, after examining Gwen carefully, had agreed to do so. The majority of Gwen’s time, therefore, was split between a grueling regimen and spending whatever free time she had with her mother.

“Everything has a weakness,” Calamaethor told her on the first day. “All creatures have their shatterpoints. However,” the monk glanced at Cerederthan, “we do not have time to teach you our ways, how to see the shatterpoints of the universe. That requires much training over hundreds of years, which you hardly have.” Calamaethor’s face was stern, with dark eyes under an oft-furrowed brow. “What we can teach you are rules, guidelines, and principles of the way we fight. And we shall begin with this.” He gestured towards a large stack of books.

“Books?” Gwen asked incredulously.

“Books.” There was no change in his expression. “You must learn the anatomy of the four races, along with some abominations and beasts. Without such knowledge, I cannot teach you.” He picked up the stack and handed it to her. “While you’re doing that,” he scrutinized her limbs, “do some exercises. I expect you to have improved tone within the week.”

“What kinds of exercises?”

“That is up to you. I cannot teach you about what will make your body stronger.” Calamaethor gently  pushed her towards the door. “If you rely too highly upon me, you will never be able to become a great warrior.”

Gwen turned abruptly, nearly losing hold of the books. “I don’t want to be a warrior. I…I never asked for that.”

Calamaethor closed his eyes. “Gwendolyn, you have killed a Vala. There are many who would see you killed for such a thing. How will you defend yourself?”

“I would learn defense, perhaps, but a warrior….a warrior, I am not.”

Calamaethor opened his eyes and nodded. Hefting the heavy weight of books, Gwen walked off into the cold monastery.

When she reached her mother’s bunk, she shoved the books underneath, taking the top one and opening it. Upon a first glance, she sighed. It was written in Elvish.

Cursing under her breath, she got up to find Eleyond.

She found Eleyond in the monks’ library, sitting on top of heavy, carved wooden table. He was holding his book at arm’s length, but as close to the light as possible, squinting intently as he read.

“I’m fairly certain that you’re not supposed to be sitting there,” Gwen said.

Eleyond gave a start, slamming the book shut and trying to keep the book away from the flames of the candles, while simultaneously vaulting off the table and slamming into the bookshelves. He sat down on the floor with a rather loud thud, and books showered from the bookshelf on top of him. Dazed, he finally recognized her. “Oh, it’s you.”

Gwen was laughing too hard to even respond. She put the anatomy book on the table, then went over and started picking books off him. Eleyond flushed bright red and got up, scattering books across the floor.

“What possessed you to do that?” Gwen finally asked as she recovered.

“My eyesight isn’t what it used to be,” he said. “I’m having more trouble reading up close.”

“You need glasses,” Gwendolyn said as she put the last book back on the shelf.”

The elf shook his head.

“Why not?” Gwen asked.

He blushed. “No one wears them.”

Gwen frowned. “But they help you to see.”

“Aye.” Eleyond stood up, balancing himself against the shelves. “Blooded Elves – Elves as they were Before, used to be able to see vast distances clearly. Recently, however, our eyesight has gone the direction of our bodies – it has weakened. But no Elf would admit it and wear eyeglasses. It would be a sign of weakness.”

“I remember that Elwing was blind when I found her.” Gwen said, putting her anatomy book on the table.

“That’s why,” Eleyond replied sadly. “Elves are getting sick now. I’m told we were once made of stronger stuff – not even able to get drunk.”

“Wow.”

Eleyond glanced down at the anatomy book. “What brought you here?”

“I’m in dire need of help – it’ll be hard to memorize muscles of the body when they’re in Elvish.”

“Ah.” Eleyond nodded knowingly. “I’ll help you, as long as you hold the book at a distance.”

-------------------

Anatomy, it turned out, did indeed come in handy. As Gwen became more and more familiar with the body, Calamaethor began to show her their weakest points. A kick to the leg could break it at a certain point; a twist of the finger could bring a person to their knees. A punch in the right place could break ribs, and a single thrust at the face could kill a person. Each race was different – each had their weaknesses and strengths. Dwarves and hobbits were harder to fight due to their stature, but Gwen had surprising accuracy.

“You should try ranged weapons,” Eleyond would say, surprised, when she hit the marked dummy at precisely the right spot.

Even though she was working harder than she ever had before, Gwen still had some problems – namely predicting her opponents’ moves. She had this annoying tendency to think that her opponent was shifting to one side, then be surprised by a move.

“Watch their eyes!” Calamaethor would yell. “They always show what your opponent is going to do!”

“I’m trying!” she would yell back, and would then be blindsided by a kick.

“Reading your opponent is one of the most important things in a fight,” Calamaethor would tell her, disappointed.

As tired as she would get from training, as weary as she was as she ran the halls, tapestries and carvings flying by, she never forgot why she was doing what she was doing. The last memories of her family – taken from her – made her strain even harder.

No matter what, she was going to get them back.

One morning, as she jogged past the quarters where Eleyond had been sleeping, she heard a yell. She bolted into the main hallway, heart beating fast. Another yell rang out, and Eleyond burst out of his room. Without even looking at her, he threw open another door and went inside. Gwen followed him in.

She first saw Eleyond leaning over a bed, shaking the person in it. As she neared him, she saw that the person in the bed was Touchstone. Before she could do anything, Touchstone’s eyes opened and he took a swing at Eleyond, solidly punching him in the face. Eleyond reeled backwards, and, without thinking, Gwen lept onto the bed, straddling Touchstone and holding down his flailing body. Touchstone was still yelling, his eyes open but not focused.

Eleyond recovered, and went over to Touchstone, giving him a resounding slap on the cheek. Touchstone went silent and still, gasping and trembling. Every muscle of his body was tense.

Gwen slowly got off of him as Touchstone sat up.

“What happened?” Gwen asked, bewildered.

Touchstone slumped over and put his head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Eleyond was rubbing his jaw. “Sorry Gwen, hope he didn’t scare you too much,” he said tiredly. “He’s been doing that for weeks now.”

“Weeks?!” Gwen said. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Bad dreams,” said Touchstone. “They’ve been getting worse.”

Eleyond stretched his jaw, touching his cheek to see where he was hurt. “Why haven’t you asked the monks about it? Since dreaming is their thing?” Gwen asked him.

“We have,” Eleyond said wrily.

Touchstone got out of the bed, blushing at Gwen as he reached for his shirt. “Their head monk is going to see me tomorrow,” he said.

“Just in time, too,” Eleyond said. “Next time if you clock me, I’m going to do more than slap you.”

The next day, Gwen asked to be excused from training to accompany Touchstone, hurrying through the halls to meet them outside the inner sanctum.

This room was different than the other halls. It surrounded the cave that held the sleeping Vala, and was the most venerated room in the monastery. For many monks, this was the closest they would ever get to the Vala. Cerederthan, Eleyond, Touchstone, and Frodo were all there to meet her.

“Hello, Frodo,” Gwen said, lightly touching the hobbit on the shoulder. She hadn’t seen him in several weeks, as she had been either working with her mother or training. “What’ve you been up to?”

“Reading,” the hobbit said, but the doors opened, and he stopped short.

The head monk was standing in the doorway, the simple amulets of Lorien and Este strung around his neck, and warm umber woolen robes were wrapped around him. He looked at them all with piercing eyes. “Which is the one with troubling dreams?”

“I am, sir,” said Touchstone, stepping forward.

“Come with me, then,” said the monk, taking Touchstone’s shoulder and guiding him inside.

The inner sanctum was much smaller than the other halls Gwen had seen. The sleeping statues of Lorien and Este were made out of aged wood here, rather than stone or bronze, slightly cracked from age. The altar before them was strewn with trinkets: flowers, jewelry, odd pieces of bric-a-brac. Around the room candles were lit, but the main source of light was the sun, streaming in through small windowed slits around the hall.

In the center of the room, a worn circular carpet lay on the stone floor. Around it were incense sticks that were lightly burning. Next to one of the pillars, a small compact wood burner was causing a teakettle to boil.

The monk guided Touchstone to the center of the carpet and indicated for him to sit down. Touchstone did so, and the monk walked slowly to the other end of the carpet.

“Sit down,” said Cerederthan, and the three of them sat just outside of the carpet, on the bare stone  floor. Gwen wrinkled her nose at the incense. It smelled a bit like cloves, cloying and sweet.

“Now…Touchstone,” said the head monk, stumbling over the name, “tell me about your dreams.”

“There isn’t much to tell,” Touchstone said evenly. “I never remember them. They must be frightening, though, for I wake up sweaty and trembling.”

The head monk looked at Cerederthan. “This is the one whose mind is gone,” said Cerederthan.

“Of course,” said the head monk, nodding. “Perhaps these dreams that you are having are echoes of your past, young one.” He got up and went to the teakettle, pouring out hot water and opening a small jar. He took what looked like a twig, and dipped it into the jar, bringing out a small amount of powder. He carefully tapped it into the hot water, then took a whisk and whipped the drink into a froth. Slowly, he stood up and went back to Touchstone, holding out the steaming cup.

“Drink of this,” he said. “It will send you into deep dreaming – although not the deepest dreaming we know of. In our deepest dreams, we can see the future and speak with Lorien. But in the layer of dreaming we will send you, I hope that you will find what you have lost. Drink, my child.”

Touchstone picked up the cup, looking at it with suspicion. He closed his eyes and drank it quickly, then lay down on the carpet. His breathing began to slow, and eventually his eyes closed.

The head priest assumed a meditation position and became very still. Gwen closed her eyes and tried to recount the weak points of the body in her mind.

Gwen didn’t like to let herself be alone with her thoughts. When she looked in the mirror nowadays, she barely recognized who she had become. She had scars on her face and body from her time in prison, one of which split her eyebrow from when she’d had a crack in the head. She’d lost a lot of weight on the road, and the sunshine had given her a bit tan despite it being winter. She had developed muscles from travelling, lifting, and training.  Her past seemed like the mere shred of a dream sometimes.

It was no wonder that, when she let herself be silent for a moment, everything came rushing back to her.

She recounted weak body points furiously as images struggled to come forth in her mind. Elf, Shin. In her mind’s eye, Braden the slave fell underneath the onslaught of paws, his body lying still in the darkness. Dwarf, Chin. Feanor screamed as he was shot. Human, Knees. Tulkas crumpling underneath her knife. She gritted her teeth, trying to focus on the cloying scent in front of her. Halfling, Ribs. She saw the terrified face of her brother as guards took him away, and bile rose in her throat. Before another image could surface, she opened her eyes and looked at Eleyond, whose eyes were closed in contemplation.

Eleyond was wearing a simple shirt and pants, with several amulets hanging around his neck. Silhouetted against the window, the sun set off his red hair, which was tied with a cord into a ponytail. His sword was on the floor beside him where he had lain it. He had cleaned it recently, so it was much better looking than ever before – a simple one-handed blade with a black leather-wrapped hilt and plain cross-guard. It was very plain in comparison to the blades she had seen Feanor craft, and certainly was nowhere near the craftsmanship – even she knew that.

But that was part of Eleyond’s nature, she reflected. He made do with what he had, and he’d didn’t complain very much, despite the things he had been through. Gwen felt safe around him, and in the cruel world that she had entered, he was the first person that she had allowed herself to trust completely.

Her mind began to wander as she kept looking at Eleyond, but this time, it did not go to the dark corners of her mind.

A sudden movement out of the corner of her Gwen’s brought her out of her reverie. Touchstone was standing up! She sucked in her breath, but Touchstone, looking around wildly, focused on the sword by Eleyond’s side. Then he looked at Gwen, and their eyes locked.

Gwen dove for the sword, but it was too late – Touchstone was too quick, and, scattering incense along the floor, he picked up the sword before anyone knew what was happening. Eleyond opened his eyes, startled by the noise, and Gwen leapt to her feet, lunging for Touchstone.

He shunted aside, and ran towards the meditating head monk, who opened his eyes with a start. Touchstone pulled him upwards and put him in a body-lock, with the sword across his throat, panting heavily. Frodo cried out in alarm, and Cerederthan looked at Touchstone seriously. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“These aren’t my memories!” Touchstone’s voice had changed, while panicked, it seemed like he had lost his innocence. “This isn’t who I’m supposed to be!” He gripped the monk more tightly.

Gwen’s throat tightened. “Please Touchstone, please just let him go!”

“My name’s not Touchstone!” he yelled.

“You don’t have to do this – just let him go and we can talk about it!” Eleyond’s voice was firm, but wavered in fear. Glancing at Touchstone, Gwen saw why. Touchstone held the sword as one who was experienced with one. He knew what he was doing; he wasn’t afraid to kill.

The head monk, however, didn’t seem frightened at all – rather, he looked completely calm. “Change me back!” Touchstone’s voice raised in pitch. “Change me back!”

Before Gwen could blink, the head monk had put both hands on Touchstone’s arm, bringing it away from his neck. Darting behind Touchstone, he wrung his arm behind him, causing him to both drop the sword and fall to his knees in a classic melcinitan move.

“I am sorry about this, my child,” he said, then with his other hand, grasped at the base of Touchstone’s neck. The very air around Touchstone seemed to ripple briefly, and his body limply fell to the ground. With a cry, Gwen ran towards Touchstone, picking him up in her arms.

He wasn’t dead; he was breathing. “What is this? What did you do?” She looked up at the monk.

“I sent him into dreaming,” said the monk. “It was what he wanted, and best for us, I deem.”

“When will he wake up?” asked Eleyond, frowning at Touchstone.

“When we want him to,” said Cerederthan evenly. “Gwen, let him go. There is nothing you can do for him now. Perhaps time will heal his hurts.”

Gwen looked down at Touchstone, limp in her arms. Tears welled up in her eyes as Eleyond touched her shoulder. “Gwen.”

The tears began to spill out, and she lay Touchstone gently onto the floor. He looked so peaceful. She let out a sob, then ran out the door, down the hallway.

Gwen kept running until she reached the northeastern end of the monastery, bursting out into the clear day, panting heavily. The wind ran over her sweat-covered body, howling over the edges of the large platform. She walked over to the rails that were piled with snow, looking over the edge to see a steep drop that stopped at a pathway before plunging into the valley below. Above her the sun shone in the clear blue sky.

“Gwen!” Eleyond’s voice pealed out from the doorway.

Turning around, she saw him run over to her. “Gwen,” he said again, but she couldn’t look at him. “Please tell me you’re alright.”

“Of course I’m not alright,” she said, her voice breaking.

“I’m sorry Gwen, but it wasn’t  anyone’s fault but his own.”

“I know.”

“Whoever he was, he made that decision.”

“I know…I just…I can’t believe he’d do that.” Gwen sniffled, wiping the tears from her eyes on her sleeve.

“Me either. He was so…”

“So gentle,” she finished for him.

“Aye.” Eleyond waited for her to gain her composure some more.

“It’s just…it’s just…” Gwen searched for the words. “Every person I’ve come across here, I’ve endangered. My family is enslaved, Elwing was nearly sent back to her tower, Brandon died, Feanor’s died, and now Touchstone…I’m worried about who I’m becoming. I’ve killed someone, Eleyond.” Gwen buried her head in her hands. “Who am I becoming? A murderer?”

“Listen to yourself, Gwen,” Eleyond said, taking her shoulders. “You aren’t bringing some curse upon other people. Touchstone made his own decisions, and he didn’t make them because of you. You can grieve for his fate, but do not think that you had a hand in it. That was his quest, to find out more about himself. He made his choices.”

Gwen nodded, tears freshly coming to her eyes. Eleyond folded her into a hug, holding her as she wept. “Time heals all wounds,” he said softly. “I have seen many people come and go in my lifetime. Everyone has their time; you learn to accept it.” She pulled away, glaring into his eyes.

“That’s just it though! I don’t want to forget them – I don’t want to forget anyone. Not the sweet Touchstone that I knew, or those who gave their lives for me!”

“I didn’t say ‘forget,’” said Eleyond sharply. “I said accept. I’ve never forgotten anyone. Not the girls I fell in love with, not those whose lives I saw pass by, nor those who gave their life for me. I see their faces every night I go to sleep. You don’t forget them, Gwen. You honor their memory, but you can’t be a slave to the past. That’s not what they would have wanted.” He let her go, and they both leaned against the railing, silently watching the clouds blow past the mountaintops.

About a week later, Gwen got up with her mother as she had been normally. After brushing and braiding one anothers’ hair, they both went to the kitchens, where Gwen would eat some porridge before her morning run.

She decided to go down her favorite route, which went down into the deepest levels of the monastery, where the water cisterns were. While it was dark, it included more stairs, had fewer people (she’d collided into more than a few novices rounding a corner), and was cooler than other areas.

Underneath the center of the monastery, there were three massive cisterns, which had walkways around the edges. Each was higher than the next, so that the water could be kept running to freshen it. The sound of the running water was very soothing to Gwen – it echoed in the large rooms, helping her mind to stay cool even though her body was getting a rough workout. The stairs down to each walkway circled against the walls of each of the three massive rooms, meeting the walkway about halfway before plunging downward into another staircase.

As Gwen ran down the first staircase, keeping her eyes trained on the stairs. One slip would lead to a massive amount of bruises. As she rounded off the first walkway to move down the second staircase, she was suddenly hit from behind. Two arms wrapped around her waist, heaving her off-balance.

Down became up, and gravity took hold. Gwen saw, for one terrifying moment, the staircase stretch before her, then she slammed into it, arms outward to protect her face. She felt something crack in her left wrist. The she careened away. Whoever was holding on to her still did so, and it was them that hit the stairs as they tumbled downwards. Gwen tried to protect her face, trying to roll as her instructor had taught her on the mats, but this hurt so much more.

Finally they landed at the bottom, and Gwen, thankfully, landed on top of her attacker. She ripped her attacker’s arms off her, struggling to her feet.

The person on whom she had landed was dressed in a novice’s robes. He got up and steadied his footing. Relief flooded through her. She didn’t think that Calamaethor would have ordered a surprise attack as a lesson, but then, that would ruin the definition of a surprise.

“You didn’t have to attack me at the top of the stairs,” she said to the novice, panting. “You could’ve gotten me killed.” Her left wrist was on fire with pain. “I think I fractured my wrist, that was really stupid of you.”

The novice moved into a roundhouse kick, hitting Gwen on the left side of her torso, slamming into the wall. With a yell, she recovered, putting her arms up and defending herself against a flurry of blows. Elf, she thought, and focused.

Gwen was slowly able to break through the novice’s defenses. Every once in a while, however, the novice would get through her desperate blocks, as she could not tell what move he was making. He would fake right, then strike with his left, nearly knocking her into the cistern. The novice got through her defenses and hit the weakest part of her ribs. Pain spidered through her brain as she felt them crack, and reeled backwards. The novice hit her face, and as she looked into his eyes, she saw it, that same look that had been in so many faces. The look that was on Tulkas’ face, the look in Amarie’s. It was the intent look of someone who meant to kill.

As he swung again, she ducked past him, moving to run out of the cistern. The novice, however, lunged, reaching out and pulling out her feet from under her. She slammed into the stone floor, flipping over to face him.

He was down and vulnerable. Then she remembered what Calamaethor had told her. “The face is the most vulnerable part of any body. An upward thrust against the nose will break it. A stronger thrust will send the pieces of bone into the brain, killing them.”

Gwen kicked forward, slamming against the novice’s forehead. His head swung back, and her foot connected with his nose. Chills went down her spine as she felt it crack, and the novice went still. 

Gasping in pain, she lay back down on the cold floor. Every sense was on fire. Even breathing hurt. For one mad moment, she almost thought about going into the cistern to help ease the pain, but she came to her senses. As she tried to focus on breathing, blackness started creeping in on her vision.

Oh no, she thought, before she slipped into darkness.

------------------------------------------------

When she awoke, before she even opened her eyes, she heard the soft sound of a lake, and the sound of birds chirping in the distance. The soft sheets around her smelled of home. When she opened her eyes, she had to squint at the light coming in between the slats of the blinds. She was at her cabin, on the lake in Maine.

Perhaps it had all been a dream, all of it. The Faeries, the destruction, the ships, the city, all of it, just a passing dream. In the sunlight, all the past seemed to fade away.

Slipping her feet into her sandals, she reached for her robe and wrapped it around her. Slowly pushing open the screen door, she saw a perfect day: there was a faint breeze stirring the forest leaves, the sun was shining on the lake, the water was lapping against the shore, and there was barely a cloud in the sky.

Something seemed wrong, though. Looking at the driveway, the car was not there. Gwen ran indoors, running through the living room, then the kitchen, and the other bedrooms.

No one was there. There was no trace of her family – no suitcases, nothing out of place.

She was alone.

Distraught, she ran back outside. There had to be someone. She ran down the dirt road towards the main route, through the forest. The trees whipped past her, and the road became a blur. Suddenly, she stopped. She had no idea where she was.

She’d run down this road dozens of times, but for some reason, she had run into the middle of the forest. She was surrounded by trees, their leaves shifting in the wind.

Suddenly dizzy, she sat down on the mossy ground and closed her eyes, trying to clear her head. The sounds of the forest echoed through her ears – birds in the distance, the far off wind over the trees, the rustling of leaves. The snap of a twig nearby made her jump, and she opened her eyes. A stark white shape moved between the trees.

She stood up quickly, steadying herself for combat. What was it? A person? A spectre?

Instead, stepping slowly towards her came a great stag, covered in white fur, a great rack of antlers above its head. Gwen watched it, not knowing whether to run or stay still.  The stag bowed its head, the straightened and looked at her. Not taking her eyes off it, she bowed in return.

Then it turned around and bolted. Startled, she started to run after it, but turned around to see what had scared it. It was a black panther, creeping between the trees, in the shadows. Her throat constricted in fear, and she ran as fast as she could in the direction of the darting white shape between the trees.

Gwen’s heart pounded in her ears. The stag before her swung left, then right, and she had to dig her feet into the dirt to swerve and follow. She burst, panting, into a wide glade, and looked around wildly. The stag was nowhere to be found.

Instead, there stood a man in grey robes with silver hair standing in the waving grass. Gwen looked behind her in fear, but did not see a trace of the panther.

“You are safe here,” said the man in a strong, unwavering voice, “but not for long.”

Gwen looked at him more carefully, turning her head sideways before she recognized him. “Irmo,” she said.

“I prefer the name Lorien,” he replied.

“Why have you brought me here?” she asked, glancing back over her shoulder at the forest.

“Because the time was right.” Lorien gestured to the forest behind him, and there seemed to be, where there had was none before, a path through the dense trees. “Won’t you come for a walk?”

Lorien turned, and hesitantly, followed him into the shadows, needing to run quickly for a little bit to catch up with him until she was alongside him. For a long while they were silent.

Finally Lorien spoke. “So you are the one that was foretold. The one who changes everything.”

“I don’t know,” said Gwen.

“Yes, you are,” said Lorien with finality. “You have already changed everything, and will continue to do so.”

“The monks would agree,” said Gwen quietly.

“Would you like to know the secret of my monks?” asked Lorien, turning to her with a glint in his eye.

“I suppose.”

“The future,” Lorien said as he continued along the path, “is neither good nor bad. It relies on what you decide to make of it. So many people state that the ‘future bodes ill,’ or ‘today will be a good day.’ But it what you make of it that determines it.”

Gwen smiled at this. “Then many have learned that lesson well – especially Cerederthan.”

“Cerederthan!” exclaimed Lorien. “He has crossed your path many times. An interesting and loyal Elf.” A smile flickered across his face. “Yes, it is good that he has come to you.”

“Something tells me that you know more than you are letting on,” said Gwen jealously.

“Of course. But if I were to tell you…” he turned towards her and looked her in the eye with a smile, “that’d be cheating.”

They made it out of the forest to the edge of a small pond, in the center of which was a small island with a tree, the branches of which were filled with grey and white birds. She recognized it from stories – it was the island in the middle of the forest of Lorien.  From behind the tree stepped a woman clad in silver-grey, with long dark-brown hair, and grey eyes. She looked at them calmly, but did not say a word.

Lorien gestured in the air, and stones rose up out of the water. Crossing onto the island, Lorien took her hand tenderly.

“Your coming hearkens the end of the world,” he said to Gwen quietly. “The Valar are relics of the old world. Our time is long past, and those that remain try to stave off change. I myself fear that I have delayed leaving for far too long. I had hoped that perhaps, one day, things would return to the way they were in the beginning, but that has proved to be a passing dream.

“Instead, you must inherit the world we have shaped, and I am in part sorry, for it is filled with much darkness and many evils. But there are still some who follow the paths of light, and I dearly hope that you stay among them. It is easy, when good and evil are confused and muddled, to walk a precarious line and slip into the night.

“Change the world we have left behind so that, perhaps, the next generation might face fewer evils.”

Lorien looked towards the other shore of the pond, gesturing once more. The forest began to dissolve into a wall of white light, reflecting off the pond and illuminating the tree.

“The Valar have put off the inevitable. We were never supposed to stay this long. In the end, we have merely prolonged our fate, rather than extending our days of glory. All things pass. And as the time of Lorien and Este ends,” he put his hand on Este’s shoulder, “we hope a new age will begin.”

Este bowed towards Gwen. “Namarie,” she said.

They walked away into the light, and Gwen watched until their forms were lost. Eventually, the light faded, and she was left in the forest as night began to fall. The shadows grew ever nearer, and among the trees she saw dark shapes slinking. She sat on the ground, curling into the fetal position as her gut wrenched in terror, and it was not long before the beasts took her.

When Gwen awoke, she didn’t know where she was. The sun was streaming in, and she was in a bed with clean white sheets. It wasn’t until she turned her said and saw Touchstone’s deeply breathing figure in the next bed that she knew where she was – the infirmary in the monastery.  Her ribs and wrist were covered in an aromatic poultice, then wrapped in clean linen wrappings. It still hurt to breathe.

“Good – you’re awake.” Cerederthan’s even tone cut through her bleary-eyed observations. He was sitting in a simple chair, holding his staff across his knees.

She squinted at him. “How long was I out?” she asked.

“Two days,” he replied. “You have two broken ribs and a sprained wrist – we tried to make you comfortable. As for the novice that attacked you – the monks found a note among his things. It was a letter from a family member with a posting of a notice for your death. Everyone at the monastery is truly sorry that your life was put in danger. Not all the monks have taken the news about the Valar well, but I am sad that one of us was too short-sighted to see what is going on. Eleyond and I believe you are no longer safe here.”

“No kidding,” said Gwen, testing her wrist gingerly. It still hurt, and was swollen slightly.

“You did a good job defending yourself, though,” said Cerederthan encouragingly.

“I got lucky,” Gwen said softly. “But I think the monks have a bigger problem on their hands than misplaced loyalties.”

Cerederthan raised his eyebrows. “What?”

Tegalad was meditating in the outer sanctum when he heard the loud sound of sandals flying down the corridor towards the doorway. He turned around, startled, as the head monk burst into the room, panting. Tegalad leapt to his feet. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Another attempt on her life?”

The monk didn’t answer, pushing past him towards the inner sanctum. He pushed open the doors to show the worn wooden statues, the carpet on the floor that was slightly burned from incense that had overturned when Touchstone had gone mad.

The head monk moved towards the doors that led towards the Valar as though he was in a dream. He didn’t stop Tegalad, who was following him out of sheer curiosity. He had not had the chance to see the slumbering Valar.

With a grunt, the head monk heaved the doors open, and gasped. Within the dripping cave chamber, on a mound amongst the stalactites and stalagmites, there was…nothing.

They were gone.

Tegalad rubbed his eyes in disbelief as the head monk sunk to his knees in shock. “What happened?” asked Tegalad.

Stunned, the head monk replied, “I don’t know.”

“Wouldn’t they have said something? Given some sign that they were returning to the world?”

“They haven’t returned to the world,” said the monk heavily. “They have left it.”

Tegalad followed the monk as he walked to the infirmary to confront the girl. He had never seen the head monk angry before, but his quick stride and clenched fists gave away his disconcertment.

As the monk strode up to the bed where Gwen was, he cried out “What did you do? Did you kill them too?”

“Kill what? Who?” the girl said, confused, looking at Cerederthan.

“The Valar are gone,” said the monk, irately. “They were doing no harm – why did you kill them?”

“I didn’t,” said the girl. “I didn’t touch them.”

“What happened then? How did you know they were gone?”

Gwen glanced at Cerederthan again, then described her dream to them. As she did so, the head monk’s anger disappeared, leaving behind a very tired-looking aging man. He put his hand on the bedpost, seemingly to balance himself.

“So be it,” he said. “Even if we are not blessed enough to walk in our dreams with him, we can still hold our beliefs intact. If he chose such a path, then it must have been for good reason.”

“I’m sure that he knew what he was doing,” said Gwen, trying to reassure him.

The head monk straightened up and looked at Tegalad. “Assemble the monks,” he said. “I don’t want to get this out as a rumor, I want it said to everyone factually.” He turned to Cerederthan. “Get her out of here immediately,” he said with an urgent tone. “I’m sure that I’m not the only one who will be upset by this turn of events.”

Cererthan nodded and rose. “Gwen, I know you’re still in pain, but we don’t have time to let you heal.”

She nodded with a heavy heart. “I’ll get my things.” Cerederthan helped her get up out of bed. “Take only what you truly need,” he said in her ear. “We must travel fast.” She nodded and made her way to the slave’s quarters.

Her mother was doing laundry, but rushed to give Gwen a hug when she entered. “Gwen! You’re alright – thank God – I was so worried when I heard…”

“I know Mom, I’m sorry…” Gwen squeezed her hard. She didn’t know if she had the strength to go.

“No, honey, I’m just glad you’re okay.” Her mother took Gwen’s wrist gingerly. “You’re not hurt too bad, are you?”

“No, it’s not too bad, but..”

Her mother knew her too well, and saw it in her face. “You have to go, don’t you.”

Gwen’s eyes filled with tears, and she hugged her mother more closely once more, sobbing. Her mother held her close, and her breath grew ragged as she held her tears back. “Oh honey, I wish I could say that everything was going to be alright..”

“I don’t know if anything ever will be.”

Her mother stroked her hair. “Gwen, I know things are so uncertain, but always know…” her voice broke a little, “always know that I will love you. You have been chosen for something, something special, and no matter what road that path leads you I know that it is the right one.”

It took Gwen a very long time to finally go back to the room and gather what few belongings she had acquired. Finally, Eleyond appeared in the doorway, clad in a new coat and scarf, carrying warm clothes in his arms. “These are for you,” he told her, and she put them on, slinging the satchel over her shoulder. Her mother stood close beside her, gave her a final, long hug, then looked Eleyond in the eye. “You take better care of her, you understand?” she said fiercely.

Eleyond touched the rim of this wool hat, nodding. “Yes ma’am, I will.”

Gwen made it to the doorway before looking back at her mother. “I love you,” she said. “And we will be free someday. I will make sure of it.”

“I love you too,” said her mother softly, then Gwen was gone.

She walked down the hallway, barely noticing where she was going. Before she knew it, she was standing next to Cerederthan and Frodo.

“Are you coming with us?” she asked the Halfling.

“Yes,” he said vehemently. “I heard there are dragons on your path, and I can’t pass up the chance to see a real live dragon.”

She gave a little smile. “I don’t suppose I would either.”

 She put on her wool hat and wrapped her scarf around her neck as Cerederthan opened the doors to the snow-covered pathways outside. The snow blew in with the howling wind, and Cerederthan looked back at them all with a gigantic grin on his face. “Are you ready for an adventure?”