Into the West (A Lord of the Rings Fan Fic)

Chapter Three

Amaruil and Arwen stood on the path at the edge of Imladris, their hair tossed about by the light breeze. The verdant trees above them whispered as they turned the sun’s rays green, giving the image an eerie and ethereal feel; the flowers which crawled up the sides of the buildings and spread out by the sides of the path as if they were trying to warm themselves in the sun gave off a sweet perfume, making the air hazy with their scent. “The day is far too fair for a goodbye,” Amaruil said quietly.

“It is also too fair for such sadness mellonen,” Arwen replied. “Do not despair, for we will be reunited before too long.”

“Goodbye my friend,” Amaruil said as she enveloped Arwen in a hug. “We will meet again soon in Caras Galadhon.”

“Cuio vae,” Arwen called as she mounted her horse, looking around with sad eyes as she raised a hand in farewell to her friend before turning and leaving, her dark velvet cloak shimmering slightly as it billowed out behind her.

Amaruil stayed behind motionless, standing on the path completely oblivious to the time passing as she contemplated the first time she had been without Arwen in many, many years. She was disturbed from her thoughts by her sister, who pulled her along as they went to catch up with other friends.

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Years passed by as Amaruil wandered Imladris, the magic of the elves weaving its web around her and spreading its enchantment throughout her body; she spent her days reading, healing and sitting in contemplative silence, taking Ninquelote out on rides if she felt the need to escape the sometimes stifling atmosphere, and her nights at feasts often thrown by her parents or singing and dancing with other elves.

One night Amaruil returned home to find her mother’s brother sitting in the hall. “Lenwë!” she exclaimed. “My uncle! Why have you come to visit so suddenly?” she asked.

“I have not come to visit,” he said, eliciting a look of confusion from his niece, “I have fled Ithilien to live in Imladris, and here with my sister, I will spend the remainder of my days.”

“Amman?” she asked concerned.

“A great evil grows in Mordor; Sauron, the devil we once thought dead, is returned.”

“How do you know?” she exclaimed horrified.

“I feel it in my mind, in mine very bones; it is as if a cloak has fallen, or the blackness of night and all I can see about me is darkness. Sauron is gathering his power again, his spies and armies spread out from the barren mountains of Mordor. Every elf who remained in Ithilien has fled now because Oroduin is active again.” His final words were met with a gasp of terror as Amaruil’s eyes widened and fear seized her.

“Surely that cannot be so?” she asked, pleading with him to deny his previous words.

“I am sorry my niece but another war is beginning and this will surely be the end of us all,” he said sadly. “I do not think that the Eldar will long remain in Middle-Earth. Perhaps I will journey to the Grey Havens,” he mused.

“No please stay with us for a little while Lenwë,” Amaruil begged. “Nana will be so happy to see you when she returns home; she would not dream of allowing you to leave.”

“Perhaps for a little while in that case,” he relented, “although I must find myself a house before too long.”

“Not at all brother!” cried her mother as she entered the room, her long black hair, so similar to her brother’s, gleaming against her emerald dress as she reached out her hands to him and flashed him a dazzling smile.

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“Won’t you stay a little while longer?” begged Merenwen as Amaruil readied Ninquelote.

“Alas I cannot; I promised Arwen that I would meet her in Lothlórien soon, and it has been years since she left for Caras Galadhon. Besides, I miss her.”

“But I will miss you sister,” Merenwen replied.

“Perhaps you could visit me soon then?” Amaruil suggested. “You have not travelled to Lórien for many years.”

“I can’t,” she replied regretfully, “I could not leave Nana and Ada on their own.”

“They will be fine without you Merenwen; act for yourself for once.”

“Well then I choose to stay in Imladris; it pleases me to live here and I will not uproot myself like a young sapling torn from the earth, for disaster will surely follow.”

“But surely saplings must sway in the breeze as it blows?” Amaruil pointed out.

“You, my eldest sister, may be the one who travels the world, but return soon and regale me with your tales of far-off places,” Merenwen replied, the coldness of her voice revealing that she would argue no further.

“Go safely my daughter; it has been a delight to have you home, if even for such a meagre amount of time,” said her father as he came to stand beside them, “and stay safe, that you may come back once more, ere the evil that Lenwë speaks of spreads over the land.”

“Cuio vae!” they called as Amaruil turned Ninquelote and began her journey. Contrasting greatly with her previous entrance to Imladris, she now left Rivendell accompanied by only one elf who had offered to take Ninquelote back when they reached the pass through Caradhras and the Misty Mountains.

Amaruil urged Ninquelote into a gallop as they reached the open plains, relishing in the feeling of the wind whipping her face and the land disappearing beneath her, the scenery racing past as she crouched over her horse’s neck; much as she loved Imladris, her stately life among the elves did not offer half as much exhilaration as this.

Once they reached the foothills of the mountains and Amaruil could travel no further by horse, she dismounted and handed the reins over to the other elf. “Le hannon,” she said as he guided his horse closer to Ninquelote. “I understand there will be someone to meet me on the other side of the pass?”

“Tancave,” he replied as he glanced at the sky. “It would be wise to hurry my lady; night draws near and it is not advisable to face the dangers of Caradhras alone.”

“All will be well thank you,” Amaruil replied.

The man paused for a moment before saying, “It sits ill with me that you travel alone but, alas, I cannot accompany you for we cannot take horses through the path.”

“Cuio vae,” Amaruil said as she turned to leave, tiring of hearing his concerns and instead beginning the long climb up the treacherous mountain.

Caradhras was ill-tempered and fickle; the icy winds bit Amaruil’s face and hands as she walked over the snow which covered the pass, leaving only the lightest of imprints. Much as she loved her solitude, the silence which hung in the pass was oppressive, blanketing everything like the snow which shielded the blood red rock from view. Amaruil tried to stay as quite as possible, fearing an attack from the orcs that dwelt in the mountain; she could not help but leave one hand playing nervously with the small sword at her waist – a gift from her father, it had belonged to one of her ancestors. Elven women rarely fought, though they were able to if they wished, but he had lamented the lack of an opportunity to raise a son and taught his daughters how to defend themselves if the need arose – as if it would keep her safe from any stealth attack.

She travelled as quickly as possible, keeping her head down and fighting against the bitter wind, drawing her cloak around her and clutching at the warmth it offered. The air, however, was mercifully free of snow, meaning that the conditions were clear and she made slightly better progress than she had been anticipating.

Eventually she found herself in the foothills on the other side and was greeted by the sight of a small contingent of elves, one of whom held out a beautiful black mare for her which she mounted gracefully. “Le hannon. Shall we go?”

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Cuio vae - farewell
Amman - why
Oroduin - the Elven name for Mount Doom