Tel Lindar 04 – The Injured Boar or Sleepers, Awake!

Tags

fanfiction, hp, LOTR, tel lindar

Chapter 04

The Injured Boar or Sleepers, Awake!

***

          The Voyeur was back in the woods. There were platforms built high in the trees and he stood on one. Elves, perhaps a dozen, stood around, looking over the edge. He stood next to them, looking over as well. And saw.

          The big Elf.

          The Woman.

          Arguing loudly.

          Upon closer observation, she was the one doing all the yelling, his voice was quiet, but the face of the Elf belied the softness of his voice. He was furious.

          She was dressed in black; it did seem to be her favored color. Black tight leggings, black turtleneck, a long black woolen vest that hung to her boots. She wore spurs, black leather fingerless gloves, and her burgundy-tinged ponytail was bound in a black leather thong. She had a sword strapped to her back.

          Her voice became stringent, rising through the trees.

          “I am not a child!”

          The Elf answered her, his voice barely heard, rumbling lowly. The Elf took his eyes from her momentarily and motioned to his archers above. While his attention was elsewhere, she effortlessly strode around him, her look, her body language determined. When he realized she was moving on, he grabbed her none-too-gently by the arm. His voice was becoming an audible hiss. She yanked her arm from the Elf and strode off into the forest, crashing sounds rising.

          The Elf went to follow her, but was plucked up by his archers. Several pointed and even the Voyeur could see the… Things… headed their way.

          Huge, man-like things.

          And she charged, cursing, not heeding, into their midst.

          He watched as the archers prepared, silently, surrounding, covering her from the trees.

          “She is as graceful and as quiet as an injured boar!”

          The Voyeur looked at the big Elf. The Elven warrior shook his head. “She does not listen, she is head strong. You must be so careful for her.”

          “What good is she if she reacts so mindlessly?” The Voyeur, along with the others, were watching the scene unfold, as she saw the monsters, watched as it dawned on her that she was out-manned, out-numbered. She flipped the tails of her vest back and her knives were out and spinning. Her call to Beavis – whoever Beavis was – was carrying on the breeze.

          “Come, come my darlings. Come to Beavis.”

          The battle was over swiftly. Her knives were deadly, quick, but there were too many of the things and only the deadly accuracy of the Elves in the trees, armed with their bows, kept her from being slaughtered.

          The Voyeur watched as the big Elf jumped into the blood bath, all the monsters dead and her standing in the middle. Several of the Elven archers patted her shoulder, congratulated her. She turned to speak to the Elf.

          And received a tongue lashing that the Voyeur wished he himself had given.

          “You did not think of the consequences, you did not think of the danger, you did not think of the difficulty you would put any of my archers in. Did you consider that by defying me that now I had more to watch out for besides Orcs, I had to watch out for you as well? You walked into the middle of a bigger nest of Uruk-hai than is normal and they were not normal? Did you stop to think that you could have been killed?”

          And it all froze.

          “She does not think.”

          The Voyeur looked into the midnight blue eyes of the Elf. “That is obvious. I repeat; What good is she to anyone if she does not think ahead?”

          The Elf peered sadly into the trees. The sounds of retching came up from the ground and the Voyeur looked to see the Elf holding her back to him, and her regurgitating the contents of her stomach onto the ground in front of them.

          “Gods! Does she always vomit like that?”

          The Elf smiled cheerlessly, his eyes never leaving the heaving woman.

          “She was never meant for war. Never meant to be a fighter. She was never meant for many things, but she did them because she had to. She had to, for her survival; for our survival. Sometimes, she did them from sheer obstinence.” The Elf paused for a short moment.

          “Nay, she does not think, not like you, not like me. Many times, she stayed my hand, not because she thought about it, but out of compassion. No, she does not think like you or me. She thinks with her heart.”

          “Please.” The Elf began to diminish, fade. “Please watch out for her. Watch over her, be careful for her. Protect her. She is my heart, my precious treasure, my most beloved jewel.”

          Snape awoke, in his chair, an emptied bottle of brandy on the floor. He heard himself repeating over and over and over…

          “She is my heart, my most precious treasure, my heart, my most beloved jewel…  Cormmin… my Heart…”

***

          Snape opened Bronwyn’s door to see her lying in the floor, asleep. Amadeus was curled protectively at her side, his head propped on her stomach. He quietly walked up next to her and nudged her with the toe of his boot.

          “Wake up.”

          It took several nudges to rouse her.  When she finally awoke, she sat up stretching, yawning inelegantly. She looked up at him from her position on the floor, eyes squinted, long fingers scratching her neck.

          “What the hell do you want?” Bronwyn attempted to lay down again, curling up into the long fur of the wolf.

          She found herself set on her feet, her arm grasped tightly in his hand.

          “It is time for breakfast.”

          She snatched her arm from his grasp and scowled up at him.

          “I ate last night.” She was rubbing the spot where he had grabbed her. “Remember?”

          Snape smiled.  Sort of.

          “That was last night, madam. This is a new day.”

          Bronwyn  shot him a bird and started towards the stairs. Only to find herself facing him again.

          “Look.”  Her hand waved in the air. “This you – using – magic – to – get – your – way – thingy to win arguments is wearing very old, very fast. I’m not hungry. I have things to do and by the way, is there a way you can do whatever it is to my door, so I can get out, but the boogey-man can’t get in?” Both sets of fingers wiggled up next to her face, her look, comical.

          Ten minutes later, she was seated in the Great Hall, still dressed in the leggings and tunic she had slept in, a plate of steaming sausage and eggs in front of her. She eyed the food balefully.

          “I don’t suppose it would be too much to ask for biscuits and sausage gravy as well?”

          A boat of gravy and a cloth-covered basket of biscuits soon appeared next to her plate.

          “Orange Juice? Florida. No pulp. Really big glass. With ice.”

          It too, soon appeared.

          “Dude! Kewl beanies!” She was obviously pleased with herself.

          “Madam,” Snape had again brought reading material to the table, “please be aware that everything you ask for  must be eaten before I will release you from your seat.” He snapped the morning’s edition of the Daily Prophet and settled in to his breakfast.

          “Isn’t he a hoot?” Remus Lupin was again seated next to her and it was to the Werewolf that she directed her question. “Is he always this funny? This jovial? This… this…” her hand was raised in an oratorical pose, “this… Iluvatar’s Balls, how does anyone stand the man?” Her open hand clenched into a shaking fist, that she shook dramatically at the open air.

          Lupin caught himself laughing into his napkin. He had no idea who Iluvatar was and he certainly did not want to consider his balls. Her Elven friend was having no trouble eating –  Lupin noticed he was on his third helping – and apparently neither the Elf or the wolf had misgivings of Snape’s dealing with her.

          And it appeared to be working. Lupin had noticed at dinner the skillful way she moved her food around her plate and he wondered how long she had fought Snape and his manipulations. He hoped that she had put up a good fight. At least, this morning, she wasn’t railing at the Potions Master and she was eating.

          “How are your quarters? I understand they put you in the dungeon.”

          Bronwyn chewed thoughtfully for a few moments before eyeing the DADA professor.

          “Smaller than what I am used to, but very nice. I shouldn’t complain – I won’t complain. My children and grandchildren were in and out of my cottage at the Undying Lands constantly, as were all the Elflings born there, so we needed the extra space. I will get used to it, I suppose.” She took another bite of sausage after sailing the piece skillfully through the gravy boat. “Still, I have no idea where I am going to put all my instruments. They were still arriving this morning when Professor Sunshine -”  she nodded in Snape’s general direction   “- so generously escorted me to breakfast, this morning.”

          Lupin dropped his napkin, chuckling fitfully. Snape had levitated her, floated her into the dining hall, three feet off the ground. He could still see her look of feigned impatience, arms crossed, left foot with bright yellow painted toe-nails tapping air.

          “Instruments?”

          “Yes. Lord Elrond and Lord Celeborn have arranged for all of Bronwyn’s musical instruments to be sent here.” Rumil had managed to look up from his plate.  “Almost all of them, at least.”

          “Almost all?”

          Rumil’s attention went to his food. “All but one.”

          Bronwyn eyed him intensely. “Which one, Rumil. Which one has not been sent to me?”

          Rumil mumbled into his plate.

          “I did not hear you. Again?”

          “The piano. They do not know when they will be able to move it from your cottage.”

          All conversation at the table seem to cease. Snape pretended to be engrossed in the Quidditch scores, but his ears were tuned into the growing ire he could sense building in her body.

          “Why not?”

          Rumil knew, could feel her displeasure. Of all the instruments, that piano was her favorite, almost her beloved. It was the instrument Bronwyn had excelled at the best, even now, when she was a player of all. He discovered he could not look at her. “Lirimaer, they will send it someday – a year, ten years. But not now. There is too much going on.” His eyes brightened a little in placation. ” They did send your harpsichord.”

          She hissed in disappointment. “Rumil! I would give ALL the instruments to anyone, all of them, in exchange for the Steinway. They know this!”

          “Madam.” Snape remarked from behind his Quidditch scores. “It is just a piano.”

          “It is not JUST a piano.” Although quiet, her voice held a ferocity that reverberated from her core. ” It is a 1938 Steinway Concert Grand E class. Not many were made!”

          “And it is special because?”

***

For one so small

You seem so strong…

Phil Collins – Tarzan

***

          Remus Lupin watched her spine go rigid. He was amazed at how tall she looked as she emotionally and mentally stood up to the one wizard in the school who caused any to back down. “It’s… only… freaking… twelve… feet… long!” Oh, but she was awesome!

          Amadeus had laid his head in her lap, midnight eyes imploring. She exhaled a pent up sigh and rubbed his head in calming strokes. Rumil’s eyes finally rose from his plate. “I am sorry, Bronwyn. Celeborn and Elrond begged and pleaded to have it sent sooner. I did, as well. There is nothing to be done for it at this time.”

          Bronwyn looked down at her meal in resignation. The plate was almost cleaned and only one biscuit remained. Snape felt her disappointment, the extreme control she exuded to keep from exploding again. “Have I eaten enough this morning, sir?” Her respectful tone was truly thinly veiled sarcasm, but Snape was willing to ignore it. He released her from her chair and she rose gracefully.

          “I would like to see your instruments, your harpsichord, sometime.” Lupin fondled the head of Amadeus as the wolf circled her chair and sat next to him expectantly.

          She leaned on the back of the seat and considered him thoughtfully. “I had nothing planned today, except to clean the classroom and set the instruments up. I might need some help, if you wish to assist me. I believe Rumil – ” Bronwyn motioned to the Elf, who was now engrossed in deep conversation with Madam Hooch  ” – is looking forward to a promised broom ride today.” The Elf never looked up.

          “Clean? Madam, allow the house elves to do it!” Snape regarded her from behind his paper. He had now moved on to the classifieds for used Nimbus 2000’s.

          “I will not! I think it’s horrid how they…”

          “Do not start!” Snape laid the paper down, the memory of Miss Granger and her S.P.E.W. fiasco from a few years back, still lingering in his mind. “They will feel belittled if you do not allow them to do it.”

          “No one touches my instruments but me! Ever! Period! They will get over it!” She regarded the slender DADA professor. “Unless I request their help.”

          “After lunch, Madame Morgan?”

          She bestowed a smile on him that lit the hall. “After lunch would be fine. I am across the hall from Professor Snape’s classrooms.” She turned to leave. “Oh, and call me Bronwyn.” Her bare footfalls were silent on the floor as she departed the room, Amadeus following behind.

          Lupin went to Snape and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “It would behoove you to allow her to win an argument or two. You might find her easier to work with.” and he followed Bronwyn out the door as well. If Snape was aware of Lupin murmuring behind him, he did not indicate it.

          Albus and Minerva sat together, watching the scene unfold with great interest and amusement.

***

I need a long walk, with someone who knows what to do

I need a long talk, I need a helping hand to pull me through

I need a tall drink, with someone who cares, I need someone here for company

It’s time to rethink and somehow find a way to put an end to this mystery…

(Long Walk

Bad Company)

***

          Remus was greeted by Bronwyn’s yelling as he came through her classroom to the open door of her quarters.

          “Amadeus! Ooooooo! You bad wolf! My under things are not play toys!” Scurrying could be heard and a flash shot from the door, straight into Remus’ waiting arms.

          Amadeus comically looked around, trying to see the hands that held him; his vision was blocked by black demi-cut bra, laying ludicrously like a mask across his face. Remus carefully unhooked them from behind the wolf’s ears and laughed at the friendly beast.

          “There you are, you wretched creature! Hello, Professor Lupin.”

          “It’s Remus. Please.” From his crouched position, he handed her her bra, still holding Amadeus with the other hand. “I believe this is yours. Zorro here had it on.”

          She snatched it from him in mock ire. “I do not know why he insists on doing this. He bothers nothing else of mine – just my… underwear!” She bent down and rubbed the furry head hard. “All the things I would let you into and you choose my unmentionables!” She got up swiftly and disappeared into the apartment.

          Remus grasped the wolf by the sides of the head and playfully shook him, the beast’s tongue lolling. “Oh, you are a naughty one, eh?” Amadeus’ muzzle prodded him under the chin.

          “Funny, he normally does not take to anyone.” She stood again in the doorway. “And now suddenly, you two are best buds and he takes Snape-meister’s side against me.”  Remus did not cease his stroking of her familiar; pet was not the right word for their relationship, he could tell – but he looked up at the woman.

          It was amazing what a few hearty meals could do for the human body; Remus knew this first hand.

          While Bronwyn was still painfully thin – and would be for a while –  there was a sparkle in her eyes that wasn’t there the night before. There was humor lurking behind the grief, the sadness, and Remus longed to see it unleashed in all its glory.

          He really wanted to see it loosed on Snape.

          Lupin had seen a glimpse of it when Bronwyn and the Potions Master had exited the hall at lunch the day before, her mimicking the stern professor’s flying robes with graceful hands. She was dressed in blue jeans and a black t-shirt with the words ‘Runs with Scissors’ emblazoned across the front. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and was lashed with a tied leather thong. He returned his attention to the head he cradled and rocked in his hands.

          “He is truly an awesome beastie. How did you tame him?”

          “Haldir and I have had wolves for over 38,000 years. Since before we left Middle Earth. Interesting story, actually.”

          Remus stood up, scratching Amadeus one last time, as she invited him through the doorway. “I’m all ears.” He gasped. ” Merlin’s Robes, I did not know that one human being could own so much!” He walked into the light-filled foyer and smiled at the boxes and trunks piled everywhere.

          “Ah, you should see upstairs. And this is not everything. Given a few millennia, a person collects a trinket or two!” Remus followed her into the kitchen area and watched as she opened a large white box. “Not to mention, I am female – you know how we supposedly collect things! So! What’s your poison? I have Coke, Sprite, Dr. Pepper, Lemon-“

          “You have a refrigerator? You have a complete working kitchen!” He took in the appliances.

          “Sure and I do! But, they are all run by magic. Look – ” she pointed to the stove. “Right left front burner, high.” Flames shot up two feet from the burner. “Off.”

          Remus broke out in laughter. “Needs some adjustment, eh? Lemonade, please.”

          “Aye.  A little. They have hexed it to respond to my voice.” Bronwyn handed him a frosted glass. “As for my Amadeus,” she closed the door, a glass with dark liquid in her hand, “when Haldir and I were traveling, I chanced upon a male wolf who enjoyed ‘vocalizing’. After a week of singing the blues with me in the evenings, he and two of his females deposited seven barely weaned pups at mine and Haldir’s feet. They feared for their survival. We… I have had one ever since.” She took a deep gulp from the glass and belched inelegantly, long and raucous, from the gut. “Rumil and Orophin would have been proud of that one!” She suddenly realized she had male company.  She had the decency to blush. “Sorry. There are no Cokes in the Undying Lands.”

          “My Clara died about the time I made the decision to return early and I did not have the time or the heart to replace her.” She smiled ruefully. “Amadeus…” her voice began to quiver, “Amadeus… was born the… day after Haldir was… killed… and… and…” her glass slid from her hands. It shattered on the floor and she dropped her face in her hands. A low, keening moan arose from her throat.

          Remus set his glass down and hugged her close. “I miss him. I miss him so.”

          Married as many years as she was married to the Elf, Remus thought, I would miss him too. There was a light tap at his shoulder. He looked to see Rumil, his hair wind blown, standing behind him. Gently, he removed her from Remus’ grasp and whispering in her ear, slid her into slumber.

***

See I don’t know,

The pain won’t go

And the hurt inside is getting

So damn hard to hide…

(Long Walk

Bad Company)

***

          For several days, Remus watched in amusement combined with growing concern at the flowering of Bronwyn. Snape no longer had to force her into the Great Hall for she ate with gusto, although she was vocal in her dislike of pumpkin juice and certain other foods. She ignored the Potions Master as much as possible, focusing her attention on the other professors, particularly Remus himself along with Professor Sprout and Madam Hooch.

          Rumil was making his rounds; flying with Anne-Marie Hooch; having his tea leaves read by Professor Sibyll Trelawney  –  “A great love will come to you in less than twenty years. Be patient, my boy.” Rumil had rolled his eyes in amusement at that; helping Professor Russ Sprout in her greenhouses. On that day, he came tearing into the classroom, braids flying, where Bronwyn and Lupin were painting dark dungeon walls a pale yellow.

          “Bronwyn! Bronwyn! You will not believe!”

          She never dropped her paint roller and continued her long strokes. “You would be amazed what I would believe, Rumil.”

          “Russ… Professor Sprout. She is growing Shire Weed!”

          Bronwyn’s roller ceased its movement and she looked over her shoulder at the tall Elf. Lupin did likewise.

          “Shire Weed? Are you certain?”

          Rumil had the audacity to look indignant. “I have smoked it enough times in my life. So have you! I know what Shire Weed looks and smells like.”

          A rather evil smile lit on her face. “Shire Weed. Hmmm.”

          “Bronwyn, what is Shire Weed?”

          She jerked out of her musings and looked at Remus. “Oh. Uhm… In Middle Earth, the Shire was an area of rich farmland inhabited by the Hobbits, the Half- lings. Wee folk. Everything grew best in the Shire. They were particularly well known for their… tobacco.” Her grin was comical.

          “And Russ is growing some of this… tobacco… in her greenhouse?” Remus asked.  Bronwyn had returned to her painting, the smile still pasted on her face.

          “According to Rumil, yes.”

          “Ah.”

          Almost everyday, while Rumil was out gallivanting with one professor or another, Bronwyn would start to talk about her life; her life in Middle Earth, her life in the Undying Lands, her life with her husband. Each time, she broke down into tears. Each time, Rumil would return to her crying and he put her in a deep, dreamless sleep.

          It seemed to Remus that she was being hindered from working through her grief. He sat on her couch, boxes still piled around. He listened as Rumil put her to bed in the giant area upstairs. Amadeus sat his feet. Remus scratched the wolf’s head absently.

          “And just what exactly is going on up there? What does he think to accomplish?” The wolf answered him with a series of whines and yips. Remus looked at Amadeus, as if…

          He understood.

          “What did you say?”

          The wolf again answered with longer litany of whines, yips. 

          “Merlin’s Robes. You are special, aren’t you?” Remus looked up as the slender Elf came down the steps, concern etched on his face. Remus stood up and went to him.

          “Rumil. Why do you put her into a forced slumber when she cries for her husband?”

          “It is not good for her to grieve. She does not rest well. It helps.”

          “Does she sleep at night?”

          “Not normally. She has been most upset with Professor Snape as of late. He wards the door at night and she cannot get out. She sits by the door and tries to figure out away to escape this room. He will not speak to her, except to order her here or there. They need…”

          “Yes,” Lupin was deep in thought, “yes, they need to do a lot of things.” He changed the subject quickly. “Rumil, do you mind if I take Amadeus with me out into the gardens? I don’t think he has been out much and I think he would like to run.”

          “Please. I am sure he would like the exercise.”

          Remus and Amadeus padded quietly into the large gardens and the man found a bench to sit on. He looked deeply into the eyes of the wolf.

          “Alright, you! Spill the beans!”

          The wolf chuffed once in annoyance.

          “I am on your side. Something is going on between Snape and Bronwyn and they are too stubborn by far. So tell me what I can do to help.”

          For an hour, the wolf howled, yipped, chuffed, whined. Occasionally, Remus asked questions, but mostly he listened.

          And cried.

***

Can you imagine

No love, pride, deep-friend chicken

Your best friend always stickin’ up for you

Even when I know you’re wrong…

(Drops of Jupiter

Train)

***

          The wooden door slammed, jerking Snape from his concocting. He looked up in exasperation and saw the DADA professor striding towards him.

          “What do you want?”

          “Good afternoon to you too, shit-head!”

          “Ah.” Severus continued to stir his cauldron, never losing count. (Ninety eight, ninety nine, one hundred, one hundred one, reverse, one, two, three…) “You have been spending time with her and I see she has taught you some of her more delightful phrases. Tell me, has she taught you any in Italian, Russian, Elvish?” (Fifteen, sixteen, scrape the bottom , z-stroke one, z-stroke two…)

          Remus smirked. “Ha! Ha! No she hasn’t taught me any delightful phrases.  I have learned a lot from Amadeus, however!”

          “Ah, yes.” (Z-stroke seven, z-stroke eight, circle down one, circle down two. Finished.) He lifted the ladle from the pot and tapping it to remove the drippings, laid it to the side and covered the cauldron with a lid. “The wolf. You would speak its language. I am sure the two of you had plenty to talk about.”

          “Severus!” Lupin slammed his hands down next to the cauldron, causing it to bounce slightly. “Pay attention!”

          “Lupin, have a care, if you please. You have just bounced three days worth of work…”

          “Severus! I know! I know about her bow, I know about why she is really here. I know what you are to her.”

          Severus picked up a rag and after wiping his hands, proceeded to clean the spills around the cauldron. He was meticulous, neat to a fault. “Not so loud, Lupin. We do not wish the world to know. I see I might have needs to put a silence spell on her pet…”

          “Don’t call him that. Merlin’s Robes, Snape, you call him that around him, he will tear your throat out despite what you are to her.” He ran his fingers through longish hair. “I might do it anyway for him. Gods, man! You are completely dropping the ball here!”

          Snape dropped his cloth and pulled himself to full his full height. “I am dropping the ball? How can I be ‘dropping the ball’ when she is the one who needs to come to me about her bow…”

          “Damn it man! The bow is the last thing on her mind!”

          “I am more than aware the bow is the last thing on her mind. Since you know everything, you are aware that she does not sleep, that she is in my head, that she gives me headaches with her nocturnal wanderings. And do not start with the nightmares!” Despite the fact that he was not wearing robes, Snape pulled inwards, crossing his arms and tucking his hands under his elbows. His voice was deceptively soft. “Perhaps, since you know everything, you could enlighten me on how to get around these little obstacles?”

          Remus looked into angry black eyes and took a deep breath. Despite the tension and the past bad blood between himself and the Potions Master, he had a deep, deep, abiding respect for the man and he felt for the burden he was now carrying. But he didn’t feel so badly that…

          “No. Bloody bad enough I have been doing what you should have been doing all along!”

          Snape began to put ingredients away. “And what is that?”

          Remus followed him with his eyes. “Spending time with her. Helping her unpack and clean. Talking to her. Watching her. Watching her interplay with Rumil.”

          “Let me guess.” The black leonine head glanced over his shoulder. “They are lovers?”

          “Geez, Severus! Has it been THAT long since you’ve been laid?” Severus raised an eyebrow. “No! They aren’t lovers! He loves her, make no doubt about that, but a physical relationship? No.” Remus kicked a dust bunny across the floor. “She can’t grieve. He won’t allow her to mourn .”

          “And how is he doing that?” The voice was deceptive, smooth. A lesser person or wizard would have answered without thought. Remus was not a lesser person or wizard.

          “No.” His tone was almost churlish. ” I won’t tell. You need to find out for yourself.” Severus turned back towards the werewolf, advancing dangerously. “Do you realize she has not left the school building since she arrived? She hasn’t been outside? Rumil or I walk Amadeus; she has only seen her apartments and the Great Hall. Already she talks about the library. You should see the amount of books she has!  She reads more than Hermione.  If she gets in the library, we will never get her out! She will have her bed moved in!”

          “And what do you suggest I do about it?” Severus was now behind his desk, a roll of parchment spread before him.

          “Look, it’s Friday. I suggest that I invite her and Rumil to Hogsmeade for a little dinner and some butterbeer or something harder. You join us. I am willing to bet she hasn’t been rip roaring drunk in a long time. If we get her tipsy, maybe she will talk…”

          “You are suggesting that we take her into town and get her drunk so we can take advantage of her mentally? Perhaps, we could pick her brother-in- law’s brain while we are at it?” Severus raised his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. He could not believe he was having this conversation with Remus.

          “Hey!” Remus snapped his fingers. “That’s an idea. I didn’t think of that. You, of course, have hang-over potion already prepared?”

          Severus sighed deeply. “It has to be fresh. I will get the ingredients out and pre-measured. What time should we meet and where?” He rubbed the area between his eyes. “Remind again why I am agreeing to this childish idea?”

          “Meet us in Bronwyn’s quarters at six.  And you are agreeing to it because you haven’t been out in ages either!”

          “You are certain she will go along this?” Snape’s fingers drummed on the desk.

          “She can be persuaded, I am sure.” Remus turned to leave, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the night ahead. “Ah, Severus?”

          “What now?”

          “How long did she sit the other night, in the Great Hall?”

          “11:00. She would have sat longer had I not lied to her.”

          “You… lied? Severus, I’m shocked!”

          “I told her I had a cauldron simmering that needed stirred.” Severus was grinning mirthlessly. “She needed to eat; I made her eat. That is one problem dealt with.”  Long, elegant fingers continued to drum on the desk. “Remus.”

          “Yes.”

          “Don’t say anything to her about it. I will deny it. And tell her to wear something…colorful. If she wears black, people will think we are a couple.”

          Snape could hear Remus laughing into the hallway.

***

tbc

***

Lirimaer – Lovely one

Tel lindar 3 0 Too much information or You speaka my language?

Tags

fanfiction, Harry Potter, LOTR

Chapter 3

Too much information – or – You speak-a my language?

---

She came down
From the mountain
And I stood my ground
On the mountain

Tonic – Mountain

---

The Voyeur stood in a forest. The trees were huge, larger than anything he had ever seen in his life and the leaves were of a golden hue he had never before beheld. He could feel a cool wind blowing through his hair.

A cool wind that carried angry voices.

Silently, he made his way to a clearing. There he saw a contingency of Elven archers, arrows drawn, surrounding nine companions. Three men, four small child-like creatures, a battle Dwarf, another Elf.

One of the Men was on his knees, retching, puking his very guts onto the forest floor. A second man stood behind him, clutching the filthy, stinking warrior, for he was dressed as such, by the hair of the head, holding him up. The Elves stood around, contemplating, discussing. One Elf, the one who seem to be in charge, strode in front of the ill man and with the edge of his bow, tipped a drooling chin up in order to get a better look. The Voyeur heard and understood his words clearly.

“A beardless boy. A child playing adult games.”

It was the big Elf. His tone, his countenance radiated controlled fury and arrogance.

The Voyeur watched and followed in silence, observed as the Elves carried the youth to their city, an island of trees, rising from the forest floor. He watched as they entered the city, as a woman – an elleth- came and inspected the young warrior. She was the most beautiful creature the Voyeur had ever seen; tall, lithe, with long, wavy golden hair, hanging to her hips. Her voice, a deep contralto, was as ancient as the shadows in the woods.

“The warrior is in your keeping. The warrior is your responsibility.”

The big Elf stood next to him, his words ringing in the Voyeur’s ears.

“My responsibility? I do not think so.”

In the blink of an eye, they were in a room, a home. The big Elf and two others had the warrior on a floor, undressing him.

Wait.

This was no boy.

It was She. Tel’ Lindar.

Her chest, her ribs had been bound, her clothing had been padded to hide emancipated, underfed curves.

“Look how they brought her to me!” The scene had changed again. Now it was just the big Elf and the woman he had placed on a table, her private parts carefully covered with sheets. The Voyeur could see the bruises at her ribs. The room was gently lit by candles and the big Elf was moving around the table, carefully bathing the filth and grime from her body. Her hair lay in wet clumps, dripping muddy suds unheeded on the floor.

“Look how they brought her to me!” The Elf repeated it, spat it in anger . The Voyeur looked at the dream’s narrator, the Elf motioning at the scene in disgust. “Broken in body; broken and cracked ribs. Broken in spirit; she could not remember who she was, where she was from. She grieved her losses so, she dared not try to remember. She was underfed, underweight. She begged for death.” Her skin was pale, translucent and he could see the signs of lack of proper food showing on what parts of her body were exposed.

“She was in no better shape when they brought her to me.” The Elf looked at him quietly. It was the first time the Voyeur had tried to speak, tried to converse.

“Aye. True. Although, you do not have to heal her body. That was the easiest to mend.” The Elf reached behind his head and tugged fiercely at the intricate braid hanging down his back.

“Heal her? I am no medi-witch, no healer!”

An elegant, Elven eyebrow raised high and he snorted. “Neither was I.” They watched the Elf in the scene for several minutes, walk around her, tenderly washing, bathing, gently rubbing salves on her ribs. The Voyeur noticed how he took great care to preserve her modesty.

“You must tend to her.”

The Voyeur rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I am no healer,
no-“

“Her bereavement runs deep. She is not allowed to grieve, not allowed to drain the infection of the wound caused by her sorrow. They think to protect her, when in reality they are protecting themselves as they cannot stand to see her in pain. Her grief stagnates, clouds her vision. She refuses to eat. You must lance her anguish, allow her, make her siphon the contamination, the very pus, of her desolation. She must eat! She must grieve. Please help her. She is my treasure, my heart, my most precious jewel.”

And as the Voyeur was flung through the dark tunnel that would drop him in his bed, he heard the words of the beautiful she-Elf;

“The warrior is in your keeping. The warrior is your responsibility.”

Reservo vester ipse. Adiumentum mea reservo tu.

Save yourself. Help me save you.

---

The Wizard and the Elf moved swiftly through the passageways of the castle, the dark one’s robes billowing out behind him like wings. No sound was heard in their passing, the very air seemed to part as if cut by scissors, as they flowed through the lyceum.

Celeborn allowed himself to look long and hard at the Potions Master as they walked quickly through the corridors. He took in the condescending demeanor, the way he held himself. Tel’ Lindar was a head strong woman yet Snape…

Snape was going to be difficult.

He did not know who deserved his sympathy more, Bronwyn or her new Guardian.

“I wish to apologize for the misunderstanding between you and Bronwyn. Had she not been so distressed, she would not have struck you.”

Severus never slowed. “I will not accept an apology from you for her actions. They are hers and hers alone.”

“Surely, you understand, this has been very difficult for her.”

“Spare me the pity party.”

Celeborn took a deep breath and tried a different tactic. “I am sure you have many questions. About her. About who she is.”

“No.” Snape stopped in front of an alcove, with a huge statue of a gargoyle sitting within its interior. He motioned for Celeborn to step inside. “Licorice. Black.” As the statue spun and stairs moved upwards, he strode in behind the Elf and placed his hand on the breast of the monument. “Rather, you have answers explaining why I have been saddled with such a termagant.”

---

I’m the man in the box
Buried in my shit
Won’t you come and save me
Save me

Alice in Chains
Hair of the Dog

---

It had all the makings of a cozy get-together: four chairs in a closely-knit grouping, tea and cakes being served by a floating tea pot and a gracious host. Dumbledore and Gandalf sat, calm, cool. Celeborn stood behind his chair, his knuckles white across the backs of the joints.

Snape stood off to the side, seeming to peruse the tomes in the bookcases. Black eyes glittered at the spines, his thoughts…

“Who is she?”

Gandalf started to answer. “She is Bronwyn Mor-“

“I know that!” He snapped angrily, looking over his shoulder to the group. “Who is she? Perhaps I ask the wrong question. What is she?” Gandalf started to speak, only to be interrupted again. “And do not give me her titles. Bard of this, Keeper of that. She has spouted them off to me already.” He accepted a cup of tea from the pot and took a sip. Damn, if Dumbledore’s tea wasn’t always brewed perfectly. “What is she? Where did she come from?”

The two elderly Wizards and Elf sighed deeply, looking at each other. Celeborn began.

“Tithen Aras…”

“What does that mean?” Severus never looked up from his tea cup, alternating between sipping and staring deep into the depths of the dark liquid.

“It means ‘little dear’. “

The dark wizard snorted into his tea cup. “Aye. Very dear!”

“She can be.”

Severus barked an insincere laugh and turned the cheek, her reddened hand print still clearly outlined. “Forgive me if I do not agree with you.”

Celeborn stormed around the chair. “Say what you will, think what you will, but I saw two delicate wrists bruised by large hands. I will not tolerate your mistreatment of her!” Both Elf and Wizard, stood poised for battle, the light, bristling in indignation, the dark, seemingly relaxed, yet coiled to strike.

“Gentlemen.” Albus’ voice was clear, a voice of authority. Celeborn turned in disgust and returned to his chair, sitting in it this time. He also accepted tea, choosing instead to just stare into the gloom of the fluid.

“Bronwyn is unique among the race of Man.” Gandalf had chosen to speak this time. “She is a truly extraordinary individual; the only one of her kind. She was born and raised specifically to do what she does.”

“And what, pray tell, does she do?”

Silence. Complete and utter silence for many moments. Then Gandalf’s voice…

“She is Earth’s Historian – wait -” he held up his hand to Severus’ question. “Over the millennia, Man has risen only to fall again and again.. Always, someone has been there to help them rebuild, regain what they lost. It was foreseen that Man would one more time rise to greatness, only to fall in on himself, destroying the world as it is now. In the process, all knowledge, all art, all music, all past experiences, would be lost, decimated and nothing would be left but the shell of brute humanity.

“It was decided by Iluvatar – God, if you will – to create a vessel, a Bard, one who would hold all the history, all the knowledge of the Earth and would be able to show it physically to those remaining, in order to help them rebuild. The First Born – the Elves would be sent with this historian, to aid in this reconstruction effort. While the Vessel was part of the Elves world, she is truly of Man’s.”

Celeborn picked up where Gandalf left off. “Bronwyn was plucked from this world, this age and sent back to the time of Middle Earth. The Valar removed her at a great cost to her sanity – her parents had died, her husband – ” he sneered at the word, “had betrayed her horribly and had been killed. All she had was her young son, Duncan.”

It was quiet for a moment while Celeborn studied the dregs of his tea. Gandalf continued for him.

“Duncan was very ill from the moment he was born. He was her world. He died young and within days of his death, Tari, one of the Valar, personally plucked her from this world and dropped her into ours.”

“Dropped her into hell!” Celeborn muttered.

“And…” Severus spun his fingers in a perpendicular circle, as if to move them on, speed them up, “… how does this pertain to now?” His headache was beginning to rage yet again.

Gandalf’s litany was almost a gentle rant.

“Imagine reading every book that ever existed and being able to repeat back word for word at will. Imagine knowing how to play every instrument ever created and being able to play every song ever written. Imagine speaking every language, dead or alive. Bronwyn spent 120 years collecting the history of Middle Earth. Three ages of history.”

“At the same time, all of the history of the Fourth Age to now was unceremoniously dumped into her head. 38,000 years of history to be exact. All of the history that was predominantly known to Man.” The stress on the word ‘Man’ was very noticeable.

“When that time was up, she left for the Undying Lands, home of the Elves, with her husband, Haldir, and one of her children in tow. She left behind two children, Beckett and Anselm. From these children came the Great Storytellers of the Ages, from this line came the Druids, the Bards, the Historians. From Anselm came the musicians, the artisans. Beckett’s line was charged keeping her bow. Like the Levites, the Jewish tribe of priests, Beckett’s descendants kept the history, guided Man. “

“Yes, yes, I know all about the bow.” Severus’ hand waved dismissively as the mobile tea pot refilled his cup. “She has made its importance quite clear.” He sipped slowly, flicking his fingers impatiently. “Continue.”

Celeborn’s jaw ticked. Never had anyone acted, responded to her in such a callous, unfeeling manner. That they were forced to leave her in his hands…

“You are familiar with the state of the world we found upon our return?” Gandalf’s voice was clear.

“Truthfully, I was not paying attention. I had my own problems to deal with rather than to worry about Muggles.”

Celeborn’s temper raged at the insensitivity of the comment. He stormed out of his seat, glaring down at the Dark Wizard.

“You should have paid attention. It is because of your world’s serious lack of communication with Man, or Muggles, as you call them, and the fact you had your heads so far up your collective asses that she… we came back early! It is due to your world’s short-sightedness that Haldir was lost; that her bow fell into the wrong hands.”

The bone china cup was thrown to the carpet as Severus stood up. “You will NOT blame me, blame us, for her loss…”

“I will! Bronwyn is a seer. She saw what would happen if we did not come back early.”

Fingers folded in on pristine white cuffs as Snape coiled himself inward. ‘He is so very much the serpent.‘ Gandalf thought to himself. ‘He pulls in tightly, ready to strike when it is least expected.’ He stood and placed a hand on Celeborn’s shoulder. “Mellon, pray sit. Your heart is too close to Bronwyn, was too close to Haldir, to think without prejudice. Your love for the two of them blinds you to the task at hand.” The Elf returned to his seat, scowling.

Snape never moved as he took in the scene; an angry Elf Lord, a placating Istari, a silent Wizard. He turned his attention to Dumbledore.

“A Seer? Perhaps I am the wrong wizard for this outing. I would suggest instead Professor Trelawney.” Snape’s tone was mocking.

“Severus. Sit down.” Albus motioned for him to do so and looked at Snape over half-moon glasses. “Bronwyn was never informed, never knew of our world that we kept so secret and apart from the Muggles. When she was finally allowed to see us, she saw we would be victorious over Voldemort. She then returned her attentions back to the tribulations of Man.

“However, she soon realized that things had escalated to a breaking point; the point she was waiting for, the point she had been told to look for. When she took in the entire scope again, she saw something she did not wish to see.

“She saw the total annihilation of the Wizards, of our world. All of us. We were so caught up in Voldemort and the after effects, that we would not, had not paid attention to what was happening outside our sphere.

“Had the Muggle world gone to war – nuclear war – none of us, the Wizarding world, would have survived. We owe her our lives.”

The silence was deafening. Another china cup floated to Severus and the pot refilled it.

“Bronwyn was given a choice, by the Valar. It was her decision to return early. It was her decision to attempt to stop what had been decreed. It was her decision to save YOUR world.” Celeborn’s voice was shaken, as if holding back tears. “But the price she paid has been enormous.”

“Because we returned early, certain… events took place that had not been decreed to happen. Events she had not foreseen would happen. Events that cost her her husband’s life. Cost her her descendant’s life.

“In order to save your world, Stuart Barrow-Smythe innocently died in the crossfire of a drug-deal gone bad and her bow, her earthly seat of power, disappeared into your world. In order to save your world, an angry sniper missed his target and killed Haldir of Lothlórien instead. In order to save your world, her world was destroyed.

“She knows this.” Tears now ran freely, unchecked down Celeborn’s face. “She knows that her decision to return early to save your world cost her hers. Haldir was my foster-son. He was dear to me. She was beloved by him and so is also dear to me. This is now the second time her world was exterminated in order to save this one. She has had enough.” He paused in thought, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“She is not an Elf; she cannot return to the Undying Lands, to her home, her family. Haldir was her passport to the Undying Lands. Her charmed life has been taken away. She is now mortal. She is bereft, yet has been given an opportunity to find new life, to finish the task set out for her by the Valar.

“Except she refuses it. She does not eat…”

“I noticed.”

“She does not sleep willingly. She does not rest. I worry for her. She grieves and grieves deeply.”

Severus continued to examine the residue of his tea cup, saw the tea leaves in the bottom. He squinted. What would Trelawney make of this?

“I take it,” he intoned, “that no one knows why she is truly here? That no one knows my true purpose?”

Albus leaned forward, removing the cup from Snape’s hands, forcing black eyes to look directly into the elderly headmaster’s. “The members of the faculty and staff know that Bronwyn is in grave danger in the Muggle world and that you have been chosen to be her new protector. They know she has been specifically placed to teach our children in order to give her a purpose, a meaning for life. They know she has a task and you have been chosen to help her with it. They do not know about her bow, nor about the help you will give her in finding it.”

“So I am to babysit her while she plays at being teacher?” He leaned backed, hands tucked into pristine coat sleeves.. “Am I to plan her lessons as well?”

“You condescending…” Gandalf’s voice was raised and he seemed to grow in stature, the beams and stone groaning in agony, the room darkening. “Never in my life have I encountered such as you!” His knuckles turned white around his staff, he grasped it so hard. “Never have I questioned Iluvatar or the Valar, but right this moment, I must wonder at their judgment!”

“Bronwyn could hear the wind, the animals, the trees speak as a child. She played seven instruments including piano and cello by age 10. She received advanced degrees in music, Celtic studies, Folklore, Anthropology and History before she was 35.. She is a gifted storyteller and taught children, as well as our Elflings… BAH!” The tall Istari shook in frustration. “Why bother? She is the teacher of all teachers, you fool!” As suddenly as it had begun, the lighting returned to normal and the White Wizard stood normal once more.

Again, silence enveloped the room. Severus had leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. His head was threatening to explode and he stroked the temples, attempting to will the pain away.

“She could help with your headache. Ease it.” Celeborn’s voice was deceptively gentle.

“No.”

Fawlkes was cawing quietly in the corner. Snape could see the bird was beginning to molt and knew that soon, the phoenix would catch fire and be reborn.

Reservo vester ipse. Adiumentum mea reservo tu.

But who was supposed to save who?

---

After Severus’ had excused himself to bring Bronwyn to dinner, Albus stared deeply into Snape’s abandoned tea cup, looking at the tea leaves in the bottom. He tsked under his breath and gave a slight smile. Trelawney WOULD have a field day with this one…

---

Snape removed the wards he had placed on her doors. He found Rumil snickering over whatever antics were going on in the book he was reading, while she slept peacefully on. Amadeus was on the bed, curled and molded to her back. Neither wolf nor Elf acknowledged Snape’s coming or looked up to greet him, so silent were his footfalls. He reached the bed, yanking back the covers, throwing them over the four legged beast and pulled her to her feet by the front of her tunic, in one graceful swoop.

“Wake up.”

And she did. Rather quickly; her hands reaching for anything solid to steady herself.

“What?” she spun, grabbing for anything, the air, and connected with his outstretched arm. Deceptively strong fingers gripped him. Her sight latched onto Snape’s face. “Oh Merde! I thought I was having a nightmare within a nightmare!” She released him and stepped back, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “Rumil, put me back to sleep!”

“No. You have rested enough.” The encounter with fiery brown embers smouldering into the depths of his inky pools, produced steaming friction not lost on the Elf. Rumil’s protective hand went to her shoulder.

“Why have you come? What do you wish?” Rumil had a melodious voice and his question flowed like a river.

“It is time for dinner.” Severus took in her tousled hair, sleep-filled eyes, long legs on a deceptively short body…

Not sleep-filled eyes.

Mutinous eyes.

“I am not hungry.” Bronwyn began to crawl back into the bed.

He grabbed her by the back her tunic.

“Madam, you have not eaten in three days. I will not watch you waste away to nothing. If you wish to starve, go elsewhere.”

She snorted through her nose at that comment. “Oh right, like I could go anywhere! You know as well as I, that I am no better than a prisoner…” Snape held up his hand to cut-off her outburst, his authoritative voice, stern with displeasure.

“You have five minutes to dress into something more appropriate for mixed company. If you do not, I will drag you to the Great Hall as is and you may explain your lack of decorum to them.” This was a voice that brooked no argument, a voice used with wary first-years, disobedient houses.. He stormed down the stairs, robes billowing behind him.

“Bronwyn.” Rumil whispered in Elvish. “I think he means it. Perhaps you should give in a little…”

“Oh, I’ll dress,” her voice was like metal dragged across stone, “I’ll dress. But there is an old saying, mellon. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink!”

Amadeus never growled, never voiced his opinion. No one noticed.

---

Dinner was not the stilted affair she had feared it would be. Rather, it was a loud, robust occasion. The round table had been enlarged, to a accommodate the additional guests. Conversation between most of the company flowed freely. Celeborn had Minerva laughing at tales, antics of young Elflings pestering an indulgent Elven world. Rumil sat among Madams Pince and Hooch, congenial, charming.

Snape glared into his plate. Hooch was positively fawning over the Elf, preening under his gaze. And Madam Pince was worse. Even Sprout had leaned forward, trying to capture the attention of the smiling, beautiful, grey-eyed Elf.

Gah! It was a disgusting display of female hormones!

Albus and Gandalf watched the Potions Master and the Bard. Severus had come in with a bundle of parchment, much to the gentle ribbing of his fellow professors, and had stacked it neatly to the side at an empty place setting. Bronwyn sat to his left, framed on the other side by Remus Lupin. She all but ignored her assigned Guardian.

The Bard was deep in conversation with Remus, the gentle rise and fall of her voice punctuated by his laughter.

She had not touched a bite.

Occasionally, she would pick up a utensil, push the food around her plate, as if to spear a morsel, and then lay it down to say something. It was a good show.

He did notice she did not feed the wolf from the table. Amadeus lay beneath her chair, watching… Snape.

Wizard eyes met canine’s. ‘You had best not hinder me.‘ Snape thought to himself. ‘I will turn you into a rug for my living area, make no doubt about that.‘

The wolf raised an eyebrow, as if he had heard and understood what was in Severus’ mind.

She laughed.

Severus’ was shocked by the gentleness of it, how his body reacted to the sound. It drizzled, tingled down his spine like a snowball thrust down one’s shirt by a playful friend…

Where the hell had that come from?

He growled to himself and continued with his meal, noticing that the others had finished. Gandalf and Celeborn were starting their goodbye. The Express would be leaving soon and they must be on it. Rumil, they had been informed during dinner, would be staying for several weeks, so as not to allow Bronwyn to feel abandoned.

Her plate remained full. She had not touched a bite.

Quietly, Severus removed his wand from his sleeve and pointing at her chair, whispered “Resideo”

Bronwyn felt a slight tingle in her seat, but paid it scant attention. This was the longest she had sat in quite some time and more than likely, her rear end had fallen asleep. She saw Gandalf and Celeborn rising, preparing their departure and her heart leapt to her throat.

They were truly going to leave her.

Yes, Rumil was staying behind, but since the moment Haldir’s death had become Elven knowledge, Celeborn and Gandalf had been by her side. Elrond had come many times, attempting to heal as only he could, to help her work through her grief. It had been he who suggested that she look in Galadriel’s mirror, to see where her destiny lay. She had hated him for that at the time. She was still angry at him.

And now they were leaving and soon Rumil would too. Abandoning her with…him. She looked sideways at the one the Valar had chosen for her. He would be difficult to get around. But she would figure out a way to deal with him…

He caught her staring at him. She did not look away in frustration or embarrassment. Two sets of calculating eyes sized the other up. Her attention returned to the departing Elf and Istari.

“I will go with you to the train.” She started to rise.

And could not.

She jerked up once, twice, only to find her bottom firmly attached to the seat of the chair. She looked at Severus, anger beginning to smolder. “What have you done to my chair?”

“I have done nothing to your chair, Madam.” His attention reverted back to the paper in his hand. “I have, however, done something to your posterior!”

She screeched, her fury exploding like a volcano. She railed at him in Italian and in mid-stream, reverted to Chinese, the melodic cadence of both languages, though unrelated, added extra punch to her tirade.

Albus stood slowly and leaned to Gandalf. “I think my staff and I will leave you and Celeborn to your goodbyes with Bronwyn.” and motioning to the others, quietly left. Celeborn, Gandalf, and Rumil were left to endure her protestations.

“Son of a bitch…”

She had finally reverted to English.

“Leave my mother out of this.” Snape had picked up a piece of parchment and was nonchalantly perusing it. His plate had disappeared and he sipped from a brandy snifter.

She reverted to another language. Both Elves and Istari leapt at her at the utter of the first word, crying out together…

“NO!”

Celeborn reached her first, hand over her mouth. “Please, not the language of Mordor. Please. Anything but that.”

Ancient blues eyes bore into hers. She whispered in Sildarian, the language of the Elves, “He has pasted me to this chair. I cannot move. Please, make him release me.” Tears welled up, the one thing she knew Celeborn could not abide, would cause him to do anything for her. “Please. Do not leave me here. He does not wish this. I do not…”

“If wishes were honey drops, I would pass them out freely to you, you know that.” he whispered back. His hands cupped her face and he thumbed the tears away. “He is meant for you, for this purpose.” He took a deep breath and his attention rose to Severus. “Why have you imprisoned her to her chair?

Severus’ never looked up from his reading material. “I have not imprisoned her. She can leave her seat anytime she likes. After she eats.” For a moment, the silence was deafening.

“How dare you…”

“Professor Powell!” He enunciated each syllable, each consonant with precision. “Your refusal to eat is damaging to your body and your mind. I cannot help you complete the task at hand if I must drag you about in a weakened state.”

Enraged flaming orbs bore into his soul as she leaned over and grasped him by the arm. A flash of a black and white silent movie, jarred him backwards; A maniacally laughing lunatic, dressed in turn of the century clothes, manacled to a dead, decaying woman clothed in gossamer robes, dragging her through a dank hallway…

Snape yanked free of her and returned her infuriated gaze.

“You will sit in that chair until you eat every bite on your plate, if it takes all night and into tomorrow!” Each syllable was clearly enunciated and carefully placed. He snapped his rolled parchment. “Gentlemen. Have a nice trip.” and he dismissed them with a wave.

For a split second, Celeborn recalled a scene, a memory he had all but forgotten…

An angry Bronwyn, an equally angry Haldir, battle raging around her, around them, a battle that she had willing participated in, Haldir attempting to coax her into the forest wherein abided giant spiders. She had dug in her heels, refusing to move – she hated spiders – when Haldir had picked her up and slung her over a shoulder, carrying her deep into Mirkwood.

To Smut, the Dragon.

To Tari, to the bestowing of her complete powers, to the fulfillment of her destiny.

And she had kicked and screamed and protested the entire way.

He simply carried her over his shoulder.

This wizard was carrying her over his shoulder, into places she did not desire, but was destined to go…

Celeborn smiled, a knowing smile and kissed her gently. “You shall be fine, Tithen aras. We have not abandoned you, nor will we leave you in your lifetime. We will be here.” He placed his forehead against hers and in Elvish he whispered…

“Trust him”

---

They sat.

The Great Hall had been empty for hours, the food congealed on the plate. The house elves had come three times, to clean and tidy up yet Severus had run them off with dark looks and harsh words until they dared not come back.

She had ordered Amadeus to bite the Potions Master, but the wolf had simply crawled under Severus’ chair, sticking his nose out from under the abundant robes, whining softly.

“Et tu, Brutus? Et tu?”

Severus made no comment that her ‘familiar’ had sided with him. He was right. He knew he was right. He had heavily weighed on what Gandalf had said to him before he had departed their little tete a tete to fetch her for dinner. He would be guided by Gandalf’s words which had been whispered ‘sotto voice’ as the Wizard had made way to fetch Bronwyn from her chambers earlier.

“When Bronwyn’s mind is focused, she will walk through a pit of vipers simply to reach the other side, just to better hear the song of the robin. She is not aware of the dangers or what she must walk through to reach her destination. She simply knows she must reach that point. She is not a strategist, does not plan. In short,” the Istari had chuckled, “she is a wretched chess player. You must fill that role for her and make sure she sees reason. At this moment, her mind is set on her grief. You must refocus her.”

Snape watched quietly from the corner of his eye as she thumped her chair, bouncing around the hall, to come to rest at the wall, in order to peruse the hangings. He waited until she was settled before waving his wand again and flying her back to her spot in front of her plate.

The curses coming from her lips rained like a summer storm.

“Your excellent command of the English language – and many others, I might add – quite frankly astounds me, woman.” He never looked up from his reading.

Music welled, loud, screaming guitars…

“Ah. Ozzy Osbourne. I liked him better with Black Sabbath.”

Moments later, she attempted to read from his already-read pile.

He removed them from her reach.

“Snarky, greasy git.”

“I have been called worse by my own students.”

She was dumbfounded.

“You allow them to disrespect you?” It didn’t seem to faze her that she herself had just called him those vile names. “You know they call you names and you allow it?”

“Madam, I am not here to win a popularity contest. I teach a serious subject, a dangerous subject. I do not care what they call me, as long as they learn!” He turned to another sheet of parchment, never looking at her. “Any way, none of them are deranged to the point of saying these things to my face.”

She gazed on him with wondering eyes. If you talk to them, treat them, as you talk and treat me, then aye, I imagine they call you a passel load of nasty things. And I bet, deep down, it hurts.

A clock from somewhere deep in the castle, chimed the hour.

11 P.M.

Severus never looked up from his stack. “Madam, I have a cauldron simmering which must be stirred in thirty minutes. Therefore, if you wish to leave that chair tonight, you will have cleaned your plate in fifteen.

“Do what?”

He laid the parchment down and looked her deeply in the eyes. “I am leaving in fifteen minutes as I have things to do and will not be returning until breakfast. If you do not wish to spend the night in that chair, I suggest you begin eating.” His eyes never left hers, challenging, daring her to say anything.

“Bite me!”

His eyes scrutinized her body. “A delectable offer, I am sure.”

“The food is cold. It is inedible.” She turned away, nose pinched in distaste.

“That is not my fault.”

The minutes slowly ticked by.

“Ten minutes, Madam.”

“Five minutes, Madam.”

She picked up the fork.

And ate.

For the first time in over 38000 years, the Mighty Bronwyn acquiesced to defeat in a battle of wills.

She silently vowed revenge.

Snape knew she quietly pledged to pay him back for this insult/threat to her independence. And somewhere in the recesses of Snape’s dark imaginings, he looked forward to the war.

---

Celeborn had decided he rather enjoyed these machines Man had invented for traveling around the world. Planes, trains and automobiles…

And motorcycles. He especially adored motorcycles.

Many millennia before, when Bronwyn was coming into her powers and the future was pouring into her brain, she could not control the images as they came forth, taking her and anyone near her down dubious paths and scenes.

She had taken him on a virtual motorcycle ride.

The first thing he had done, when things had settled upon their return was to purchase a pair of leather pants and a Harley.
His wife thought he was insane…

“He will infuriate her. Anger her deeply.”

Gandalf’s voice interrupted Celeborn’s reverie. “Who will anger who?”

Gandalf actually looked put out. “You are thinking about that infernal motorcycle again!” He rolled his eyes at the Elf. “It will be the death of you! The Dark One – Snape! He will make Bronwyn very angry!” The Istari leaned forward, long arms on his knees, his chin, braced on his fist. “Would you pay attention?”

“Yes.” Celeborn tapped a finger to pursed lips, while staring out the window at the darkening landscape. “I imagine he will … piss her off, quite thoroughly.” An elegant eyebrow arched high in deep thought.

“You think this will be a good thing?”

Celeborn chuckled quietly. “Haldir irritated her for quite some time before he reined her in.” He looked to the ceiling of the car. “Or did she rein him in?” He waved his hand at his musings and inhaled deeply. ” ‘Tis no matter. They were very enjoyable and amusing to watch!” Celeborn drawled. “These two.. they will annoy each other. They will clash and fight and Iluvatar knows what else. He will use her anger for him to get her mind over the grief, so she will complete the task set for her.” An angelic smile lit his face. “I suspect, she will eventually enjoy what is in store for her. So will he. I would if I were in his shoes.”

“Your wife is right! You are a perverted old Elf!”

Celeborn’s shoulders shook in mirth. “True, mellonmin. Very true.” He thought deeply for several moments. “Bronwyn will seek out a mediator, an aide-de-camp, to speak.”

“You mean someone to run interference for her.” the Istari snorted. “Already, that one unconsciously seeks out her company. He will approach her through a common interest and will be able to replace Rumil very quickly.”

“Rumil has played mediator for her for so long. He will be lost when he is replaced. We will have to keep him very busy.”

And Celeborn stared out the window in the darkness, remembering Haldir carrying her over his shoulder into destinies unknown.

“I hope that Wizard has a good grip!”

---

Deep in the night, she sat in leggings and tunic, in front of her door, eyes narrowed in fury. Amadeus sat next to her, whining while Rumil sat on the steps, watching helplessly. She put her hands towards the exit of her new home, only to feel the tingling, the electrical vibrations repelling her.

The wards Severus had placed to keep anyone from getting in to harm her, also kept her from leaving to roam. She found herself in the same, hated predicament.

Locked up.

Free from pursuit.

Hidden away.

Protected.

Restricted.

Safe-guarded.

Imprisoned.

Watched constantly.

Trapped.

Want out.

And while she contemplated the loss of freedom of movement, Severus lay in bed, tossing, turning with fast-paced nightmares of Voldemort, Orcs, bratty students, Uruk-hai, exploding dragons and flying, decapitated heads; Bronwyn was chasing them, chasing them all, laughing hysterically, while waving a strangely inscribed broadsword,

Even in sleep, his headache persisted, growing stronger.

---

tbc

---

mellon – friend
mellonmin – My friend

Tel’ Lindar chapter 02 – The name game or sad songs say so much

Tags

LOTR, fanfiction, hp, tel lindar

Chapter 2

The Name Game or Sad Songs Say so much

---

The Wind took my footprints
A poet took my heart
one look of a child burned my paintings
Sorrow felled my Gods
Rain in the cup of my life
Pouring Rain in the cup of my life…

Painters Waltz
Andreas Vollenweider
Eliza Glikyson

---

<i> The room was dark; almost as  dark as the...

Dungeons...

In the dim light, he could see her outline. She sat by a table, surrounded by piles of scrolls and parchment. A small fire blazed in the fireplace and a paltry, flickering candle was on the table next to her.

She was reading.

As his eyes became accustomed to tenebrous light, he took in the room. It was cavernous, dank, musty...

"You must watch out for her."

He jumped, startled at the sound of the voice. No one had been able to sneak up on him before.


The big Elf. He looked him straight in the eye.

Not many could look the Voyeur in the eye.

"You must watch out for her." he repeated. "She forgets to eat. She does not sleep when she finds something to occupy her mind. She does not take care of herself. You must make sure she does." The Elf's eyes searched his. "She is my heart; my greatest jewel; my most prized treasure. You must not fail her. Help her. Help her find her bow."

And with that said, he swooped around the Voyeur  towards the woman.

"Baraermin. You have not seen the sun all day nor eaten. Please, join me."  The Elf extended a hand towards the woman.

He saw her look up. "What is there to see? Dry dust? Desert? A scalding sky? I saw that yesterday. And the day before. And the day before. And the day before..."  Her voice trailed off as  head tipped back and forth with each ‘and'.

"Do not make me carry you."

The Voyeur could see the caring and devotion the Elf had for the woman. He felt the stirrings of...

Jealousy?

"Darling, please, allow me to finish this one document." Her eyes were pleading as she held out the scroll for the Elf's perusal.

"Nay, Baraer. You may come back to it." He gently removed the parchment from her hand and laid it on the table. "I will carry you if I must."

She smiled up at the Elf and taking the offered hand, stood, her fingers going to her back. "I doubt you would be able to carry my ample rear end up the stairwell, my love."

She was well into the final stage of pregnancy.

"I will if I must. Think of the babe, our daughter.." Both of her hands were now at her back, massaging stiff muscles. "See what you have done?" The Elf's voice was gentle, teasing. "Now, I will spend all night, rubbing the soreness from your body. Perhaps, I should just put you to bed and bring these to you?" He motioned to the stacks of documents. She slowly moved towards the Elf and tucked her hand into his elbow.

"I think of our son, always, especially when he kicks, which is often," she laughed. She stressed the word ‘son', as if this was an old and recurring debate between the two.  "And methinks, you will enjoy rubbing my back and a few other parts that need attention." She tapped her lip with her finger. "Now that you mention it, I am hungry. What fine feast awaits us upstairs?" 

Her smile was infectious and the Voyeur caught himself almost smiling with her. She was full of life, in more ways than one, but he wondered what would draw such a vibrant creature into the dankest of cellars?

"Lembas, lembas, and more lembas." The Elf smiled sadly. "Heridil and the Twins have found no game. Not that they hoped to." He touched the curve of her stomach. "We must leave within a few days if we are to get you back to the White City in time for our child's birth." The Elf leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the mouth, his hand caressing her belly.

The Voyeur looked away, ashamed, feeling left out, not wanting to see the display of loving affection. Would any woman ever look at him, kiss him like that? Then again, he looked in the mirror daily. Why would any woman ever look at him? He felt the whisper of the wind on his face and looked up.

They.. she stood before him, her fingers hovering over his jawline. Her mouth moved with the words he never thought to hear and his eyes jerked down to the floor.

When he looked back up, he realized he was sitting in his bed, looking at the green drapes that framed his sleeping abode. The mustiness of the cavern permeated his bedchamber; the final thoughts of the dream still lurking in his brain; her voice whispering...


You are not supposed to die alone. You are not destined to live alone. I come...</i>

She walked into a brightly lit corridor and she could see a living and dining area across the back. There was a small closet and circular staircase on the right and a small office and kitchen on the left. The back wall had French doors, leading to a patio. She made a beeline towards it.

"Madame Morgan..." He caught a whiff of her unique scent as she sailed past. Leather and... roses?


" ‘Tis Bronwyn, you stubborn old soul! Wait." She threw open the french doors and stepped out. The dungeons were several floors below the grounds and the patio was dug in. A rough stone retaining wall shored the dirt to the ground level where a greenhouse ceiling capped the above to the first floor of the school. Regardless of the weather, she would enjoy this almost outdoor area.

"Madame, if you would please pay attention!"

"If you call me Madame one more time, I am going to tie you to the ceiling, let you hang for several days and then take my Epilady to your face!" Her voice was calm, clear and her eyes flashed with amusement when she finally looked at him. 

He dug fingers into his eyes, trying desperately to quell the building migraine and she swore she heard a growl of exasperation come from his throat.

"I need answers."

"Then ask your questions. I will do what I can to answer them."

Severus raked fingers through his inky black hair. <i> Where, oh where to begin... </i>

"You have a headache."

"Your powers of deduction are mind-boggling." he snarled, rubbing his temples.

"Have you no potions, no Tylenol or aspirin for it?" She was suddenly by his side, looking up, looking concerned.

"Nothing helps." His voice was a gritty sigh on the air.

"Ah. My... husband, Haldir," she pronounced the name with a lilt - Hahl-deair, "had them as well. I can help, if you let me."

Black eyes raked her slight form angrily. "You know a potion to rid me of this? One that I would not know?"

She smiled with a snort. "Nay. No potion. No spell. No pill."

He closed his eyes again, rubbing his head. "What magic is this, no  potion, no spell, Madame?"

"It's Bronwyn. I'm really getting tired of repeating myself, but you are hard- headed, so I will be patient." He glared down at her. "It is a simple thing, what I would do." She smiled innocently. "Of course, it would require that you.. uhm... remove some of your clothing."

He stood up straight, snapping his robes around him. He tucked his hands inside his elbows and gave her his most haughty look.

"I will NOT disrobe, nor will I submit any part of my body to your bloody Elven conjuring!"

There was low growling from the corner. 

<i>Damn!  He had forgotten about the wolf. </i>

"Suit yourself. It's your headache. Amadeus," she admonished, "stop that! He is allowed to be a little grouchy!" The wolf got up, still growling and padded around to another corner, dropping heavily on the floor. He stared balefully at Severus.

She had closed the French doors and turned to face him. "You wanted answers. What are your questions?"

"Why are you haunting my dreams? I cannot get a decent night's sleep without dreaming of you and that husband of yours."

She dropped her head, sighing heavily. "Exactly what kind of dreams are you having?"

His voice was harsh, clipped. "Oh, nothing much really. A rotting bog with dead people floating beneath..."

"The Dead Marshes."

"Battles and more battles with Elves and you fighting things I have never seen and never wish to see..."

"The Battles of the Golden Woods and Dol Guldur."

"You. Rather pregnant, in a cavern, reading scrolls by a dim light..."

"The fortress of Baradur."

"Oh, I almost forgot -" he snapped his fingers and took on a look of feigned amazement, "a talking dragon. Rather nasty death, he had!"

"Smut."

"Smut?" His voice was incredulous. "Smut?"

She nodded in resignation. "Yes. Smut. That was his name." She shrugged her shoulders and regarded the plush rugs on the floor. "He needed to die, but not the way he did."

"I would think not. You are quite the efficient and accomplished assassin, are you not?"

Her head jerked up, eyes flashing. For the first time, he looked closely at her. For the first time, he saw the dark circles under her eyes, the thin, parchment, porcelain of her skin, veins showing clearly, saw the thinness of her arms, the silverish snake coiled tightly around the one,  the boniness of her collarbone. She looked exhausted. She looked...

Emaciated. Underfed.

"I did not know." she spat. " I had no idea. The Valar call it a gift, but I disagree. I hated what happened. I hated how it killed him. No one should die like that! I hated what it did to me!" Now she put her hands to her forehead, fingers at the edge of her hairline, as if to ward off the headache he had now given her. "Please. A different question."

He came against her, reaching out and pulling her closely nearer his body. "Your bow. What is so damned important about your bow?"

Her eyes had focused in on his frock coat, her hand hovering over the fine cut of the material.

"Why do you wear so many clothes? Aren't you ho-"

"Answer the question, Professor Powell. Your bow." This voice brooked no argument and she wondered if he actually used it with children.

"My bow...my bow..."

"You parrot back, very well. Your..." he hooked a calloused finger under her chin, "...bow!" and jerked her face up to meet his eyes.

The flames in them grew brighter. She jerked her face away and set her teeth.

"My bow is my mouthpiece. It is how I communicate with my children."

"You have told me nothing." He wrenched her back towards him. "Why is it so important to get it back?"

Her face turned red and her voice hissed in fury. "Do you even know who the hell I am? I am the Historian of the Ages, the Storyteller of the Races, the Protector and Seer of the Future,  the Musician of the All, the Voice of the Unheard, the Keeper of the Truth and of the Innocent. I am  the Founder and Mother of the Celtic Bards. I am the Bard of the Earth." The titles rattled from her tongue as if she had said them and heard them many, many times. "That bow is how I hand my knowledge down from generation to generation. It is how I talk, how I communicate with my descendants." He started to open his mouth, but she raised her hand. "No! You will allow me finish!

"I am not like you. I do not speak in short sentences and convey a thousand thoughts in a few words. The child, the descendant who has my bow is the one I communicate through. They can use it to communicate with me as well. But somehow, the child who was supposed to get my bow has died, leaving no heirs and the child who has it is, is shall we say, pretty damn evil! I need to get it back and pass it on to the child who should have it next."


Snape took a minute to digest the rushing current of information she had just spewed forth. "Why me? Why do I have to help you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because my demon spawn is a Wizard? And apparently, the Valar seem to think a lot of you!" She jerked away from him and turned her attention to the glass French door, her hands dragging down her face. "I just want to get my bow, return it to the proper descendant and then fade to the Halls of Waiting so I can join Haldir!"

"Fade? You wish to what?" He tipped his head towards her as if to hear better.

"Fade!" The word was spat, ejected from her lips. "Lie down and will myself to die."

Snape took another moment to absorb the information. He felt her anger and despair, sitting in his brain. He felt crying, depression... loneliness.

She was lost. She was alone.

"You would rather die, than live?"

She turned on him like a caged animal, a lioness on the hunt. "Yes! Die. I cannot return to my home in the Undying Lands. I cannot return to my life there; cannot return to my child left behind there! I do not wish to be in your head, I do not wish to stay here alone, in my grief, in my sorrow. I do not wish any of this! I simply want to get my bow, hand it to the child the Valar have chosen, and go to be with my husband!" 

Snape's hands were crossed back into his elbows. Deep eyes gazed thoughtfully into her blazing ones. "Fiery one, are we not?"

<i>Crack!</i>

His head whipped backwards; he did not see the blow coming when she slapped him, full force in the face. He slowly turned his head back to her, eyes attenuated with black intentions.

"You will not call me that. Ever!" Her eyes were narrowed in angry slits. "Never are you to say that to me!"

"And why not, fiery one?"

It was said with deliberation. This time, he was ready. His hand caught hers as it snaked out and he quickly caught the other one as well. He grabbed her by the wrists and was squeezing,<i>  squeezing </i>  until he could feel the small bones in her wrist twisting. He saw the flicker of pain flash through her eyes. He raised an eyebrow. Most would be on the floor by now, begging for release. Not her.

"Turn me loose."

Now it was his turn to tilt his head engagingly and he sneered. "Ah, ah, ah! You did not answer my question. Why can I not call you..." she intensified her struggle and he tightened his grip, pulling her flush against him, knowing he was hurting her. He whispered in her ear, she could feel his lips on her skin, his very breath, blowing down her neck.  "...Fiery one?"

She ceased her struggle, tears welling in her eyes.

"My husband never called me by my name. Except when I had done something to displease him."

His sneer turned into an evil smile, his breath now on her cheek.  "I take it he called you by name quite often?"

"No! Rarely. Please, turn me loose." Her eyes were on the buttons of his frock coat. He was squeezing her wrists so tight, he knew she would most likely bruise.

"If he did not call you by your name, what did he call you?

She took a deep breath. "He called me Baraer. Baraermin."

Snape recognized those names and he inhaled sharply at the recall. He had heard her husband call her that in his dreams. His voice, however, never betrayed him and he squeezed her wrists tighter, nearly crushing the bones. He paid no attention to the low growl coming from the wolf.

"And what, pray tell, does ‘Baraermin' mean?"

She took a deep, deep breath.

"It means fiery one. My Fiery One."

"Ah. That was not so difficult." He loosened his grip on her wrists and turned them over. He saw his finger prints clearly outlined on her wrist and for a very small moment, he felt bad, guilt. But then, he remembered the stinging slap and what guilt he had harbored miraculously dissipated. He rolled her wrists in his hands. They felt... wrong. He looked closely at them, at her, at her hollowed cheekbones, her thin wrists, the strap of her top, hanging on the edge of her shoulder.

This weight was wrong for her. Her clothes were meant for a larger woman. She WAS malnourished.

<i> She forgets to eat...</i>

"When was the last time you ate?" His voice was almost a whisper.

"I don't know. This morning." Using the presence in his mind, he delved deeply into hers.

She lied.

 "Try three days, Professor Powell. You have not eaten in three days."

She shrugged. "I don't remember. I am not hungry."

Her stomach was rumbling. He didn't have to use magic to hear it.

"How can I help you, if you will not help yourself?" He turned her loose and she stepped back, rubbing her wrists.

"You don't get it, do you?" she grimaced. "I would rather not have your help, but I have no choice."

And that was how the two Elves and two Wizards found them. Standing less than a foot from each other, glaring, with the wolf behind her, bristling.

---

<i> Guitars ring through the dead of night
Sing so blue
Sound so right
Make you homesick…

(ARS – Homesick)</i>

---

Bronwyn looked guiltily at Celeborn and turned her back on all, laying her head on the cool panes of the windows. Snape, if anything, seemed to coil tighter within his robes. They could see the stark outline of her hand print on his face and Rumil's eyes glinted at the thought of what he must have done to anger her so deeply. Looking over to her, he noticed the imprints, the bruises forming on her wrists. Grey elvish eyes narrowed and he took a step towards the dark wizard.

"Wait." He was restrained by Gandalf. "Things are not always what they seem."

"He has touched her. Her wrists..."

"Peace, my Elfling.  Look at his face. It seems she has... touched... him as well. Besides," his voice dropped conspiratorially , "do you not think that Amadeus would have shredded him by now?" He leaned towards Dumbledore and smiled most congenially. "I think they are off to a fine start!"

"Indeed. A very fine start!"

Celeborn came to stand behind Bronwyn. He could see her tears in the reflection of the window and her pain broke his heart. His fondness for her  always bordered on the high end of his emotions and he enjoyed her antics and watching her adventures from the side, but she belonged to Haldir. And now she belonged...he slid venerable eyes to the dark wizard, saw the glare, the fury, the clenched jaw.

So familiar. He had heard what Gandalf had said. They were off to a fine start, indeed.

Her sigh was deep, almost a moan. She had closed her eyes, but tears still continued to cascade down pale cheeks. Music, sad music, enveloped the room.

<i>"As far as my eyes can see
There are shadows surrounding me..."</i>

Celeborn motioned Rumil to go upstairs. The command was clear - <i>prepare her bed. </i> He then motioned to Gandalf. The White Wizard leaned to Dumbledore.

"Perhaps, we should take this conversation to your office. We can talk to your young wizard there, answer his questions best we can." 

Dumbledore nodded in agreement and motioned to Snape. Black eyes glinted dangerously, and he strode over to the woman, crying against the window.

"We have not finished this conversation, Madame." Her shoulders convulsed in silent sobs. He felt a cool finger on his cheek. The Elf, Celeborn, looked at him with vast amusement.

"Ah. You wish a matching print for your other cheek?"

Gathering himself up with all the dignity he could muster, Snape pulled his robes to him and proceeded towards the door, only to be stopped by Dumbledore.

"Severus, go upstairs and help Rumil. Then join us in my office. There is much to discuss." Kindly eyes peered into inky pools. "He was her husband's brother. He might be... more open to questions than she. Then again, maybe he won't." Albus patted him on the shoulder and the two silently left through the door.

"Oh, and Severus," Albus poked his head back through the door, "you will need to ward her doors for her. Her magic is not like ours and I would hate to see anything... untoward happen." The door slid quietly shut.

Severus looked at the Elf and the woman. Celeborn had planted both hands on her shoulders and he was whispering in ear. He could hear her murmured response in their sing-song language. With an exasperated sigh, he flung himself up the stairs.

There were two bedrooms and two baths upstairs. Apparently, the Elves intended to visit her often, so Albus had charmed the apartment for her to be able to entertain. A small bedroom and bath lay to the right, in the back corner of the apartment, where the master bedroom lay directly at the front, taking up the entire length. Double glass doors were opened and Snape stepped down into the sunken part of the room.

Rumil had turned down the bed and was standing back, admiring the beauty of the furniture. His look was one of concern.

"This is a very large bed for one tiny woman." He said it out loud to no one in particular, but as he said it in the Common Tongue; perhaps he knew Snape was behind him. "Very beautiful, but very large."

It was a king sized bed, with many pillows. A four poster with long silver drapes at the corners, attached on a rod on the ceiling, around a silver draped ceiling box. The headboard was mirrored, with dainty, lacy candle sconces. The bedspread matched the curtains and the bed was accented with black pillows and skirt, along with cottony black sheets. There was an over-stuffed burgundy chair next to the bed.

The right side - or back half - of the room, rose up a step and was as equally large as the sunken area. A large window opened out to the stone wall, allowing light into the room. The area was covered with boxes and trunks of all shapes and sizes. Rumil had moved to the trunks and was opening them one at a time.

"Do you plan to unpack for her? Are you brother-in-law or servant?"

The Elf snorted at him. "I am her friend, first and foremost." He began to rifle through the mounds of clothing. Severus saw yards of delicate, beaded materials, light gossamer pastels. Rumil shook his head and closed the trunk, moving on to the next. "I am very worried for her." This trunk yielded dark, brocades and velvets. He shook his head again and closed it. "She does not eat..."

"I noticed." Snape's voice was droll. 

Rumil had gone to yet another trunk - a long narrow box. He saw Amadeus come in a sit behind yet another trunk, resting his head on the hatch. "She does not rest. She roams the floors, pacing all night." He gasped when he opened it. Severus came to stand over him, looking over his shoulder. "I did not know she still had this. She refused to wear it, she hated it so."

It was armor. Armor made specifically for her. The breast plate looked as if it had been molded to her body. There were burnished leg plates, arm plates, metal finger grips. There was a black under tunic, black leggings, soft, supple black boots.

This woman loved black as much as he.

On the side was a sword, in its scabbard, worn, molded to her hand. And lying on top was a bow. An unusual bow, long, strong, the string unattached to save the wood from warping.

"Well," Snape breathed a sigh of relief. "It seems we have found her errant bow. Now perhaps, we can fin-"

"That is not her bow. It is Haldir's." Rumil rummaged through the trunk. "Ah, his quiver and some of his arrows are here as well." He pulled it out and pulled an arrow from it. 

The arrow itself was a thing of craftsmanship, of beauty. Rumil examined it and showed it to Snape. "She made this. Any arrow he shot, he put in his quiver, she made, she fletched. She fletches the best." He placed the bow back in the quiver and lovingly placed it back in the trunk.

Amadeus was banging his muzzle on the trunk, causing Rumil to look at the animal. "What is it?" The wolf's dark eyes flickered back and forth between the Elf and Wizard and rolling them, he thumped the container again."You win!" Rumil laughed.

Rumil scratched the animal behind the ear and opened the trunk. Severus saw his shoulders droop. "How did she sneak this past them?" He lifted a large gray tunic. It was long enough for Severus, but would have been too wide. It was made for an immensely, powerfully built man. An archer.

"Why would they have wished to hide it?" Severus question hung in the air for several moments.

"She wore his clothes. Always. He never understood. When he... died, she wore nothing else but his garments. Over the months, Celeborn has been removing Haldir's things, trying to help her move forward to her destiny. She fought it with all her being." Rumil wadded the tunic and put it to his face, inhaling. "She says his clothing smelled of him. She was right." 

He stood up quickly, hearing footfalls coming up the stairs. "Quickly, " he threw the garment to Severus. "Hide it!"

Severus looked around, looking for a suitable place to stuff the tunic and seeing Celeborn's blonde head coming slowly up the spiral staircase, did the only thing he could think of.

He tucked it into his robes.

<i>And to those I leave behind
I wanted you to know
You’ve always shared my deepest thoughts
You follow where I go

(Old and Wise
Eric Woolfson/Alan Parsons
Alan Parsons Project) </i>

---

"Such a sad song, Tithen aras."

"It is... appropriate."

"Bronwyn? Are you alright?" Celeborn was taking in marks on her wrists. "Has he harmed you?" She saw his eyes narrow in the reflection in the window. "Wizard or no, I will not..."

" ‘Tis alright. I did strike him first."

Celeborn gently rubbed her shoulders, in attempt to rid her of the tension he could see within her.. "What did he say to upset you so?" He was close, almost in an embrace.

"Baraer - - he called me a fiery one." Tears coursed down her cheeks. "Only Haldir called me that."

<i> Ah, she would have slapped him for that, despite his unknowing. </i> "Yes. I remember. From early in your days together, he called you his."  

Bronwyn took a deep breath. "The dark one does not wish this. I do not wish this. Is the one who has my bow so horrid?"

"Yes, sweetling, he is."

She turned in his arms, her hands snaked around his waist, clutching him like a small child,  her face in his robes. "I have had wild children to have it before. Uther. William Rufus - he was a most wretched creature - John Lackland, Rasputin..."

"But they were meant to have it. This one was not. Bronwyn, you must get it back."

"We are positive a wizard has it?" Her grip tightened on his sash.

"You saw what the mirror showed. You saw what will happen if you do not get it back. This Earth, overrun with Orcs, Uruk-hai; the Balrogs and other demons released from their chains. Morgoth unleashed on a world still reeling from almost nuclear war and Voldemort. They will not be able to withstand the onslaught. They will blame the other for the foulness. You know what your heart tells you. There will be nothing left to save." 

He folded her arms around her and held her gently close. Such a burden Iluvatar had placed on tiny shoulders. How strong did the Valar think she was? How much more could this Vessel take before cracking?  "Bronwyn, what are your thoughts? You have seen much, but confided little." 

She took a deep, cleansing breath. "Honestly? You know my thoughts. It is my fault Haldir is dead. It is my fault my child was caught in the cross-fire before his time. Had ‘They' informed me, I could have changed it; saved Haldir, saved my child. Maybe it is not my fault, after all. Had they truly learned their lessons from past mistakes, they would have gotten off their little thrones and done something useful for a change." She looked up into horrified eyes and smiled a foul smile. "Yes, I blame them! They said ‘Retrieve your bow and we will return you to Haldir." She broke free of the gentle prison.

"Well, I shall hold them to it. I will retrieve it, with or without this Wizard's help, and then I expect to be allowed to fade!" She turned back to the window pane, mutinous eyes flashing.

Celeborn's hands waved uselessly in the air for a short time, before finally resting them on her shoulders.

"Bronwyn. Do you not wish for a full life? Do you-"

"I HAD a full life, Celeborn! Remember? A loving husband, four beautiful children, two of whom are still living, grandchildren galore. I taught the little Elflings of the lore, music, the Ainur, of Arda. For them, I kept the One Ring alive. I came here to stop senseless destruction, to save a race of Wizards who were determined to stay hidden,  as THEY asked of me! I had a full life, Celeborn. I wish to fade."

He turned her to him and enveloped her in powerful arms, hidden by voluminous robes. A politician and master arbitrator first, he too, had been a Warden of the Golden Woods and was well versed in fighting skills. He too, was an archer. A slender finger tipped her chin upward and he gazed deep into teary eyes.

"I am sorry, Tithen Aras. You know your task will not be complete upon finding your bow. You must finish the job started. You must wait for the appropriate child to give your bow too. You will have to train that child. The Valar have given you the most amazing opportunity..."

"I do not WISH that opportunity. I want Haldir and I wish for no other!"

Celeborn sighed in frustration. Regaining his self-composure, he arched an elegant eyebrow and pulled her close.

"You know as well as I, that Haldir would not have you grieve endlessly for the rest of your years..."

"He would have faded to join me if our roles were reversed! He told me he waited for me!"

Celeborn placed a single finger across her lips. "That is true. He would have. He could do that; as an Elf, it is allowed. You, my little dear, are not an Elf. You have much to do, much to accomplish and fading is not an option. Haldir will not hold anything you do here against you. He knows what the Valar have decreed and he will have accepted it. They have promised to return you to him when you have accomplished your goals. Remember that."

And with those words, his lips brushed across her brow and then descended on the corner of her mouth. She did not hear the sleep spell he uttered as his lips canvassed her cheek. As her body relaxed and the music died out, he picked her up, cradling her in his arms and holding her close, he gently carried her up the stairs.

---

Severus watched as the Elven Lord laid her on the bed. He kept himself coiled inwards, the tunic still in his hands under his robes. Celeborn spoke quickly to Rumil and began to step down the stairs. He stopped at the second stair.

"You are coming with me? I do not know the way to Professor Dumbledore's office."

Snape scowled and barked, "I will be down shortly. I have something to discuss with...Rumil. Privately." Celeborn watched as the lines deepened in the man's face. This was the one the Valar had entrusted Tel Lindar to? He continued down the stairs, shaking his head. One does not to question the Valar, however this Wizard must have something special beneath the attitude and anger to have been gifted such a wonderful treasure in her.. 

Snape waited until Celeborn's head had completely disappeared from view and he had heard the door shut softly behind the exiting Elf, before pulling the tunic from under his robes and throwing them back at the young Elf. Rumil caught it and laying it on the bed, began to pull Bronwyn's boots off.

"What ARE you doing?"

"She cannot sleep in this. I am changing her into the tunic." The boots fell to the floor with a thud and he pulled off her socks, exposing battered and chipped red toenails. His hands moved to her knives, swiftly unbuckling the belt and putting her hands beneath her hips, slid them down and laid them to the side. He went back to her hips and pulled the ratty teddy bear from her waist band and tossed it to her pillow.

"What is that thing?"

Rumil never stopped his movements. "It is her teddy bear. It was hers as a child and all of her children - the four she had - fought over it growing up. It goes everywhere with her." He began to unsnap her jeans.

"You plan on completely disrobing her?"

"Well... duh!" Rumil had picked up several slang terms from her, as well as some rather potent curse words. "I need to change her clothes!"

Snape pulled his wand from robes and with a frigid "Step aside, you heathen!" waved it over her. Rumil found himself holding the clothes she had been wearing and in turn, the tunic was now on her body. Snape put his wand back up his sleeve and leaned over to pick her up, cradling her under her neck and knees. Her skin was smooth, soft and the scent of roses invaded his nostrils. As he swung her up into his embrace, he was again assaulted by the thinness, the wrongness of her weight. 

This could not go on! She must eat.

He nodded to Rumil, who moved in front of him, turning the bed linens back further. Severus gently laid her on the bed and covered her up.

"Are you coming?"

Rumil had gone to a box and was opening it. "Nay. I will watch her. They will tell me what they decide."

Severus made his way towards the stairs. "I will be warding the doors for her protection. You will not be able to get out, until I return to take her to dinner."

The Elf had apparently found what he was looking for. He held up a book. "I will be fine." He quickly moved to the chair and sat in it. "Amadeus and I will be just fine." He crossed his legs and read the title of the book out loud. "The Baron's Conquest. Sounds interesting..."

Severus rolled his eyes and circling down the stairs, headed towards the door. As he reached it, he pulled an object from his sleeve and examined it closely.

The coiled snake with emerald eyes. 

Where had she gotten this and what did it mean? It only meant more questions to be answered. He returned the object to his sleeve and opened the door.

---

<b>tbc</b>

---

<i> Tithen aras – Little dear
Iluvatar – God
Valar – lesser Gods, Guardian Angels </i>

Tel Lindar 01 Departures and Arrivals or There are Leash Laws in this place, y’know!

Tags

fanfictioin, Harry Potter, LOTR

Chapter 1

Departures and Arrivals or There are Leash Laws in this place, y’know!

***

I painted live waters, lightning, my lovers

Made birds out of lapis, snakes molded in gold

A God of Creation, for the price of my soul

Rain, in the cup of my life

Drops of Rain, in the cup of my life

Painters Waltz

Andreas Vollenweider

Eliza Glikyson

***

            It was a wasteland; a marsh and it stank to the heavens. And as much as he wished to turn and run…fly…apparate… anything back to where ever he had come from, he was compelled to move forward. Twisted bushes and small fires sprang up from the bog and despite being careful in his footing, putrid, condensed decay sucked up around his boot.

            Voices.

            No. Not voices.

            A solitary voice.

            As he searched for the source, he realized he was passing men, men dressed strangely. They were tall, as tall as he and their hair was long, flaxen white like moonlight. They carried archaic weapons and stood still as stone. He came up beside one and noticed a figure, a small cloaked form kneeling in front of the bog. She was rocking back and forth and appeared to be whispering. Her hood fell back and he saw waves and waves of burgundy – brown hair. She was now keening quietly and his desire to turn and run became overwhelming.

            He was stopped by a firm hand on his elbow. He scowled in fierce anger at the person who dared touch him.

            And looked into the coldest blue eyes he had ever challenged.

            The big Elf.

            “Khila he. Lasto he beth. “

            He snatched his arm from the Elf. “Wha-“

            “Go to her. Listen to her words.”

            He sneered at the Elf, “I do not know who you are, but I will not tolerate-“

            He was cut off by a dismissive wave of the Elf’s hand in the air, the gravely voice quietly insistent. “What you will or will not tolerate is of no concern to me. I care not for your desires. You must go to her and listen. I am forced to entrust you with my very heart and most precious jewel and you must not fail in your destiny, lest you take her down with you!” And with that, the Elf spun him around and propelled him forward. He looked at the woman. She had shoved green sleeves up to her elbows and had thrust her hands into the murky water. He could hear her voice, its lilting Welsh accent, plainly.

            “Elf. He was Celandone of Doriath. His wife had already faded for the Halls. He left three children, one who also died on this plain. Go, go to the Halls of Waiting. Go to your wife. Rest peacefully in the light, Celandone.” She pulled her hands out of the bog and shifted. Her hands went in again.

            “Man. He was Halfred of Maywatch. His wife’s name is Marilla. She was pregnant with their first child. You had a fine son, Halfred. Go, rest in the light, in the place of your fathers, Halfred of Maywatch.” Again, the hands came up from the muck. Fascinated, he walked behind her.

            And saw.

            Bodies. The stench was over-powering and he hissed at the horror. Pale bodies of warriors, lying beneath the water, things growing around. How long they had been lying beneath the waters, he could not tell. Some, he could only see heads, body parts, others, all, the splendid, detailed, and hacked armor could be seen. He looked back at her and watched her shift again, and put her hands on yet another body.

            She was touching them. By Merlin’s Robe, she was reaching and grasping hold of them. How could one fathom…

            “Orc. Grimrash, the Bad-Moon. You are forgiven. Go, seek the light.”

            She stood up and moved around the tree. Falling to her knees, she crammed her hands yet again into the vile liquid.

            “Elf. Also of Doriath. Arborion. Ah, Sweet Elbereth. He was only a baby, only 122 years old. Go, seek the Halls of Waiting. Rest in the light, Arborion.” She stood yet again and he saw numerous tears, streaming down her face. He wondered how long this could go on. The marsh had no end. Everywhere he looked, he saw more and more bodies. He looked behind him and only the one Elf, the one who had forced him, thrust him forward,  remained and even his outline was fading. Her voice pierced his conscious.

            “Man. Nay… Wizard. Elrond’s child. Severus Snape of Britain.” He jerked at the sound of his name and went to stand over her. “He died alone.” He could see his visage under the water, black hair, black robes floating outwards, her hands on his – the body’s – chest.. “He died alone.” Staring in horror at his pale semblance in the vicious – smelling liquid, he did not notice she was looking at him. She said it a third time, enunciating, punctuating each word. “He. Died. Alone. But he was not supposed to.” He looked down and was consumed by the fire in her brown eyes. “You are NOT supposed to die alone.” And he saw the white eyes of his corpse, fly open.

            Nooo.

            He sat up in the dark bed, the smell of rot permeating the room.

***

            The train was moving, faster and faster. And as it moved closer to its destination, the woman fell deeper and deeper into despair.

            He waits. They take you to him. You are now the gift.

***

            The staff of Hogwarts watched departing students from their respective stations. Students, young and old, dragging steamer trunks, gushing from the front doors, heading to the train station, free for the summer, some free forever. The din was deafening, but nothing was done to tame it.

            It had been a difficult year. Voldemort had finally been defeated and Harry Potter had stood up to the task well. And the boy only in his Sixth Year. Those who were innocent but long suspected of guilt were cleared and those who were guilty had been taken to be tried and sentenced fairly. Albus Dumbledore’s eyes raked over the tall blonde head going down the steps.

            Yet, some had managed to escape by the oiliness of their very genes. Voldemort might be dead and gone, but there were still skirmishes to be fought.

            For one formidable player of a mighty battle of wills was heading this way with the speed of a train. Albus turned his attention to his Potions Master.

            Snape looked like he had not slept well in weeks, possibly months. It had been a difficult year for him as well. His hard work, spying for the Order, had paid off, almost at the cost of his very life. Dumbledore sighed in resignation. If anyone deserved a quiet summer to rest and relax, it was Severus Snape. Unfortunately, it was not going to be.

            Unless the Bard – the Elves called her ‘Tel’ Lindar’, – was in a mood to be contrite and pliable. But from all reports, she was anything but contrite or pliable.

            Snape’s head ached. Nothing he made, nothing he conjured, helped. It was bad enough that he caught a Fifth year in his own house cheating on his final exam. The students had been especially rowdy and boisterous, daring him to give them detention on the very last day. And he had given it to several, causing them to miss portions, if not all, of the graduation festivities.

            His head pounded. The nightmares at night were getting worse.

            Something… someone… SHE… was coming. And getting closer by the minute.

            And he knew, knew in the pit of his stomach, she, who ever SHE was, was going to turn his well-ordered world, upside-down.

***

Train, Train

Get me on out of this town

Train, oh Train

Lord she’s Memphis bound

Take that midnight train to Memphis

Lord leave if you can

***

            The sound of the rails were hypnotic. The pale, gaunt woman leaned her head against the cold pane of glass and watched the countryside pass her by. The wolf’s head lay on her feet, its weight and fuzzy warmth, a comforting feeling. The voice in her head chanted in rhythm with the turning wheels of the red engine.

            He closes in. He closes in. He closes in. He close…

            “Tithen aras, when was the last time you ate?” Celeborn’s voice interrupted her thoughts. She did not look at the dignified Elf across from her.

            “I had lembas this morning.” Her breath fogged on the glass of the car. She returned to her musings, ignoring her three companions. Celeborn looked to the younger Elf sitting next to her, who shook his negatively.  Celeborn’s shoulders sagged in defeat and he flicked his fingers to the Elf. He quietly slid across and spoke sleep words in her ear.

            “No, Rumil, please do no…” she slumped over into his lap, in a sound, dreamless sleep.

            “Celeborn. Was that truly necessary?” The third occupant was an elderly- looking man, dressed in white robes, with long white hair and beard. His staff, with the intricate top knot carving was also white.

            “It is the only time she sleeps peacefully, Gandalf. She does not eat, unless one sits on her and forces a bite or two down her. She is doing everything she can to fade, to join him. She knows what is being required of her, but she does not accept, refuses to believe. This is worse than when she first came to us. At least then, she was willing to live.”

            “Besides, ” Rumil spoke up, “we cannot discuss anything around her. She speaks every language that ever existed and she would use every word to her advantage.” He stroked the hair of her head, gently. “Why did they have to take my brother? Why does she need a new Guardian?” A single tear ran down his cheek. “Why did they not give her to me?”

            Celeborn and Gandalf looked at each other. Celeborn knew that Haldir’s middle brother cared deeply for his sister-in-law and was in great emotional pain being forced to deal with the fact that she was being handed to another for safe keeping. Rumil’s friend, Heridil, had loved her greatly, but eventually focused his charms on her daughter, Anselm.  Celeborn watched as Rumil unconsciously stroked the reddish brown waves of hair.

            “She has you wrapped around her finger. The Valar know that. Rather than watching her path, you would be following her like a puppy on a leash. You would be a bigger lump of drool than Amadeus here.” The large silver – white wolf lying in the floor at her feet, opened one dark blue eye at the mention of his name before returning to slumber. Rumil silently nodded his agreement. “Many times, over the ages,  you have been the buffer between them, seeing both sides, being their mediator. But again, too many times have you been part of her shenanigans, keeping Haldir up in arms. Besides, the Valar have chosen one of Elrond’s children as her new Guardian. He will be able to help in ways we cannot fathom.”

            “She MUST get that bow of hers back.” Gandalf hissed through clenched teeth. “It is in a very bad place and if the possessor had even the slightest inkling of what he held, he would abuse the power to the detriment of all!”

            Rumil’s brow was furrowed. “Let us say she gets it back. What then? It belongs with her children. Who would receive it? Faeowynne? She would not wish it; she is her Adar’s daughter and she enjoys the battles side by side with her sons. Duncan? Duncan was left behind in the Undying Lands for good reason.” His eyes searched both Celeborn and Gandalf. Celeborn colored and bent his head.

            “The Valar will decide. Her children are numerous. It will go to the one best suited.”

            The car was very quiet for several moments.

            “By the order of the Valar, she enlists the help of this new Guardian, Elrond’s child, you say, and they find her bow. Was there a need to kill my brother and send him to the Halls of Waiting? She loved him deeply; her grief is fathomless! How could they possibly do this to her?  I think there is more to this than you tell me!”

            “CEASE!” Celeborn’s head jerked up, anger flashing in the ancient blue eyes. “One does not question the Valar! They do, they choose, what is best for all; Elves, Men; the Others. Do you think I like it? Nay! I am well aware how much she loved your brother. I know what they took from her, I was there the first time she looked in my Lady Wife’s mirror and saw all, when she saw her past before Haldir, and her destiny with him. I was there when she consulted the mirror before deciding to return to these shores early.  I was there ten months ago when she looked again and saw her new destiny.”

            He stood up and began to pace, upsetting the wolf in the floor, who retaliated by climbing up on the seat that the agitated Elf had vacated and laying his rather docile head in Gandalf’s lap.

            “You do not understand, Rumil. She cannot return to the Undying Lands. She is no longer charmed with an Elf’s life. Haldir was her passport, her key. With him now in the Halls of Waiting, she is returned to her old life. She is mortal. Her life will still be long; the Valar have graced her with that, but she will eventually die.” He ran his hands over his scalp, through the beautiful blonde hair, dislodging the mithril clip that anchored his top braid in place. In bitterness, he slung the metal object against the window. “She cannot fade, she cannot kill herself. If she does that, she will be denied the Halls and therefore be denied to be with Haldir there or in her next life. Her only hope, her only chance of that is to fulfill her destiny, a destiny combi… working with the gifts of Elrond’s child.”

            He sighed deeply and went to sit back down, only to be growled at by Amadeus. He sighed again and sat next to Rumil, putting his hand on the brown head. “If it is any consolation, I agree with you; I think it unfair to her. They have demanded to much of this Vessel.”

            Rumil took his hand from her head and stroked her proud jaw line. “What do we know about Elrond’s child, this ‘new wizard’? What kind of man is he? Can he keep her safe? Can he guide her? Will he care for her at all? Will he worry about her? Will he watch over her? Has he even accepted what has been thrust on him, or will he have no desire to be her Guardian?”

            Celeborn shook his head and looked to the Istari. Gandalf cleared his throat. “He is as dark, as Haldir was light. He has walked questionable paths and made poor decisions early in life, decisions he has lived to regret and worked hard to eradicate. The man is brilliant. He and Haldir are different as night and day, and yet very much alike. He broods, prefers to be alone, and is as arrogant as Haldir, if not more so. He is as powerful in his arts as Haldir was in his; as Bronwyn is in hers. He will be, by all accounts, a splendid Guardian and Shield for her. That is if she allows it and if he accepts the challenge. It is possible he will consider this another chance for atonement, although he has truly been forgiven of all past deeds.” It was quiet for several moments.

            “Does she realize her weapon skills have returned?”

            It was Rumil’s turn to shake his head. “She refuses to pick up a bow. When her guitar transformed back into her sword, she cried for hours. She wears her knives as usual, but refuses to unholster them. She was told all those years ago, never to use them in battle again. It seems the Valar have changed the rules again.”

            The car fell into silence.

***

            “Severus, my friend, you look exhausted.” Albus approached Snape and turned a concerned eye to the tall man. “You have not slept well in several months. Would you like to join me in my chambers and discuss what is troubling you?”

            Snape took a deep breath and with fathomless black eyes glanced down at the elderly Headmaster. “For some reason,” his voice was velvet, low, “I have a feeling you know the nightmare that troubles me.”

            A not-so-merry, slight smile graced the face of Professor Dumbledore. “You feel her. She comes closer.” He heard the intake of breath from the Potions Master. “Aye. I know the circumstances. I did not know how closely you were already connected.” He shook his head ruefully. “Of all here, you most deserve peace and quiet. But she comes. She needs a Protector; she needs help and you have been chosen to oversee that she gets what she needs.” He was almost startled to see that Snape was leaning over him, anger etched on his face.

            “Why me? What have I done to deserve this? Have I not done enough penance?”

            Albus patted the frustrated wizard on the shoulder. “Because, the Gods wanted the best for her. She had the best in her old world and now she will have the best in this world. Think of her as a gift. She has much to teach you. And you her.” He nodded towards the dungeons. “Come. She will be here shortly. Let’s see what we can do with those musty rooms across the hall from yours to make her feel welcome.”

***

            The train was pulling into the station and Bronwyn was awake. She stood in the window, watching the station pull close. The platform was crowded with departing children of various ages and sizes.

            “It would have been nice if you changed into something more… feminine, lirimaer. Of all the beautiful things…”

            “Nay. I will not dress to impress anyone. I dress for myself. If HE cannot deal with me the way I am, then he can…”

            “Bite me!” Rumil answered for her. She grinned dolefully at her old friend. She was wearing her customary black jeans, a black tank top. Her hair was loose and if one looked closely, you could see a raggedy, much patched teddy bear tucked into the back waist band of her pants. Her knives were holstered in the black leather belt. Her boots were polished and she had buckled on her spurs – she liked the sound they made when she walked and quite frankly, it made people move out of her way. She wore her wedding rings on a mithril chain around her neck, along with her corded hung cross. Her only other piece of jewelry was an armband – a mithril snake, with emerald eyes, wrapped around her right forearm.  She had worn it into battle, into every difficult situation since the Battle of Mirkwood and Dol Guldur. “I still do not understand why I have to have another Guardian. Nor do I understand why, if I am going to teach, I have to be here so many months in advance!”

            “Tithen aras! This is a new place. You have not taught in a school setting in many, many years. Your life is in danger out there and believe it or not, this is the safest place for you.”

            “He is here. You send me here because HE is here.” She turned and looked at Gandalf. “I don’t want his help. I simply want to pick his brain, find my bow and give it…”

            ‘And give it to who? Duncan has his limitations, he is unable. Faeowynne? Faeowynne does not have the desire or the gift, nor do her children, Ennahan or Elran.”

            “My children are as numerous as the grains of sand. Surely there is one.”

            Gandalf laid his hand on her shoulder. He knew well her strength and fortitude.  And obstinance. “All will come clear in time. One of your children will step forward at the appropriate time.”

            The train had slowed almost to a stop and they moved towards the front.

            “The time had better be appropriate as soon as it is found.” She slung his words back at him. “I want nothing but to join Haldir in the Halls of Waiting.” The train stopped and the First Born and Istari stepped out in front of her. The reception they received from the children on the platform was not completely unexpected.

            The students took an involuntary step back. The Wizard was tall, dressed in his bright, white robes. He looked down at the children in black robes. ‘Ah,’ he thought to himself, ‘Elrond’s twin sons, Elrohir and Elladan, were very, very busy young Elves, after their father left for the Undying Lands’. He could not help but smile. If they were awed with the appearance of Gandalf, sharp intakes of breath were clearly audible when the two tall Elves stepped down, especially from the females when they looked upon the visage of Rumil.

            Celeborn was in official robes, silver with blue sash. His white-blonde hair was braided at the top and held with mithril clips, a metal no longer found on Earth. Rumil was dressed in Lothlórien March Warden black and grey – a tunic and leggings. His leather boots shone and on his back, his bow stood out. His silver hair was also braided back in the Lothlórien way, with front locks laying on his shoulders, one small braid leading to the back, woven above delicately pointed ears and a large braid laying from the top, over long, loose waist-length hair. His grey eyes raked over the crowd and the girls to the very last sighed. He was beautiful to behold. Eyes narrowed jealously when he turned to offer a hand to the woman behind him.

            She was tiny, petite. Her shoulder-length hair was loose brown waves, with burgundy highlights that shone in the sun and flashed with a fire that matched her brown eyes. Her skin was fair and she had generous curves. The beautiful Elf tucked her left hand into the crook of his arm and spoke in her ear. A gasp rose from those in the front and a buzz filtered through the group.

            “Her arm. Did you see what she wore on her arm? The Slytherin symbol, a snake…”

            “By the Gods. She has a wolf…” Amadeus had plopped down on quiet paws and hung close to her, looking around furtively, with his tail tucked between his legs.

            One recognized her. Draco Malfoy’s blue eyes narrowed. He KNEW her, knew who she was, what she was. What was the Bard doing here? Protection? Hiding? She had been seen little since the death of the filthy Elf that had been her husband. He knew his father would be very interested in this turn of events. He saw Hagrid motion to them and they cut a swath in the crowd and followed him towards the school. Yes, his father would be very interested in what exactly what was going on here.

***

            Hagrid watched the group come through the crowd of students and his eyes fell naturally on the small woman in black. Ah, so this was the little missy that had everyone in an uproar. She certainly didn’t look all that all-powerful, although the way she dressed would certainly make many look twice. But again, Harry hadn’t looked like much either when he first came to Hogwarts. He approached the one person in the party he knew.

            ” ‘ello, Gandalf. Beautiful day y’picked to come to ‘ogwarts.”

            Gandalf looked up, up, at the tall Hagrid and smiled deeply. “Mae govannen, Hagrid. Tis indeed a fine day today. It helps that the children are leaving, eh?” The ancient wizard and half-giant shared their laughter together and placed their hands on the other’s shoulders, in the Elven Middle Earth -style. “Please, allow me to introduce my companions.” He gestured to the three behind him. “This is Lord Celeborn.” Celeborn put his hand to his heart and inclined his head. Hagrid did likewise, although not as gracefully. “And this is Rumil, Lord Celeborn’s March Warden.” Hands over hearts again. “And this..” Gandalf brought Bronwyn forward. “Is Bronwyn Morgan ap Powell.”

            “Aye. The little Bard.” Hagrid’s huge hands gently enveloped hers. “Sorry, sorry we were to ‘ear ‘bout yer ‘usband. Terrible thing.” He looked deep into eyes where the fire smoldered in quiet pain.

            Or was it concealed rage?

            Gandalf was continuing his introductions. “This, my friends, is Hagrid, the Gamekeeper of Hogwarts and assistant professor in the Care of Magical Creatures. There is not a finer person to help you find your way around this place than he. Ah, Hagrid, I almost forgot,” he motioned to the wolf who had not left Bronwyn’s side, “this is Amadeus, Bronwyn’s ever present friend. As long as your voice is not raised to her nor your words heated, you will find him a most docile creature.”

            They had turned and were headed to the lake. “‘e looks like a fine animal. Much like me Fang. Tell me, ‘ave you spoken to Professor Dumbledore about ‘im. Dogs aren’t allowed in the school. Fang stays wit’ me, o’course, but ‘e’s outside, y’know.”

            They had reached a small pier and Hagrid turned to hand Bronwyn in the white vessel. She was slightly reminded of the swan boats the Elves had used to cross the Anduin to fight the Orcs in the Battle of Dol Guldur, right after the destruction of the One Ring. She and Haldir had had one of the biggest arguments they had ever had that day.

            She had fought a dragon.

            She and Haldir had fought and killed the dragon. And in between fireballs, Haldir had managed to save five scrolls and two small books. She still had them, kept them with her always, although the information contained in them was not important. Poetry, a marriage proposal and contract. She had kept them, knowing he knew what the destruction of the library had done to her – the lost books, the lost knowledge and the fact that he attempted to rescue what he could while in dire peril meant the world to her.

            He had done it, for her.

            So like him.

            She climbed in the boat and kept her head down, tears welling up. Amadeus sensed her pain and sat next to her, head in her lap. Most wolves have icy blue for eyes, but not this one. They were dark, dark blue and his coat had been the color of Haldir’s moon-blonde hair when he was born. She purposely named him after her husband’s favorite composer. She listened half-heartedly to the quiet, whispered conversation still going.

            “Yes, I have spoken to Professor Dumbledore about the wolf. He agrees with me that Amadeus needs to stay with her. He was born the day after her husband’s death to a litter Haldir’s she-wolf had. He was the largest, a bully, pushing his siblings out of the way.  Bronwyn took pity on the rest of pups and kept him and nursed him. We think it was the only thing that kept her sane. Taking him from her would be the final blow.” They were all now in the boat and Hagrid had climbed to the front.

            Silently the boat cast off and headed across the lake. Bronwyn looked around, could hear no motor, there were no oars, no tiller, no sail…

            “Hagrid, How does it that this boat moves? I can see no motor or any device to propel it?” Her hand idly stroked the head of the wolf.

            “Ah, Miss Bronwyn. ‘Tis magic.” Hagrid looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Everything at ‘ogwarts is run by magic.”

            “Great.” she muttered, continuing to stroke the wolf’s head absent-mindedly. “Just great. And I have none. No magic. How am I supposed to teach these children?”

            “Oh, Miss Bronwyn. Y’ ‘ave magic. Y’jist ‘aven’t found it yet!” Despite his simple ways, Bronwyn found herself liking this gentle giant. Gandalf had spoken of him in glowing terms, with great affection.

            Duncan would adore him. But Duncan was home in the Undying Lands and probably didn’t know his Ada was dead. Would she ever see her beloved youngest – and eldest – again? Rumil was talking to her and she felt him tap her on the shoulder.

            “Bronwyn, Bronwyn. Look. It looks like…” She looked up and Amadeus looked up as well at the school. She took it in with the surrounding hills and forest.

            “My God. It’s Dol Guldur. This place has been built in the remains of Mirkwood Forest.”

***

Where once was light, now darkness falls.

Where once was love, love is no more.

Don’t say goodbye.

Don’t say I didn’t try.

(Gollum’s Song

Howard Shore)

***

            Dumbledore and Snape had not spent much time in the rooms being prepared for her. They were different, unusual for a  Professor to have such space. And space on two floors at that. Severus was miffed at the amount of energy being expended on her behalf. The house-elves were bustling about, her trunks had already arrived. Trunks and trunks and boxes and more boxes.

            And he could feel her getting closer. She was now within minutes of her arrival, in a boat, on the lake.

            Fury. He could feel her smoldering fury and impatience to… just incredible anger. For some reason, music was rolling over and over in his head with her thoughts. It took him a few minutes to figure out what he was listening to. A piano sonata…

            Beethoven. Dur Sturm. The Tempest.

            Shades of the storm to come.

            He steeled himself, reaching deep for that cold, impersonal space he kept inside. He needed answers; wanted answers, and by Merlin’s Robe, he would have them by dinner. Whether she wanted to give them or not.

            “How far away is she, Severus?” Albus peered at him over his eyeglasses. “Come now, I know you are aware.”

            “They are on the lake.” He was feeling surlier and surlier by the minute. So was she. Most excellent, he thought to himself. We will make a lovely team, for whatever purpose it is for!

            “Wonderful!” Albus smiled serenely and rubbed his hands together. “They will be here in time for lunch!”

***

And we will wait

To be so alone.

We are lost,

We can never go home.

(Gollum’s Song

Howard Stone)

***

            They came up the stairs, Rumil’s eyes were capturing everything. Antiques, ancient paintings, rugs, tapestries on the walls. The place was a living, breathing museum. Bronwyn was also taking everything in as well. Music softly began to well in the background, music of her doing, ancient, medieval sounds. Celeborn and Gandalf looked at each other.

            She had not created music in the air, since Haldir’s death.  Only keening wails.

            They came to large, double doors and followed as Hagrid threw them open. Bronwyn slowly melted into the back of the small group, as if hoping not to be seen. She refused to look at the group of people, sitting at a round table towards the front of the hall. She took in the ceiling – enchanted, obviously, with its free swinging candles – and large, oversized fireplace on the right side. Four long rows of tables went down the length of the room and she was again amazed at the antediluvian paintings and tapestries. She could quite possibly sit in this one room for days, weeks, studying the walls alone.

            “Ah, Gandalf. Mae govannen, my friend. It is good to see you again.” Bronwyn’s eyes were drawn to the elderly wizard standing in front of the table. His hair and beard was as long as Gandalf’s and his smile was genuine as he clasped the Istari. “Please, introduce us to your party.”

            Bronwyn ignored the introductions. She was busy taking in the panorama of art and calming her nerves. HE had her in his sights and she refused to allow him to feel or see her discomposure. She could almost imagine his eyes on her and she knew he knew what he was to her. She was unaware that she had was gently pulling on a lock of hair, until Rumil tapped her hand. She clenched her teeth.

            “Ah. I know who this one is!” The aging wizard made his way around Rumil to her. “You are Bronwyn Morgan ap Powell. I am Albus Dumbledore.” He reached for her hand. “May I call you Bronwyn?”

            She bit back a rude retort. It was not this kindly sorcerer’s fault she was in the position she was in and it would be most unfair to take her rising resentment out on him. She lifted an eyebrow. “If it is your wish, Professor Dumbledore.” She was surprised how quiet and calm her voice sounded. She knew she would not be able to contain herself for long.

            The background music changed. Orlando Gibbons. 15th century. Lute. Several of the people sitting at the table looked quietly around to search the origin of the music, not realizing that she was the source.

            “Please, dear, call me Albus. Come, allow me to introduce you.” He turned and led her in front of Gandalf and Celeborn. “Everyone, this is Bronwyn Morgan ap Powell. She has agreed,” – she snorted at this, and he ignored her – “to be our Muggles Studies Professor for next year.” He smiled up at her. “Who better to teach Muggles Studies than the Master Muggle Historian, eh?”

            She did not smile back. No, most definitely not contrite, not pliable. Severus had his work cut out for him.

            He began next to his empty chair, introducing all there. Professor Flitwick, (Charms, Levitation, oh can you fly me away from here?) Professor Trelawney, (Divination – maybe she will read my tea leaves and tell me who will kill the other first!) Professor McGonagall, (transfiguration – lovely! Maybe she would teach me to turn my so-called Guardian into a rabbit or hamster!) Professor Lupin, (Defense against the Dark Arts. My, doesn’t he have a wolfish grin!) Madame Hooch, (flying lessons – oh my! Celeborn would love that!) Professor Snape (potions, I bet he could pop up a poison or sleeping draught to keep whomever off my tail, so I can do… my, my, my, what glittering black eyes you have.) Professor Sprout, (Herbology, maybe she can allow me a corner to plant something illegal!) It went on for several minutes. Bronwyn silently scoped each and everyone out, raking them over with her eyes. She didn’t smile, didn’t speak, just stared holes through each and every one. Finally, Dumbledore had gone through each and every person at the table. He still held her hand, gently patting.

            Amadeus was making his own rounds. He padded around the table and slowly sniffed at everyone. He reached Remus Lupin and chuffed once. Remus smiled and gave his head a stroke, scratching behind the ear. For a moment, the moon colored beast allowed him to scratch and admire him, but rather than sit down and allow the regard to continue, he moved on.

            And stopped next to Severus. And stared.

            Severus stared back at the wolf. Ebony eyes looked into indigo blue. And the wolf did something he had never done with anyone, except Bronwyn. He sat next to the Potions Master and laid his head on his knee. Severus attempted to shift his attention back to the conversation, but found it difficult, if not impossible to do so, with the wolf attempting to make eye contact. . He bounced his leg, pushed, anything to move the blasted wolf away from him. Amadeus did not take the hint.

            “There, my dear. Would you like introduce yourself? Add anything?”

            Bronwyn calmly removed her hand from his benign grasp and again perused the ensemble. She never smiled and the music behind her changed yet again . A  death knoll arose in the background, as she conjured up AC/DC’s “Hell’s Bells” – just enough to be heard. Celeborn closed his eyes in dismay and Amadeus whined. She moved to stand in the front of the group and again looked the table up and down. “Yes, I would like to add something. You all know who I am. You all know why I am really here. Now, I want to know,” her eyes narrowed, “which one of you sons of bitches is holding my leash?”

***

You fell away, What more can I say?

The feeling’s evolved

I won’t let it out

I can’t replace Your screaming face

Keep on trying I won’t die so easily

 (I will not die!)

Why is everything so fucking hard for me?

 (I will not die!)

System

Linkin Park

***

            “Is she demented?” Madame Hooch leaned towards Remus with her question. She had started to ask it of Severus, but he appeared to be occupied with a rather large, over-affectionate wolf. “Remus, I thought Severus hated dogs!”

            “She isn’t demented. She is in pain. A great deal of emotional pain. And yes,” he looked around Madame Hooch in amusement, “Severus despises dogs!”

            Severus was really having problems. He stood up after hearing her rather rudely worded question and almost fell, as the wolf was sitting on his robes. He unsuccessfully attempted to jerk them out from underneath the fiend and turned cold, dark eyes on the woman.

            “Madame Morgan, Professor Powell, which ever you wish to be called. I would like to have a word with you if you would be so kind as to call off your animal.” He was still snatching at his overflowing vestments and the wolf appeared to be enjoying the ride, sliding around on the floor, yipping and growling playfully.

            “Amadeus! Come!” She clicked her fingers once and the canine grinned at the dark, frowning countenance of the irritated wizard before sliding under the table and joining her, sitting obediently at her side. His head came to her hand and she stroked the noble beast with much fondness. “Good boy.”

            Snape came around the table and moving past her with a terse “Follow me,” strode down the aisle, robes flying behind him like wings towards the double doors. His movements were quick, sure. She looked at her companions with a smirk and turned on her heel, arms out, graceful hands mimicking bird wings flying as she strode out behind him.

            Rumil laughed and murmured to Celeborn, who smiled in return.

            “What does he say?” Albus asked of Gandalf. Gandalf was smiling at the young Elf’s remarks.

            “He says, we have witnessed a turning point. She smiles. She has not smiled in many, many months. Even if it was an evil smile truly meant for Orcs.” He gave a comical sigh. “I am afraid your Potions Master is in for a bumpy ride. I hope his sense of humor holds up”

            The group around the table tittered nervously. “No,” Albus shook his head slowly.. “I am very afraid that Severus does not have much of a sense of humor.”

            The two Elves and the Istari looked at each other in disappointment. Rumil’s voice, slowly stilted in the Common Tongue – English – rang clear.

            “Perhaps, we should feel most sorry for your Potions Master.”

            Only Remus saw Amadeus pad softly out, following behind his Lady.

***

            He had moved so fast that she was following the tails of his robes, fluttering in the breeze. Down and around ancient stairs.

            “Excuse me,” she called out, “but do you think you could kind of like…wait up? Or at the very least, slow down?”

            His voice called back. Despite the harsh tone, it was low, velvety, sliding melodically across her musically – trained ears.

            “Had you done what I asked to begin with, you would not be so woefully behind. I suggest you follow simple instructions.” and she heard him continue on.

            She stopped and scowled at the wolf. “So. That’s how he’s going to be. We will just have to fix that, won’t we?” Amadeus appeared to nod in agreement. “I am so glad great minds think alike. Go stop him.” Amadeus loped ahead around the corner, down another set of steps and soon she heard growling and cursing. Bronwyn reached the top of the steps in time to see.

            “Out of my way, you hound from hell, before I transform you into a furry rug to walk on in front of my fireplace!” Amadeus had him by the tails of his robe and was pulling him around in tight circles, effectively binding Snape’s legs. The grim professor had pulled his wand out and was beginning to brandish it as a weapon.

            Her knives were out and spinning on her fingers before she took a second thought. She had not realized she had called them, much less knew that the holster was unsnapped

            “I think not, sir.” His face jerked up at her, black hair wild, ebony eyes reflecting the flames from the fiery sconces on the walls. “Before you could utter the first syllable, make the first sound, I would have you pinned to the wall either by your ears or robes. It matters not to me.” The revolving blades were hypnotic. She could hear them singing.

            He sneered. “Think so?” The wolf had turned loose of his robes and had returned to her side. “These walls are stone. I doubt any weapon you have could penetrate them.”

            She had made her way down the steps and now stood on the bottom riser, just above the floor. He was tall. Very tall…

            As tall as ….

            She shoved back the thought. The knives continued to spin on her finger tips and he heard her whisper, “Come, come, my darlings! Come to Beavis!” The knives flew from her hands, as she slung them to the far wall. The chink as they hit the wall echoed through the corridors. And they stayed.

            Severus stared at the knives. They didn’t look the same; they looked wider, in some strange way. And they were buried into the wall, almost to the hilt. He looked at her in shock. And saw her flick her wrists.

            The sound of metal scraping stone was heard as he watched the knives fly back into her hands. They spun on her fingers again until she reholstered them.

            “What sort of Muggle are you?” He had silently crept until he was literally on top of her. She could see the exquisite workmanship on his frock coat underneath his robes; he was so close, she could feel the heat emanating from his body, his smell, the smell of… burning wood. “You are not supposed to have magic!”

            Her eyes moved slowly upwards. Over the high, black collar, the hint of white from his shirt barely peeking out over the top, the face, the thin lips, pressed hard in a narrow line. The prominent, hooked nose. Those eyes. Those awesome, hypnotic eyes. This face bore pain and sorrow and regret, and a small, very tiny part of her soul wanted to reach out and ask ‘Who did this to you? Who broke your heart? Stole your smile?‘ But she forced her mind back to the question.

            “I am a Muggle who is not a Muggle. I have no magic, only defenses.” She took a deep breath, inhaling more of his intoxicating scent. “I would like to apologize for Amadeus. He was doing my bidding.”

            “And you bid him to do what? Harm my person?”

            Her face took on a rather bemused expression. “No. I asked a simple request of you. You chose to ignore it. I asked him simply to retain you, so I could catch up.”

            He caught her sitting in his mind. Fury still radiated. Fury that masterfully covered… great personal anguish. She was going to great lengths to cover her pain. And now, a new emotion.

            Amusement.

            “You laugh at what you gather is foolishness. I do not tolerate foolishne-“

            “Nay. You are not foolish.” Her eyes bored hard into his. “However, I am entertained by your attitude.” Her face then lit up into a rather child-like smile. “You are such a hard-arse.” Her voice dropped an octave and she dipped her head towards him, even closer to his body, as if to whisper a secret. “I quite like hard-asses.” As if realizing, she was still standing within inches of him, she attempted to step back, only to hit her spurs on the rising stone step. She lowered her head and stepped down and around him,  regathering her thoughts. “Come now, I was following you, as you wished to speak to me. Where were you taking me? Is it necessary that we go so far, just for a chat.”

            “I assure you, Madame Powell…”

            “Please. Call me Bronwyn. And you are?”

            He closed his eyes in exasperation. “I assure you, Madame-“

            “Bronwyn. Braun-win. Try it!”

            The black eyes reopened and bored into her very soul. “I assure you,” his voice gritted between clenched teeth, “we are not going to have ‘just a chat’!” His frown deepened, as if that were actually possible, and he turned to continue his path. The woman and wolf followed closely behind and he heard her hiss what sounded like ‘neithadol.’ Her footfalls were quiet, hardly heard and Severus caught himself several times beginning to look backwards to make sure she kept up, but he did not want to give her the satisfaction of knowing he would slow for her if necessary. They wound their way deeper into the foundations of Hogwarts.

            She followed, noticing the hallways becoming dimmer and dimmer and it worried her in a small way that a strange, angry man with some pretty serious powers, was taking her to parts unknown. She glanced down at Amadeus, who walked assuredly at her side.

            He stopped suddenly and waving his wand muttering, he opened a door and stepped aside, gesturing her in.

            “Thank you… er… what was your name?”

            ‘Snape.”

            “Snape? Family name?” His headache was returning with a vengeance, but he never let on. His facial expression never changed.

            “Professor Snape, Madam.”

            “Uh, uh, uh!” She wagged her finger at him, as she slid past him into the room. “First name, please. After all, if you are the one I am most likely giving a headache to, then, you know we are going  to be working very closely together. I have told you mine, now you tell me yours.” He followed her into the room.

            There were rows and rows of desks. Dust was lying in abundance, despite the students having just left. The classroom looked like it hadn’t been used in decades. The windows at the top of the wall were grime-covered, filthy, allowing in little light.

            “This is your classroom?” Somehow, she imagined him to be neater than this.

            “No. Mine is across the hall. This is your classroom.”

            “Oh.” She actually sounded…disappointed. “My classroom is in the basement.”

            “No.” He continued to move purposely across the room. “You classroom is in the dungeon. As are your quarters.” He had waved his wand again and opened a rather cleverly hidden door.

            “Oh. How charming.” Her tone stated that she meant anything but. She made a mental note to go into town at the first opportunity and buy cleaning supplies and bug spray. She hated spiders.

            She despised spiders.

            She looked up to see him standing in front of the open door. Waiting. She looked down at Amadeus. “Who first? Me? Or you?” The wolf sat his haunches looking rather non-plussed about the whole thing. His eyes clearly said, ‘After you.’

            And she stepped into joyous light.

***

            Celeborn, Rumil, and Gandalf had joined Albus and the staff at the table. Plates had magically appeared and food rose from nowhere. Rumil was stuffing himself, as he had as a young Elfling. The staff peppered Celeborn and Gandalf with questions. Celeborn fielded them all, as Gandalf had his head buried next to Albus’ in silent conference.

            “Why is she here? What is she to Severus? Why is she so angry? What did she mean by ‘holding her leash?’ ” The questions rolled in quickly, as water moving down a mountain stream over rocks,  picking up momentum with each passing query.

            “Her life is in danger. With her husband, her protector and guardian dead, she is safest here. She deeply mourns Haldir and wishes to join him in death, but cannot. There is a dangerous task she must complete and the Gods have picked your Potions Master as the one best suited to help her with the undertaking. However, she does not wish his help and refuses to see how badly she needs it.”

            “But, is this fair to Severus?” Celeborn looked at the aging witch next to him. Minerva. Minerva McGonagall. ” After everything he has been through the past fifteen years. How much more is expected of him?”

            Even Gandalf had stopped to listen to that question. Only three knew the entire answer to that. All three sat at this very table.  Even Bronwyn did not have all the answers.

            The Valar never gave her all the answers when it came to her personal life. They, too, knew her stubbornness.

            “One does not question the Almighty, the Valar, the Gods, Minerva.” Albus answered. The table fell silent.

            “If it is any…consolation, Severus Snape’s heroism and dedication is highly regarded among the Elves. His efforts did not go unnoticed.”

            There was no sound for many minutes, except those of the sound of eating and drinking.

            “What can you tell me of her wolf, Amadeus? Of her?” Celeborn looked across the table.

            “Remus Lupin, I believe?” He nodded solemnly and Celeborn took in his appearance. He looked as if he had seen better days, as if he had been ill, but was recovering. His eyes were bright and sparkling. Celeborn was horrid at guessing the ages of men. The Elves were ageless, living as long as they either wanted or until killed in battle. He, himself was 50,000 years of age, as was his wife. Even the so-called young Elf next to him – Rumil was close to 41,000 years of age. On earth, Men lived to be seventy to ninety years of age. The New Wizards, however lived longer, two to three times longer. Therefore, he did not attempt to place an age on the wizard.

            “Amadeus was born right after Haldir’s death and he immediately became hers. We believe he is what kept her alive during those first dark days. She named him after her husband’s favorite composer – Amadeus Mozart – and they have become inseparable. Sometimes it is as if he  understands every word one says. It is quite frightening.”

            “As for her, herself. She is a natural teacher. She taught before she came to us and when Elflings began to arrive in greater and greater numbers in the Undying Lands, she was their teacher. She has a great love for children and a passion for passing on knowledge. We hope that by giving her a purpose, teaching your children to appreciate those that are different from them, that her grief will ease and she will be able to fulfill her purpose and live a happy, productive life, rather than sit in a room and pine for the dead.

            “She is a musician. She loves to sing, and play. She loves to dance. She loves to dig in the dirt and grow things. She loves fast rides and the wind in her hair. She adores theme parks and roller coasters and thrill rides. She loves to walk on the beach. She loves to have friends over and cook and talk and enjoy life. She has a wicked sense of humor. She has not enjoyed these things for some time and it is our, my deepest desire that she find happiness again.” He looked sadly at Gandalf. “It is painful to watch her waste away to nothing, mourning what will not be returned to her in this lifetime. She will need friends. She loves to talk, so she will especially need girlfriends and partners in crime.” He looked around the table and saw that everyone, including Rumil, had finished their lunch. “It has been over half an hour since they left. As the foundations have not cracked, I suppose it is safe to assume she has not killed him yet. We do need to speak with him to explain what she refuses to and make sure she is settled before catching the train back to London.” He posed his last question to Dumbledore. “Do you know where he has taken her?”

            “The dungeons, I would suppose. That is where his and her quarters are. I suspect he has taken her there.”  Dumbledore had risen, along with the others who made their own way around and out.

            “The dungeons? The dungeons? You placed her in a dungeon?” Rumil had spat pumpkin juice.

            “Ah, come my boy.” Dumbledore handed him a napkin. “It isn’t as bad you make it to be. Please follow me.” And with that, the stately wizard made his way out the door, his three guests following.

***

TBC

ada – daddy

adar – father

Lirimaer – Lovely one

Tithen aras – Little dear

Lembas – Elvish Waybread

Istari – Wizard of Middle Earth (Gandalf)

mithril – a metal mined only in Middle Earth.  It is indestructible and the most costly metal ever found.

Mae Govannen – Well met. It is an Elvish greeting and farewell – sort of like “aloha”

First Born – The Elves

neithadol – you’ll find out soon enough… LOL!

Undying Lands -The Elves home

“Haldir, Heru en cormmin, lasto beth nîn, tolo dan nan galad.” –

            “Haldir, Lord of my heart,  hear my voice, come back to the light.”

Baraer – Fiery One

Baraermin – My Fiery One

Valar – The Gods

Well…

I spent Wednesday evening in the ER… my doctor sent me. My blood sugar was well over 500… 549, to be exact, so they’ve upped my meds and added to it.

And I tripped over my laptop cord and dropped it. the screen I spent money to fi in December is shattered. i am sick just sick to my stomach.

Tel Lindar is on it and the one archive I have the original on is down, Just sick. absolutely sick.

zee reads

i have been reading – mostly rereadng the foreigner series. What can I say? I love Bren Cameron! I’m wondering when the next installment is coming out. it’s been 3 years.

I know. I cant talk. ive had a rough month. im currently living with my sister and her 3 cats. my sons cat thinks shes the alpha cat and sometimes, its noisy.

i miss my son. sooo much, i heard from his half sister. he tried for years and days after he dies. she reaches out to me. i don’t know what to think.

so, i read…

it’s a shifter circus. really. something i never read/ it wasnt bad, there are 5 more in the series/ i might get them. I’ve started a dark fantasy series, darkblade.

ill let you know how that goes. its pretty gory and dark so far, im ails almost done with the sequel to the vessel. just need to write the epilogue. uts huge. ill probably start posting it here tomorrow.

otherwise im here…

Tel’ Lindar (The Bard) Prologue/Arrivals and Departures or There are leash laws in this place, y’know!

Tags

fanfictioin, Harry Potter, lotr fanfiction

Title: Tel’ Lindar (The Bard)

Author: Zeesmuse

Category: Crossovers

Description: Well, Bronny’s world falls apart AGAIN…

Warnings: if it should warned against, then it’s here.

Type: Action/adventure

Characters: Haldir; Rumil; Severus Snape

Chapter 1 – Prologue/Arrivals and Departures or There are leash laws in this place, y’know!

Disclaimer for Tel Lindar:

HANKIE WARNING. There. You have been warned.

Please be aware that I am writing this fic for TWO distinctly different fandoms. As I am aware that what one will automatically know and take for granted, the other might not. Therefore I am explaining – or translating – everything, including LOTR standard verbal knowledge at the bottom. Please be patient.

Please also be aware that this fic is a sequel to a LOTR ring called The Vessel. Tel’ Lindar should stand on its own, but you might want to read it first. If you cannot find it, please let me know.

Warning: This fic, while AU for LOTR, does remain in CURRENT canon for HP. That means if you haven’t read the books, including OOTP, there might be some major spoilers.

This fic also contains character death. If you upset easily, do NOT read it. If you like pink and fluffy, this is NOT the fic for you! Do not start it and then flame the hell out of me! This is how the Muses agreed to have it written and I had no choice! If you start it, I suggest you finish it. All things aren’t what they always seem…

And in the end, she followed him…

***

Title: Tel’ Lindar (The Bard)

Series: Sequel to The Vessel

Author: Zeesmuse

Type: Het

Fandom: HP/LOTR

Pairing: SS/OFC, Haldir/OFC – implied

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: graphic het sex, excessive foul language, violence, major angst, character death, light bondage. Some serious reliving of the smoky 70’s – It’s rated NC-17 for a reason!

Any word/phrase spoken in Elvish is either translated immediately or at the end of the chapter, depending on story flow.

Beta: GotsSnape, Alex

Disclaimer 1; I’m not Tolkien, I don’t pretend to be the Great one, nor am I the amazing JK Rowlings. I just play with their lovely Elves and Wizards and promise to return them in good condition. I didn’t sell this, yada yada yada. Bronwyn is mine.

Feedback: Yes! I am such a feedback whore!

Timeline: Just a little in the future.

Archiving: OEAM, EL, ID, EC, OS, wp

Disclaimer 2: To JS Bach, Andreas Vollenweider, Mozart, Elton John, Metallica, Bad Company, Howard Shore, AC/DC and any other musician whose music and lyrics I have impinged on. I have written none of the lyrics and apologize if I have offended any. I also wish to apologize to various television and movies which in the course of this I might have trod on, however, I don’t think Beavis will mind the plug so much. And to the others who I was very much influenced by. This is ALL your fault!

Dedication: This one is for all the beautiful women, who discovered that true beauty comes in the prime of their lives and not as skinny, young things!

Tel’ Lindar

Prologue

***

There was a garden, where my fortunes were planted

Roses of white round my head were entwined

The hand of the wind moved the wheel of my seasons

Love in the cup of my life

There was love in the cup of my life

Painter’s Waltz

Andreas Vollenweider

Eliza Gilkyson

***

It was supposed to have been a quiet, romantic evening.

That was what Haldir had planned; a serene night out, good food, a movie of her choice, candle-lit bath, followed by passionate hours in the bed, if they actually made it there. Many nights in the past, they had not. After over 38,000 years, he was still surprised that their desire for each other exclusively had not waned, nor had the excitement of the other’s body dimmed. Many Elven couples took extra partners, other lovers with the blessing of their spouse. It was not unheard of to have joinings of three or four. More often than not, it was expected.

But not he or his wife.

When he looked at her, he felt the same chill run down his spine that had been there since the night in the abandoned hovel where he had come to the conclusion that he loved the little she-devil.

His ice to her fire.

Just as the Valar had decreed.

The Elves had returned to the World fifteen months previously, to stop global warfare. They were thought to have been a myth, a rumor, a story made up by a learned, yet fanciful genius. Men were shocked to discover that the storyteller was HER child. Many great philosophers, politicians, musicians, artists, writers, people of great influence, were HER children.

Aristotle. Edith of Swan. Merlin. Caesar Augustus. Turlough O’Carolan. Cleopatra. Mozart. Michaelangelo. Arthur. Liszt. Poe. Columbus. Gandhi. Vivaldi. William the Conqueror. Shakespeare. Chopin. Merlin. Joan of Arc. Teleman. Henry VIII. Thomas Jefferson, Socrates. Morgaine. Abraham Lincoln.

The Storyteller.

All were hers, come down from hers and Haldir’s lineage. Children of their son Beckett and of their daughter Anselm. For thousands of years, her children, their children, had forged paths and guided man. And she had been their voice, the whisper in the ear, their conscious, their Storyteller.

She had been the one to slowly whisper the history of all Middle Earth into the ears of her child. It had started when he was very young.

“John, John, my child. Harken to my words…”

And he had. And he wrote.He told the world of the ancient Elves, still beautiful, still angelic, still very much alive.

No one believed the stories were real.

And yet, they arrived anyway, seeking to counsel, seeking to save, seeking to aid. It would not have mattered how skilled negotiators Elrond, Celeborn, and Gandalf, were if it had not been for her.

Bronwyn Morgan ap Powell.

A mere human woman, plucked from their time, slung back to Middle Earth, and given tremendous vision, tremendous gifts, tremendous burdens. She had stepped off the boat, a tiny, yet solid woman behind the tall Elves, wearing black jeans, a black turtle neck and a hip-length black cape, the hood back. It was her hat that caused a stir. A black baseball cap, with the words “Bite me” emblazoned across the front. She strode around the towering Elves, straight to the President of the United States, wriggling past his security, and grabbed his hand.

And showed him what would happen if serious negotiations for peace did not begin immediately.

It changed the course of the world. And saved Man from total annihilation.

There were those, however, who did not want peace, and several attempts had been made on her life. Haldir was forced to keep her locked away, hidden from unfriendly eyes and she chaffed at the restricted movement granted her.

But things had quieted down and he hoped they could enjoy a special, blissful evening, reminiscent of their days in Rivendell or the Undying Lands. It was early summer, the moon was full and the stars were out. Maybe, just maybe, they could go somewhere outdoors and make love under the trees, like they used to.

It was not meant to be.

As they exited the restaurant, she leaned up to kiss him tenderly. When he lowered his head, he heard the hammer draw back. He pushed her backwards into the doorway, until he could determine the location of the sniper.

And as he had told her thirty – eight millenniums ago, he would gladly take the arrow, the knife, and now, the bullet, meant for her.

He lay in her lap, blood, his blood, on her hands as she called, attempting to bring him back to the light, tears running down her checks.

“Haldir, Heru en cormmin, lasto beth nîn, tolo dan nan galad.”

“Do not cry, Baraermin. This is meant to be.” His hand stroked her tear-stained face.

“Nooo. They took so much from me. Not you as well. Please, do not leave me.”

He smiled a rueful smile. “Are our positions not reversed from all those years ago?” He referred to the day, before she had fully embraced her powers, when she had leapt down on an Orc’s sword to rescue their friend, Heridil; Heridil, who later courted their wrath by marrying their daughter, Anselm. Bronwyn had died that day and argued with the Valar for a long time, before they sent her back to a grieving Haldir.

“Do not try to joke! Please do not leave me.”

Her face was becoming fuzzy to his eyes. He could hear the singing from those already at the Halls of Waiting, wooing him. He pulled her face close to his.

“I am waiting for you, Baraer. You must retrieve your bow from our bad seed. Trust the new Guardian. He will help you. You cannot join me until you do that and…and… just trust him.”

“New Guardian? Trust a new Guardian? Our Bad Seed? Haldir, you speak in riddles. You are my only Guardian, my Shield, my Lord, my Heart…”

“Elrond’s child. His children. The New Wizards. Trust him.” His voice faded quickly. “I love you, Baraermin.”

“No. Please do not leave me. Haldir, Heru en cormmin, lasto beth nîn, tolo dan nan galad. Please, oh please. Haldir, Heru en cormmin, lasto beth nîn, tolo dan-“

“Bara..ermin. I love you, Barae-“

His hand fell from her face.

“Noooooo…”

***

Severus Snape jerked straight up in bed, his head pounding, the nightmare lingering.

Her scream still ringing in his ears.

i need some help.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/assistance-for-final-arrangements-for-only-son

please

strokin’

Posted the week of: August 2003
Title: Strokin’
Author: ZeeDrippyVessel
Fandom: Tolkien
Genre: FCHet
Characters: Haldir/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer 1; I’m not Tolkien, I don’t pretend to be the Great one, I didn’t sell this, yada yada yada Don’t waste your time coming after my finances, as I have none.. My OFC is mine.
Challenge: British Charms/Fires of Heaven song fic challenge
Warnings/Spoilers: Takes place between Empty Vessel and Tel’ Lindar
Beta: Alex – bless her pea-pickin’ heart…
Timeline: Now

Summary: Haldir experiences a teenage “rite of passage” in 21st century Wales.

***

When I start makin´ love…

***

Haldir hated this “new” Middle Earth.

Only, it wasn’t Middle Earth anymore. It was Earth and this was Great Britain; Wales to be exact. According to Tel’ Lindar, this was where the Westernmost part of Middle Earth had ended up. Nothing was familiar, nothing looked the same. The air stank with pollution and filth belched from factories. The world was noisy, young people were rude; they stared at him and his fellow Elves as if there was something wrong with their ears.

“And what was wrong with my ears?” he asked one pertinent youngster who had dared approach him. “You have purple hair that stands up like ax blade. And you call me weird?”

Bronwyn had taken him into the country after that, explaining that it was a good thing they had come back earlier than planned. Had they waited, Elrond’s children – The Wizards – would have suffered, been annihilated, totally wiped off the face of the Earth. Only Gandalf, Celeborn and Elrond himself had met any of these hidden children. And only two at that: Cornelius Fudge, their Minister, and Albus Dumbledore, a wizened, very learned man in charge of teaching the English Wizarding children.

Bronwyn had been negotiating peace treaties that day with the Middle East – what a tangle that was. Softening up clans that had been fighting, arguing for a millennia. Didn’t they have anything better to do, besides fight?

Finally, the way had been paved, the Elves accepted and Bronwyn had taken Haldir to her cottage.

Her home. She said only a few months had elapsed since Duncan’s human death and the time of their return.

Located near the cliffs of Wales, it looked similar to the cottage created for them in the Undying Lands, the main difference being it did not become expansive on the inside. It was small, tight. He was not shocked at the clutteredness of it; music scattered everywhere, books piled, stashed, in every nook and cranny. Her vast array of instruments. Duncan’s things.

What had angered him, shocked him the most was walking into her kitchen, with the small table by the window. He slipped on the water that still lay puddled all over the floor and found a row of white sleeping pills, lined up on the table, left there when Tari had snatched her from her despair.

So close he had come to losing her. He could have never known her. Had she not come to him, he could have just as easily ended up a corpse at Helm’s Deep…

***

I don´t just make love…
I be strokin´ …

***

She had something on her mind, something up her sleeve. He knew it, he could feel it, sense it. She had insisted they come to the cliffs tonight, to watch the fog roll in.

He hated cars as well. Why drive in these nasty, smelly, noisy things, when one could walk or ride a horse? An airplane flew overhead.

That, he did not want to contemplate!

He scowled deeply and studied the lighthouse out on the rocky island across from him, watching its beacon flicker.

***

I stroke it to the east
And I stroke it to the west
And I stroke it to the woman that I love the best
I be strokin´ …

***

Bronwyn sat on the hood of the car, its engine still warm and ticking, watching the back of the grouchy Elf standing in front of her. She had talked him into wearing blue jeans, button downs – he had refused to zip anything over his personal parts – and a plain black long-sleeved rugby shirt, pulled taunt across the back of his broad shoulders. The color set off the moon colored hair to its best advantage and he had shoved the cuffed sleeves up to his muscular forearms. She wondered if he truly knew how delicious he looked.

Looking at him made her horny. And that was exactly the reason why she brought him out here.

***

Let me ask you somethin´…
What time of the day do you like to make love …

***

She had finally talked him back into the car. The CD player had been playing Mozart – his favorite – when she popped the CD and turned it to a soft jazz station.

“Baraermin. You know what happens when you play jazz.” he whispered, leaning over the console.

“Hmm. We dance. And you undo my top and play with my breasts.”

His lips hovered above hers. “And then other… things happen…”

“Yessssssss…”

Their lips met.

“OUCH!”

Bronwyn leaned back, watching her husband grimace and rub his stomach. “That stick poked me!” He pointed to the shifter. “Why do we not go home and finish this?”

“But Haldir,” she smiled, “why drive all the way home, when we can enjoy a teenage rite of passage right here?”

***

Have you ever made love just before breakfast ?
Have you ever made love while you watched the late, late show ?
Well, let me ask you this
Have you ever made love on a couch ?

***

“Are you positively sure this a ‘teenage rite of passage’?” The two now sat in the back seat of the vehicle, Haldir bouncing his knee nervously. ” It is tight and cramped in this space. We can go home and continue in our bed…”

“Haldir! Please tell me you are not going to chicken out?” She sat next to him, her legs slung over his thighs. She had her arms wrapped around him, sheltered under his arm. The sounds of Tommy Dorsey wafted gently through out the car and the light from the lighthouse could be seen blinking in the thin fog.

Her hand fluttered at the edge of the rugby shirt.

“This will be fun! Lighten up!”

Haldir smiled. “Fun?” he leaned down, his lips hovering over hers. “Fun? We shall see…”

She giggled.

***

´I´m strokin´,
that´s what I´m doin´,
I be strokin´´ …

***

The light from the dashboard glowed eerily, as the music changed from Tommy Dorsey to Glenn Miller. Bronwyn was now perched fully on Haldir’s lap, their hands cavorting to the Dance of Touch.

***
Let me ask you something…
How long has it been since you made love,
Huh?
Did you make love yesterday ?
Did you make love last week ?
Did you make love last year ?
Or maybe it might be
that you be plannin´ on makin´ loooooove
tonight …

***

Their lips came together playfully. Giggles and chuckles could be heard outside the vehicle. Fingers intertwined.

The windows fogged up.

***

But just remember, when you start making love
You make it hard, long, soft, short

***

Lips fused, fingers pulled on shirts and grazed skin, his abdomen tight and ribbed, hers soft, pliable. His hand brushed around the velvety skin of her waist.

Shoes were kicked off. Clothes were being thrown haphazard around the vehicle.

Some nut was on the radio singing ‘Strangers in the Night.’

“I damn well do not think so!” Haldir mumbled between kisses. His hands were on her breasts, thumbing erect nipples. Bronwyn pulled back, moaning, giving him full access to the fleshy mounds that brought such pleasure.

“Hmmm?” She moaned. “You damn well don’t think what?”

“That we are strangers in the night!”

His mouth descended on her.

The windows fogged even more, the beam from the lighthouse becoming more and more muted.

***

I stroke it to the east
And I stroke it to the west
And I stroke it to the woman that I love the best
I be strokin´

***

Their pants were slung over the front seats, and when all was said and done, they would never find their socks. Haldir sat, on the edge of the seat, leaning back, her mouth, encasing him. Her teeth drug up the sides of his shaft, sucking on his slit.

“Saes. Vorya! Saes vorya!”

She came up for a brief second for air. “Now why, pray tell, would I want to stop?” Her mouth descended again.

“A! Nai!”

***

The other night I was strokin´ my woman
And it got so good to her, you know what she told me
Let me tell you what she told me, she said:
´Stroke it Clarence Carter, but don´t stroke so fast
If my stuff ain´t tight enough, you can stick it up my…´ WOO! …

***

“Hey! Not in the car!” She now straddled him and had been bouncing to the rhythm of the song on the radio, when he withdrew and moved to her back entrance.

“Why not?” His mouth moved back to her breast… he could talk her into almost anything when he played with her nipples.

“You’ll kill your back!” She slid him back into her sheath, sighing. “Besides, the angle is wrong.”

Oh, most definitely do NOT want a wrong angle…

His hands moved to her cheeks. He cupped them and aided her in her rhythm.

***

I stroke it to the north
I stroke it to the south
I stroke it everywhere
I even stroke it with my…

***

“Baraer. I can not concentrate if you giggle!”

“I can’t help it! This is funny!”

“And what is so funny?” He peered around in the glowing cabin of the vehicle, to see her look at him over her shoulder. She was grinning from ear to ear.

“I have never done this before!” She was leaning over the front seat, her derriere in the air. “Come and get it!” She wiggled her hips, leering suggestively. He grabbed them, holding them still.

“Do not giggle!” He buried his mouth in her mons.

“Ooooooh!”

***
Now when I start making love to my woman
I don´t stop until I know she´s sas-si-fied
And I can always tell when she gets sas-si-fied
´Cause when she gets sas-si-fied she start calling my name
She´d say:

***

“Haldir… Haldir… Haldir… oh yeah… oh yeah… Saes… Yonta… yonta… Nai!… Nai!… Yes!… Yes!… Yes!…ooooooh… shit… Haldir…”

***

And be strokin´
I be strokin´
I stroke it to the east
And I stroke it to the west
And I stroke it to the woman that I love the best, huh
I be strokin´ …

***
Bronwyn was sprawled on her back. They had taken their clothes and bundled them in a wad as a make-shift pillow under her head. One leg was thrown over the back of the seat, her right foot braced on the back window, her left foot, propped on the passenger seat. Haldir was between her legs, arms braced on the back seat above her head, and the back of the driver’s seat. Her head was thrown back, hands on his backside, goading him towards climax.

The windows dripped condensation.

“Saes… Saes… Saes… Saes… Saes…”

“Nai… Nai… Nai… Nai… Nai…”

They chanted in perfect harmony.

They didn’t notice the whirling blue lights pulling up behind them…

***

Well, let me ask you this
Have you ever made love on the back seat of a car ?…

***

Tap tap tap…

Bronwyn’s movement ceased immediately.

“Oh merde!…” She clung to her panting husband.

“One minute!” Haldir yelled. He never stopped pumping.

“Haldir…” she hissed.

“I am going to come and no one is going to stop me!” Haldir never ceased his steady rhythm. He looked down at her and kissed her playfully on the nose. “So are you.” He reached to her left knee and pulled it over his shoulder, ensuring his hitting that knotted mass of muscle, high in her slick encasement. She immediately began to build and a low moan escaped despite her most valiant efforts.

Tap tap tap.

“I insist the two of you step out of the vehicle immediately.”

Haldir rolled his eyes. “Are we breaking any of their silly laws?” he whispered.

“Uhm… uhm… public indecency… oh… oh… saes…”

“Oh.”

Haldir continued his pumping; his wife almost at her peak.

He rolled down the window…

***
I remember one time I made love on the back seat of a car
And the police came and shined his light on me, and I said:

***
“What?”

The officer almost dropped his flashlight. “What in God’s name do y’be doin’?” Quickly, he steadied his hand and shined in closer on the sweating…

“Oh dear God!” He took in the ears, the blonde hair, the breadth of the shoulders. He heard a second voice… a woman’s…

“Nai… Nai… Nai… Nai… Nai… Oooooo… saeeeeeesssss…”

The officer recognized them both.

Haldir of Lothlorien.

Tel’ Lindar… his wife…

“You have children?” The Elf’s voice was tight.

“Y-y-yes.”

“Oh yesss… Oh yesss… Oh yesss… Oh yesssssss…” Her voice.

“Now you know what we are doing. Go away.” The window went back up.

The officer stumbled back to his car. He turned and yelled over to the rocking car. “Uh, I’m just going to drive to the end of the road and block anyone from coming in, so you can… uhm… have some privacy… yeah… that’s what I’ll do… uhm… have a… uhm… pleasant… evening…” He could hear the Elf in his orgasmic throes.

As he drove to the bottom of the hill, he thought to himself, “My wife never yells like that…”

***
Strokin’
Clarence Carter

A! – oh!
Yonta – more
Vorya – Don’t stop
Nai! – Yes
Saes – please
Baraer – Fiery One.

*****

THE END

*****

sad. devastated

spawn was declared brain dead 3 hours ago. i am devastated. i was talking to him 2 hours before his seizure.