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Tel Lindar 10 A little dirt with your tea, sir or the Story of Buh Buh Bobbin

21 Sunday May 2023

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fanfiction, Harry Potter, LOTR, tel lindar

Chapter 10 – A little dirt with your tea, sir or the Story of Buh Buh Bobbin

The usual disclaimers apply. You know who I am and you know who I

ain’t. You know what I claim and you know what I cain’t. IF that

don’t to it, go find the prologue…

A little dirt with your tea, sir or The Story of Buh Buh Bobbin.

Chapter 10

The room was open, really more a patio, framed by beautifully draped

trees. The wind was nippy, cold even and the area was filled with

people. Music filled the air and the Voyeur saw among the throng…

The Woman.

The Big Elf.

They stood at the front of the gathering, she dressed in a heavy

red woolen dress, exquisitely worked. The Big Elf was in blue hues

with fur trimming. The Voyeur watched her look at the red-headed

Elfling standing in front of the crowd with the Elf Lord, his

clothing resplendent as well.

Appreciative murmuring through the crowd.

“Lle naa vanima. She is beautiful.”

“Of course she is! Look at her father… her grandfather…her

mother as well…”

Two Elves the Voyeur recognized walked through the crowd. The

Prince of Greenwood, Legolas. His daughter, Orelinde…

“My son did well. She was a fine mate for him.”

The Voyeur grimaced. “I must sit through weddings, now? I think I

prefer vomiting.”

The Elf raised an elegant eyebrow. “You did specify happy memories.”

The Voyeur’s fingers flicked at unseen dust. “So tell me, was he

forced to marry her?” He remembered well the two being caught in such a… reprehensible manner…

“You mean, did he impregnate her, thereby rushing or forcing their

bonding? No. Unlike my youngest daughter and her husband-” the Big

Elf pointed out a petite blonde elleth and a tall Elf – Heridil – “-

Beckett and Orelinde had the sense to wait until after the bonding

ceremony to agree.”

“Agree?”

“Yes. Agree.” Amused blue eyes looked into the Voyeur’s black

ones. “In Elven society, two must agree mutually in order to have

children. Beckett and his lady chose to wait. Anselm and Heridil, on

the other hand…”

The Voyeur looked closely and saw the small bundle the Elf held close

to him. A tiny face peered upwards, attempting to focus and the Elf

smiled down indulgently.

“Our first grandchild. A male. An Elfling.” The Big Elf was lost in

thought for a moment. “Lord Celeborn told me once that male Elflings

were a source of pride to an Ada. A father.” He focused his eyes on

the Voyeur. “Sons who grow to be strong Elves. Girls, Elleths, she-

Elves, on the other hand, are a father’s sunshine. They are moonbeamsdancing on the linens at night. Harken to my words, there is something special about putting that pile of ruffles on your arm.”

The wind blew and seasons changed.

The Voyeur watched as the Big Elf walked the elleth through a

small group of people to the tall Elf who had become her husband.

“That was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. Baraermin

dealt with it much better.” The words were whispered in his ear and

the Voyeur sought out the Woman. Again the Elf Lord stood, speaking

solemn words, the Big Elf reluctant to turn loose of his child,

finally transferring his tight grasp to his wife, who watched with

maternal pride.

The wind blew again, whipping cruelly about the Voyeur and he found

himself standing in a huge hall, in the midst of crowds of richly

dressed people. A beautiful, dark-haired she-Elf, gently rested her

hand on the arm of a stoic, hard-muscled Man, who looked strangely

out of place and uncomfortable in his rich clothing.

“Arwen. The Evenstar of Imladris.”

“My relative…” The Voyeur was struck by the beauty of the she-Elf.

“Nay. As much as I would love to say she was too beautiful for you

to be hers, you are her direct descendant. You are one of the few to

come from her line, not the twins. You are the descendant of a great

king, one who did not want the title, one who would prefer to stay in

the background, doing what needed to be done. Quietly protecting. You are also the direct descendant of a great Elf Lord…” the Big Elf

held out his hand, gesturing…

“Behold. Lord Elrond of Rivendell.”

The Elf stood in the corner, watching his daughter. His robes were

rich in dark proportment and his face was etched, lined. He had sharp

features, a sharp nose and his mouth turned downward. His sapphire

blue eyes glittered.

“He is unhappy with his daughter’s choice.” The Voyeur mused.

“Very unhappy.”

“Why? She married a king.”

“She embraced, preferred mortality rather than life. By marrying

Ellessar, she chose a mortal life. At his death, she went into the

Golden Woods and lay on the hill of Cerin Amroth and faded. She could not bear to live without him.”

The wind blew again.

It was summer, warm, a beautiful day. A large, but intimate

gathering of people stood around and the Voyeur heard her voice.

“Celeborn? Am I getting married today?”

Apparently, she was. Escorted by the Elf Lord, Celeborn, and

dressed in a simple lace gown of white, the Voyeur watched as she was led towards the top of the hill, where the Big Elf and the Elf Lord

Elrond waited. Along the way, she was stopped, handed a rose and

whispers of love and good wishes were heaped upon her.

Except one.

“Must you marry the big, mean, ugly Elf?” The Halfling peered up at

the Woman, his eyes searching. Hers were wide in astonishment.

“Pippin was always frightened of me. I do not know why.” The Big

Elf looked nonchalantly thoughtful.

“Perhaps, it as because you are a mean, big, ugly Elf?”

The Big Elf’s smile was mirthless.

“Listen.” And from the hill, the voices of the Big Elf and the

Woman could be heard easily.

“…I’d give up forever to speak with you,

to hear my name on your lips.

I would give up forever to talk with you,

to share with you your dreams.

I would give up forever to sing with…”

And the Big Elf’s vows droned on. She answered in an equally strong

voice.

“Entreat me not to leave thee or to return from following after thee:

for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge, thy people shall be my people and thy God, my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.”

The scenery froze.

The Big Elf turned towards the Voyeur.

“The hardest thing I had ever done was give my beloved daughter away to an Elf. A strong Elf, a loving Elf, who I liked and admired. He

was good to her and for her. He was a wonderful Ada, father to the

children she bore him.”

“But now, I am asked to do something even more difficult. I must give

my Heart, My most precious jewel, to one I do not know. To one I do

not think appreciates her. To one who does not understand her. You do not comprehend her gifts, her calling, nor her burdens.”

“She is the very air I breathe. Saes… please. Help her. Help her

find her bow.” The Big Elf laid a single finger across the lips of

the Voyeur and he found himself chanting with the Elf…

She is our greatest treasure, our Air, she is our heart.

Our heart… our heart…

Ours…

***

Well you think that you can take me on

You must be crazy

There ain’t a single thing you’ve done

That’s gonna phase me

Oh, but if you want to have a go

I just want to let you know

Get off my back and into my game

Get off my back

Bryan Adams

***

Celeborn stayed for three days, talking to Dumbledore, Rumil, riding

with Bronwyn and Hagrid.

Observing Snape.

Which was fine with Severus, because he watched the Elf Lord in

turn.

The Wizard did not understand or like the touchy-feely relationship

Bronwyn had with Celeborn. It unnerved him, made him feel…

If he did not know better, he would have sworn he was feeling the

stirrings of jealousy.

But he knew better and just continued to watch.

And when the Elf Lord left, Bronwyn and Snape escorted him to the

train.

“Tithen Aras, I will return soon for Rumil. Please be prepared.”

The petulant pout Snape was so familiar with presented itself in its

full glory.

“Do not do that to me, Celeborn. Please. He is a great source of

comfort.”

An elegant eyebrow arched, as the Elf raised a long, graceful finger

and wagged it under her nose. “Do not attempt to gainsay me,

sweetling. You have had him an enormous time, however I need my March Warden and you need to prepare for your students.” His eyes raised to the Dark Wizard beside her. “Not to mention, you have other things that need attending.” Bronwyn scowled at him.

Celeborn playfully scowled back.

“Do not think to use your tears on me. I am immune!”

“Bull shite.”

For all of his beauty and elegance, Celeborn’s snort was neither. He

drew her into his embrace and kissed her on her forehead. “Do not

scowl so. You will get a furrow identical to this Wizard’s here and

then we would not be able to tell the two of you apart.” Severus

snorted at that. “You have much to do. I will be back soon. Hopefully, the two of you will have made some progress. I will be most happy to hear about it.” And with a quick kiss on the corner of her mouth, Celeborn boarded the train.

Bronwyn waited and waved until it rounded the corner and was

completely out of sight.

“Come, Bronwyn. I have cauldrons to administer to and you have things to do.” Severus tucked her hand in his elbow and led her back to the school.

***

The days passed slowly. Knowing their time together was drawing to a

close, Rumil and Bronwyn spent an enormous amount of it together,

shooting, fletching arrows, talking, singing, remembering. Celeborn

had loaned her his lute, as her guitar was not usable in its current

state. She had Haldir’s harp, but it sat on her mantle, in a place of

honor of sorts next to her teddy bear. Many evenings, she and Rumil

would sit outside Hagrid’s door, each with an acoustical instrument

and `folk-jamming.’ And if Wizards and Witches seemed to stroll by

often, or sit outside to enjoy the weather, it was not noted or

remarked on too terribly much. The music was elaborate in its

simplicity and while Hagrid was not a lovely singer, he did make

lovely melodies on his wooden flute, harmonizing with the strings of

the Elf and Woman.

***

Get out of my way and out of my brain

Get outta my face or give it you best shot

I think it’s time you better face the fact

Get off my back

Get off my back

Bryan Adams

***

His head hurt. His neck hurt. His back hurt. Hell, everything hurt

and Bronwyn was purely vexed at his refusal to do anything about it.

So she decided enough was enough.

“Severus!”

She was in her accustomed spot – on a stool in front of his caldrons,

poking her nose into each and every one. She was swinging her feet

and ruffling Amadeus’ fur with each pass.

“Bronwyn, do you have nothing better to do?” Severus scowled, eyes

glittering through the steam. “Where is Rumil?”

“With Madame Hooch.”

“Ah.”

“Or is it Minerva tonight? Maybe Russ…” her voice trailed off. “I

don’t know…”

“Whatever. Go pester Remus.”

“Full moon tonight.” She shrugged an apology.

“Filch? Albus?”

“Severus!” He completed his stirring and looked wearily at the woman

sitting across from him. “Your head aches. Please let me help.”

“No.”

“Bah!” She smacked the counter, the sound rousing the sleeping wolf

at her feet. “You are worse than any two year old I have ever

met. `No’ to this, `no’ to that. You are an irritating man!”

Snape raised his eyebrows and began to pull ingredients from a nearby shelf.

When he turned around, she was gone. He looked around the counter. Amadeus still lay where he had been, under her chair, dark blue eyes staring holes…

“Do you not wish to join her?”

Amadeus proceeded to gnaw on the leg of the chair, flashing white

canines shining eerily in the gloom of the room.

She breezed back through the door, carrying vials, several pouches,

and a small pot. She passed the chair, the counter, heading straight

across the classroom, into…

… his private chambers?

“Bronwyn. What are you doing?” Scowling, he came around the counter and followed her.

She was not in the sitting area.

Damn it all, she was…

“Get out of my chambers! You have quite a bit of… what are you

doing?” He watched as she set the small metal container next to his

bed and proceeded to arrange oils next to it. Quickly, she measured

different liquids and poured them into the bowl and with the flick of

a lighter, lit the small candle beneath it. She turned back around

and scooping up the vials, she brushed past him as she exited the

room.

“Bronwyn. I ask…”

“Uma, yes, yes, you asked a question.” She never looked back. “I am

going to see what I can do about your headache, whether you like it

or not.” She went around the counter and gently placed the vials

down. She began to look around, under the counter, on the shelf.

Amadeus continued to gnaw quite happily on the stool leg.

In response to her rattling around his bins, Severus rubbed his

temples. “I do not desire your help in this.”

“Dammit to hell! You don’t get it, do you, Severus?” Bronwyn turned

on him, hand on her hip. “Your headache is giving me one! I don’t

know why…”

“Hal – DEAR never gave you a headache?”

“No!” She smacked the counter again. “HalDEAR had the good sense to allow me to minister to him when they began!”

The Potions Master continued to rub on his temples, vexed at her

argument. “I really do not desire your Elvish magic…”

” Listen close and listen carefully, you self-serving, uptight

Neithadol! I really don’t give a warg’s arse what you do or do not

desire at this point.” Her voice was clipped, sharp and his eyes

popped open at her angry tone. “Your headache is killing me! You

aren’t resting, you haven’t had a decent nights sleep in even you

don’t know how long. And you talked about me not being any good to

you if I didn’t eat! Well, you are no good to me if you are falling

over exhausted with a migraine! I promise I will not embarrass you or

ask you to do something unnatural… well… whatever is unnatural

for you!” She began to look around again. “I need a small pot…” she

made a small circle with her hands, eyes never leaving the

shelf, “… about so big…”

Severus sighed angrily and rolled his eyes, setting the headache off

on another tangent of throbs. “I do not have pots, madam! I have

cauldrons!”

“Fine! A small cauldron will do!” She held her circled fingers towards him.

“Bronwyn, I do not desire your help in this!”

She narrowed her eyes in anger. “Fine. I’ll just use this one here.”

She nodded to a rather large cauldron that was empty. She flicked her

lighter, the flame dangerously high.

“Bronwyn, no!” He reached out a grabbed the lighter from her

hand. “The one on your left is dangerously flammable!” She swung her hand over the cauldrons, attempting to grab the lighter from him.

Realizing that she would be unable to retrieve the small appliance,

she reiterated her request, her fingers encircled. “About so big!”

He stared at her, unbelieving her cheek. “Bronwyn, I…”

“Severus. Please.” she pleaded softly. “Saes.”

She looked completely worn down. Did he truly affect her as she

affected him? “Honestly, Severus, what could it hurt?”

Let her try.

“Over there.” he pointed. “There are beakers on the top shelf.” She smiled, nodding her head in thanks and quickly retrieved a small

receptacle from the spot. He had her set up away from the different

cauldrons and watched with interest as she began to carefully pour

different oils into the small vessel.

“What is all that?” It was interesting as the tables turned and he

sat on the stool, watching her through the steam, for a change.

“Chamomile, lavender, peppermint.” She carefully watched the tiny

drop slowly fall into the glass. “Just a small bit of peppermint.”

She made a funny smile and poured a healthy dollop. “Alright! A lot

of peppermint!” Another drop. “Rosemary. Melissa.” She switched to

the pouches and began to sprinkle herbs. “Sage, French Clary Sage, to be exact, piperitol… would you conjure large pot of tea?… ah…”

she was digging through the small leather bags, “there it is… aloe

and glycerin!” The oils were simmering and she used a long, glass

stir stick to swirl the combined oils. “Is the tea ready?”

Severus nodded towards the teapot the house elf had brought and

levitated it her way. Watching it set gently next to her, she removed

the lid and began to drop differing herbs into it.

“What are you putting in the tea?”

“I have no idea.” She admitted. “Lord Elrond gave it to me when I

needed to relax and I need you to relax.” She took in his look of

apprehension and laughed. “Loosen up, Severus. I am not going to kill

you. As much as I hate to admit it, I need you alive and well! So

here!” She stirred the liquid and put the lid back on, handing it to

him. “Drink up! It’s not addictive and it won’t knock you out!”

He poured out a cupful and sipped.

And promptly spat it back out.

“Madam! This tastes like…”

“Dirt. I know.” she smiled. “I often accused Elrond of trying to pull

one over on me and lying to me, but he insisted it was not and it

does work.” She flicked her fingers at him. “Besides, you gave me

that nasty shite when I had the bruises, so drink up!”

Slowly, he sipped the vile liquid, watching her closely.

Watched her swirl the oils in the vessel.

Watched her fingers caress the top, slide up and down the neck.

Watched the heat of her gaze…

“How much longer, Bronwyn?”

She did not look up, smiling down into the oils. “When you finish

your tea.” She removed the glass vial from the flame. “And as soon as

this cools.”

Severus poured the final dregs from the teapot. “And exactly what are

you going with that mixture and that which is in my room?”

She blew into the beaker, attempting to cool the oil faster. “The

oils in your room will create a pleasant scent designed to soothe

you.”

Oh joy, he thought, snidely. A soothed Snape. Wouldn’t his students

love to get a hold of that mixture!

“And the oil you have brow-beaten me into concocting here in my lab?”

She walked around the counter and looked at the beastie at Severus’

feet.

“Amadeus. Stop chewing on Professor Snape’s stool.” The wolf took one long look at the woman, mouth open and clamped on the wooden leg. Growling low, he took one last vicious chomp at the wood and then stood up, trotting into the Potions Master’s private rooms.

“Bronwyn, I do not want that hound in my chambers. And you did not

answer my question!”

She had moved behind him, soft hands planting themselves on his

shoulders.

Her lips on his ear.

“What was the question?”

He felt her playfulness, her desire… her need to…

Let her try.

…relax him…

“The question was how will you use the oil in that beaker to ease my

headache?” He continued to stare at the cauldrons in front of him. He

felt her smile against his ear.

“Khila Amin.” She squeezed his shoulders and turned loose. He spun

around quickly, only to see her heading towards his door.

“In English, madam!”

Bronwyn stopped in the doorway. The man was simply exasperating! “I said `khila amin’, Severus. Follow me.” Before she could get through

the door, he had pulled out his wand and levitated her back in front

of him.

She was not happy.

“I asked and I asked very nicely, madam, exactly how you plan to use

that oil,’ he used his wand to point to the beaker, “to ease this

headache?” He used the same slender rod to gesture to his head.

“You know, if you insist on using your magic on me, I’ll be forced to

use mine on you!” she gently chided.

“Ah.” He replaced his wand and nodded. “You will shatter all my

beakers with rap shite and then melt me like you did that most

unfortunate dragon.”

Her eyes fell, smoldering embers on the floor. Snape noticed the wolf

now standing in the doorway of his chambers, eyes on her. She

clutched the beaker and the pouch close to her breasts. He felt

her…tamp down…

“You know, ” her voice was forced between clenched teeth, “I wanted

to do this nicely. But you won’t allow it. No niceties in your life, nope!” Her head jerked up and he could see eyes shining in angry, unshed tears. “You think I glory in my grief and maybe I do. Well, you glory in your own self-inflicted guilt. And you enjoy it!”

Severus rose up, standing over her and was minutely pleased that she did not back down. “What would you know of guilt, madam? What would you know of the atrocities I have committed in the name of good and in the name of evil?” He took a breath to continue, only to have her hand shoved up in his face.

“Talk to the hand, arsehole! What do I know of guilt? One word. Smut.

Okay, I lied. Three words; Smut the Dragon. But he is neither here

nor there. The point is, I’m trying to help, you are being a total

wanker and I’m tired of it! I can’t rest when you thrash…”

“I cannot sleep because your husband will not give me a minute’s

peace!” he roared over her.

“Haldir isn’t the issue here, so fuck Haldir!”

“You have fucked him, madam! Perhaps you could have a little chat

with him?”

The furnace was stoked and he felt her tamp down once more.

And she smiled.

In that second, he knew what a smile for an Orc was.

“You have a choice.”

“Really?” he snarled. “That would be a first.”

“Yeesssss!” Her eyes narrowed. “I am giving you a choice. Choice A:

You allow me to tend to your headache.”

“And choice B?”

“You suffer until the Valar cry `uncle’. And, Severus?” she leaned

towards him and smiled sweetly, “I’ve had major dealings with one or

two of the Valar. They NEVER cry `uncle’.”

The wolf stared, grinning.

“Your choice.” she stepped back, totally engrossed in her pouches.

Let her try…

Severus rubbed his temples. Now that wretched husband of hers was

haunting his thoughts in the day…

“You can guarantee… relief?”

“Trust me.” She held her hand out to him. “Saes. Khila Amin.” As

quickly as the fire had risen, it lowered, changing… “Please. I

just want to help.”

As he followed her into his rooms, he realized her scent had

changed…

…to that of late summer raspberries.

***

There’s something about the silent type

Attracting me to you

All business baby none of the hype

oooh… just

Shut up and kiss me…

Shut up and kiss me

Mary Chapin Carpenter

***

By the time he reached his room, she was there. The scented oils had

enveloped the room, permeating it with a pleasing… alright, damn it

all… a relaxing essence. It pained him to admit it, but that much was right. He stopped behind her, as she turned around and looked up

at him.

“I need you to take off your shirt.”

Eyebrows arched up. “What?” It was whispered, a dangerous tone every student feared.

But she was not a student.

“I need for you to take off your shirt.” She flipped her fingers. “Hurry. I don’t want this to get too cool.” The vial was offered up; a sacrifice for the relief of his pain.

“Bronwyn. We are back to my original question that you have never

answered. What, pray tell, are you going to do with that oil?”

“You haven’t guessed yet?” Her smile widened. “I am going to give you a backrub…”

“A backrub?”

The smile was replaced by a rather screwed face.

“Severus? Are you having difficulty hearing me?” She took in his

serious face, unaltering , deep stare. “Mass-sage…” Her fingers

worked in an infinite circle. “Come on, the oil is cooling. Take it

off.”

“Madam, I truly think…”

“Look!” She tossed the pouch on the stand next to the bed and that

same hand went directly to her hip. “You have nothing that I already

haven’t seen, so don’t be shy! Now your shirt… sir!”

His fingers went to the buttons, slowly undoing the fastenings. “Is

there anything else you would like removed?”

“No, but would you give me my lighter back? The oil has cooled to

much!”

Instead, Severus, with his shirt now unbuttoned, took the glass flask

from her and with a few words, reheated the small vial. As he

concentrated on the task, she took the free moment to admire the

finely ribbed abdomen, the muscles across a lean chest, the slight

layering of crisp, black ha…

“Madam?” He was holding the vial towards her.

“Ah, yes.” her smile brightened and she watched as he shrugged from

the fine linen clothing. She quickly looked around. “I guess you

should lay on the bed. I can reach you better.”

His eyebrow arched sardonically as he advanced. “Are you quite sure

that I am… safe from your… charms?” His eyes never left hers.

“My charms? I have no charms! I have a warm bottle of oil and that’s

it!” Her voice was too bright, too fast, her smile, too wide. Just

wait, he thought to himself.

He did not have to wait long.

The moment he turned his back to her and turned towards the bed, the gasp he knew he would hear escaped from her.

“Oh, sweet Elbereth. Who did this to you?”

It was a whispered, pained and despite trying to prepare for it and

pretending it mattered not, Severus closed his eyes in self-loathing,

despising the pity in her voice.

His back looked as if someone had beat him with a whip. The skin was not broken, yet the muscles beneath were lashed, knotted. Her hand immediately went to the scarred muscles, the anguish in her

utterance…

“Who did this to you? Tell me!”

“It does not matter, Bronwyn.” He did not realize he had reverted

back to her name. “He is dead.” His tone was harsh, clipped.

“Fine!” She pushed herself in front of him. “Resurrect him, so I can

kill him properly!”

Her anger was righteous and he grimly smiled at the fierce, small

tiger in front of him. Had it been not five minutes previous, she had

stood up to him and with the same anger aimed at him, told him the

Valar did not cry uncle?

“Bronwyn, it does not pain me. It is tight at times, stiff…”

She moved behind him, her touch cool, gently stroking the ridges

created. “Small wonder you have a headache.” Like a sigh, he felt her

lips brush the middle of his back, her fingers lightly caressing. “What did this? What curse?”

“I would suspect a dozen too many Cruciatus.”

She peered around him, worry etched on her features. “A Cruciatus?”

“A rather ugly, Unforgivable curse.”

It was quiet for a few moments, while she continued to stroke his

back. “Voldemort?”

Usually.

Sometimes.

“Aye.”

More silence. “His death. It was painful? Wretched?”

“It was not pleasant.”

“Good!”

Snape turned and gazed down at her. Her countenance was fierce,

protective…

She is the Mother; protective of those she cares for…

He shook his head, to get the Big Elf’s voice from his thoughts.

“Blood-thirsty little thing, are you not?”

Her eyes slid, upwards into his. “Lie down.”

Severus lay on the large bed, resting his head on curled arms. He

felt the mattress dip, as she climbed on the bed and straddling him,

settled herself gently on his posterior.

“Are you… comfortable?” His tone was mocking. He felt her fingers

brushing his long hair to the side, exposing his spine, his neck. She

wiggled, pressing him into the mattress.

His body responded and he was glad he was on his stomach, hidden from her. The desire to turn over and impale her was overwhelming.

“Ah, I believe I told you some weeks back I rather like hard arses.”

He felt the warm liquid drizzle onto his spine. “And you have a hard

arse.”

Ah, he thought to himself, but my arse was not what you were talking

about at the time. Her fingers roamed, making small circles. Her

right index finger dragged slowly up his spine, to his neck. Gentle

music rose in the air, complementing the serene atmosphere of the

room.

“Your headache,” she began, “is sharpest at the right temple. It

radiates outward and behind your right eye, making it throb. Both

temples ache and your forehead is numb.”

She was right.

“How can you tell all that?”

“Just know. Your neck does not feel right.” He felt her press the

heel of her hand against the bottom of his neck. “Tuck your chin in.”

He did so and as she pressed upwards hard, he felt the bones of his

neck pop.

The pain at his temples quickly dissipated. The heel of her hands

moved back down his spine. She instructed him to pinch his nose hard and focus on the pain he was creating. Within minutes, the throbbing behind his eye lessened.

“And now for these nasty mothers.” Slowly, her fingers trailed along

the ridged scars. She drizzled more heated oil and slowly began to

knead, work the muscle back and forth. “Severus, I know I can help

with the headache I cause, but I don’t know if I can do anything

about…”

“Do not worry.” His voice was soft, lulled. “It has helped a great

deal already.” He was focusing in on the lilting music. “Bronwyn.

What are we listening to?”

“Teleman” she whispered. “A flute concerto.” She paused in

thought. “Funny, I forget which one in which key. Strange.”

“Pretty.”

Slowly, methodically, she worked his shoulders and back, kneading the injured muscles. Her fingers worked in circles, stretching, pulling

back, softening, wound and knotted strips of flesh.

His breathing began to deepen.

“Severus?”

“Yesssssss…”

“Any cauldron in there that will need tending in the next few hours?”

Quiet.

“The Arin… the royal blue one on the far right. I will need to stir

it at 11:45.”

“Any type of stroke in particular?”

Deep breathing…

“Forty… three… coun…ter clockwise…”

Within minutes, he was fast asleep.

Bronwyn continued to work on twisted muscles, diligently tending to

the charge under her care, occasionally seeing the curse thrown that

caused it, the pain and suffering he had endured. She came across a

fading tatoo… mark on his arm that caused her heart to catch when

she saw it. Lightly, she brushed her fingers over it and …

Screams, endless screams, pain…

A woman’s face, terrified…

“Please do not hurt me! I’ll tell you anything, please…”

“I am sorry…”

Regret.

Sorrow.

Deep sorrow.

Guilt.

She jerked back her hands.

Severus had been correct. She knew nothing of his guilt. What he had

done for The Cause…

Tears falling into the oils, she continued her ministrations, her

mind working on what she had glimpsed. After 45 minutes, the muscles, while not perfectly smoothed, were greatly improved and she looked down at the sleeping man between her legs. She stroked the lines, not as pronounced on his face, in sleep. Tucking an errant lock of hair behind his ear, she leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on the lobe.

“Haldir, please let him sleep.” she whispered. “He is no good to me,

exhausted.”

Amadeus sat at the foot of the bed, listening intently.

***

I need a sign to let me know you’re here;

‘Cause my TV set just keeps it all from being clear.

I want a reason for the way things have to be;

I need a hand to help build up some kind of hope inside of me.

And I’m, calling all angels.

Calling all Angels

Train

***

It was after midnight.

Bronwyn sat in a leather chair, Amadeus at her feet. She had sent

Bobbin to get Professor Dumbledore to stir the cauldron Severus

needed stirred. As she had no magic, she doubted her ministration

would have been enough. The elderly wizard had stirred and counted

and told Bronwyn to get some rest. As he stepped up to the fireplace

to floo back to his quarters, he turned back to her.

“You have been good for him. To him. I thank you for that.”

She had rolled her eyes and waved him on.

Now she sat, several books from Severus’ private library stacked next

to her. Bobbin had stoked the fire and brought her a blanket to tuck

around her feet. He had fetched her a glass of white wine and sat in

the darkened corner, expectantly. The book in her hand dipped

dangerously low.

“Bobbin?”

“Yes, Missy Bronwyn?” The house elf felt comfortable with this

professor. She had a soft voice with him and was kind. She thanked

him. He crept from the corner and stood in front of her. “Would Missy

Bronwyn be wanting food? Another drink or book?”

“N’uma.” Bobbin liked it when she spoke her Elvish language. It

sounded soothing, melodic…

Familiar.

“Come, sit near me.”

Looking around and hearing nothing but the snoring from the bedroom

where Snape slept, the diminutive elf crept up and perched on the arm

of the chair where she sat.

“May I ask you some questions?”

“Oh, Bobbin will answer anything, any question Missy Bronwyn has.”

His face dropped somewhat. “Bobbin does not know if he knows the

answers, but he will try.”

Bronwyn smiled and patted the tiny being on the hand. “How old are

you?”

“Oh, Bobbin is quite young. 104!”

“And how old will you live to be?”

“Bobbin’s grandparents are still alive. They are over 300.”

“Interesting.” she mused. “Bobbin? What can you tell me about your

ancestors? Are you kin to the Elves I came with from Valinor?”

Bobbin regarded her for a moment, as if to size her up.

“Bobbin’s ancestors were Orcs, Missy Bronwyn.”

She caught her breath. Orcs were Elves, captured, tortured, by

Saruman…

“What happened? How did Orcs become house elves?”

Bobbin’s eyes grew bigger, deep in thought.

“Some Orcs does not wants to fight. Does nots want to die. They live

peacefully to the East.”

Bronwyn had recorded whispers of quiet Orc communities, lying far to

the east of Mordor. They came to agreements with Aragorn, Ellesar, King of Gondor. Living away…

“But some want to… atone…”

“Atone for what?”

Bobbin seemed to shrink, frightened of the information she

requested. “They wish to work their way. Be forgiven. For wrongs.

They wanted to be Elves again.”

Bronwyn was mesmerized by the story the little elf was telling her.

“What happened?”

“They went West.” His eyes dropped downwards and his voice became a hoarse whisper. “They found the Warrior Twins.”

Bronwyn sat up at the news. Warrior Twins. There could only be one

set of Warrior Twins…

Elladan.

Elrohir.

Her grandchildren’s fathers.

“And what did the Warrior Twins do?” The sons of Elrond slew every

Orc they could lay hands to. After the capture and torture of their

mother, Celebrian, they had been relentless, merciless in their attempts to

eradicate the abomination of the Orcs. Their prowess was legend;

Bronwyn had seen it first hand, they worked together as a well oiled

machine. That the Orcs had sought them out, they must have been

desperate indeed.

Bobbin was becoming rather agitated, his fingers winding, threading

amongst themselves. “The Orcs pleaded with the Warrior Twins. Said

they do anything to prove themselves and be forgiven. They would even be servants.”

“So they became servants to the twins and their children.”

“Yes, Missy Bronwyn. They… we don’t want to be bads anymore. We be good elves.” His eyes were pleading, begging for acceptance. She

leaned over and took the elf’s hand.

“Yes, Bobbin. You are good elves.” She squeezed his fingers gently

and smiled. For a moment, the little elf, sighed in relief. “One more

question, Bobbin. Are there any stories of the Twins death? When they died? Where they died?

Bobbin smiled, a beautiful sight, really and they were so rare.

“Missy Bronwyn. They are not dead.”

“Not… dead?”

Bobbin leaned forward, his whisper, conspiratorial . The smile left

his face and he became suddenly serious; awed…

“Oh, no, Missy Bronwyn. The Warrior Twins still live.”

***

TBC

***

As before, Haldir’s vows were written by Lisa Dawn Doyle. I have permission to use it. Bronwyn’s vows are from the Book of Ruth

Tel Lindar 08 – A Game of Chicken or the Undertaker’s Creed

05 Friday May 2023

Posted by zeesmuse in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

fanfiction, hp, LOTR

Chapter 8 –

A Game of Chicken or the Undertaker’s Creed.

**

        He saw her coming up the hill, the sun glaring off the sword strapped to her back. Her head was down and words flowed from her lips in a litany.

        Mutterings.

        “…following peasant rebellion, ousting the Mongol rule,  Zhu Yuanzhang established the Ming Dynasty, the last of the native Chinese rule, in 1368. Historically he is known as Emperor Taizu. At the height of the Dynasty…”

        The mutterings of a madwoman.

        He saw the nightmare, the trap she was walking into. He opened his mouth to warn her, but no sound issued forth. He made a grab for his wand, but the wand’s casing, where he kept it hidden at his side, was empty. He could only watch in horror.

        She looked up from her musings to find herself loosely surrounded by four humanoid monsters. They stood over seven feet tall, muscular, rows of razor- sharp teeth grinning. They wore leather jerkins and had long, black hair, tied in top knots.

        These were machines; living, breathing machines, bred to kill.

        Uruk-hai.

        He watched her drop her pack, her roll, with a sigh and the knives slung in her holster where immediately out and spinning on her fingers. She perused the wide circle with a calmness that was alarming.

        “Come.” he heard her whisper. “Come, my darlings. Come to Beavis.”

        Before the Uruk-hai could tighten their circle, her knives had flown into the neck of one. They returned to her and she threw the knives again, decapitating the first Uruk-hai. She aimed and threw the blades at the second, with the same results.

        The two remaining rushed her. With not enough room to complete the task at hand, she slung the knives into opposite directions, clipping the hamstrings of both, bringing them to their knees; buying her time. She beheaded the closest one and began to advance on the remaining one, who had unsteadily regained his feet. The knives were spinning like tops on her fingertips.

        The Voyeur was disgusted by the exchange taking place. The monster – the Uruk-hai – began to deride her, egg at her, thriving on the pain. Her knives flew into his stomach. He grabbed at them and pulling them from his body, licked the blood and gore from them, snarling, laughing at her. They flew from the Uruk-hai’s hands, cutting them, slicing them, the handles neatly returning to her. The Uruk-hai continued to taunt her. Throws that would kill an ordinary man, did not seem to faze the monster. She finally threw her knives point down into the ground in frustration and unsheathed her sword.

        The Voyeur had witnessed killings, had participated in killings before, but never like this. What he had participated in was internal; this was gruesome in its very brutality.

        She started with its… his arms; the Uruk-hai continued his rant, never ending, never  stopping, her sword answering his… its goading taunts.  Body parts flew.

        “Elf-whore. You do not have the guts to kill me…”

        The sword moved, swiftly, parallel to the ground and the… thing’s head flew several feet, the blade severing through muscle, bone, and hair in one, foul swoop. Black, raucous blood spurted from the severed artery.

        And at that point, she lost it. The voyeur watched her gaze, her very eyes turn red with blood lust. With a hoarse yell, she attacked the motionless bodies of the Uruk-hai, arms, legs, intestines flying…    

        And everything froze.

        The wind blew through the long hair of the Voyeur.

        “She will do what she must.”

        The Voyeur  turned, looking for the voice. The Big Elf stood next to him.

        “She will do what she must.” He pointed to the hill, where she now knelt on her knees, spewing the contents of her stomach. The Voyeur looked on in horror at the devastation, the destruction that one, solitary woman created.

        “Do not blame her.”

        He whipped his head around to the Elf, his hair in his eyes.

        “Blame her? Why…!”

        “Do not blame her. They would have raped her, abused her, tortured her. They would have toyed with her until she lost her mind. She would have become another Celebrian.” The Elf looked in sorrow at the heaving woman. “These were dark times in a dark place. Would be that she was not living in them again.” Both Elf and Voyeur looked over to the knoll, where she continued to be sick. “She will hit the wall. She will hit it soon, she will hit it hard and you must be there.  She will have no choice but to not only admit to, but to accept the inevitable. Her wrath will be swift, vile. She will spew her fury at what the Valar have done to her in an uncontrollable frenzy.  Men, Wizards, Elves will fall beneath her foot and the glass will shatter. She is my greatest treasure, my most precious jewel. Help her.”

        In silence, the Elf began to pile the bodies, the body parts and set them afire. And as the watcher looked on, he heard her voice whisper to him on the wind…

        ‘Reservo mea. Reservo mea.’

        Severus fell from the bed, stumbling straight for the bathroom, his own stomach retching. The smell of blood and bile was thick within the confines of his room. And as he leaned on the coolness of the porcelain, he heard again her words…

        Save me. Save me.

***

        Despite the unusually pleasant evening between the two, Bronwyn emotionally withdrew into herself, clinging to the last vestiges of her grief. She remained remote and did not venture from her chambers late again.

        Severus could sense her tamping her emotions, her fury down into a small, hidden box. It was if she had decided that if she refused to think on it, it would go away.

        But her anger festered. Snape could feel it churning at her insides.

        The rains continued, tapering off to an irritating mist, most days. She developed a cough, a nagging, tickling cough that she refused aid for. She drank endless cups of hot tea, peppermint sticks stirred or crushed in the pot. Her obstinance irritated Severus, as did the smell of peppermint which permeated even his rooms. During the days, she roamed the corridors, talking to portraits, joking with Sir. Nicolas, cursing Peeves.

        Pestering Argus Filch.

        “So, have you EVER truly beaten a student? Or is that just wishful thinking on your part?”

        Filch glared, his faithful kitty companion, Mrs. Norris clutched to his breast.

        “Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?”

        “Nope. Figure you had been here awhile. You could tell me a few things.” Bronwyn sat gingerly on his desk, bare toes dangling over the floor, munching on an apple.

        “I do not wish to talk to you! Go away.”

        She smiled and swung herself noiselessly to the floor. “Well, I would think it’s been a while since a woman came to talk to you, you would be pleased.” She sashayed to the door. “Guess I was wrong.”

        “Guess you were.” Filch waited until she had left, before addressing the cat.

        “She’s weird, she is.”

***

        Severus walked on cat’s paws into her private chambers, listening to commotion upstairs.

        “Remus! Honey please! Put your hand, here, like this!”

        A raven winged eyebrow lifted. What on earth were they doing?

        “The Wizard is most inept, lirimaer.” Ah, the Elf as well? Two of them, at once? What kind of deviant life – style had she led in this Undying Land of hers?

        “Now, wait a minute!” Remus’ voice was raised a slight notch. “I have never done this before! Give me a chance!”

        Sounds of her placating the Werewolf could be heard. While keeping his ears attuned to the goings on in the room above him, Severus removed the snake armband from his robes, looking for somewhere inconspicuous to place it.

        “Remus. Pay no heed to Rumil. He and I have been doing this for years and so, he has a great deal of practice.” In his minds eye, Severus could ‘see’ her glowering at the Elf. But practice at what?

        “Here, Remus… put your hand… there….  Nai…… yesssss… now move your hips.. No… no…. you would scare a girl thrusting your hips like that… ouch! Nononono!…”

        “I’m sorry. I am so clumsy.”

         ” It’s okay…”

        “He does not have the…”

        “Rumil! Be quiet! You are supposed to be helping!”

        Slowly, Severus turned around and spied the small door near the entrance of her private chambers.

        Her office. So small and innocuous, so easy to forget. He crept to the doorway.

        “Here honey.” Snape grimaced at the use of the endearment. “Put you hand back here and watch how you move that thing this time.” The Potion Master stepped through the doorway.

        “Lumos.” he whispered.

        If her chambers were pleasantly cluttered, this room was a disorganized mess! Stacks and stacks of parchment, books, lay everywhere. A long, archer’s bow – Haldir’s, apparently –  stood in the corner, the string hanging loose next to the polished wood.  Another portfolio of drawings lay on the desk, but it was surrounded by piles and piles of music, small round silver discs… he scanned the titles of several books…

        Choral Arranging – expanded edition by Hawley Ades.  Twentieth Century Music  – a history of musical style in modern Europe and America by Robert P. Morgan, Yale University . A History of Keyboard Literature by Stewart Gordon.

        He picked up the nearest book.

        Mostly Harmless. Douglas Adams.

        Seeing a dark recess beneath papers and books, Severus gently stowed the armband beneath it.  Deactivating the lighting spell, he turned around to go back towards the stairs.

        And almost tripped over Amadeus.

        “Remus. Tell you what. Watch Rumil one more time. Rumil… yes. Watch how he holds me… see?”

        Snape stared at the creature at his feet. There was disdain on its face as the wolf peered around to see what the Dark Professor had been into and made a sound horribly similar to the noise one makes when air escapes angrily between one’s teeth. Amadeus chuffed in annoyance and nosed his way around Snape, retrieving the arm band and going up the stairs, with the band gently clamped in his jaws. As he reached the midway point, he looked back at Snape, the message in his eyes clear.

        Are you coming up or not?

        “Remus, see how he….”

        “I get it! Let me! Let me!” The sounds of shuffling bodies could be heard and as Severus came up the stairwell, the sounds of Tommy Dorsey rose from the walls.

        Oh Gods. She was teaching Remus to dance.

***

Clap for the Wolfman

He gonna rate your record high

(If you got the curves baby, I got the angles)

Clap for the Wolfman

You go Diggin’

‘Til the day you die!

(You thought she was diggin’ you, but

She was diggin’ me!)

Clap for the Wolfman

Guess Who

***

        The rains eventually tapered off, the lawns sodden, almost flooded. She awoke one morning to bright sunshine coming through the clear ceiling of the sunroom, its playful rays dancing over the room, into the confines of her bed.

        “Wake up! Wake up!” Rumil’s voice pierced the quiet. The covers were jerked from her body, as she stretched. Amadeus made a grumbling noise and he rooted down beneath the covers next to her body.

        “Yrch, Rumil! You are an Orc! Go away!” Bronwyn rolled over and snuggled into the furry coat of the wolf.

        “Bronwyn! It is a beautiful day out! Let us not sit in this dreary fortress, but go outside and do something… outdoorsy!” Had she rolled over and looked at her brother – in – law, she would have been caught up in his infectious smile.

        But she did not roll over, nor did she open her eyes. Instead, she put her head under her pillow. “Go have fun!” Her hand waved uselessly in the air.

        The pillow flew away from the bed. “Oh please, Lirimaer! Come with me and shoot arrows or throw knives or grab your sword. ‘Tis too beautiful a morning to loll in bed!”

        Yes, it was, she wanted to say. Many mornings long ago…

        Long ago….

        No. Past was past. No use lingering or grieving…

***

        Severus looked up from his cauldron, only his eyes moving; moving towards her rooms. He felt it, felt her grief and desire well up quickly, only to be pushed down, pushed aside. His eyes narrowed. She no longer desired to sleep; she was corking the bottle herself and heating it to a dangerous level. If she did not accept the inevitable and culminate her grieving – and soon – she would completely collapse.  He resumed the methodical stirring, his eyes, his mind continually focused on the happenings across the hall.

***

        She rolled over and grabbed another pillow, upsetting the animal beneath the covers. Amadeus poked his head out and laid his head across the curve of her backside, his midnight blue eyes staring at the Elf.

        “Go away!”

        That pillow was pulled away as well.

        “I will get the Wizard!”

        Bronwyn rolled over and glared at her beloved friend. Despite the fact that the castle was crawling with Wizards, they both knew which ‘one’ he referred to.

        “I hate you and you have the breath of a Warg! Did Madam Hooch turn you down last night?”

        Rumil smirked.

        “Nay. You love me, I have brushed my teeth, so I taste all minty-fresh and Anne-Marie was most agreeable last night!” His smile fell just a little. “Bronwyn, please. Your lungs ache with the grit you have been breathing. They need the sunshine; you know this to be true. You have spent much too long in these dank halls and within the walls of that dusty library. Haldir would be most upset seeing how you have let yourself slide. Bring your sword, bring your knives, I’ll bring my extra bow, come to breakfast.” He pulled her into a sitting position, Amadeus nosing her back, prodding her gently. He cupped her face. “These Wizards… they have no clue who you are. All they have seen is you lying on tables reading books. You remain in the shadows, aloof. You hide. You hide from the world, their world. They have heard you raise the music in anger.” His eyes lit up with a mischievous brilliance. “Rock n Roll, Bronny! KEGGER!”

        “Naughty Limericks? You want naughty limericks?” She allowed Amadeus to prod her from the bed and she stretched more, reaching for the ceiling.

        “No.” Rumil pulled her closely into a bear hug. “I want to see my Lirimaer. I want to see glimmers of that woman who drove my brothers and myself insane. I want to see Celeborn’s Tithen Aras. She is in there somewhere.”

        Somewhere.

***

        Snape felt her…  stir.

        Why was he worried?

***

        “Oh, alright.” she groused. “But…” and with this, she angrily waved her finger under his nose, “but only my knives. I can’t shoot an arrow for shit and I’m dangerously clumsy with this sword. I damn near took Haldir’s arm off just playing around a few millennium ago!”

        She shooed the grinning Elf from her rooms and Rumil went down the stairs, feeling quite proud of himself.

***

Strapped in the chair

of the city’s gas chamber

Why I’m here I can’t quite remember

The surgeon general says

it’s hazardous to breathe

I’d have another cigarette

but I can’t see

Tell me who you’re gonna believe

Paradise City

Guns n Roses

***

        Dumbledore had set them up on the Quidditch pitch. The sand was deep and soft and Bronwyn despised the way she sank in it.

        “Why on Earth…” she questioned Remus, while kicking up small puffs of sand.

        “Softer to land on when one falls or gets knocked off their broom.” he shrugged. “It is no big deal.”

        The sour look she gave Rumil said it all.

        What staff there was at Hogwarts that day were milling around in the stands. “Is this safe?” Professor Flitwick had gone down close to see, peering over the edge of the high stand.

        “She is down there, we are up here,  so if her knives are still wild, she should be contained.” Albus said cheerfully.

        No one heard Severus mumble in the corner.

        “One hopes.”

        Bronwyn and Rumil stood next to the target. The Elf’s quiver was full, delicate white arrows stuffing his quiver and he looked down into the rosy glow of his companion.

        “How far, Lirimaer?”

        Bronwyn looked into the stands. “Go away!” She called upwards. “There isn’t anything here but sand and stupidity!” She waved her hand at the small crowd. Snape could feel her underlying feeling of annoyance. She did not want to be watched.

        Well, she should not have made such a spectacle of herself at breakfast!

        Bronwyn had shown up to breakfast wearing what she had called her ‘battle gear’ – black jeans, black, long sleeve tee, and a black calf length, sleeveless vest that did not cover her knives. Her hair was loosely braided back over the ears similar to Rumil’s side braids.  If one looked closely, they could just make out the outline of a snake on her left arm, under the sleeve of her shirt..

        It was beyond a doubt that being plied with good food and cheesecake had been good for her. She was filling out and no longer looked emaciated. In fact, she looked rather…

        Well, there was plenty of her. Generous curves filled out the clothing and she was obviously comfortable with the added poundage. In truth, it looked good on her. Her skin had a healthy glow and she walked with purpose. In fact, she entered the Great Hall that morning, throwing the doors open, boot heels clicking on the stone floor.

        “Albus, ‘maelamin. Rumil wants to shoot things and he seems to think that I need to carve them, slice them, and dice them!” Her knives were out, spinning on her fingers. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!  “Where is the safest place to do that?”

        And so they found themselves on the Quidditch field, spectators up high in the stands.

        “Again, Bronwyn… how far?”

        Her snarled gaze left the stands and focused on the eyes of the tall Elf. “Eh! Fifty paces.” The two walked it off.

        With a graceful swoop, Rumil removed an arrow from his quiver and quickly, in a fluid motion, let it fly.

        It landed just a hair from the center. Before a breath could be taken, two more joined it. One aside the other.

        “Damn.” Rumil whispered. “I am off my mark.” He turned to Bronwyn and bowed. “Lirimaer!”

        “Off your mark?” She nodded into the stands where Madam Hooch, Professor Sprout, Madam Trelawney, and even Minerva McGonagall were cheering profusely. “Looks pretty damned arrogant to me!” Her face fell and she whispered, “Do I have to do this?” She gestured again into the stands. “I understand getting me out of the castle and into the air. My bronchial tubes thank you, truly they do. But, still…” her words tapered off.

        “Chicken.”

        “What?”

        Rumil jutted his chin forward. “Boooock.”

        “Stop that!”

        “Boooock. Booock. Bok…bok…bok..”

        “This is not funny.”

        “Bok bok bok bok boooooock…”

        “I’m not laughing.”

        Rumil walked away from her, calling of his shoulder. “I could beat you with my eyes blindfolded. I know it. You know it. ” He spun on his heel, kicking up a patch of dirt, and stabbed a finger at her. “You cannot hit the target! Boooock!”

        “Oh. I cannot, can I?”

        Her grin was snarky; evil even. The wind picked up slightly and her hair blew behind her, along with the tail of her vest. The top layer of sand swirled devilishly around hers and the Elf’s feet. Her knives popped out and began to spin on her fingers furiously. Her calling of Beavis could not be heard over the rising guitars reverberating off the walls of the field, nor over the screaming on pitch of Axl Rose.

***

Just a’ urchin

livin’ under the street

I’m a hard case

that’s tough to beat

I’m your charity case

So buy me somethin’ to eat

I’ll pay you at another time

Take it to the end of the line

***

        And with the words “Take me down, to the very last city…” Bronwyn flung two wicked knives at the target.

        The g-force of the winds depressed their deadly mechanisms, causing them to open before hitting the target.

        The white feathers of the arrows were shaved, as both knives entered the exact bulls eye of the target. With the arrows still shaking from the rocking of the target, she jerked her wrists, effectively calling back the two knives. They were a blur in the air as they returned to her hands.

        Amadeus sat with Remus, his eyes never leaving the form of his mistress.

        Sybil Trelawney stood bolt upright, her eyes wide with shock. Dumbledore noticed her sudden ascent to her feet.

        So did Snape.

        “Too easy, mellon.”

        Bronwyn’s eyebrows rose a good inch. “Easy?” The sensual grin was back. “Make it hard.” Her hips ground to the beat of the maniacal drumming.

        “OOH!” Rumil returned her naughty gaze. “Feeling playful, are we?”

        The knives spun into the black holster and she lifted her hands, palm up, into the air. “Chicken – schmicken! You are so full of bullshite! The sun is shining, I am outdoors with my best friend and…” she gestured up into the stands, “I have a fucking audience. What more could a girl ask for?”

        Rumil laughed hard, as he bounced off another fifty paces, chanting, “Bronny’s back… Bronny’s back…”

        “What?”

        “You said the ‘f’ word!”

        The tips of her fingers covered her mouth. “Oops. I did. My bad.” She joined him at the line he had drawn in the sand with the toe of his boot.  Again, three arrows hit the target.

        And again the music rose, screaming guitars and vocals rising in the air and two lethal knives buried themselves to the hilt in the target.

        Further and further out they went, after pulling the arrows from the target.

        The result was always the same. Three arrows at the center. Two knives, shaving the feathers.

        Twice, Rumil offered her his bow.

        Twice, she denied him, finally snarling at him to drop the subject, lest she leave him standing in the sand.

        Dumbledore watched the exchange between woman and Elf with great interest.

        “Severus.” He approached the dark Wizard, leaning in the shadows, not seeming to notice anything, but seeing all. “Do you notice anything odd about her behavior?”

        He is asking me what I behold, when I know he sees it all, Snape thought to himself,  angered at the Headmaster’s perusal of the goings on on the field. And I suppose he would wish for me to expand on them for him. Which would be simple enough, if I were so inclined. On one hand she is effervescent. But it exists as a cover for her anger.  She is enjoying getting out into the sunshine, she has been cooped up too long. It has cleared out her lungs, and yes, she has been ill for several days. To the point where I was ready to drag her into Madam Pomfrey’s infirmary. Despite that, she has gained weight, her very being radiates with vitality. She enjoys the feel of the knives in her hands. She has stepped up to the line of acceptance, but she refuses to cross it. The Elf is angering her by trying to push her over and the only thing that keeps her from carving him is her love for him. I suppose he would like me to tell him how the air shimmered around her when she conjured that noise and that the sight of that alone sent chills up my spine.

        Albus refused to wilt under the glare of his Potions Master.  And he was not taken aback one bit by Snape’s answer.

        “She exists. Therefore, she is odd.”

***

        Sybil Trelawney fidgeted. That was nothing new; the woman fidgeted all the time and no one paid her any mind. She had been seeing signs and portents ever since the Muggle Professor’s husband had died and they had escalated since her arrival. Her unconventional ways and her attachment to the Dark One had kept Sybil at a distance, but she could not stand by anymore.

        As the Elf and Bronwyn gathered their things on the field, she approached Albus and Severus. Severus made her very nervous, so she tried her best to ignore him and focused on Albus.

        Albus had never made her feel silly. Tentatively, she touched him on the sleeve.

        “Albus…”

        The kindly wizard turned to the befuddled witch, gently clasping the clawed fingers. “Yes, Sybil?”

        Furtive eyes glanced over to Severus and then quickly darted back to the Headmaster.

        “It is about the Muggles Studi… Bronwyn.”

        “Are you seeing things again, Sybil?” Severus mocked.

        “Seeing things? I always see things, as you well know. But,” and bolstered by her anger, she shoved a thin finger towards the Potion Master, “although you will not, you should heed my words.” She turned back to the Headmaster. “She has an aura the likes I have never seen. It is golden and pulses bright blue. Rainbows spark when she plays her music.”

        Severus barked in laughter.

        The Divination Professor drew herself up to her full height and wagged her finger at him. “You, Severus, you especially should pay heed. Your aura changes around her. It has been changing since she stepped foot into the Great Hall and you espied her. It has moved from the bleak, murkiness to neon blue and as time passes, it becomes brighter. Even that beast of hers has an aura – his coat radiates white.”

        She took a deep breath.

        “Regardless, a dark heavy pall lingers over her. Evil hounds her footsteps, hounds yours. Whatever it is she seeks, she needs to find it and find it quickly.”

        Sybil’s breathing was labored and her eyes dilated as she backed up, realizing all of a sudden that she was literally against Severus. He arched a dark eyebrow.

        “Perhaps, Sybil, you would like me to bring her upstairs to your over- perfumed lair and you may read her tea leaves or play with the lines in her palms. 38000 years, you should see quite a bit.”

        Her jaw flapped for several seconds, before the woman skittered away, mumbling to herself.

        “Really Severus, your digs were totally unnecessary. Sybil only…”

        “Tried to help, I know.” Severus leaned over as if to whisper to the Headmaster, however his eyes followed Bronwyn as she and Rumil were now leaving the field. “But she told me nothing you or I did not already know. Albus, I know why you keep her employed; it is a noble gesture…”

        “Indeed. I am so very pleased you noticed…”

        “… however, Sybil sees death around every corner and it is no secret that Bronwyn is hiding from the world here. So, please do not ask me to take her seriously.” They watched as Bronwyn and Rumil left the field, Hagrid behind, carrying the target.

        “Severus. Come look.” Quickly, for an old man, Albus made his way down into the paddock and stopped Hagrid, having the groundskeeper set the target into the sunlight. He motioned Rumil and Bronwyn to him.

        “Bronwyn, may I see your knives? I wish for you to tell me how they work.”

        Bronwyn looked at Snape before looking at Dumbledore and then almost reluctantly, whipped one of the knives from its scarred and worn holster.

        It was an ugly piece of metal.

        They were black, black as pitch, and consisted of three blades, folded in. The inner blade was a few inches longer than the encased outer blades. She held her hand out to Rumil, who took a drying cloth from the belt of his tunic. She wadded the cloth, and gently touched the tip of the longest blade.

        The outer knives slung out, creating a “W”, the edges, thinner than a razor, the sharpness obvious. Severus could see how they could decapitate a man or beast.  When she removed her hand, they slung back into their original position.

        “Bronwyn, may I see them? May Severus?”

        Again, without a word, Bronwyn turned the knife in her hand, holding it delicately by the edge in her palm, leaving the handle for Albus to grasp. The elderly Wizard made an interesting face and muttered “Interesting.” before turning the knife and handing it to Severus in the same manner.

        Severus almost gasped aloud. It shook, vibrated, tingling almost painfully. Quickly, without allowing his unease to show, he handed it back to Bronwyn.

        “Do you feel the vibrations, Bronwyn?”

        She spun the knife, comfortable with the feel of it. “No. Haldir and Legolas mentioned they shook, but the facts are they were made for me. They answer only to me. Haldir spent many years trying to get them to work for him in the Undying Lands.” Her face fell, reholstering the knife. “In truth, they only started answering to me again, at Haldir’s death.” Her smile was mirthless. “By your leave, gentlemen.” She turned on her heel and slowly walked off with the tall Elf.

        Hagrid came up, carrying the heavy target. “Hagrid, set that down for a moment, please.” The groundskeeper set it down as requested.

        “Severus. Look closely.”

        The target was peppered all around the center with round holes, holes made from arrows. But as the Potions Master peered closely, he realized…

        There were only 2 sets of triple knife slits. One set for each knife.

        She had placed, thrown the knives into the same set of holes. Exactly. Repeatedly.

        Impossibly.

***

I got my hat… on

I got my boots… dusty

I wanna be a cowboy

And you can be my cowgirl…

***

        Day after day, the chicken battle continued. Day after day, Bronwyn and Rumil went into the sunshine and fired arrows and knives. Day after day, Rumil hounded her to use the bow. Day after day, she refused.

        And her anger festered.

        As the novelty wore off, fewer and fewer of the staff showed up to watch, much to Bronwyn’s relief. Only Hagrid, Remus, Snape, and Madame Hooch came to the fields on a regular basis. And with the small crowd gone, grandstanding between the Elf and Woman ran rampant. If Rumil’s aim was ‘off his mark’, as he had claimed, then he honed and perfected it in the few weeks that followed. Snape cautiously checked the target and her aim stayed true.

        It was almost like magic.

        Several times, Rumil brought the bow that had belonged to his famed older brother. She steadfastly refused to look at it, much less touch it. But Rumil continued to pester and pester her.

        Amadeus would sit in the stands, usually next to Remus, but sometimes next to Severus, watching the goings on with great interest.

***

        The day awoke cloudy, angry and Bronwyn’s mood matched the sky. For a time, after Haldir’s death, her cycles had been off – non – existent even, and as her body returned to its natural state, her system began to resume its normal functioning.

        She woke up cramping, bloated and snarlier than hell. She barked at Amadeus for getting underfoot, cried when she thought she might have hurt her companion’s feelings, snarled at Peeves and at breakfast, sat in a self- contained snit, daring anyone to bid her good morning. Her tee shirt said it all…

        Beloved by few; Feared by all

        She made it known she did not want to go outside for air.

        Rumil threatened to haul her down over his shoulder.

        Snape threatened to help him.

        “Fine!” she finally yelled. She gestured to the enchanted ceiling, rolling clouds visible. “But I refuse to go all the way to the Quidditch field! It’s disgusting out and I do not wish to be caught in the rain!” She stormed from the Hall, Rumil close behind. Amadeus shook his shaggy head and then followed.

        The air in her wake shimmered.

        “She comes. Shecomesshecomesshecomes.” Sybil Trelawney’s voice had dropped several octaves, solid and forceful for a change. “The Storm comes and She will shatter as the glass breaks. The Protector cries out, for he is helpless to stop what must happen, leaving Elrond’s child to choose and accept destiny. Drums, the drums in the deep call, call to the demon in the dark and only the fire and the ice combined can stop it.” Her eyes roamed wildly, focusing on Severus. “The fire and ice must merge. Only merged can they stop what will be.”

        Silence. Blessed silence.

        “Sybil?” Minerva’s voice was soft, imploring.

        “Yes?” Her voice had returned to its normal airiness.

        “Perhaps, you would like to go to your rooms and have some tea?”

        “That would be nice.” Slowly, woman stood and as she left the hall, it did not seem that her feet touched the ground.

        As soon as she left the Hall, Remus slowly counted out loud to ten. And then the entire company ran to the courtyard.

***

        Rumil stood with Haldir’s bow. Despite the fact that the wind was up, he had not missed the middle of the target.

        Neither had she.

        The wind whipped robes and hair, mirroring the mood of Bronwyn.

        “Try the bow, Bronwyn.”

        The knives whipped into the target and back.

        “No.”

        Several throws later…

        “Try the bow, Bronwyn.”

        “No.”

        Wind churned upwards, blowing Bronwyn’s and Rumil’s hair into wild whipcords above their heads.

        The knives flew, aimed at the Elf. Rumil heard them whistle past his ears. Heard them embed in the wall behind him and knowing if he moved….

        They whistled back past his ears.

        His smile never dimmed. By Melkor’s Chains, what possessed him…

        “If I wished new ear piercings, Lirimaer, I would go to a jeweler.”

        Her look was furious, hard.

        “Try the bow, Bronwyn.” He held it out. “What could it hurt?”

        She snatched the slender strap of wood and Severus stood full upright, eyes narrowing. It was as long, as tall as she. There was no possible way she could use it – control it.

        “I will do this. I will scatter arrows everywhere – quite possibly skewer a Wizard or two and then you will leave me be with this, do you understand?”

        Rumil’s hands were outstretched in supplication. “I will never ask again.” She did not hear him whispered, “today.” He handed her one arrow.

        The bow was ponderous, too large and Severus noticed several Wizards step backwards into alcoves and niches, some even put up protective wards. He smirked to himself. Cowards. The wind was blowing strongly and it got under even Severus’ robes. She nocked the arrow and still looking at the Elf was badgering her in that Elvish prattle she called Sindarian, lifted the bow in the general direction of the target and let the arrow fly.

        The silence was such, despite the wind, that even she heard the arrow hit the target with a resounding thud.

        Rumil’s smile fell from his face.

        Severus could feel, feel her thoughts shift as she slowly turned towards the direction of the arrow.

        Oh sweet Elbereth, who did I hit?

        The arrow was in the exact center of the target.

        “N’uma….” It was a whisper, floating on the wind. Severus knew that word, she had spat it at him several times in anger.

        No.

        Her right hand flew out towards Rumil, who was wide eyed as well, in shock. Clearly, he had expected her to hit the target, but not dead on in the center. Quickly, the Elf recovered and he unshouldered his own quiver and slid it onto hers. Grasping the bow more firmly, her eye fixed on the target, she began to unload and unleash.

        Over

        and over

        and over.

        In a time to fast to comprehend, thirty white – feathered arrows were embedded, clustered tightly, into the bulls eye. Several were split by others.

        All eyes were on the target.

        “N’Uma!” Severus heard the quiver fall, turned his attention to her just in time to see her fling the bow to the grass. “N’UMA!” She fell to her knees and Remus stepped forward from behind Snape to go to her, but he held the werewolf back.

        The dam that held her emotions in check, shattered, broke and her fury, so long contained and held, burst forth.

        “NO! N’UMA!” The knuckles on her fists were white and she screamed to the heavens. “How many times will you destroy my world? How many times will you take what is mine? What the hell was I supposed to do? Stand by and let them die? You are bastards!” She had returned to her feet and turned in a slow circle. The wind had picked up and now lightning flashed, forking over the heavens. “You sit in your White Halls and sing and sing and sing and think nothing of destroying what was so meticulously planted. I have sacrificed my life for you! I have sacrificed my love for you! I have sacrificed my children for you! What more did you desire? That I sing the funeral dirges for a dead race?  I wish you would tell me what more you want from me!” Rain began to pelt down, stinging little needles and Rumil started to go to her, only to be held off by a growling Amadeus.

        Slowly she lowered her gaze. She canvassed the Wizards that stood in the shadows, fire burning in her eyes.

        Remus stepped behind Severus…

        Her hands, fisted, came up around her ears…

        “I… cannot…”

        And the fury of Steve Vai raised…

        The scream of the guitar railed over the wind, over the rain and she focused on the walls of the school.

        Severus saw the air around her waver…

        A multi-colored glass window high above him shattered, shards of colorful glass falling with the rain. Cries from his fellow Wizards were audible.

        And another.

        And another.

        He felt her tamp down inside.

        “N’uma! Not their fault!” Her hands, still clenched in fury, clamped to her sides as she ducked her head and ran into the building.

        The rain was now pouring.

        Rumil started to follow her, again cut off by a snarling, growling Amadeus.

        “Amadeus, boy…”

        He was answered by exposed fangs.

        Even Remus tried to placate the animal.

        “Amadeus…”

        And he was answered the same way.

        Cold indigo eyes locked into black ones.

        Amadeus went to Severus and growling lowly, nosed Snape behind the knees.

        Go.

        He wasted no time. Locking in on her path, he followed her, felt her movement, up and up the stairwells, the corridors of the school.

        Into the highest reaches.

        Of course, she chose the tower with the most glass.

        Silently, he waited on the stairwell, probing, waiting.

        Feeling her fury. As it welled, as she tamped it, as it welled again…

        As she focused it.

        Ah. That, he could work with. Controlled anger, well aimed…

        Silent as a whisper, he stepped into the room.

        At first, he did not see her, but soon, as his eyes became accustomed to the dark,  he noticed her in the blackest recess, in the shadows.

        “Do you know what happened? Do you know what they allowed to happen?” Her voice was low, ancient.

        “Enlighten me, as only you can.” Severus stood in the middle of the room, coiled in, hands tucked, robes pooled at his feet.

        She withdrew from the shadows, eyes gleaming in fanatical anger. “I saved your sorry asses. And how was I repaid? A wizard decided Voldemort wasn’t enough! A Wizard decided his own power wasn’t enough! He wanted mine as well.”

        “Bronwyn, why would anyone want your power?”

        “You think this is the extent of my power?” Again, angry heavy sounds of music reverberated from the walls. “You think this is all I do?” For a moment, they stood not in the tower of Hogwarts, but in the middle of Tower Two of the Twin Towers as it fell burning, grinders screeching around them, screaming, screaming, fear….

        Back.

        Silence.

        Her voice was a whisper, her body against his. “I know how to torment an Elf to turn him into an Orc.”

        Piggy screams joined the guitar.

        “I know how to create, birth a Uruk hai…”

        Mudpits in the bowels of the Earth, writhing, moving…

        “I know where the last of the Balrogs hide…”

        A huge, fiery demon, wings the span of…

        Cool wind through the tower.

        Fury focused.

        Severus smiled. He felt it. And it drew him like a moth to flame.

        “A Wizard decided their power was not enough, so they want yours and the added perks it brings.”

        “Yes.”

        He was now circling her, a long finger trailing, slowly spinning in the air around her. “This Wizard thinks to use your bow to gain access to your power, you knowledge, and learn how to and the whereabouts of.”

        “Yes.”

        Snape came to a slow halt behind Bronwyn, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. He tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned over, whispering in the softly rounded edge. “But we are Elrond’s children. How did one of your children become one’s of Elrond’s as well?”

        She turned her head and faced him, her grin snarky as any he had ever conjured. His gaze focused on the moist tip of a pointed tongue that licked the bow of her lip.

        “My grandsons, sons of my daughter Faeowynne, were fathered by the twins sons of Elrond. Elrohir and Elladan. No one knows how long they lived, when they died, or if they ever DID die.  His sons stayed behind, as did two of my beloved children. Our family, descendants were also very close to the family and descendants of Arwen, the Evenstar of Imladris, for many generations.  She was not only the Queen of Gondor, she was also the daughter of Elrond. Think that with all that history, our children did not mix?”

        Severus mulled that for a moment. It was possible…

        “This child orchestrated events that killed my rightful heir. This same child orchestrated events that caused My Beloved, Cormamin, my Heart to be cruelly murdered in my arms,  forcibly removed from me, for the sole purpose to weaken me, to more easily access the knowledge I contain. He could not kill me, for one cannot force the dead to give up their secrets. He did this to cripple me, to make me wish for death, to do anything to leave this world.

        “He almost succeeded.” Her hands came together, index fingers creating a steeple as she folded them in front of her face, long fingers tapping her lip.

        “How will you… deal… with this child?”

        She snorted. “I will make him pay. I will make his life a living hell. I will personally kick his sorry ass from one end of Valinor to the other. Think to take mine from me? I have brought down worse things than a piddling Wizard with delusions of grandeur…”

        “Ah, yes.” Severus rolled his eyes to the darkened ceiling, as he drummed his fingers on his shoulders. “You have killed a dragon…” he felt that anger waver and focus on him… “Nonono, Bronwyn. Focus that anger back where it belongs. Not on me. Focus on that which you seek revenge.”

        She took a deep breath, but did as he demanded. “So, you are with me in this venture?”

        He continued to peruse the ceiling of the room, venomous sarcasm dripping, “Oh, like what better things do I have to do? Teaching children is so… not worthy of a moment of time…”

        She backed into him, giggling evilly, her shoulders rubbing into his chest.

        Electric tingles charged through him.

        “Now,” her finger continued to tap on her lip, “what to do first…”

        “Let them think you are shattered.” Snape suggested. “Let them think you have hit the bottom and barely wish to go on.”

        Because go on, you must, he added to himself.

        “Oh. That is easy enough.” She stepped out of his embrace, leaving cool air in her space. He held back his desire to reach out and bring her back into his arms. She turned and looked at him dolefully. “This will quite drain me. Will you help me?”

        Severus scowled and gestured with his fingers, ‘come on with it.‘

        She clenched her hands in fists and the music rose, noise noise and more noise, decibels over what was standard, reverberating off the walls, aimed at the glass.

        “Let them know they have angered me!”

        Her aura shimmered and every pane of glass in the room exploded outwards, showering the grounds in shards of glass for hundreds of yards. Severus ducked his head and closed his eyes at the brightness of the sudden light.

        When the dust and sound cleared, he saw her lying on the floor, unconscious.

***

tbc

***

Nai – yes

N’uma – no

‘Maelamin – My love

Mellon – friend

Lirimaer – Lovely One

Tithen Ares – Little Deer

Cormamin – my Heart

Tel Lindar 7 – There is no escape from the gilded cage or Who could be weirder than Filch?

21 Friday Apr 2023

Posted by zeesmuse in Uncategorized

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LOTR

Chapter 7 – There is no escape from the gilded cage or Who could be weirder than Filch?

Chapter 7

v.B

There is no escape from the gilded cage or Who could be weirder than Filch?

        The Voyeur stood in a forest – dark, forbidding. He would have been at home in the dankness, except that he was surrounded by Elves; hundreds and hundreds of Elves. All were in battle gear; all were bloodied, most were injured, swords, knives, dripping carnage. The air permeated with the thick smell of iron, sweat, bloodshed.  All attention was directed to the middle of the glen.

        The Big Elf stood in the hollow, head bowed, the Woman lying unconscious in the bloodied mud.  Both were covered in blood, gore. A sudden flash of light spilled into the darkened forest. What Elves were standing fell to their knees as a bright being emerged from the glow and approached the Elf.

        “Well done, our most faithful servant. Know that I, and the others of the Hall,  recognize your valor and devotion to this most difficult of creatures with whom you have burdened. We have chosen her Shield and Champion well.” She looked down at the still body of the Woman. “Arise and claim your destiny.”

        Eyes slowly came open and the Woman picked herself up from the grass. Her features were slack with exhaustion, but she looked at the being clothed in white with no fear.

        Words understood by only the Vision and the Woman passed over the ears of the Voyeur. The Vision produced the sword with the illegible inscriptions from his dreams. It glowed green, but was clean, free of blood and gore. The Voyeur came closer, strained to hear, to see. The Vision – the Valar –  handed the weapon to the grubby, small warrior..

        In a strong voice, the Woman recited foreign words; the language was, captivating,  beautiful, yet the Voyeur was perturbed by his inability to understand what she said.

                        “Mana lúme caita syadlla?

                        Mana lúme lerya quingalla?

                        Mana lúme hehtane siklla?

                        Mana lume mappe eppessella?

                        Er Valar quetuvar”

        Lovely. Gibberish, but lovely.

        Fascinated, the Voyeur watched as one by one, the Woman handed over her weapons – a bow, a set of knives, the sword – only to have them pass across the fingers of the Vision and return to the owner.

        For a few short minutes, the Woman stared at the sword, lifted high. Then dawning rained over her features and in a clear, ringing voice, she pointed the sword to the sky, her tone daring anyone to gainsay her.

        These words, he understood. Merlin’s Robes, they had been spoken to him enough times…

        “I am the Historian for all the Ages, past and future; I am the Storyteller of the Races, the Protector and Seer of the Future; the Musician of…”

        Yada Yada Yada. The Voyeur rolled his eyes. I know who she is.

        And with that, she laid the sword across her forearm, cutting deep. Her voice remained strong

                “Serkenin naa a Arda

                 Arda naa a serkenin

                 Naem er, Naem atya

                 Naem weerenen ullume

                 Hanyo allasse ar nwalma.”

        The Voyeur watched grimly as she turned her arm over, so her blood spilt and seeped into the ground. The thought came quickly…

        Do these people speak a civilized language that all can understand?

        Obviously not…

        She had raised the sword, one last time, and with a mighty heave, thrust it into the ground where her blood had dripped . Electric white light raced from the dirt to the sky and all were blinded.

        “She needs your help.” The Voyeur looked down, expecting to see the Elf, but instead seeing the vision. Raven black hair, glowing sapphire blue eyes… and a smile that reached into the cold recesses of his soul. “Her bow has lost its way.”

        “I do not know how to help her. She is stubborn…”

        “Yes. She has been a most difficult vessel.” The Valar’s hand reached to cup his face and he reveled in the sweet contact. “Her blood in the Earth runs thin and it must be rejuvenated. The time has come for Elrond’s children and her children – Haldir’s children, to no longer hide behind the veils of secrecy, but to take their rightful place and stand alongside Man. You must be strong. She will find her strength, receive her strength from you, as she does Haldir.”

        The Voyeur closed his eyes and held the gentle hand to his face. His frustration was giving way. “The Elf. He…”

        “Yes. He is a thorn to you, a difficult task master. They both grieve for each other, but their purpose is no longer theirs alone. He will continue to guide you, aid you. He will also put walls in your path. He wants his way, as would she, if she knew.”

        “What way?” The Voyeur’s voice was a whisper. He could feel the smile in her soft voice.

        “You must watch for the obstacles he will throw at you, put in your path. You must help her find her bow.” The gentle hand continued to caress his jaw, moved slowly to his earlobe. “She never knew, they never realized, her sword; in this form, it takes both she and her Guardian to wield it properly.  Remember that.” He shuddered at the sweetness of her touch, at the compassion in her voice.

        “Do not throw aside her titles. They are not empty. She has held the race of Man in the palm of her hands for countless millennia. She has also held Elrond’s children. This Vessel comes so very close to cracking, to breaking, and we must prevent that. You must prevent that.  She must hold on until the cycle is complete. Only then, will all be well.”

        “We have chosen her Shield and Champions well. Help her. Help her find her bow. Answer her questions. Do not be afraid of her. Be afraid for her.”

        When the Voyeur finally looked up, the light, the Elves, were gone. Only the Woman remained. Dark, haunted eyes stared into his.

        Reservo mea. Reservo mea.

        Save me. Save me.

        I am…..

***

        In the five minutes it took her to change, he looked at the transformations of the apartment, took in the things she had done to make it hers. It was pleasantly cluttered, inviting, with comfortable, over-stuffed furniture, books stacked everywhere, fresh cut flowers in vases on the tables, the mantle,  musical instruments tucked in every corner. Flutes of all kinds; brass, wood, reed. Drums, shakers, a bagpipe hung from over the fireplace, a violin, propped on the mantlepiece, a cello in the corner. There were framed pictures made with colorful threads on tightly meshed material, precisely placed tiny ‘x’s stitched over equally tiny woven squares. One was in stages of being sewn, lying on the couch, a colorful quilt slung carelessly over the back. He attentively took in the complexity, the obvious care given to each laid stitch. As he walked around, he noticed the portfolio on the end table. Very carefully, he picked it up and opened it, looking at the top drawing.

        The artist was good. Very good. He looked at the artist’s signature in the corner.

        Rumil.

         The top drawing was of her husband, Haldir, of that he had no doubt. The big Elf had haunted him long enough to know who he was. Indigo blue eyes stared from the parchment, almost alive. Long moon-blonde hair seemed to glisten against a dark tunic. The look was stern, this was one who would not abide any rebelliousness, any silliness from a foolish chit. How, by Merlin’s Vestments, had he managed to reign in the she-devil upstairs?

        With love. The Elf had loved her, enjoyed her company.

        Severus snapped the portfolio shut, shaking his head of cloying thoughts. He did NOT want to enjoy her company. He most certainly did not want to love her. As he laid the portfolio back down, he heard her coming down the stairs.

        “Lovely.” His eyes raked her body in thinly veiled disgust.

        A look of quirky smugness settled on her face as she took in his perusal. “Yes, the very picture of decorum, aren’t I?” She wore shredded jeans and a faded t-shirt with a rather endearing sentiment on it:

Drink Beer or Fight

        She walked to the door and opened it, Amadeus at her side. “Are you coming? I am sure you wish to observe my eating habits,” she tapped her index finger thoughtfully on her lip, “since I must be – now, how did you put it –  constantly monitored.” Her imitation of him was eerily Gryffindorish.

        “Do not be absurd.”

        Scowling fiercely, he followed her, warding the door behind them.

***

When I started down the street last Sunday

Feelin’ mighty low and kinda mean

Suddenly a voice said “Go forth neighbor!

Spread the picture on a wider screen!

Spread the religion of the rhythm of life!”

The Rhythm of Life

Cy Coleman/Dorothy Fields

***

        Lupin found her t-shirt amusing.

        “Feeling belligerent today?” He noticed Severus mocking him behind his newspaper.

        “Heh!” Bronwyn snorted. She was humming along to the music that she was creating, enunciating the words, ‘And kinda mean!’  She nodded towards Severus. Amadeus sounded as if he were snoring under her chair.

        “What did he do?” Remus leaned over and conspiratorly whispered in her ear.

        “Pissed me off!”

        Snape made an obscene noise from behind his paper, burying his nose deeper.

        “What are your plans today?”

        Bronwyn looked at the angry, cloudy sky through the enchanted ceiling and then took in the tense set of Snape’s shoulders. “I was planning to go to the library. I haven’t seen it yet and I am hoping the Zoo Keeper -” she gestured towards Snape, “- might allow me out of my cage in order to do so!”

        Snape turned the page with a snap and looked at her over the Daily Prophet. “I have no problem with you going to the library.”  The paper slid back up in front of his face.

        Lupin had a confused look on his face. “Am I missing something here?”

        Bronwyn leaned over and whispered in his ear. “I escaped last night.”

        “You did what?” Lupin hissed loudly and as a result, all heads turned in their direction. Rumil, sitting on the opposite side of her, glanced up from his conversation with Professor McGonagal, his look, anxious. “You escaped? Bronwyn! By the Gods,  how did you manage to undo the wards?”

        She turned her knees to him, her back to Severus. “Remus, keep your voice down, please.” She placed a hand on his knees, placating. ” I didn’t undo the wards. I used my knives and climbed through the roof of my patio.”

        “You did not!” Rumil’s voice was nothing short of a bellow. Everyone was listening now.

        “She most certainly did!” Snape’s voice growled. “I had to go out and hunt her down, because she could not get back in! And…” he turned a page, with a crack, “she cannot comprehend why I am so angry!”

        Lupin’s look was  incredulous. “Bronwyn, tithen air… air..

        “Aras, Lupin. Tithen Aras.” She had turned back to the last of her oatmeal. She took one bite and looked back him, seeing the worry in his eyes. “Remus, please. I realize it was not the brightest move I have probably ever made…” More rude noises erupted from behind Snape’s paper, and she snarled in response. “… I just couldn’t stand being cooped up anymore.” She took a deep breath.

        “Bronwyn, the grounds are very dangerous at night. You could be injured, kidnapped, killed… “

        “So I was told.” Snape noted she sounded like a petulant child. Her fingers tapped on the table in an irritating drumbeat and his hand whipped out, gently pinning her fingers to the table.

        “Madam, I have no qualms with you going to the library. I just ask you do it at a decent hour.”

        She got up from the table, jerking her hand from beneath his and throwing her napkin in the plate. As she came around Severus, she leaned, putting both hands on his shoulders. She bent over, her breath caressing his cheek.

        “Define decent hour.” He turned to glare at her, his lips almost touching hers. She squeezed gently and patted. “I didn’t think you could. I’m going to the library. In case you want to… find me.”

***

 She’s got to be strong

 ‘Cause so many things getting out of control  

 Should drive her away

 So why does she stay?

 It’s all about soul

All About Soul

Billy Joel

***

        Bronwyn wandered about Albus Dumbledore’s office, feeling churlish, feeling childish. She knew why she was here, knew why he had summoned her. She was getting used to owls flying up with things tied to their legs for her. Notes from Lord Celeborn, Lord  Elrond. She had even gotten a rather nice, if stilted letter from Erestor, Elrond’s advisor and secretary the previous week, which included a very naughty limerick written at the bottom in Lord Glorfindel’s hand. She had not expected to be dive bombed by the large bird as she slowly wandered the halls after breakfast with a summons, a gently worded demand to present herself at Dumbledore’s office. She perused pictures that looked back at her. One in particular captured her attention and she peered closer…

        “What the hell are you looking at?”

        She leapt backwards, knocking the table behind her over, gee-gahs flying everywhere. “My God! You spoke!” Her breath came in short pants and she quickly began to replace the fallen objects.

        “Well, of course I spoke! What did you expect me to do? Hold still, like those silly Muggle photographs?” The Wizard in the frame looked disgusted and carried on as if she had done something. “Today’s generation. So rude!” he spat.

        “I’m rude? I’m rude?” Bronwyn was indignant in her fury, poking herself firmly in the chest. She looked closely at the name plate. Phineas Nigellus. “Mr. Nigellus, I assure you that I was looking at nothing!”

        “I beg your pardon, miss! You were looking at me!”

        “Like I said,” Bronwyn’s hands had settled on her hips and her shoulders rocked with attitude. “I was looking at nothing!” The woman and the figure in the painting sized each other up.

        “Bronwyn.” She turned at the sound of the gentle Wizard’s voice. He came to her quickly, taking her hands in his. “I am sorry I have not had time to speak with you before now. A Headmaster’s work is never done, it seems.” He led her over to a small settee with a tea set and a jar of jelly beans. “Please sit.” The two sat down and she watched in fascination of the tea pot that poured her tea, by itself. “Sugar?” Bronwyn nodded and watched as lumps of the sweetener plop by themselves into her cup until she raised her hand.

        “I am sorry, Professor Dumbledore. All this magic… pictures that move and hold conversations with you… ” she motioned to the pictures on the wall that were now listening intently to her conversation, “This morning, my mirror spoke to me. Out of the blue, it  told me I needed to put on some makeup, because I looked like total… er…  shit! My mirror said that! I do not know if I will ever get used to it.”

        “It is Albus, my dear.” He stirred his tea and took a sip. “I imagine it is quite disturbing. I would be equally lost in the Muggle World.” He set the cup down and looked at her over half-moon glasses. “You are settling in? Your accommodations are satisfactory?

        “They are lovely. I cannot thank you enough.” She took several sips of her tea. “You did not have to take me in this way. I do own a cottage in Wales.”

        Albus chuckled and picked up the jar of jelly beans, passing them to her. “It was either take you in or lose our Potions Master. Taking you in seemed the logical choice. You know very well, your home is not safe and will not be for some time.” He watched in silent amusement as she took her time picking and choosing over the assortment, finally settling on a pink, speckled one. Her eyes lit up as she bit in.

        “Peppermint!”  She reached in for a few more. “These are wonderful! Do you mind?”

        “Go right ahead.” Albus waved her on. “You are getting on with the professors?”

        Bronwyn held up a jellybean, squinting at it. “For the most part. Minerva has been wonderful, as has Anne-Marie Hooch and Russ. Russ has said she will let me help her in her greenhouses next week.” She popped a bean in her mouth. “Buttered Popcorn?” she shrugged and examined another one. “I like Remus, too. He has been awesome. Absolutely da Bomb!”

        “And Severus?”

        Her eyes slid sideways to the elderly wizard. “And here I thought this was going to be a nice conversation.” She popped the green jellybean into her mouth and made a face. “What the… ” she swallowed slowly. “Yrch! That one tasted like grass. Must have been a dud!”

        Albus shrugged with a smile. “And Severus?” he persisted. “He has been helpful?”

        “He has been a butt!” Bronwyn spat, picking up another jellybean, eyebrow arched gracefully. “He talks to me like I am a child. I cannot converse with him and I have no idea how the two of us are supposed to work together.” Bronwyn finally popped the bean into her mouth.

        “Bronwyn, I…”

        “YRCH!!!!” Her face scrunched up and her hands waved, reaching for a napkin. Not finding one, she spat the partially chewed bean into her hand. “EEW! That thing tastes like….vomit!” She glared at Dumbledore. “What are those things?” Albus handed her a napkin and she wiped her hand into it, scowling.

        “Bernie Botts Every Flavored Beans. They are not kidding. They are every flavor.” He smiled, shaking his head gently. “They are a huge hit with the younger years. I have yet to figure out why.” He watched her face for several moments. “About Severus…”

        She waved her hand for him to continue.

        “I heard about your… adventure… last night. I must ask you not to do that again. These grounds are not safe. I realize you feel… cooped up… but it is for your own safety. If I know Severus, he is outside now, in the elements, warding your roof. If you can get out, then someone, or something, could get in.” He watched as Bronwyn stood up and resettled herself on the step, resting her chin in her hands. He set his teacup down lightly and followed her, slowly following her lead on his floor. She turned deep, smoldering eyes to him.

        “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that. I just wanted to…”

        “You just wanted to wander and to explore and your chambers are not big enough for that.” Albus’ smile was genuine. ” We have an amazing library and your palms are itching to get your hands on new reading material.” Her grin was answer enough. “Perhaps, you and Severus’ can bridge this impasse the two of you have come to and can come up with a way to ward your doors without you being trapped. Perhaps a password. Severus is quite good at things like that.”

        “He is difficult. He is a condescending, belligerent, bullying, anti-social…”

        “Ah. And Haldir was none of those things?” The kindly wizard’s eyes twinkled in merriment.

        “No! No he was not!” She was aghast that gentleman next to her would ask such a question.

        “Haldir was not arrogant? Pugnacious? Strong-willed? Careful in choosing his friends? “

        “Well, yes he was that, but…”  Bronwyn snapped her mouth shut when she made the connection. “I could talk to Haldir! I cannot have a civil conversation with your Potions Master! Snape is a thoroughly disagreeable man!” she insisted.

        “Yes, he is. But he has had a difficult life. His childhood was horrific and his time here as a student was not much better.” The Wizard’s voice got very quiet. “I am afraid I failed him then. I almost failed him later. I will not fail him again.” He realized his hand was held by hers and the heat emanating from it enveloped his body. He looked up into her eyes and saw understanding and pity. “Do not allow him to see that! He is…”

        “Encased in a hard shell. I know.” Bronwyn gave a grim smile. “He is quite the puzzle, isn’t he?” She patted Dumbledore’s hand. “And the more I discover about him, the more complex he becomes.” She inhaled deeply. “He has a horrific headache and he will not allow me to help him.”

        “Perhaps you should put your foot down with him.” He slid a hand over hers and patted back. “Ah, I must cut this short. I have interviews to conduct for the Arithmancy and History of Magic positions.” He placed both hands on his knees. “Can you help an old man up?”

        Bronwyn bounced up and helped him to his feet. “Thank you.” She hugged him impulsively. “You remind me much of Gandalf.”

        Albus’ mouth made a funny moue.  “I will consider that a compliment.” He looked down at the Bard. “Bronwyn. No one envies your position. You have dealt with all that has been handed to you with great aplomb.” He smiled sadly at the single tear that threatened to fall. “Your loss was great, but you will gain much.”

        “I miss him. I miss him so much.”

        “Of course you do. No one expects you NOT to miss him. But while he waits, you have living to get on with. And you must do that. You have a lot of life left to explore.” He nodded to the door. “The library is down the hall, on your left. I expect to hear your scream of joy when you go in.  Tell Madame Pince if you need anything.”

***

        For three days it rained; poured torrential buckets and Bronwyn spent all three days lying on a table with a pillow, one toe-nail lacquered foot propped on her knee, book over her head. Amadeus slept under the table.

        Johann Sebastian Bach’s music soared through out the room.

Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring

Holy Wisdom, Love most bright…

        She took great delight in the library. It was huge, one of the largest she had ever been in and more enjoyable was it was full of books she had never read, had never been aware of. She inhaled them like air, relishing knowledge she never knew existed.

        Severus watched from the doorway in disgruntled enchantment as Remus or Rumil moved back and forth, replacing and bringing the next book as she finished the one she had. She forgot to come eat once; after that, Severus retrieved her for all meals. This time was different from when she first came; she wasn’t refusing, she simply… forgot.

        For the first time in months, Severus’ headache diminished to almost nothing. Bronwyn was at peace, therefore, the turmoil she created was nonexistent.

        She did pepper him with questions in the evenings, however. Bronwyn made it a habit, after dinner, to invade his room, his sanctuary, normally carrying several books and would pester him with questions ranging from the incredibly inane to the amazingly deep. She was more curious than any Ravenclaw he could remember.

        Tonight, she sat on a stool, opposite of him, peering into simmering cauldrons, the wolf curled at her feet.

        “That one is beautiful. What is it?”

        “What is a bezoar?”

        “Do they actually PAY someone to taste test Bernie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans?”

        “Can I get a stick thingy like yours? You know, the kind that shoots green sparks?”

        “What if you aren’t the seeker and you catch the snitch? Is the game over or do you keep playing until a SEEKER catches it?”

        “What’s so precious about dragon’s blood?”

        “How do you do that WHOOSH thing? Can you teach me? Where can I get a robe that does that? Did you buy them that way?”

        “I KNOW that is what it says, Severus. I still don’t understand why!”

        “Why do you stir the Amrodil Potion exactly 24 times clockwise and 11 times counter-clockwise?”

        Snape looked up quickly. “Where did you read that? That is incorrect!” he snapped at her, stirring Lupin’s potion.

        “Spells and Potions for the Classroom by Mildred Creakly, Hawkes and Bookers, publishers, edition 4, September of 1977. Page 82, paragraph 3.” she rattled off.

        He turned to his bookshelf, perusing the bindings. With a soft, ‘ah-ha’, he pulled a book from the shelf. Flipping through it, he came to the potion in question. “Yes, I was correct. Twenty seven times clockwise and twelve times counter clockwise. And it is on page 189, paragraph two!” Snape thrust the book at her.

        Bronwyn took one look at the book and turned to the first page. “Ah. Hate to piss in your potion, Professor, but this is the Sixth Edition, June, 1999.” Snape yanked the book back and looked at the title page. “I am sure when I reach this edition, I will find several errors. It happens.”

        Realization at what he just witnessed, sank into Snape’s astonished mind. Ordering her to stay put, he strode to her chambers, up the stairs, into her room. Grabbing three random books from her shelf, he hurried back to his classroom. He slid back behind his caldron and picked up the first one, reading the cover.

        “Iris Johansen. The Killing Game. Page 193. Third paragraph.”

        Bronwyn blinked once.

        “Eve leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. How Dom must have enjoyed throwing out lies and deceptive hints. You made it hard enough, but I’ve found her, Dom, you son of a bitch…”

        Severus looked it up. She was right. Word for word. He picked up the next one.

        “The Tangle Box. Terry Brooks. Page 108. Second paragraph.” He immediately began flipping through the book.

        Again, she blinked once.

        “She let her mother speak to her then through the dance, let her share in turn the joy she was feeling. Once Willow had found that joy exhilarating. Now she found it lacking, oddly empty, circumscribed happiness..”

        “Enough.”  Again. Word for word. He picked up the third and final book. “Julie Garwood, The Prize, page 243, paragraph three.”

        Blink. Smile.

        “His thumb rubbed against her most sensitive spot. She arched up against him and moaned into his mouth. White-hot desire claimed her. She kissed him with a passion that left him shaken…”

        “Silence!” Severus quickly found the erotic passage and looked. He had stopped her just in time. “What is this tripe you read?” he queried angrily, flipping the book back and forth, checking cover and back.

        “Pretty good tripe, late at night.” He could hear the laughter in her voice.”Shall I continue? Royce slooooowly forced his fingers inside her slick, tight open…”

        “Cease immediately!”

        His mind reeled from the enormity of her memory. If she could remember paragraphs, passages word for word, small wonder she had been determined to get to the library for new reading material.

          She was starving for reading material. For knowledge.

          Of any kind.

        And he thought Hermione Granger was a know-it-all. What a clash the upcoming Head Girl and new Muggles Studies Professor – the Muggle who wasn’t a Muggle – was going to make. And he was in a unique position to observe it all.

***

Come to my window

Crawl inside, Wait by the light of the moon

Come to my window

I’ll be home soon.

Melissa Etheridge,

Come to my Window

***

        She was out, roaming the halls. Severus sat in front of his fireplace, brandy snifter in hand, comparing the out-of-date edition of ‘Spells and Potions’ with the newer, corrected edition. He was seeing why so many students over the years had had difficulties; if they had been using the Fourth, there were blatant errors everywhere. He inhaled deeply, and draining the dregs from his glass, he set it and the book down. He looked at his clock.

        12:52 A.M. Most definitely not a decent hour. Donning his trailing robes, he exited the dungeons and headed up the stairs, following the beacon in his head.

        Filch was at the bottom of the second floor flights. “She’s on the third floor. East wing.”

        Snape grunted in acknowledgment.  He didn’t wanted to talk to the man; he knew where she was, but it seemed to be the fastest way past him.

        “Weird one, she is. Mark my words. Very weird.”

        Oh, like you’re not! Snape thought to himself. That would be like the cauldron calling the Sorting Hat black. Severus made his way up the steps, past sleeping portraits.

        “Thy hand, Belinda…”

        If he hadn’t been able to figure out where she was at, the music would have led him straight to her.

        “Darkness shades me;

          On thy bosom let me rest

          More I would, but death invades me…”

        She wasn’t just creating this music, she was singing…

        “Death is now welcome guest…”

        Purcell? She was singing… Purcell? His mind raced to place the opera, the recitative.. her voice, a deep, rich alto…

        “When I am laid, am laid in earth

          May my wrongs create, no trouble, no trouble in thy breast…”

        Dido’s Lament. Of course. She was mourning still. She lived to mourn. It was her reason for waking, her reason to be. She gloried in her bereavement. He moved silently down the corridor towards the stairwell to the third floor.

        “Remember me, but ah! Forget my fate.”

        He came to the landing and looked up. At first he thought he beheld a ghost, but quickly put that thought aside as  she was not transparent.

        Bronwyn was clothed in an Elvish gown of white; its beaded sleeves and long train spilled behind her like a silver waterfall that pooled on the steps. She wore a white shawl over her abundant waves and he saw no skin except fingertips, resting on the edge of the railing. The other hand came gracefully from her side, held out, palm up. Her very posture demanded ‘attend me’.

        “Severus,” His name slid sweetly from her whispered voice. She had never looked back, never gazed his way, so how she knew he was there, was beyond him. “Do not skulk in the dark. People will think you are up to something… untoward.” She beckoned with her finger tips. Severus found himself, up the stairs, taking her hand and tucking the dainty tip in his elbow.

        Her magic is different from ours, Severus.

        Slowly they moved down the hallway. She took in the pictures, people, dogs, at peaceful slumber. The music changed.

        “I die, alas! From my pain

        And who can give me life.

        Alas, kills me and…”

        “Bronwyn, please. Something a little less fatal.”

        She smiled. Queen’s wailing guitars and pounding drums startled the sleeping subjects in the paintings.

        “All Dead, all dead

          All the dreams we had

          And I wonder why I still live on…”

        “Less fatal, Bronwyn. The key word here is less.”

        She smiled again.  Mozart’s Requiem swelled in all its beauty. Severus stopped, holding tightly to her hand, still warmly tucked in his arm.

        “Bronwyn, please. Something… happy. Or at the very least, peaceful.”

        She removed her hand from his elbow and looked up at him. He could see the moonlight glinting in her eyes, where it came through the windows. Slowly, she removed the shawl from her head, laying it about her shoulders and neck. Her smile… her smile was mesmerizing.

        “You called me by my name.” She tilted her head, engagingly. “Not once. But three times.” She tucked her hand back into his elbow. “That deserves something special.”

        Severus’s attention reverted back to the long hallway. “Oh. Whoopie.” His voice was droll, but as Bronwyn glanced at him sideways, she thought she detected a small, albeit humorless smile.

        “Pick a song. Any song you like.” He looked at her in perplexity. “I am serious, Severus. You called me by my name. I have waited so long to hear it from your lips. It sounds almost sinful to hear you say it.” Despite the fact that it was summer, he could see her breath, misting in the air.  Dust in the disturbed haze. “Any piece of music you like, Severus. Just tell me.”

        Oh, play along. She isn’t railing at you. She isn’t outside, playing with herself, masturbating with the gargoyles .

        “Bartok. Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celesta.”

        Immediately, the hauntingly soft sounds of violins oozed from the rising dust fog sparkling in the moonlight.

        “Funny,” she whispered, leaning in towards him, tucking her hand back into his black-clad elbow, “I had you pegged for a Wagner fan.”

        “Wagner.” he sniffed, disdainfully. “Self-absorbed, sanctimonious twit.”

        Bronwyn stopped in amused wonderment, her jaw dropped, her eyes alight with laughter. “Self-absorbed? Sanctimonious? Severus Snape! My opinion and respect for you has just risen ten-fold!”

        “Hmmm. And ten times nothing is…?” She smacked his arm playfully, enjoying his dry humor for a change. They strolled quietly, listening to the music, the quiet whisper of her gown following them. Her footfalls padded quietly;  she was barefoot and occasionally, he saw the hint of pale painted toenails peek from under her gown. The pearly train of her dress and the dark trails of his robe intertwined gently behind them. When Bartok finished, she melded into Debussy, Afternoon of a Faun. She questioned him on his likes and dislikes, amazed that while he had not read Muggle books, he had listened to Muggle music and was quite the expert on Classical Music. He was difficult to stump.

        “J.S. Bach had two wives, madam and seventeen children. Do not play games.”

        Debussy fused into Teleman.

        “Bronwyn! Rachmaninoff was not classical composer. He was late- Romantic, almost 20th Century! Do you mean to tell me, you actually received DEGREES in this and they allowed you out of your conservatory sprouting such nonsense?”

        Bronwyn giggled wickedly and pumped her free hand in the air. “YesYesYes! No foolin’ you, professor!”

        It dawned on him that he was almost enjoying this time with her; no fighting, no one-upmanship, no flinging innuendos at each other. She was almost… not almost… was… pleasant company.

        Teleman faded into St. Saens.

        He began to gently pump her for information, information she had read from centuries ago, read in the library. She repeated books, scrolls verbatim.  Things she had taken interest in, she could go on and on, in her zeal for the subject. Her knowledge of history, of the Races, of the Ages was amazing. She talked of the beauty of Lothlórien, of Imladris, the intelligence of Elrond, Erestor, the bravery and wicked humor of Glorfindel, the sexual ruthlessness of Thrandull, of Rohan, of Gondor. Then there were other things…

        “It is quite frightening, Bronwyn.” He  stated at one point. “You could tell someone how to clinically open one’s head and remove the tumor that lies within. I would not want you do to it to me, however.”

        She shook her head negatively and slowly made her way to a deep window sill, staring into the moonlit night. “You realize we have made this circle countless times.”

        “I had not noticed.”

        “It is four in the morning. I will be to tired for breakfast.”  Her voice was far away. He had lost track of the time, enjoying the conversation.

        “I will let you sleep.” He stood behind her, feeling her thoughts, sensing them move away from her, into a distant time. She was open. She was… temporarily untied from all gravity of her pain.

        “Bronwyn, where are you?”

        Her response was so quiet, he almost missed it. He leaned closely, hands on her shoulders, to hear.

        “The Gardens of Isengard. They were so beautiful after the Ents replanted it. So beautiful…” Her eyes had glazed over.

        Severus’ agile mind took in all he had witnessed in the past few hours, days, witnessed in the library, witnessed in his classroom, witnessed here in this hallway. Full realization of who and what she was slammed his senses.

        Historian of the Ages – she had lived 38,000 years, had seen all that Man could muster. Had spent time with those who could remember back to the First Age, had spoken to them, knew their stories. Remembered all.

        The Storyteller of the Races – The Teacher of Teachers. She who had taught the Elflings the lore, the Ainur, she who would teach these children of that world they hid from, of their common ancestor. She who knew all.

        The Protector and Seer of the Future – She had risked all to

protect the sanctity of Man. She had watched it unfold from afar and had protected Elrond’s hidden children when they had been threatened with annihilation; out of love for Elrond, for them, she had stepped forward to save them, costing her…

        The Musician of the All – she who played every instrument, was a master of all of them. Bronwyn had told him that when Iluvatar, God, if one was bold, created the Valar, they didn’t speak. They had sung the very world into existence… When the Elves went anywhere, they sang. Music, that was so important…

        The Voice of the Unheard – the Wizards were unheard, secreted. She had been their voice…

        The Keeper of the Truth and of the Innocent – She had showed Man what would happen if… protecting those who were guiltless…

        I am  the Founder and Mother of the Celtic Bards. I am the Bard of the Earth…

        The Bard. Not any bard.

        The Bard.

        Tel’ Lindar.

        This woman’s very hand had stayed the keel of the Earth; The Elf had been her Guardian and Shield. And now He was.

        I am.

        The full force of it struck Severus. This petulant child, who raged at the world in one breath and then just as quickly swung to playfulness, protected them; Man, Wizards. Had lost what was most precious to her for them. Why? For what?

        He spun her around and lifting her easily onto the wide window sill, he braced his fists on either side of her. He looked deep into brown eyes and at the same time, delved with his mind, attempting to find, to capture her wandering one.

        “Who are you? What are you?” he whispered.

        Her voice was distant. “I am Bronwyn Morgan ap Powell, the Bard of all the Earth, the last Empty Vessel.  I am the beloved of Haldir of Lothlórien.”

        “And who is Haldir of Lothlórien?”

        “He is Heru en Cormmin, Lord of my heart, my husband. My lover. The father of my children, my Guardian, my Shield. He was a gift to me.”

        “Why him?” Snape’s voice continued its hypnotic whisper.

        “Because he was the best. The best of that Age. He was what I was not.” She stared deep into his eyes, unaware of his interrogation.

        “Who am I?”

        “Severus Snape. Potions Master of Hogwarts. Former Death Eater. Now also, Guardian and Shield of the Bard of the Earth.”

        “Why me?” His question pained him, wretched from his soul.

        “Because you are the best this world has to offer. You are everything we are not.  I am your gift.  I am to teach you what you never knew.”

        He paused for a moment, taking in what she said. He leaned in closer, his forehead almost touching hers.

        “Teach me what?”

        Her gaze never broke from his. Her fingers left the window sill and cupped his face, gently, a lover’s touch, her look full of sorrow.

        “I do not know.”

***

TBC

***   

Dido’s Lament from the Opera, Dido and Aeneas ( 1st performance 1689)

Words by Nahum Tate -1652 – 1715

Music by Henry Purcell -1658/9 -1695

Moro Lasso/I die

Carlo Gesualdo (c1560-1613)

All Dead, All Dead

Brian May – 1977

Queen – News of the World album –

“Well done my good and faithful Servant.”

If I need to tell you who said that, then…..

Lirimaer – lovely one

Tithen Aras – little one

Tel Lindar 06 The Prisoner of your soul or Bruising of your heart

14 Friday Apr 2023

Posted by zeesmuse in Uncategorized

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06, hp, LOTR, tel lindar

Chapter 6

The Prisoner of your soul or Bruising of your heart

***

The place had all the makings of a water-front dive. It was smoky, the reek of spilt ale and sea sweat was strong. All eyes, all attention was aimed at the back of the room.

The Woman stood on a table, guitar slung around her abdomen and was making quite the spectacle of herself. Her shoulders were bared and one corner of her skirt was tucked into a low-slung belt, with her petticoat ruffle framing a shapely bare leg.

“A Master of Music came with intent

To give me a lesson on my instrument

I thanked him for nothing and bid him begone

For my little fiddle must not be played on…”

The Voyeur felt himself harden. Merlin’s Robes, he wanted to take her into a room, throw her skirts over her head and bend her over…

“You must watch over her.”

The Voyeur’s mind jerked from his nefarious thoughts. He rolled his eyes in surliness and spoke contemptuously to the Big Elf. “You again? What must I watch for now?”

The Big Elf snarled back at the Voyeur. “Only for your heart’s deepest desire! It would all be yours, if you would just stay your hand but a little!”

The Voyeur turned to glare haughtily at the Elf. “She does not listen; watch over her; stay your hand..” he mocked. “Small wonder you are dead and I am stuck with this… Merlin’s Garters!…” His attention was snatched back to the display she provided.

The Elf chuckled.

“Oh cabin boy! Oh cabin boy!

You naughty little nipper

You lined your ass

With broken glass

And circumcised the skipper!”

Oh, did the crowd enjoy that one! Money poured into her tip bowl until it overflowed. The Voyeur could still hear the Elf chortling.

“My personal favorite is ‘Orc on the Run!’ “

In the blink of an eye, the Woman was at the bar, her bowl in hand and her guitar slung across her back. The bartender slid a flagon of what looked like sweet fruit juices towards her and moved on down the bar. The Woman’s eyes slid sweetly over the Elf, not seeing the dark Voyeur on the other side. She took a deep drink from her mug and smiled.

“You venture far from home, Elf.”

“I am seeing the sights.” the Elf answered, his gravelly voice, rasping on the nerves of the Voyeur. “Wander some before returning to the Wood.” He took a pull from the frothy stein of ale that had been set in front of him. “You are an interesting sight. You are…?” The Voyeur as well found a mug of ale in his hand and he was pleasantly shocked at the smoothness of the taste.

She downed her beverage, belching in a most unladylike manner. She set her glass down and stuck out her hand in greeting. “I am Morgan. Morgan la Fay.” The Voyeur snorted in his beer. Morgan la Fay. That was rich! ” Pleased to meet you.” She was suddenly shoved into the Elf’s arms.

A tall, rangy man wearing a sword picked up her bowl and dumped it in a bag attached to his belt.

“Excuse me, but that is mine, you son of an Orc.” the Woman made a grab for her bowl and the bag. Greasy, meaty hands grabbed her wrists.

Within a heartbeat, the filthy man found himself looking down the blade of a long, broadsword.

And everything froze.

“She is my greatest treasure, my most precious jewel. You must watch over her.”

The Voyeur rubbed his eyes. The headache plaguing him even here in this land of nightmares. “Watch, watch, watch. Must you repeat this performance, every night?”

The Elf grabbed him by the arm, jerking the Voyeur’s fingers from his face. “I will if I must! You will learn to understand! In her zeal, she can cause scenes. In her ebullience, she will not realize she causes heads to turn, bring notice upon her. She is as bright as a freshly cut diamond. She is not quiet, she has no stealth. She will fix on her goal, and work towards it, regardless of who or what stands in her way.”

He released the Voyeur, his attention, his gaze returning to the scene frozen before them.”Almost, I was arrested for rescuing her. Almost.” For several moments, the Elf stared longingly at the Woman, love filling his eyes. The Voyeur’s fingers returned to his throbbing temples.

“She could help you with your headache.” The Elf’s gaze was full of concern.

The Voyeur snorted through his nose. “Why is everyone so dead set on her putting hands on me?” he gritted through clenched teeth, his fingers rubbing harder.

“Because, silly Wizard,” her voice was a shock. He jerked his eyes open to see her standing a breath away, her hand stroking an inky lock of hair behind his ear, “the Valar, with their bizarre sense of humor, not only made me the cause of your headache, but rests in me, the cause of your relief.” Her smile was one of compassion.

“Let me help you, silly Wizard… “

Silly Wizard…silly Wizard…silly Wizard…silly… silly… silly…

***

I often fantasize the stars above are our jail

They move my heart and speak to you as only lovers do

If I could wear your clothes, I’d pretend I was you

And lose control

Don’t let go (Love) – EnVogue

Organized Noise; Andrea Martin et al

***

Bronwyn jerked from her reverie, shocked to find herself, writhing on the ground, her hands…

Oh man! Her hands…

“Madam! I asked a simple question! What the hell are you doing?”

Her eyes flew up to his glittering pools; steaming pits that reflected the starlight from God knew where. She flew to her feet, her hands, jerking from her leggings and shirt, and quickly moving behind her back. Self-consciously, she furtively began to wipe her sex dampened fingers on the back tail of her shirt.

“What the hell am I doing?” She immediately threw the question and the action back towards the Potions Master. “What the hell are YOU doing? How dare you sneak up on a person like that!” She attempted to nonchalantly arrange her clothing, straighten her hair. What on earth had she been doing? “You scared the bejesus out of me!” She looked around nervously, trying to discern if only he had caught her in her dream.

Snape moved towards her, pressing her slowly against a darkened wall. He could smell her climax on her, on her fingers, on her body. He had seen the mist, the fog, how it had enveloped her and realized that she probably was not aware that what she had been doing, she did alone. He squashed the small iota of compassion he felt for her plight and horned in on his anger; his anger for being dragged from his bed at this hour, his anger at her for fleeing her safe haven – safe because he had created it; his anger that she… desired the Elf so badly, she had created him from air.

Anger because she did not desire him.

He squashed that thought as well.

He had backed her into the wall, the stone biting into her skin. Almost lazily, he braced his hands over her head, his cascading cloak encasing her in total darkness.

He heard her startled intake of breath. He could smell her fear.

Good.

He bent down, his lips against her ear. Again, he was overwhelmed by her scent; sweat, leather, roses.

Sex.

Sex oozed from her pores. It took every ounce of self-control he had to keep from ravishing her on the spot. He forced himself to speak, whisper silkily in her ear.

“I scared you? I could have killed you, silly chit! Or raped you, but considering your…previous activity, that might be your cup of tea.”

She struck him for that. Unable to see within the gloom cast by his cloak, the blow landed clumsily on his ear. He grabbed at her hands and pinned them to the stone wall behind her. Out of sheer perversity, he nuzzled the skin of her neck and felt her shudder. He grinned, perceiving the tremor to be one of revulsion. He nipped at her earlobe, quickly licking the small hurt with his tongue.

She nearly collapsed in his arms.

“Would you like that?” he breathed. “Do you like it rough?” His tongue continued to flick at her ear, her body shivering wildly. “Do you like to pretend you are being forced?” Severus pressed his body against her; she could feel his need, his desire.

Yet, she was not quivering in aversion to his touch. The slide of his tongue along her skin, the scalding air that moved over her flesh as he growled dangerously into her ear, caused her to quake with need. She hated her body’s betrayal, betrayal to herself.

Betrayal to Haldir.

He felt her stiffen in rage, her voice coming from behind clenched teeth.

“Either put up or shut up! Take me or leave me be. But do not think to start something you have no intention of completing!” she hissed. Her eyes climbed, fiery rays searching his out in the dark. “Or is it that you can’t?”

By the Gods, she was calling his bluff. But she was a feisty one. What was it the Elf called her… Baraermin… My Fiery One. Ah, he had named her well. Snape allowed himself to smile in her ear, before releasing her and coiling back within himself.

“I have never enjoyed taking a woman against her will.” Bronwyn heard the implied confession in his voice. Never had enjoyed, meaning he had done it. She grabbed her wrists and rubbed the indentions. There would be bruising again by morning. She forced herself to breathe deep, quell the desire rising within her. “Do you have any idea what you have done?” The angry voice was back. Her hackles raised and she allowed herself free reign.

“Well let me think…” she tapped her finger in her lip. “Yes! I have many ideas about what I have done. I have flouted your authority, broken free of the prison you set for me, managed to have a rip-roaring good time on the lawn here, aaaaall by myself!” she smirked. “Turning you on is a major plus.”

“Silence!” His hand snaked out, grabbing her by the wrist and quickly, he dragged her from the hidden alcove into the main yard, under the moonlight. As they passed the entrance to the grotto, he flung her into the moon-washed yard. They faced each other, circling like well-matched fencing partners.

Two pairs of glittering eyes glared at one another. For several minutes, nothing could be heard but the sound of insects and other night creatures.

His very posture dared her to attempt to explain herself. She was not forthcoming. He pulled into his robes, arms tucked in tightly.

“Now, I have now asked twice. What on earth were you thinking?”

“Ah-ha!” She shook a single finger under his nose. “You asked what I was doing, not what I was thinking.”

He stared off towards a tree, over her right shoulder, doing everything in his power to not use an Unforgivable on her for her cheek. After a moment of calm, he brought his gaze back to hers.

“Do you realize the danger you could have put yourself in?” he inquired hotly. “These grounds are not totally safe!”

“It’s a school! It damn well SHOULD be safe!”

“Silence!” It was the second time he had demanded that of her.

“Make up your mind! I cannot be silent and explain what I was doing at the same time!” Her bottom lip came out in a classic female pout.

“I am not impressed, Madam! Surely, you can do better than that childish expression!”

Bronwyn exhaled angrily. Without realizing it, she mimicked his stance, that look of bored impatience. She pulled herself up taller, ignoring the fact that her pants were once more drooping dangerously low and tucked her hands in the crook of her elbows.

Snape could see her jaw twitching as she pushed down hard on her anger. Her lips barely moved as mumbling fell forth like dust. He could barely make out the words, but they sounded faintly like…

“… locked out…”

“Come again, madam?” he inquired, drawing out her embarrassment. “I did not quite catch that.”

“I couldn’t get back in.” she gritted between clenched teeth. The crevices of his eyes crinkled in malice as Bronwyn snarled, “I got locked out, ok? There! Does that make you happy?”

“No, it makes me correct.” His exhaled breath fluttered an errant lock of hair that was lying across his eye. “You are obviously incapable of caring for yourself and you will require constant monitoring…”

“What? WHAT?” Her screeching woke up a bird and it flew off in terror. The distance she had craved to keep between them, she herself eradicated as she got in his face. Her hands remained tucked tightly inside the folds of her elbows. “I am not a child and I will not be treated as if I am!”

Severus leaned over, never removing his hands, his face scant inches from hers. “You should have never attempted to get out.”

For a minute, they were nose to nose, the two in a stand-off.

She cracked first. Her face splitting into a wide grin, a deep chuckle emanating from the back of her throat.

“Well, aren’t we two peas in a pod! A couple of regular Bobbsey Twins!” She continued to laugh until she took in his look of bored confusion.

“The who?”

“Oh, come on! The Bobbsey Twins! Don’t tell me you have never…” By the look of consternation on his face, he apparently hadn’t. “Oh, Severus! Come on! You haven’t read the Bobbsey Twins? There was a series of books! Movies! Snape! I can’t believe you haven’t even heard of them! A family with eight kids, two sets of twins…”

“You mean they could not figure out how to stop procreating? Was birth control beyond their meager attention spans?”

“Professor Snape! I can’t believe… I bet you haven’t read Louisa May Alcott either!” His facial expression never changed. Her hand went up in the air and she began to circle around him, her finger punctuating the words; a diva performing her solo aria.

“But of course you haven’t read Louisa May Alcott! She writes for girls! And by golly, you aren’t a girl, never have been one, never will be. Which means you have missed Little Women and Little Men and Jo’s Boys and we mustn’t forget Eight Cousins!”

Snape turned in a circle, – where the hell was she going with this? – following her; coiling, coiling, ready to spring…

She continued her tirade, blissfully unaware of the tightly wound professor, waiting to explode. ” I wonder if you have read Shakespeare or Poe. But then…” she stopped and playfully however rather firmly punched him on the arm, “no, you haven’t because they were Muggles and God forbid, you should have anything to do with them, because,” her index finger was conducting rhythm patterns in the air, “they aren’t Wizards!” She hiked her leggings back up.

“Are you quite through?”

“Maybe! Maybe not!”

Despite it being summer, the night air was chilly and Snape could sense eyes not friendly watching them. He grabbed her by the arm and slung her towards the door he had come from.

“Pull yourself together. You look foolish!” Bronwyn guiltily turned her back to him and began to tie the lacings on her pants, as he prodded her, none too gently, towards the door. He could hear the laces whipping angrily as she pulled her clothes together. The door ahead opened, allowing a dim light to shine upon the courtyard.

Amadeus was waiting inside.

He was most distressed.

Whining and chuffing quietly, he circled Bronwyn so tightly, she could not move. He ran his muzzle over every inch of her, checking her scent. He spent an enormous amount of time… there… Amadeus sat, first looking at her dejectedly, in disappointment, and then facing Severus, growling.

“Amadeus!” Bronwyn gently chided the beast.

“Oh, give over!” Severus growled back. “Your mistress had herself a grand time in the alcove. She was finished when I found her. I did not touch her!”

“Now, that ain’t quite true…” Bronwyn mumbled.

Whatever argument was brewing, between Bard, Wizard and Beast was forced to wait, as Severus grabbed Bronwyn by the elbow and proceeded to force her back down into the dungeons. She struggled for some time, finally giving up when she realized his grip was tight and fighting for her appendage only caused him to propel her faster down the darkened corridor. Within minutes, she found herself pushed through her classroom and into her chambers.

“Lumos!” The lights in the living area and foyer came on brightly and he shoved her towards the couch. Upon his release of her arm, she quickly moved to the back of the couch, hands griping the support of the low slung furniture.

“You are willful and disobedient!” Snape spat.

She shrugged elegantly, a trait learned from Haldir. “Tell me something I do not know.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed to black, angry slits. “I should thrash you within an inch of your life!”

Her eyes widened and the most wicked smile lit her features. She… Merlin’s Robes, she LICKED the plump bow of her lip with the tip of her tongue in anticipation. “Promise?” her whisper was like smooth, warm brandy, gliding down. “I would sooo enjoy that!”

The wolf made a very rude noise, almost as if he were snorting through his nose. He had been standing behind Snape, as if to align himself with the Potions Master, but he now moved in between them, stepping up on the couch and laying across the cushions as if to mediate, separate them. He turned unblinking eyes towards Severus.

Severus fought to keep his temper under control. Fingers grasped his hair by the roots as he raked the long locks back behind his ears. ‘Small wonder it looks so oily all the time.’ she wondered to herself. ‘He cannot keep his fingers out of it!’

“It is after two in the morning, madam!” he gritted through clenched teeth. “What or where was so important you risked your foolish neck to climb out?” His gaze pierced her smart-ass attitude and she felt herself unconsciously back down.

“I… I… wanted to go the library.” Bronwyn fidgeted, her fingers playing in the back of her waistband. He was mindful of her bare feet curling in like a young child caught doing something naughty.

“The library?” his whisper was hoarse. “You do not have enough of your own books?” He gestured towards the upstairs where stacks of books lay about her room.

“I’ve read all of those!” She waved her hand dismissively.

Oh, like that was supposed to explain everything!

“Why do I not believe you?”

Bronwyn drew herself up, prideful bearing in full evidence. “I don’t care if you believe me or not! I’ll not be interrogated like a…”

“I asked you a question, madam.” Severus slid around the couch, challenging her personal space and backing her yet again towards the wall, the glass doors. His voice was velvet. “I expect a truthful answer.” Slowly, under the watchful guise of Amadeus, she retreated back, back, back against the cool panes of the patio doors. “What was so important that you felt the…” she felt her back press flush against the glass, effectively hindering her flight, “need to endanger yourself to escape this pretty, glass cage?” His hands gestured to the beautiful apartment. For the second time in under half an hour, Bronwyn found herself pinned neatly by his body, unwelcomed desires rising quickly to the surface. She squashed them, cruelly, and did her damndest to go nose-to-nose with the tall Wizard.

“That’s the ticket, isn’t it Severus?” She spat each word. “A pretty, glass cage! I am tired of feeling trapped! I am tired of having no freedom of movement! I am tired of being a prisoner to your whims! I am tired of being a prisoner, period!”

Her body pushed against his, not budging it, but he felt the pressure of her, as her chin jutted upwards. He felt the heat of her anger, the fire of her passion, and he would have reveled in the glory of her long-smoldering eruption.

Except she was saying the wrong things. Completely.

Her hands were smacking against his lean, but well-clad frame, punctuating her outburst, unsuccessfully attempting to push him back.

“I will NOT be a prisoner in my own so-called home! I will NOT be locked in like a common criminal and treated like someone so dangerous that they must be watched around the clock, with a locator band attached to their person. I certainly do NOT want to be guarded by you! Do you have any idea what it is like to be locked up? Imprisoned? It’s loathsome! It’s… mpff.”

Snape’s fingers were lightly across her lips, effectively putting a cease to her tirade. What scant centimeter she had gained in pushing against him, she lost quickly as again, she found herself pressed to the wall, his hands framing her face, his fingers caressing her cheeks, thumbing the tears that had begun to fall.

His voice was deceptively gently. His words, however…

“Do I know what is like to be a prisoner? Yes, I do. I was one for many months.” She stiffened at the admission. “And you know, I deserved every moment I spent behind the bars of Azkaban.” His hands moved to her shoulders, pressing against her, pinning her back to the crystal doorway. “Madam, do you truly know what it is like to be a prisoner? I spent eight months in a tiny room, furnished by nothing but a metal bed and a hole in the ground for a toilet! Do you know what it is like to have guards, whose only function is to inhale the very happiness from your soul, that you cannot even dream about the joy of escaping? So you cannot fantasize about the joy of holding or being held by someone you love? And there is no escape, madam, no books to read, no music to play to aid in your defense from them. There is no defense! Your mind is no longer yours.”

He leaned in, his mouth hovering scant centimeters above hers.

“And when you can take no more, and you beg for death to release you, do you know who, what they send? They send a being that will suck your soul from your body with a kiss so abhorrent and filthy that you wish you could go back in time and change everything, even die in whatever battle you escaped from. Anything, to escape the hell you are living in.And many times, they will not send that. They take perverse pleasure in listening to you beg.” He crushed her into the door as he pushed himself backwards and released her.

“The price I paid for freedom was dear, but I would do it again. Therefore, you will not whine to me about being a prisoner. You truly have no idea. Grieve your husband, but get on with the business of moving on with your life so we can complete this infernal task of yours and I can be released from the prison of your need.” He turned and strode to the stairway, putting his hand on the iron banister. “Go to bed, madam.”

“But I…”

“I said go to bed!” His voice brooked no disobedience. “I do not care if you sleep or not. Pile the thing with books, stack up mountains of your husband’s clothing and masturbate until the sun comes up for all I care, but get in it and do not leave it until I come for you at breakfast!” He looked over his shoulder, seeing clearly the tear-filled eyes of Tel’ Lindar and the baleful gaze of her familiar. “If you ever cause me to come and hunt you on the grounds again, I will attach you to that bed like I attached you to your chair when you first came. Now go!”

“Severus, I…”

“I said GO!” He had turned his face back towards her door, not seeing, but sensing her approach. He felt her touch his back. Electrical heat emanated at her touch and he almost gasped at the shock, as he felt her mind race through his, sharing his pain.

He remembered his dream of the … Dead Marshes.

‘You are forgiven. Go. Go search for the light…’

Albus had said her magic was different from his. Her hands jerked from his back.

“What did you just do, madam?”

“Nothing, I didn’t mean to..”

“What did you do?” He enunciated each word through clenched teeth.

“I… I… it is difficult to explain…” Her voice faltered; he could sense the tension, the abstruseness of what had happened.

“Figure out a way to explain it in the morning. Go to bed. Now.” He heard her move quickly up the stairwell and listened to her fling herself sobbing into the bed.

There was a low growling behind him.

“Oh, shut up. She needed a reality check and she got one!” Snape turned to the wolf. “Either go to her or take out my throat. Personally, I would prefer you take out my throat, then she can be your problem again!” Snape waited for a moment, waited for Amadeus to make a choice. He did neither, just growled.

***

Peaceful sleep again eluded Severus that night. He ran through the forest of huge, golden trees, being pursued by a ghostly, Elven Warrior, who finally pinned him to a tree, arrow at his throat. He could feel the sharp point nicking his skin, pricking blood…

“You will let her come on her own. You will not force her. You will not use her. You will not tease her…”

Peaceful sleep also eluded Bronwyn, who dreamt that while being held in the arms of Haldir, could feel the cool strokes of another’s hands on her back, her hips, the dark one’s kisses at the nape of her neck, her ears. She dreamt of looking deep into Haldir’s indigo blue eyes, questioning, fearful and hearing his voice…

“Trust him Baraermin. Please, give over. Help him. Teach him. Trust him.”

Amadeus curled tighter to his mistress’ body and tenderly, like a lover, licked her nightmare-induced tears from her face.

***

Come to me now

And lay your hands over me

Even if it’s a lie

Say it will be alright

And I shall believe.

Sheryl Crow – I Shall Believe

***

She awoke to him standing over her bed. She quickly rolled away from him and swung her legs to the floor.

“I’ll get up. Just don’t touch my wrists.” She was still in the clothing she had been in the night before and she winced in pain as she leaned her weight on her bruised arms in order to lever herself up.

“Let me see.” Snape came around the bed and reached out to grasp her hand. She shrank back away from him.

“They are bruised.” she told him, tucking them around her waist. “They will heal in a few days. I will just have to wear long sleeves so no one will see.” She attempted to maneuver around him, only to be blocked by him.

“Let me see.” He held out his hand. “I will not harm you.” He closed his eyes and motioned for her to give him her arms. Reluctantly, she placed her wrists gingerly in his large hands.

Bruised was an understatement. Her fair skin was blackened and Snape unconsciously winced at the force he must have used in his fury, his lust the night before. He was furious at his loss of self-control; that he had allowed himself to exert so much barbaric power too that she was willing to cover the marks, as many women in abusive relationships hid their shame. There were many other ways he could have exerted his will without laying a hand on her, without harming her physically. Holding both of her wrists in one of his hands, he reached deep into his pocket. “I was afraid this would happen. I have brought you a potion to heal these.”

“No thanks, kind sir.” The sarcasm in her voice was thick. “I think I would rather go to Madame Pomfrey if I can find some excuse to explain these.” She held up both wrists and waved them at him.

He pulled out a vial with a yogurty looking liquid inside. “Madam, who do you think brews her potions?” Using his thumb, he quickly unstopped the vial and handed it to her. “Drink this.”

She took it distastefully and turned to Amadeus, who was still stretched out on the bed. “If I die, or get ill, you will kill him for me, won’t you?” The wolf snorted and rolled over on his back, paws waving in the air. “Lump of drool!” she muttered. She quickly knocked back the liquid, which slid like a thin mayonnaise from the vial to her throat.

She immediately went into what many children called ‘the bad taste dance.’

“YRCH! Oh GAD!” Her face screwed up and she bent over double, stomping a foot. “Cripes, that is vile! It’s disgusting!” Bronwyn looked up at him from her bent over position and gagged. “Eeew!” She could have sworn he was smiling. “You beast!”

Severus shrugged and held out his hand. “The taste will pass soon enough. Let me see your wrists.” Her face still scrunched, she laid her wrists back in his large palm. Using his long fingers, he gently began to stroke the bruises, his movements calming her. She became hypnotized by his sight of his fingers, caressing her arms, circling, the pain slowly fading. So entranced by the movement, she almost missed the question he asked her.

“What did you do to me last night?” His voice was very soft, almost a whisper.

“Severus, I don’t understand. What do you mean by what did I do?”

The fingers continued to brush along her skin, the bruising fading. “Last night, before you went upstairs, you touched me, using a magic I have never experienced or seen. You said – and it felt like – you ran through my head.” His eyes stared into hers. “What did you do to me?”

“I… I… didn’t mean to. It happens. I have no control…” Her eyes flew down to the stroking fingers, lost in their graceful movement.

“What did you do to me?” Although still quiet, the voice was becoming steely. She took a deep breath, still mesmerized by his gentle motion.

“Sometimes, when emotions are high, when they are very volatile, I can touch someone and feel those emotions, the things that caused the hurt, the fury, the anger. Sometimes… if someone has… died violently, I can see their life, their final moments, help them to move…”

“The dream.” His voice had become a deceptive whisper. “The dream of you with the bodies in the bog.” His fingers had now moved to the other arm.

“It was no dream for me. It happened.” Her voice was equally soft, far way. Severus looked at her and saw her eyes, distant, unfocused. “So many bodies, so many dead. I couldn’t release them all. I tried, all day I tried. Men, Elves, Orcs. It did not matter. Haldir… Haldir carried me out.”

“He worried for you.” The fingers had stopped caressing, the bruising, gone.

“Aye. Worried for me, worried for the babe I was carrying… Beckett… oh Beckett…” her voice trailed off. He allowed her her silence for a few minutes.

“What did you do to me last night?” His whisper hung in the air. “What did you see?”

Her answer was almost lost in that same heaviness.

“I walked through your memory. I saw your cell, saw those… things. I saw… all of that.” Snape realized he no longer held her hand; she held his. “I did not mean to. It was unintentional. I am sorry.” She turned his hand over, her index finger, running along the lines of the palm in his hand.

Music rose in the air. Gentle. Exotic. Very… erotic, yet heartbreaking.

Ar sindanóriello caite mornië

Ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë

Her hand closed around his. Bolts of electricity shot through him…

@@@@@@@@

Snape found himself standing on a boat. It was night and she stood at the back, draped in the red cloak, the breeze whipping its too long length around her. The Elf, Celeborn, stood by her side, his arms about her. Severus watched as she put her arms through the Elf’s and clasped him around the waist, burying her face in his chest.

“He grieves, Celeborn. He grieves the leaving of Beckett and Anselm. He will not allow me to comfort him, will not allow me to see his pain. What do I do? How do I help him?”

@@@@@@@@

Snape blinked.

And found himself back in her room, her hand still on his.

“It would seem you and I have something in common.” Her hand reached up and in motion straight from his nightmares, her fingers stroked his jaw line.

“What would that be?” he gritted between clenched teeth. He did not move back from her touch.

“We need to comfort each other.” Bronwyn’s voice was low, so soft he had to strain to hear it. “Pity. We are clueless on how to do it.” She stepped back, the spell broken. “I need to change. Do you trust me enough to do it by myself or would you like to watch?” she asked, teasingly.

“Do you think you can manage it on your own?”

Bronwyn chuckled, trying to lighten the weightiness, the seriousness that had descended on them. “Oh, I think I am grown-up enough to change my own clothes.” Her fingers reached and gently tucked an errant lock of hair behind his ear. “Severus?”

“Yessss?” His answer was a whisper. Her touch was feather-light, stroking to his throat.

“You have a nick,” her finger gently brushed his Adam’s Apple, “right here. It looks like an….arrow?…”

He had been surprised to see the mark himself that morning. “I cut myself shaving.” he lied smoothly.

“Ah.” She lowered her hand from his face. “I will be down in a few minutes.”

Severus was almost loath to see her hand return to her side. She turned her back to him, going to her dresser.

“Madam.” He captured her attention in her reflection in her mirror. Her eyebrows acknowledged him. “The song, a moment ago. What are the words?”

She smiled wanly.

“Out of a grey country darkness lies

And all paths are drowned deep in shadow”

She watched from the corner of her eye, as he seemingly floated down her stairs.

***

TBC

***

“My Thing is my own”

Words Traditional

The Wilson Sisters

Rennasaince

Tel lindar 5 – The dregs of the Cauldron or A hot Summer night.

07 Friday Apr 2023

Posted by zeesmuse in Uncategorized

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Tags

hp, LOTR

Chapter 5

The Dregs of the Cauldron or A Hot Summer Night

***

            The Voyeur was back in the woods, but these trees were different. More normal. The sound of a reed flute wafted through the leaves.

            It was she.

            She leaned against a trunk wearing a medieval-style brown velvet dress. The neckline plunged to show a generous decollage. The sleeves were long, pointed at the back of her hands, her legs tucked under a full skirt.

            “Watch. Listen.”

            The Voyeur scowled at the Elf over his shoulder.

            “Must you insist on sneaking up on me?”

            A cultured eyebrow raised in question. “Why are you not looking for me by this time? You are too busy watching my lady.” The stress on the word ‘my’ was not subtle.

            “Oh, but you bid me to watch out for her.” the Voyeur replied, snidely.

            “Aye.” the Elf smirked. “I did.” He nodded to the other side of the clearing.

            A brown wolf had entered the clearing. His muzzle was scarred, battered and he came to rest five feet from the woman.

            The Voyeur reached for his wand, only to be held back by the Elf.

            “Your magic will not work here. The wolf will not harm her. Watch.”

            She never stopped her song. Its melody was haunting, grief stricken, despondent.

            The wolf sang. He laid his head back and harmonized with her, following her dirge. It sent a shiver down the Voyeur’s spine. When one song was finished, they began another.

            And another.

            And another.

            “For seven days, he has come, he has followed us. Each day, he sits closer.”

            “Why?” The Voyeur, despite his misgivings of the close proximity of the wild animal, was fascinated by the repartee between the beast and the woman.

            “He has the blues.”

            The Voyeur looked at the Elf.

            “Is that not an American thing?”

            The Elf snorted. “Nay. It is a musical thing. An emotional thing.” Both Elf and Voyeur watched quietly, with arms crossed for several moments. The Elf then gestured back into the clearing. “Observe.”

            As the woman and the wolf continued sing, to play together, two she-wolves silently came from the trees, carrying…

            “Wolflings.” The Elf whispered.

            Back and forth and back and forth the she-wolves came and went. The woman and the wolf never ceased their duet until seven cubs had been dropped in her lap. Upon the last cub, the scarred wolf came to her and nuzzled each cub.

            “Why?” She voiced the question to the wolf. “Why Firehater, do you do this?” The wolf responded with low-pitched howls and yips. He sniffed over each cub again, before licking her hand and with a final look at the cubs, disappeared into the woods.

            “He is afraid.” The Elf tapped the Voyeur on the shoulder. “The future brought frightening changes and he was afraid of its uncertainty. The world was changing and he knew not what to expect. He saw his own death.  He was afraid for his children, himself, the survival of his pack.  He brought his children to her for safe-keeping, for their protection.”

            “Likewise, her world has brought frightening changes. She is afraid for her children, afraid of what the future holds. She has been given to you for safe-keeping, for her protection. Yet, she is afraid to live, to love again. She clings to her grief, does not want to let it go as she fears that by releasing it, she will forget and cease to love those who have gone before her.”

            “If she does not wish to move on,” the Voyeur snarled, “what am I supposed to do about it?”

            The Elf narrowed his eyes, angrily. “She embraces her grief, much like you cleave to your guilt.” The consonants were spat, shot from the Elf’s mouth like bullets from a fast-firing gun. “You must both move on, releasing each other from your pain, if you have any desire to complete the task at hand.”

            The Voyeur felt her touch, a calloused fingertip, gently stroking his jawline. He looked down, startled, into forgiving eyes.

            Reservo vester ipse. Adiumentum mea reservo tu. Reservo mea.

            Save yourself. Help me save you. Save me.

            Save me… save me… save me… save me… sa…

***

For she was right

I was tight

Everybody has their way

It was the Lish a- buy-a -broom

That led me astray

trad. Irish

***

            She wore black anyway.

                 In truth, Remus had said nothing to Bronwyn about her attire. She was still sleeping when he entered the apartment and spoke to Rumil, who watched over her like a neurotic parent. The Elf had seemed excited about getting her outside and away from school for even a little while. And despite the fact that she wore that most somber of colors, Remus was still pleased with what he saw.

            It was not unrelieved black, like Severus, who chafed behind him. She wore a black frock coat, with a low v-neck, allowing the white frothy bibbed collar to show. Long spidery lace cuffs that covered her to the first knuckle of her fingers, peeked from under the sleeve. The coat was indented, feminine with only one front button and laced and skirted in at the back. She wore tight black leggings, her feet encased in soft black leather boots that also laced up the back and he saw an ornamental etched dagger in her boot. Her only piece of jewelry was a ring, hanging from a chain around her neck.

            Rumil was equally decked out in finery. He wore a blue tunic with black leggings and boots. His hair was intricately braided and he wore a single, sapphire earring. Remus looked up at the Potions Master.

            “Well, we might as well give up. No woman will look at us with him around!”

            “I was not aware we were trying to gain any woman’s attention.”

            You are no fun, Remus thought to himself.  And yes, there is one woman’s attention you most certainly want to attract! He looked at Bronwyn again. He nudged Severus.

            “Lle naa vanima. Say it.”

            Severus scowled at him, the perpendicular line between his eyebrows becoming very defined. “I beg your pardon?”

            “Lle naa vanima.” Remus motioned with his hand, quickly. “Come on, say it.”

            “Why?”

            “Just Say It!” Remus hissed. “Just say it! Lle naa vanima!”

            “Lle naa vanima.” he barked, a little too loudly. “Now wha-“

            Bronwyn looked over at the two whispering, arguing Wizards.  She blushed and smiled. “Why Severus. Thank you.” Her angelic glow was aimed solely at the Potions Master. She smacked Rumil in the arm. “You have been giving Sindarian lessons, haven’t you?”

            For some reason, Rumil looked very confused.

            “What did I just say?” Snape voice was low, a simmering cauldron.

            “You told her she was beautiful.” Remus chuckled. “And look at the prize she bestowed on you! A genuine smile! Aren’t you the lucky Wizard?” He strode across the room to stand by her.

            “Expecting trouble?” Remus asked, pointing to the dagger.

            “Only from him!” Bronwyn stabbed a finger towards Severus. “I was not aware he was coming.”

            Severus threw a haughty chin up. “I do not have to go…”

            Her hand waved at him. “Oh, get over your bad self! Of course, I do not mind your company, especially if you plan to fill my head with silly compliments! Just please try not to be so cheerful!” She walked around Remus  and grabbed Severus by the arm. Her touch was like an electric shock that traveled to his spine – a not unpleasant feeling, he decided. “You will make the rest of us look bad! Amadeus! In or out?” The wolf tweaked an ear and slid from the room, disappearing into the hallways.

            The group made their way to the edge of the road, the sun setting over the lake. “Well, my friends,” Remus sounded jovial, “do we walk or Apparate?”

            “Apparate?” Rumil and Bronwyn asked in unison.

            “One minute you are here, the next minute, you are where you need to be.”

            Rumil and Bronwyn looked at each other. Rumil had much to say in Elvish and she shook her head.

            “Nay. We will walk.” and the two strode off arm in arm down the road in the direction of the city lights, the tails of her frock coat, swishing in the evening breeze.

            “Damn it, Severus.” Remus sighed in mock desire, “if you don’t make that morsel yours…”

            “Oh, bugger off, Remus.” Snape was annoyed at the turn of events. “She is not your type for one thing. And as you well know, I have no desire to make any woman my morsel.”

            Remus looked up at the thin slash that was Severus’ mouth. How long would Severus blame himself for Voldemort’s folly? How long would he consider himself unworthy of love at all?

            “Lupin. You do realize they have no idea where they going!”

            Remus chuckled quietly. “I suppose we should catch up.”

***

He: On a hot summer night

            would you offer your throat

            to the wolf with the red roses?

She: Will he offer me his mouth? (Yes!)

            His teeth? (Yes!)

            His jaws? (Yes!)

            His hunger? (Yes!)

            Will he starve without me? (Yes!)

            Will he love me?

He:      Yes

On a hot summer night

            would you offer your throat

            to the wolf with the red roses?

She:     Yes

He:      I bet you say that to all the boys…

You took the words right out of my mouth/Hot Summer Night

Jim Steinman

Meatloaf – Bat Out of Hell

***

            The Elf could drink.

            In fact, Snape decided, the Elf could most likely drink both he AND Lupin under the table, if it were a contest. Luckily for him, Lupin wasn’t imbibing much of his Fire Whiskey and Snape had been slowly sipping his Scotch. The Elf was drinking ale like it was water.

            To make matters worse, they were being closely observed. Remus was aware of it as well. The two Wizards were on guard, watching for anything, anyone untoward. The Elf drew attention the moment that walked into the Three Broomsticks, but many recognized Bronwyn as well. Several had asked her to play, to sing for them. Rosmerta had herself offered to run to her flat to retrieve her own family lute for Tel’ Lindar’s use. Severus declined for her. Bronwyn quietly promised another time, another night.

            ‘It is just as well.’ Severus thought to himself. ‘Let them know where she is and that where she is watched over. Let them know she is  protected by me.’  He was not aware of his possessive attitude towards her.

            Bronwyn had been drinking as well – white wine – but unlike her counterpart, who talked more and more with every glass, she became more and more introverted. She had eaten well, so Snape was not worried about making a potion for her, but he was concerned about the growing depression building within her.

            The wine had brought down her defenses, her walls.

            So while Rumil talked and reminisced about his brothers, his nieces and nephews, his travels in Middle Earth with Bronwyn and her many adventures, Bronwyn became more and more withdrawn. Lupin tried to draw her out several times, to no avail. Her look became more haunted and the dark circles under her eyes became more pronounced.

            “Tithen Aras, do you remember the evening I interrupted you and Haldir by the river when you first came to us? I felt so badly…”

            “Rumil, please, you make me sound a loose woman.” Her voice was tired, slowly drawn out, her hand up as if to ward his words away. Rumil continued the story, her protestations unheard. Severus watched her closely, felt her draw herself more and more into a dangerously reclusive state.

            Her spirits sagged lower and lower. No amount of coaxing, pleading, or gentle prodding on Rumil’s or Remus’s part could lift her from her silence. She smiled, laughed at the appropriate times, gently demurred from all requests.

            Deep within, Severus could feel the bleakness in her soul.

            It was late when they left the tavern and began to walk back towards the school. As they left the outskirts, the hackles on Severus’ neck raised.

            “Lupin.”

            “I feel it to.” Remus took a staggering Rumil by the arm. “I have him, you take her.” and with a wave of his wand, vanished into thin air.

            “Wha-“

            Severus grabbed her, pulled her against his body. Bronwyn was warm and he felt her stiffen in surprise. “Say ‘There’s no place like home.’ ”  and with a wave, the earth shifted under her feet.

            The surroundings had changed, but neither noticed. Her hands had grasped him tightly around his waist and he held onto her with equal tenacity. She stared into his eyes, questioning and he stared back. Neither attempted to disengage from the other 

            “Hey!” Their thoughts were interrupted and she shoved herself from his embrace. Remus quickly strode to them. “Whoever it was will know where we went.” He gestured, motioned them to move forward. “Inside, quickly. It will take time to remove the wards from the doors.

            By the time they reached the main foyer, Bronwyn had an uncomfortable suspicion that someone – or something – had been close behind on their heels. For the first time since arriving, she spent the entire night in bed, huddled under covers, her thoughts churning on themselves. It bothered her to no end that she had enjoyed being in Snape’s arms.

            No potion, no spell could relieve Severus of his headache.

***

            The next morning, she showed no ill effects of the night’s imbibement. Rumil did, however and thankfully drank the nasty concoction Severus made for him. The Potions Master continued to escort Bronwyn to meals, yet left her to her own devices for the rest of the day.

            Her dark mood continued.

            Remus was furious at the turn of events.

            Bam!

            Snape’s door flew open as Lupin exploded in for a second time that day.

            “Why the hell do you sit here? You should be over there! Merlin’s Robes, Snape! Talk to her! Stop leaving it to me to do your dirty work and draw her out of her shell.”

            “Is this going to become habit?” Snape had several cauldrons going and was lording over each one. “If I must, I will put Fluffy on the door.”

            Lupin laughed. “Won’t work, Severus! Every instrument known to Man and Elf resides across the hall along with the master who plays them all!”

            Snape’s attention was back in his cauldrons. “So be it.” he muttered under his breath. “I will paint a full moon on it!”

            “I heard that! Dammit, man! Who peed in your lemonade?”  Lupin tapped fingers on Snape’s desk. “We need help with the harpsichord. It takes two to lift it so that she may attach the legs.”

            “Levitate it.” Snape never looked up from the cauldron he was tending.

            “She won’t let me.”  Remus’s head bobbled in weary vexation and his hand matched the movement . “She doesn’t trust the air.”

            Forbidding orbs looked out through the steam. “She does not trust… Remus, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth! And that is saying something! “

            Remus threw his hands up in supplication. “I know! I know! She cannot see what holds it up, therefore she does not trust it.”

            “What about the Elf?”

            “He is out riding with Hooch.”

            “Disgusting display.” Snape murmured beneath his breath.

            “Oh, yes.” Lupin agreed. “Quite sickening! To the core! Sad thing is, he has every female here – including Minerva, mind you – smiling at the very mention of his name. He spends time with them, amuses them, makes them think they are the only ones on Earth. And -” Remus put up a finger, “they are not arguing over him. You, my friend,” the raised finger began to wag back and forth tantalizingly in front of Snape’s face, “could stand to take a few lessons from the charismatic fellow!” The grin on his face was wolfish. “Now, are you going to help us or not? It would certainly raise your status with her a few notches.”

            Snape’s gaze had returned to brew in front of him. “Being egged into telling her she was beautiful was not enough?”

            “Well, it helped some, but your delivery needs a little work… is that what I think it is?” Remus peered into the boiling cauldron.

            “Yes, it is your potion. You will need to drink it tonight.”

            “What is the chance of getting it to taste better?”

            “None.”

            “Excuse me?” The door creaked open and Bronwyn peeked in. “Any chance at all I can get some help with my harpsichord?” Her smile rested on Remus, before moving on to Snape.

            Severus placed the ladle next to the cauldron and wiped his hands on the cloth he had placed nearby. “You owe me, Lupin.”

            Lupin chuckled to himself. “Oh, you don’t know how much you are going to owe me when this is over.”

***

Every little thing she does is magic

Every thing she do just turn me on

Even though her life is almost tragic

Don’t you know my love for her goes on…

the Police

***

            Days flew past and Bronwyn slowly regained her strength. She ate hearty meals and occasionally, Lupin would come down with cookies, cheesecake, ice cream. Her form filled out and she was no longer paler than Severus.

            At the insistent and annoying prodding of Remus, Severus found himself spending several days helping her unpack and he witnessed first hand the depth of her grief, the losses in her life.

            There was the afternoon she opened the trunk with her armor. Severus watched in fascination as she removed each piece. Beneath her armor, Haldir’s bow, Bronwyn’s sword, their weapons, was Haldir’s armor. She removed each piece with love, holding tightly to her emptiness until she reached the red cloak. Upon pulling it from the trunk, she buried her face in it, the scene exploding in the room, taking Severus with it…

                        ~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~

             “How can I protect you if you will do nothing to protect yourself?” The Elf was in full armor, the red cape, his long white hair, flowing in the breeze.

            “I trust you!” Bronwyn shouted back. She was wearing no armor, simply a black tank, black leggings, weapons mounted on every part of her body. Severus saw on her left arm, the mithril snake, curving up towards her shoulder. “Isn’t that what you wanted? My trust? Well, now you have it! My unadulterated, unconditional trust!”

            “You are such a neithadol!”

            “I heard that!” In her fury at the accusation, she jumped up and down, her entire body a indignant ball of energy. ” I heard that!…”

                                                                ~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~

            The scene flashed forward, how far, Snape couldn’t tell…

                                                                ~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~

            It was later in that same day. Bronwyn stood next to the big Elf’s side, the angry words of earlier either forgiven or laid aside. The wind blew still through the red cloak. In front, thousands of… things… Orcs… stood in readiness to attack the line of Elves the two were part of.

            “You will move behind me if I say.” Haldir stood, looking at the slowly advancing line.

            “I have your back, my love.”

            “You task me. Sorely.” The Elf said these words almost without emotion. Almost.

            “It’s my job.”  Bronwyn sounded matter of fact.

            Severus watched as she reached up and gently pulled the Elf’s  braid.

            “Baraermin.” The two warriors looked at each other, deep abiding respect and love on each other’s face. “Proud, I am to have you at my side. Always.”

            “I would not trade anything for the last few months I have had with you. I look forward to the rest of our lives.” The wind jerked and snapped the red cloak around the Elf’s and her body. Bronwyn’s hand moved from his braid, to the tip of his ear and even Severus shivered at the mere thought of the touch. “I would ask a small favor, please?” She crooked her finger towards the Elf and he bent down closely. “When this is over, ” she whispered, “may I remove your armor?” He nodded.  “With my teeth?

                                                ~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~

            Severus jerked back, back in her bedroom. Unthinking, he picked up a piece – an arm piece of the Elf’s armor and saw delicate teeth marks on the leather straps. He looked to Bronwyn, her face, still buried in the red cloak, sobs racking her body.

            He realized the cloak had become a symbol of protection, warmth, love. Unconsciously, he reached towards her to…

            Rumil stepped around him and bending over, whispered in her ear. Her body relaxed and as she slumped, the Elf picked her up and carried to bed, the cloak falling to the floor.

***

            The next day, she found scrolls, parchment. Again Severus was caught in her mental motion picture, Haldir…

                                                ~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~

.           .. dressed in full battle gear, her in black. Both standing in a ram-shackle hovel.

            “Do you wish to read this scroll?” The Elf waved the object of her desire.

            “Yes.”

            “You must remove the armor from my right arm for that privilege. With your teeth!“

                                                ~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~

            Merlin’s Robe. The Elf had held her to her word. Again, she broke down in tearful sobs.

            And again, Rumil came to her, put her into sleep and carried her to her bed.

            Several times, Severus witnessed this as Bronwyn unpacked things that triggered memories; a gossamer blue beaded gown – the scene,  She and her husband, dancing in the moonlight in a garden; a large bowl, with strange markings – her in a pub, standing on a table, singing bawdy limericks, the bowl heaped  with the coins being tossed in, Haldir standing nearby, watching the bowl, watching her; a silver circlet, a crown of delicate metal – the two of them in a field of flowers, surrounded by many friends, her wearing it at their wedding.

            Each time, she cried with the memory. And each time, Rumil put her to sleep, put her to bed.

            After watching Rumil do this many times, Severus called him into the living area.

            “Why do you do this?”

            “Why do I do what?” The Elf was genuinely confused.

            “You stop her grieving when you put her to sleep! Why do you do this? Must I spell it out to you?”

            “Ah.” Rumil sighed in understanding. “It is not good for her to cry. She needs to rest because she does not sleep well…”

            “Gods Man… Elf! She cannot rest because you put her to sleep twice a day!” Severus raked both hands in his long hair, grasping it by the roots behind both ears, in a gesture that reminded Rumil of his older brother.  “You think you help her, but the fact is you cannot bear to see her in pain, you cannot tolerate to see her cry! You are not helping her; you are easing your own grief at the cost of barricading her own! In the meantime, her bereavement is pent up like an infected boil and you, in your stubborn know-it-all Elfishness, won’t let her lance it.”

            Rumil had drawn up, red in fury. “What would you know about her sorrow? Her trials? What would you know it? I think…”

            “Your opinion does not matter! What matters is my opinion! I know she cannot function until she deals with the fact that her… husband…” Snape spat the word as if it were evil, ” – is not coming back. He might be waiting in wherever it is your people go! But she will not be joining him for a long, long time. And she and I have work to do. Her loss encumbers her, so I must get her past this…  hindrance.”

            Severus took a deep, cleansing breath and went nose to nose with the Elf, in attempt to back Rumil up a  step. The Elf, however, stood his ground, going toe to toe with the dark Wizard.

            “No more sleeping spells, Rumil. Let her talk. Let her remember. Let her cry. If you cannot cope with her tears, leave or come and get me.” And with that, the Potions Master turned towards the door. He stopped at the opened passageway.

            “And Elf,” Brooding grey Elven eyes met with glowing, black Wizard orbs. “do not let me catch you defying me. I will have your Elven ass out of here before you can say ‘Goodnight’. She is my responsibility, not yours”

            Amadeus watched the proceedings with much amusement. A deep, gravelly Elvish voice whispered through the hall as Severus crossed it.

            “It is about time…”

***

            It was late, very late and Bronwyn sat at the warded doorway.

            Want out.

            The desire burned in her, made her crazy with need to roam, to wander the halls. For days, she had cried, raged, remembered. She looked for Rumil to send her into blessed quietness, but he would not be there for her.

            Instead the dark Wizard would be standing there, arms across his chest, glaring, watching, not offering a hint of comfort.

            “Come on. Get it out.” was the most sympathy he would demonstrate.

            She howled at him. Cursed him. She damned him to hell and back several times a day. He offered to say hello to Haldir while he was there. Her shrieks reverberated throughout the dungeon, her fingers itching to go around his black-clad throat. Her pain flowed like blood.

            At first, Rumil had done everything he could in attempt to console her, explain to her that sleeping was not helping her to work through her grief. She turned her fury on him, railing, cursing, until he left her alone for hours, days, in her madness. Severus did not ask where he went, but in his eyes, he thought the Elf could not bear to see her hurting, see her grieve and therefore chose to absent himself for the duration.

            ‘Coward.’ Snape thought to himself, as he watched the Elf distance himself from Bronwyn. ‘Bloody fucking coward! No wonder they did not give her to you.’

            And so Bronwyn found herself alone at two in the morning, screaming at the wards on her door. She had paced a path around her couch, around her bedroom. The harpsichord did not have the power to withstand her fury; she would have to go into London to replace five strings from last evening’s temper tantrum. She made a mental angry note to herself: ‘No more Liszt on the harpsichord!’ In her angry roving, she found herself out on the patio, looking at rough hewn rock.

            “Damn you, Snape! Damn you to hell!” Her tears poured forth again and she pounded on the stone. “Dammit to hell!”

            The rough stone.

            She looked at it carefully, studying it as she wiped her dripping nose on her sleeve. She tested the width, the depth of the grooves between the rocks. She took off her house slippers – the screeching Godzilla boots that Haldir had purchased at a novelty store soon after their arrival from the Undying Lands – and fitted her toes in the ridges.

            Big enough.

            She tested the soundness of the wall, calculated the height.

            It had been a few years since she and Haldir had scaled a mountain or cliffs. This wall went straight up…

            She went upstairs, changed into laced leggings and a tee shirt.  She put on ridged swim shoes and buckled on her knives. She found her repelling gear.

            Amadeus was alarmed. He paced nervously around her, attempting to trip her, stop her.

            “I need air, boy. Just a little free air.” She hugged him and locked him out of the patio area.

            He immediately set to howling.

            She turned and looked to the greenhouse ceiling. She hoped there were latches. If not, she would just simply break a pane.

            She removed her knives. They were unique, the only set of their kind that existed. The Valar had them created especially for her; to answer only to her. Each knife consisted of three blades, folded in on each other, the longest in the middle. When depressed, when making contact with anything surface, the shorter two arced out, creating a “W” of sharpness, approximately five inches in width. They were incredibly strong, strong enough to decapitate an orc.

            Turning the knives point to the wall, she drove the tip of the blade in her right hand deep into the crevice between the rocks, high up. She fit her toes into a lower groove and lifted her body from the masoned floor, driving the left knife higher up. Repeating her attacks upon the stone, muscled broad shoulders smothered in black, she raised herself to the top.

***

            What in the blazes was she doing?

            Severus was not sleeping well, not that that was a surprise to him. He had not slept a full night in as long as he could remember. He jerked out of a restless sleep, immediately aware of her discontent, her roaming of the apartment assigned to her.

            She was on the patio. Standing still…

            Well, as long as she was staying put… he rolled over, trying to fall back into slumber.

***

            There was a hinged door, latched at the bottom. Actually, it was very similar to a doggie door  and Bronwyn crawled through it. Her muscles, so long out of practice,  screamed in agony of the forced activity she was not in shape for and she sighed loudly as she rolled on the cool, damp grass.

            The door tipped shut.

            And she took a deep breath, laying on her back.

            Free air. Breathe in deep, Bronwyn. Smell the free air.

            She enjoyed it for a few moments and then quickly decided on a plan of action.

            The library. She knew it was there, her palms had begun to itch uncontrollably in the past few days and she felt the need, the desire to sink her mind’s fangs into books she had never read and feast on fresh knowledge. Drooling in anticipation for the raw meat of unrealized horizons, she made for the nearest door.

            Warded.

            Oh oh. Her mouth made a small moue.

            She tried another door.

            Warded.

            Another one.

            Warded.

            Oh, shit in a bucket! Now what? Bronwyn looked around. Now what?

***

            She was out.   

            With a bellow of fury, Snape shot like an arrow from the bed, snatching on clothes as he hurtled across the chamber into the potions lab. He bolted through the hallway, her classroom and into Bronwyn’s private chambers.

            He could hear that blasted wolf howling to no end.

***

Who can say for certain

Maybe you’re still here

I feel you all around me

Your memory’s so clear

***

            It dawned on her, she could not get in.

            “Well girlfriend, you screwed up royally this time.” The door to the greenhouse roof of the ceiling was closed tight, could not be opened from the outside and in all honesty, she really didn’t want to scale back down the wall.

            Snape-baby was going to be oh, so very pissed.

            So what!

            Heh! Fine! Let him! She had loved and dealt with the most arrogant, most demanding, dour, disciplined, most difficult Elf in all of Middle Earth for 38000 years!  What was the absolute worst a mere wizard could do to her?

            Bronwyn slid out of her shoes and went running across the yard, loving the feeling of the dewey grass between her toes. She stopped in an alcove of sorts. It was dark and she looked up in the sky.

            Stars. Hundreds and hundreds of stars. She and Haldir had made love under the glittering night gems, so many times.

            And the memory came, along with the mist, unbidden. And as the song filled the air, she fell to her knees…

***

Deep in the stillness

I can hear you speak

***

            Amadeus was frantic, howling, racing about the room. He barreled past Severus, into the shut door, where he began to claw and yip.  Severus went to the French Doors and opened them.

            Nothing.

            But wait…

            He saw dust on the floor and peering closer, he saw the weird triple grooves, niched at regular intervals up …

            Climbing up the wall.

            She had found a way to escape. Silly, foolish girl. She did not have any idea the danger she had just landed herself in! Deep inside, he raged in black wrath. Spanking would not be enough. What curse could he rain on her head to teach her a valuable lesson?

            He stormed towards the door…

***

You’re still an inspiration

Can it be that you are

My forever love

And you are watching over me from up above?

***

            In the recesses of her mind, she felt strong arms encircle her, she felt his breath on her ear.

            Baraermin… My Fiery One.  

            And she fell backwards on the ground, it was like being held against his chest. Fingers lightly grazed her stomach and her eyes watered in the brightness of the constellations, these same stars they had made love under before.

            “Haldir. Cormmin.  I need you so.” Her whisper carried on the wind.

            The mist rose around her body, embracing her and hands pulled up on her shirt…

***     

Fly me up to where you are beyond the distant star

I wish upon tonight to see you smile

If only for awhile to know you’re there

A breath away’s not far to where you are

***

            Severus charged up the stairs, the agitated wolf at his heels. Reaching the main foyer of the castle, he stopped for a short moment, to gauge her location. Which way would be shorter? She wasn’t moving, not like she had been a moment earlier, when she had raced around the yards like a child chasing an out of control ball. He captured her sense of peace.

            And her rising heat.

            What on earth was she doing?

            Eyes narrowed, he made his way to the back entrance.

***

Are you gently sleeping

Here inside my dream?

And isn’t faith believing

All power can’t be seen?

***

            Her breathing had become erratic and the stars were no longer in focus. Bronwyn’s cheeks were wet. Why?  A hand had wriggled under her bra, had cupped her breast, teasing the hardening nipple. She was writhing on the ground. Again, she heard him whisper in her ear…

            Baraermin.

            The fog completely enveloped her. Hands, fingers went to her leggings, the lacings snapping angrily as they were undone…

***

As my heart holds you

Just one beat away

I cherish all you gave me

Everyday

***

            Severus reached the doorway. It had no less than four different types of wards placed upon it. As he began to unweave them, his voice spoke tersely to the wolf.

            “You might as well stay here. I am going to kill your mistress and if there is anything left of her, you may have the scraps.”

            Amadeus chuffed once in agreement.

            As the door silently slid opened, he could hear the music wafting from the air…

***

‘Cause you are my

Forever love

And are you watching over me

From up above?

***

            A hand reached into her leggings, questing for that sweet spot, fingers plunging, delving for the pearl of the devine.

            So wet, Baraermim so wet. Never in my years have I met anyone who could get as wet, as hot, as fast, as you.

            Her moan rent the air, as her orgasm, so long denied, quickly reached out…

***     

Fly me up to where you are beyond the distant star

I wish upon tonight to see you smile

If only for awhile to know you’re there

***

            As requested, Amadeus had stayed behind. Severus’ hair flowed behind him as he made his way to the small courtyard where he could sense her presence. He could feel Bronwyn becoming more and more inflamed and as he turned the corner, eyes, already accustomed to the dark, saw her fog covered form writhing on the ground; ears, attuned to the slightest breath, heard her moans…

            Of pleasure?

            Silent, as a snake in the grass, he went to her…

***

A breath away’s not far to where you are

***

            Ghostly arms held her body tight. Lips, a tongue, made of air, breathed in her ear, whispering endearments she longed to hearken to, so long left unspoken. Hands, with knowledgeable fingers, found her most sensitive points as they drove her over the edge. Her back arched, her climax exploded and the stars in the sky shattered behind her shut eyelids as the world came to a screeching halt.

            She slowly opened her eyes, expected to see the same constellation she and Haldir had loved each other under so many moons ago.

            Instead the sky was blocked by a large, dark shape. Clouds? She was jolted from her reverie, her sweet dream…

            “Madam! What the HELL are you doing?”

***

tbc

***

Lle naa vanima – You are beautiful

Cormmin – My Heart

Baraermin – My Fiery One

Neithadol – hehe – guess!

To Where you are

Words/Music: Richard Marx and Linda Thompson

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

30 Thursday Mar 2023

Posted by zeesmuse in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

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?

23 Thursday Mar 2023

Posted by zeesmuse in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

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

19 Sunday Mar 2023

Posted by zeesmuse in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

fanfiction, hp, LOTR, 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!

15 Wednesday Mar 2023

Posted by zeesmuse in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

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

I’ll not marry – a vessel misadventure

04 Friday Nov 2022

Posted by zeesmuse in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

fanfiction, LOTR, The Vessel

***

Call me a joker, call me a fool
Right at this moment I’m totally cool

***

Quickly and with accuracy, he put an arrow into his target and drew another from his quiver. The first long dart had not yet stopped its quivering, when its brother slid in quickly, just inches from the first one.

“There, little Miss Know-it-all!” Orophin stated. “Put yours in the middle of that, if you can!” He stared down haughtily at the young elleth.

Faeowynne arched a single eyebrow and sneered, “Really, Uncle Orophin! You make it much too easy!” Without taking a breath, she removed an arrow from her quiver and just as quickly as he, buried the point directly in the middle of his two.

***

Clear as a crystal, sharp as a knife
I feel like I’m in the prime of my life

***

Orophin let out a low whistle. “You are your Ada’s daughter.” Together, the two walked out to the target to retrieve their arrows. “He has done a fine job teaching you in my absence.” he stated with a grin.

“Hmmph! Who else would I be?” she scoffed. “And you know my Ada could out shoot you in the rain!” She yanked her arrow from the target and shook it at him. “With his eyes closed.”

***

Sometimes it feels like I’m going to fast

***

A single eyebrow shot up from the tall Elf. “Aye! You are your Ada’s daughter – complete with his arrogance!” But with her mother’s height, he added silently to himself. He also pulled his arrows from the target. “Put the target out another fifty yards?”

“Make it hard. A hundred.” Her smile was reminiscent of her mother’s grin.

***

I don’t know how long this feeling will last
Maybe it’s only tonight

***

Faeowynne studied her uncle as he picked up the target and proceeded to walk it off the necessary yardage. He had put weight back on and no longer looked haunted. His wife’s death had rocked him, and her Ada, along with Uncle Rumil and Adar Celeborn, had been afraid he would have faded had he not brought his youngest son, Tomasil , with him. The Elfling was younger than she and her twin, but he followed Anselm around like puppy. He was more in tuned with nature than he was with battle skills. She figured he would go crazy when the Twins arrived back from their time with the Rangers.

***

Sometimes I’m tired, sometimes I’m shot
Sometimes I don’t know how much more I’ve got

***

“You have a most puzzled expression on your face, tithen aras. What are you thinking?” Faeowynne’s hand went to her long blonde braid, pulling on it in an action her mother held dear of her Ada.

“A question, Uncle.” Dark blue eyes looked up into grey ones. “How could you fall in love with a human?”

***

Maybe I’m headed over the hill
Maybe I’ve set myself up for the kill

***

Orophin’s breath caught. Since his return some months back, no one had pressed him for information. All knew of his ladylove, his unconventional bonding. No one had tried to talk him out of it, tried to dissaude him from marrying with the beautiful healer who had helped Bronwyn so much late in her first pregnancy. Elrond’s great-granddaughter.

Lera Maere.

“One cannot decide who they will or will not fall in love with.” he answered quietly. “Your mother is a human. You might fall in love with a human.”

***

Tell me how much do you think you can take
Until the heart in you is starting to break?

***

“YRCH!” Her shoulders were up around delicately pointed ears. “Do not be crude. I have every intention on going to the Undying Lands with Ada and Mama. I will never fall in love and I will never marry.” She nodded to his bow. “Challenge me.”

Orophiin smiled and quickly shot off two arrows. This time, they were just apart enough for one arrow to fit. “Heh! Beat that!”

Faeowynne grinned. “Ah! Now that is a challenge!” She aimed carefully.

And set her arrow directly in the middle.

Orophin let out another low whistle. “I think I am done in for the day.” He headed towards the target. “So, you are going to the Undying Lands! What if you find a man you love and wish to stay with? I heard that you had attracted the attention of a certain Ranger.”

Faeowynne followed him to the target to help him take it down. “Who told you that awful lie? The only one I speak to is Ranald and he and I are just friends.”

“Well, that is how many loves begin.”

“Not my parents. Not you and Lera.” She looked down at her boots, toes scuffing in the dirt. “I am sorry, Uncle Orophin. I did not wish you to bring your discomfort.” Quickly, she walked up to him and put her arms around him.

Orophin’s arms went around her and he hugged her close. “Ah, tithen aras. My memories now are sweet, not sad. Our time together was short, but I would not trade it for anything.” He tipped her chin so he could look at her. “Now, why are you so determined NOT to fall in love? Why are you so determined to go to the Undying Lands?”

They walked slowly back towards Rivendell. Orophin quietly admired the tall trees. He heard her inhale.

“Because, if I do not go, Ada and Mama will have no one. No one but each other.” Faeowynne looked off into the trees. “None of Mama’s children will go and she will grieve.” She smiled inwardly. “She will grieve anyway. So will Ada, but he will not allow her to see it.”

Orophin heard rustling in the trees, and he peered closely, pulling his bow to ready. Faeowynne had heard the noise as well, and pulled hers to the ready. “What makes you so sure Beckett or Anselm will not go?”

With reflexes of a warrior, Faeowynne notched and released her arrow, an Orc falling from the tree, squealing in his death throes. “Simple. Beckett was born first. He will get Mama’s bow.” She never took her eyes from the trees. Quickly, she pulled a second arrow from her quiver and shot, a second Orc falling silently, dead before he hit the ground. Orophin looked at her askance.

“How old are you again?”

” 97.”

He shook his head. “Much too young to kill so unfeelingly.” Quickly, he turned, releasing his arrow, another Orc falling from the tree. “Anselm might go.” He shot again. Yet another Orc fell from yet another tree. The two circled, listening carefully for several minutes.

Quiet. Calm. They began to collect the bodies of the dead Orcs.

“Anselm will stay. She is like Mama. She wants to see the lands Ada would not let Mama explore. The Desert south of Gondor, The Easterling’s, and the lands East of Mordor.” Faeowynne was grunting with the largest of the Orcs, dragging him to the pile. “She wants to go back to the Golden Woods, back to Lothlórien and talk to the trees. She wants Treebeard to let her sit in on Ent meetings.”

Orophin was dragging his Orc as well. “Faeowynne! There was a reason why your Ada would not let your mother go to those places! There is nothing there! Two Isatari went into the East and never returned.”

The petite elleth dropped the leg of the Orc she was dragging in order to put her hands on her hips. “Well duh! I know that! I have told her that! She does not listen to reason! She is her Mother’s daughter!” She rolled her eyes. “She is so… fey!” She snarled her nose pointing at the dead Orcs. “These things are so… gross.”

Orophin laughed, a deep laugh, rusty from disuse. “Aye. They are rather disgusting. And they will stink past Valinor when we begin to burn them.” He looked at her ruefully. “We must stay until the fire smolders.”

“Yrch!” Shoulders around the ears again. “Can we not just let the werebeasts and banshees take them?” Apparently, she listened to the wild ghost stories her mother told of ages yet to come.

“Werebeasts? Banshees?” Orophin tested the wind and chose a spot upwind. “Nay, the stink will attract more Orcs and other nasty things we do not wish around Rivendell. Best burn them and sit for a few hours than to take the chance.” They started the fire and sat quietly for a long while a ways from the putrid mound.

“Anselm will stay?”

“Oh, aye. She will stay.”

“You are sure.”

“Beyond positive. I know my sister. We have shared a room and secrets for too long.” Orophin nodded in agreement. In many ways, Anselm and Faeowynne were very much like Elrond’s twins; they refused to be parted. Despite the size of the last Homely House, they shared a room, and were rarely separated for anything.

“Your Ada will not allow her to stay here alone.”

“Oh.” Faeowynne’s voice was soft, amused, “she will not be alone.”

“Ah!” Orophin’s smile lit his face and she realized why the lovely Lera had fallen in love with her Uncle. “Who has she picked out to be HER Guardian?”

“I am not telling. She has picked him out and he will not deny her, if he knows what is good for him.” Her eyes slid to the Elf sitting next to her. “Do not pester me, for I will not tell.”

Orophin’s grin widened, his head bobbing with his rampant thoughts. “So, Beckett and Anselm will stay and you will go to the Undying Lands so your parents will not grieve. Are you not the loving child?” he chided. This middle child of his brother, he decided, was the easiest to read. Eager to be the son Haldir would leave behind. Eager to be strong for her mother, for both parents. Eager to be the adult. Eager to give up all to be everything to everybody. Would she lose herself in the process?

***

Sometimes I lie awake, night after night
Coming apart at the seams
Eager to please, ready to fight
Why do I go to extremes?

***

“Nay. I will not have them grieve as you would have had Tomasil decided not to join you. I will not have them grieve forever as Elrond will.”

“You have never met Elrond.” Orophin’s voice was quiet, almost breaking. Elrond’s grief, he understood well. Bronwyn and Haldir’s upcoming grief, he understood as well.

Bronwyn’s knives were extremely sluggish in returning to her these days. She knew, Haldir knew, their time was growing short.

“Nay, I have not met Elrond. But I have heard Celeborn speak of him with much respect. I have met his children, how they speak of him.” Faeowynne had gone with Rumil just two summers ago to Gondor; Rumil had done drawings, portraits of Arwen, Elessar and their children and grandchildren; portraits to take to Elrond and Celebrian. “Mama and Ada speak of him in revered tones.” she continued. “Mama reveres very few. The simple fact that she and Ada think highly of him is enough for me.” The braid she tugged on, she slung over her shoulder. “I cannot wait to meet him.”

“He is an exceptional being.”

“So I hear.” She looked into the distance and saw riders approaching. Rangers. The Twins. “Perhaps, if I am able, I will be able to take Elrond a gift to ease his grief.”

Orophin was looking into the distance, following her stare. He saw the riders as well. “And what would that be, Tithen Aras?”

A dreamy, far-away look was on her normally well- schooled face. “Oh, we shall see, Uncle. We shall see.” She quickly reeled herself in. “They do not bring good news.”

Orophin’s eyebrow arched. “We have killed several Orcs close to Rivendell. That is news bad enough.” He stood up slowly, extending a hand she took. She grabbed him, hugging him around the waist.

“I am glad you came to home to us, Uncle Orophin. I am glad you brought Tomasil and came home. I am glad you did not fade.”

Orophin clasped the young elleth to him, the enormity of her words not lost on him.

***

And if I stand or I fall
It’s all or nothing at all
Darling I don’t know why I go to extremes

***

“I am glad I came home too.”

***

Fini

***

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