Four there were gathered in the Hall of Fire... until Tathlas came.
Manadhlaer was known only by epesse -- Tathlas, for all that he was young, was observant. His observations so far had been that she always introduced herself by saying, "I am called Manadhlaer," not "I am" or even "My name is." The name, in her accent so different from his own, seemed fey -- "song of fate" was hardly a name without a certain melancholy to it.
When he entered the Hall of Fire, as was his custom at such gatherings, he hung back. But Manadhlaer greeted him straight away, wearing blue as usual -- the color of the sea, which the Teleri did not fear, although it sometimes struck his own people in Lórien with a terrible longing to sail West. But Manadhlaer introduced him to three new faces: a warrior, skilled with sword but not unable, by his own telling, to use a bow to advantage; a lore-seeker who had come to Imladris to continue her research on the history of the Quenya in hír Elrond's great library; and an elleth clad in white, even younger than himself, who had been born and raised in Imladris. These he greeted, and bowed to all.
Tathlas gathered that this group by the fire had been talking for some time. As the older Elves talked, the youngest elleth, lost in thought, wandered back and forth between the great fires and the stained-glass windows facing the porch. Manadhlaer and the others explained why she had come to hír Elrond's house seeking help: her parents, longtime residents of Imladris, had set out for the Woodland Realm (the purpose of this journey was not made clear) and had now not been heard from for a worryingly long time.
Although many of House Bar-en-Vanimar, Manadhlaer's chosen kindred, were absent as they headed for the High Pass in the Misty Mountains, on the trail of an ice giant -- perhaps like the passing mentions he had heard of a part of the Horse-lords' land called Wildermore? -- the lady promised that when her comrades returned, she would ask for any news of wanderers in Mirkwood. Likewise, the warrior in black said that he would send ravens to those he knew in the now-blighted wood, among the Malledhrim and others, and try to discern at least a location where the elleth's parents had last been seen.
But when she wandered away from the group, the older ones' faces filled with regret. The warrior, who had indeed just slain one of the cunning and hideous offspring of the great spider Ungoliant, knew tales of great spiders in Mirkwood who seemed to extinguish light and damage trees by their very presence. The fight against the yrch was undeniable, and was the reason Galadriel and Celeborn had sent a detachment of their elite Golden Host. Tathlas said little, but the face of the lore-seeker was etched with sorrow. Her mind, like the warrior's, seemed set on the idea that the elleth's parents had met a painful end. Manadhlaer, however, tried to introduce a note of at least some hope: perhaps the pair had wandered north and been captured by the ever-suspicious King Thranduil, son of Oropher. His dungeons were notoriously inhospitable, but better to be thought a spy and imprisoned by one's own kind than to meet with spiders or yrch.
After a while the young elleth departed. She was fair, and reminded Talthas of a white rose bud who had not yet reached full bloom. Night fell, and then the doors of the Hall opened. In strode Themodir, of the Order of the Hammer, the vanguard military force of Bar-en-Vanimar. Tathlas found it curious as always that though Themodir was a Noldo, he had the same silver hair as his betrothed, Manadhlaer. It would be an unusual marriage in many ways, of course: during wartime, and a forgiveness by the lady of the Noldor part in the Kinslaying, literal ages ago.
Tathlas took a seat and watched Themodir rest his great hammer against the closer of the two long tables. The Hammer was clearly fatigued, and glad for once to obey the etiquette of the Hall and lay down his tremendous weapon. Yet híril Manadhlaer approached him, and he smiled. Indeed, the betrothed couple exchanged a deep kiss and words of love.
The lore-seeker and the warrior by the fire -- even these strangers remarked on the obvious love shared by the Noldo warrior and the Teler healer. The lore-seeker had a lute among her possessions, and played a tune; Themodir and Manadhlaer were the only two who danced to the song, but in perfect step, in utter synchrony with the music and each other, they seemed to fill the hall with their formalized but tremendous love.
When those two had gone, Tathlas stayed in his seat by the table, not wishing to intrude. He gathered that Themodir was being deployed, and must go north immediately. Manadhlaer accepted this with resignation, telling her beloved that of course he must obey his orders, and she understood completely. She would make a fine wife for this soldier, Tathlas thought.
The Hammer abruptly dropped to his knees. Tathlas startled at the sudden clatter of armor, as Themodir was clad in the black hauberk of his Order, and the motion was not without noise. But Themodir kissed Manadhlaer's hand, and gazed up at her with such longing that Talthas was forced to turn away and stare out the window. It seemed wrong to him to be here, yet leaving through the newly-repaired doors might cause more disturbance than his simple silence.
The two spoke of exchanging their silver betrothal rings for gold ones as soon as a jeweller with a modicum of talent could be found. Nothing such as the work of Celebrimbor would ever exist again -- and all but the rings of the Elves carried a terrible doom, so that was for the best -- but the Hammer and the Harp (for Manadhlaer, too, had taken her oath to Bar-en-Vanimar) would be satisfied with plain gold bands.
Manadhlaer suddenly asked her betrothed a question that seemed odd to Tathlas in the circumstance. She wanted to know, should she give him a son in his image once the Shadow had been driven back from the lands of the Free Peoples forever -- what would the young one's father call him?
Blushing and looking down, for apparently she had found out a desire the two had not frequently discussed, Themodir replied that a son of his ought to be named Galadhion -- after his mother, he said. He named Manadhlaer "Lady of Light," and she fell into his arms one more time.
With a proud and noble bearing, Themodir turned and resumed his stride, this time back to where he had left his hammer. Manadhlaer continued to call out reassurance, and prayers to Elbereth and all the Valar that he might be safe. Themodir hefted his weapon again -- was that a sob Talthas heard? No, it could not be. When hír Themodir wanted to be iron, he could be iron. And surely he would not falter in his surety that the Hammer would beat back the terrible evil to the north?
When Themodir had gone, Manadhlaer asked Tathlas to stay for a moment. She said that before Tathlas had arrived at the Hall, the strange warrior in black had spoken riddles, and even sung one. She could, she confessed, make no sense of any. One spoke of three lights, and these Manadhlaer said she could not help associating with the Silmarils; Tathlas agreed. But she had no idea what the riddles meant about "fifteen shields and five swords," unless it had to do with the sons of -- she could barely pronounce the name -- Fëanor. Only later did Tathlas realize there had been seven sons.
Tathlas noted Manadhlaer's sudden distress at the topic, and she explained her history: a survivor of Alqualondë, the minstrel had sailed to Middle-earth with a distant cousin on a makeshift raft that could be steered a bit. Both were but children, although the cousin was much nearer the age of true adulthood, and Manadhlaer attributed the survival of the pair to the grace of the Vala Ulmo, patron of the sea.
She explained that when the two had fallen in gratitude onto the shores of Arda, the cousin -- she named him Ayandil -- had turned the raft over and made of it a lean-to, disguised by as much brush as his exhausted limbs could carry. Then the two slept the sleep of the dead. When Manadhlaer awoke, she was alone. Tracks and bent grass led away from the makeshift shelter, but no blood or other sign of struggle marked the shore. With Manadhlaer still were the last of their lembas, and their only remaining skin of drinking water. But she never saw the cousin again.
Tathlas and Manadhlaer discussed the cousin's possible fate, and he understood better why she had been so eager to help the young elleth whose parents were lost in Mirkwood. Manadhlaer knew well hers were slain, and her only relative that she knew survived was this cousin, Ayandil. He had not been heard from in countless yéni, though Manadhlaer had spent that time wandering Middle-earth in search of him. At Doriath, Queen Melian's special favorite, an elleth of mixed kindred called Artanis (who would later be named Galadriel) sugested that Manadhlaer do what she herself planned to do and head east. Manadhlaer was told she might find a gathering of refugees from Eregion here at Imladris, and here she had stayed as a healer. Here, too, she met Themodir -- in this very Hall -- after solitary ages, and at his behest, joined the Order of the Harp: healers, song-weavers, the gentle order as befitted her talents.
Tathlas agreed that the cousin had displayed quick thinking and survival skills, yet Manadhlaer clearly remained deeply unsettled by the strange warrior's riddles. She mentioned that even the pink diamond she wore, a lavish and unusual gift from her betrothed, had at one time been considered cursed simply because it was a gem of a Noldo noble house that had survived the voyage from Valinor. Tathlas was impressed -- did Manadhlaer know, truly, what a rare and fascinating artifact she wore? She did touch it often, to make sure of its presence, perhaps.
With considerable effort, Manadhlaer forced from her mind any thought of bad omens concerning Themodir. Of course he had been deployed many times before. His Order had even been put to work making a stone road across the High Moor so travelers would be safer. He would go, and fight, and return, as soldiers always do. This was the iron doom Manadhlaer had sealed herself into by accepting a warrior's marriage proposal, and she seemed, certainly not pleased, but a bit more resigned to it.
Tathlas was grateful for any degree to which he had been able to put some of the lady's fears to rest. He had met her before -- she was tall, as all of the Falathrim tended to be, and she was an unimaginable span of time older than Tathlas himself. He had heard the lady before, speaking of events that to him were ancient history as if they had happened but yesterday. As Manadhlaer spoke of tending herbs at the greenhouses that served the Houses of Healing, Tathlas impulsively offered herbs from his own small gardens scattered about the Valley. Manadhlaer gave a true smile, her first since Themodir's departure from the hall, and thanked the young ellon profusely. It pleased him to be useful when he could.
Four there had been, and then five. And then one departed, and again there were four. And hír Themodir had made it five again. Tathlas shook his head. Perhaps the stranger's riddles, as related to him by Manadhlaer, were getting to him a bit too. Surely she was right in the end, and the journey north would be practically routine, would it not? Rumor had it that Themodir had survived the sack of Gondolin. Next to that, a mere giant should surely be as nothing for the Order of the Hammer.
