Trip to a Museum
Rhavanielle found her way to a dressmaker, delved into her purse and reluctantly parted with 2 golden coins bearing the portrait of the long forgotten monarch Ondoher to procure a bright blue summer gown suitable for a noble lady. When she set the coins in the seamstress' palm, she caused a minor commotion at the ancientry of her money. But she was one of the fair folk and the seamstresses did not insult their customer by biting the coins in front of her.
And so it was that Martinus and Rhavanielle with young Hadiron in tow had arrayed in their finest attire for the expedition into the Royal Archives, making their way ever upward into the lofty upper circles of the city past regal townhouses fasçaded with marble. Their limbs were weary when they at last reached the Citadel and passed the guard into the courtyard below the high tower of Ecthelion where the White Tree stood, sad reminder of prosperous days of Gondor's might. They entered the archives through a grand door off the courtyard across from the feast halls. Banners and pennants and relics and trophies from wars long past stood in profusion everywhere, dutifully dusted by a troupe of elderly veterans of Gondor's various chivalrous orders. Martinus led his properly bored son about the warren by memory while Rhavanielle slipped away somehow unseen past a pair of stout guards down a flight of steps that led in a steep downward spiral into the very inmost treasuries of the city.
At the bottom of the stair was another guard, a plump old man with a white beard sitting upon a chair. Having expected this last obstacle to be more of a challenge, she breathed a quiet sigh of relief and skipped carefully down the last of the stair, broad smile upon her face. “Pardon me good sir. I've come to...”
She began in the sweetest tones, but he cut her off, eyes focused upon her ears. “You're with the Gray Wanderer, yes. I ought to have expected an elf to be along with the company he brings. The Steward himself has granted Gandalf leave to examine the old archives at his leisure.” With that, the portly sergeant rose and with a rattling ring of keys, unlocked the heavy iron door and stood aside with a regal bow.
Rhavanielle was slightly backfooted, but returned the gesture, curtseying like a princess of Fingon's court. She quickly slipped past the door and down another set of steps, worn with age. The oil lamps that cast an orange glow on the heaps of books and scrolls of papyrus, hemp, vellum and leather were carefully shielded with cleverly wrought crystal that at once lessened the danger of fire and gave off more illumination. The archives were like the necropolis of some heathen city, a warren of masonry set with wooden shelves whose fine workmanship seemed doomed to be appreciated by none, as they were stuffed with archival material of every description.
At the end of one passage, a figure in gray robes sat head bowed at a table covered with a stack of books. A staff was set against the wall to his right and atop it was a broad brimmed and pointed hat.
“Mithrandir,” the elf said. A trace of delight was in her voice, yet caution as well.
The figure turned to face her. Bushy eyebrows raised a trace and spoke in Sindarin, “I won't ask how you got in here. I hope you didn't lie too badly, Rhavanielle. Or get any of the guards into any trouble.”
“I lied not at all. Your very presence was enough to gain me entry. Fibbing was not necessary. I feel cheated of a chance to display my power,” she grinned.
“It's well you are here under my good name. I think it means you might be inclined to do less mischief than is your wont.” Gandalf's tone was stern, yet from the twinkle in his eye it was clear he was genuinely both pleased and amused. “Moreso, you may do me a great service. I could ask you what errand brought you looking for old lore in Minas Tirith. But then you might ask me the same.”
“Quite so,” she said, turning and looking over the nearby shelves. He caught her casting a furtive glance over his shoulder and she crinkled up her nose as she spoke. “You won't find anything much to do with the Shire here, I think. The last time these people cared for that land, the hobbit folk lived in Anduin vale.”
“And you won't find much here having ought to do with elves that you do not already well know,” Gandalf smiled.
“You'd be surprised, maybe. Or I might be. But I'm not here about elves. I could find whatever I don't already know in Imladris. No. I am here looking for something to do with the Enemy.”
Rhavanielle's boldness caught Gandalf off guard. “I see,” he replied, gesturing to a chair. “Join me a while. Perhaps we can help one another. As we ought.”
The elf nodded. “As we ought,” she agreed. She adjusted her voluminous skirts and sat herself daintily down as the gray wizard returned to sitting. He gestured for her to continue.
Rhavanielle paused a moment and related her tale.
“When you first convinced me that Sauron had returned and taken up at that old castle, I knew at once that his Ring must have survived and guessed then it was held as an heirloom in some vault in Minas Tirith. Elrond was always tight lipped about such things, you know and secrets are not easily got from an elf. But when the Bara Dur was so quickly restored, I knew then for certain. I thought for a time as others that somehow it was buried deep under the muddy bed of Anduin. But events have been moving so quickly. Rumors of growing troubles abroad came to Imladris from every quarter. I made my way through the Hithaeglir and chanced upon a pair of dwarves who had been part of some expedition to reclaim some portion of that hidden kingdom. They served a Lord called Balin and they had been caught by orcs. I freed them and brought them with me.” she paused in her tale, as Gandalf's reaction was of alarm.
“Hadhrodrond!?” the Wizard gasped. “You passed into Hadhodrond? By yourself?! Foolish girl!”
Rhavanielle was stunned “I knew my way well..for the most part. The thing I was looking for weas not something the naugrim shared with outsiders even when I dwelt there in exile during the dark time.”
“And what were you looking for,” Gandalf asked, his usual calm returning.
“When we fled into Moria ahead of Sauron's Army, we took all the art and lore and tools that we could load into our saddlebags. Sirion's valley was swarming with wargs set to waylay any refugees and it was only through the might of my husband and Lord Khalis and his knights that we cut our way to Moria, where Durin III bade us stay a while. But in our work in Ring-making, The dwarves had learnt much of craft from Annatar in the days when he abode in Eregion.”
“You wished to delve into some secrets of their collaboration?” Gandalf's bushy eyebrows raised.
Rhavanielle replied with a sharp nod, sweeping a stray lock from her forehead. “There was a forge the dwarves made at Durin II's command using certain formulae revealed by Annatar...one of his 'gifts'. It could purify mithril, which much fascinated the dark lord.But the dwarved permitted none but theie own to know of its location, whifh was a closely guarded secret.”
“Did use this forge?” Gandalf asked immediately.
“I never so much as saw it. Its existence was littl known to outsiders. But in the end, they used it as a bolthole to flee Durin's Bane. And so the orcs found it and opened up the way to it.”
“Well then, my lady. However did you manage to find it?”
“My little light guided me, as she always does. Even in Moria.”
“Even in Moria. I admire your affinity for these spirits. Not many will they help so willingly or for so long.”
“So, in a way, I sought to extract the secret of Durin II's hiddrn forge, for Suaron served Aule in the time before there were days. Before Arda was marred. So his craft was got largely from that service, the wellspring and font of such knowledge. It it said Aule fashioned the dwarves. Sauron certainly had some knowledge of this, is it not so?”
“These are weighty matters indeed for us to pick over here,” Gandalf said, looking over the long shelves and sconces of the archive. “You sought to divine some elder knowledge stemming from Aule himself?”
Rhavanielle nodded, “He is not at hand to ask, and will not come and tell me himself as the powers abandon the peoples of Arda to their fate and make our survival a matter of our own industry, strength of mind and limb and whaat wisdome we have.”
Gandalf smoothed his beard and rejoined, “It is not wholly so that the Valar have left Arda to the Enemy's guile to subdue and rule. You know why the Istari have come. Why Glorfindel returned out of the West and several others beside.
Rhavanielle smiled softly, “Forgive my impetuousity, old friend. The Lors of the West give some thought to the poor spirits who live under the shadow of their brother's malice.” The elf suddenly stopped herself and frowned a little. “And you are not the only one to inquire after my purposes.
Gandalf immediately asked, “What do you mean?”
“I availed myself of the hospitaly of Isengard, as I thought it unwise to traverse Rohan without his knowledge, for that land is under his protection, is it not?”
“It has been,” Gandalf replied in an even tone that carrie a note of suspicion. “Did you tell Curunir the tale of your travels in Moria?”
“I did, and he was very curious about the whereabouts of Oirilma.”
“Oirilma!” Gandalf exclaimed. “And what did you tell him?”
“The truth, of course,” the elf replied, “I have no idea what became of Oirilma since he left Imladris.”
“Clearly he suspects you may have your own ideas about the matter,” Gandalf interjected. “What do you think bcame of him?”
“He spoke to me of completing Celebrimbor's Great Work. He called upon me to join him in a voyage to the uttermost east.”
“As you related to Elrond when Oirilma disappeared,” Gandalf said, worry creeping into his voice.
“It was his obsession,” Rhavanielle said with a nod. “He needed the Prima Materia, which Celebrimbor had failed to isolate. Oirilma felt that Sauron must have isolated it somehow, or his Master Ring would not have been possible.”
“Hence your trip to Durin's Forge in Moria?”
Rhavanielle was force to nod. “I know the secret.”
“Could I trouble you to share this insight?” Gandalf asked with his disarming smile.
“Morgoth, it is said, spent an aeon searching for the Secret Fire,” she ventured.
“Yet found it not,” Gandalf rejoined.
“We all tell ourselves such things to feel better about the future,” Rhavanielle shot back. “Much as it is assumed Melkor will be utterly unmade in some final battle. But it is a truth that wars and battles are chancy things.”
Gandalf's face contorted in worry to hear such blasphemy from one so wise and ancient an accomplished. Rhavanielle leaned in closer, speaking insistently. “The spark he sought..the true secret. The entrails of the dragon are only the beginning. Yet there may be found the Fire the necessary elements of the Prima Materia. But there are other firey mountains. In the world.”
“Yet Sauron could endure only the blackening. The conjunction he would not submit to. For to do so would be to allow other wills to contest his own. Even when he did the bidding of Melkor, he was no more a servant than Melkor was servant to Eru. In Eregion, he spoke always of bringing peace and perfection through order. Strife would be impossible in the new world he proposed. Universal love through universal law.” This is why Galadriel sent him away and why Gil-Galad would not treat with him. They did not know him then for what he was. Celebrimbor knew Annatar for a kindred spirit, for though he did not seek universal dominion, he felt the elves were too free of care and that much more could be accomplished if there was less time spent on individual expression. He it was who forbade those of us in the College to devote time to anything beside his great Rings. The ring you now bear, Mirthrandir, is the product of many minds and many hands and much thought and wisdom. Gorthaur found the lock, but the key eluded him, as it eluded Celebrimbor.”
“So that which eluded the Enemy's might and majesty were graven on a wall in Hadhodrond?” Mithrandir incredulously ventured.
“Yes, so it is. Oftimes the deepest mysteries are boldly emblazoned in plain sight.” You yourself told me this, about the small folk of Eriador,” Rhavanielle replied matter-of-factly.
“The Naugrim, it is said, were made my the hand of Aule. And Aule knew much of the mind of Eru where the world of gross matter wa concerned. And within the minds of the dwarves a foundational fact, though they know it not. Narvi partook of the Mysteries of Oronar.”
Gandalf's concern exploded into astonishment, “But how?”
“I arranged it,” Rhavanielle answered quietly. “Under the very roof of the Master, Celebrimbor, High King of the Noldor”
“The Mysteries were forbidden to outsiders,” Gandalf frowned. “Where did you...learn?”
“I was not idle when I travelled into the east. It was I who brought the Mysteries from the end of the world. It was I who first pushed off in my little skiff onto that great unplumbed ocean.
“You mischievous sprite!” Gandalf laughed. “You made it all possible! How much worry might have been avoided had you gone West as you had intended.”
Rhavanielle grasped Gandalf's hands with her own. “I believed it would work for the best! We all did! And yet, it still may. Middle Earth can be...must be healed.”
“You have told me much that I sought,” Gandalf said quietly. “Let me show you something. Tell me what you think.” He gestured toward a scroll he had rolled out. Rhavanielle read the words of Isildur, written in his own hand, long ago. “I remember hearing those words in my mind so long ago. I never beheld the One, but I have long pondered what it must be like to wear such a thing, given the mind that wrought it. Sauron could not create matter, but he bound himself to it forever. He who could not submit to any other will is now a slave to a scrap of gold not large enough to make an old Arnorian solidus.”
“Since Sauron's power is bound to the One, could he survive its unmaking?” Gandalf put the question to her with some urgency, for the aged caretakers of the archives were now making their rounds, dusting and tidying.
Rhavanielle shook her head. “I think there would be nothing left to him whatever. Nothing that capitulate itself and take shape. Mayhap something that could cause nightmares and indigestion.”
Gandalf went on, “What of the other Rings? What do you suppose might happen to the Three?”
“Though Sauron made them not, He understood enough of Celebrimbor's mind that his spell may strip them of much of their power should the One be unmade,” she answered “But not all. And not mine,” she said suddenly and to Gandalf it was as though he glimpsed some great treasure from afar.
“Yours?!”
Rhavanielle rose and smoothed her flowing skirts “The Great Work must be finished,” she said as she ascended up out of the book-tomb, leaving a bewhildered Wizard behind her.
“Take care that you do not overreach. Remember wisdom and heed the lessons you have learnt,” Gandalf called after her, his voice shot through with quavering unease about the future.
