Hidhuinen was a serene and secluded spot in the Rivendell Valley. Many creatures of the woods came there to quench their thirst by the pool formed by the water bubbling up from the ground. If Gwathrandir sat very still he could hear the water speaking to him. He could hear the water speaking of the way things had been in the old days.
Spring had come early to Rivendell Valley. The journey from Gondor to Imladris had been a long one. He had followed the Great West Road to the Mering Stream, crossed the Wold to the Anduin and followed the Anduin through the Field of Celebrant until he came to Lothlórien. From there he had travelled to the Gladden Fields, still following the Anduin, and along the Old Forest Road to the Old Ford. Then he had ridden across the mountains overland and along unfinished roads until he had reached the High Pass and finally Imladris.
Gwathrandir had spent a lot of time at Hidhuinen during the month he had been there. He was always dressed in a dark cloak and a hood drawn over his head to conceal his face. He tried to avoid the company of other elves as much as he could. Gwathrandir had never been to Imladris before but he knew there were still many left who would recognize and remember him from the old days. They all thought he had died a long time ago, and he did not want anyone to think otherwise.
And still he was not sure why he had agreed when the man from Minas Tirith had asked him to travel to Imladris to look for the woman he had once known and loved. The man called Parthadan had wanted Gwathrandir to travel to Imladris to find out who or what was Laureanis. He had not told Parthadan that he knew the answer to his question already. Laureanis had been his wife. Was his wife, for elves mated for life.
But why did he want to go back to her now, after six and a half millennia? He had abandoned her a long time ago. His reasons for doing so had felt so sound and true at the time. A lot of time had passed since. All he had left now was regrets.
Perhaps he just wanted to make sure she was safe. The things the man called Parthadan had told him had worried him, the things the regent of Gondor had seen in the palantír. Laureanis. Why would the regent of Gondor hear her name when he looked into the palantír?
The only other elf in Imladris he had revealed his true identity to so far was Cugusaelon, Parthadan’s correspondent. There had been no way to avoid it. Gwathrandir needed someone here to help him to make sure no other elf in Imladris would recognize him, especially Elrond. Gwathrandir did not want anyone to know he was still alive and that he was now here, Elrond least of all.
Cugusaelon had recognized him of course. Cugusaelon was old. He had been there during the Nírnaeth Arnoediad – the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. He had been surprised to see Gwathrandir again. Like everyone else Cugusaelon had though he had been dead and gone for ages. Still, Cugusaelon had agreed to help keep Gwathrandir’s true identity a secret in Imladris.
Nothing had prepared Gwathrandir for the first sight of her. Nothing had prepared him for the pain and regret that had surged through him upon seeing her.
He had shadowed Laureanis discreetly for the month he had spent in Imladris. He had become very good at shadowing people. The name he had chosen for himself, Gwathrandir, the ”Shadow-wandered”, was apt. For many a millennia he had remained in the shadows, shunning the company of his kin, wandering along the shores of the world until his name would fade from memory.
Until now.
Sitting at the edge of the pool Gwathrandir opened his fist and stared at the ugly burn scar on his palm for a long time. Then he put his hand in his cloak pocket and dug out a pendant with three big gems sparkling white in the sunlight. While the gemstones were beautifully crafted and quite valuable, they were but pale imitations of what they were supposed to represent. Gwathrandir had made the pendant a long time ago to remind him of all the things he had lost. He never wore the pendant, but sometimes he would sit on a shore of an ocean, a river or a lake and stare at the stones for hours in quiet contemplation. The gems conjured up memories of his past. When he looked at them he could relive the events of his past as clearly and vividly as if they were happening right now.
Memories were all he had left.
He could remember Laureanis now, the way she had been when they had been just married in Barad Eithel, before the War of Wrath. Laureanis, or ’the Golden Woman’ as her Quenyan name could be translated in Westron, had been named such after her beautiful golden hair – a rare hair color among the Noldor and a testimony of her Vanyarin ancestry. But the color of her hair was not the most remarkable feature about Laureanis. The most remarkable thing about her was the color of her eyes, which was impossible to tell because they changed color all the time, following her fluctuating moods and emotions. All the different shades of blue, green, hazel, purple – all the colors of the rainbow, and you could see them changing as you stared into them. A man could lose himself staring into eyes like that. Gwathrandir had lost himself into her eyes many times in the past.
”I love you”, he had told Laureanis in the darkness of a spring night many thousand years ago. He had said the words over and over as they held each other in a dreamlike embrace, breathing softly as one.
Suddenly he felt a moment of loss so great that he thought he would die, that he was already dead. He had promised Laureanis that they would be together forever, that their hearts were intertwined and that he would never leave her side. That promise had been a lie. ’Forever’ had only lasted a few short decades, until the War of Wrath. Morgoth had taken Laureanis from her. At first Gwathrandir had presumed her dead. Later it had turned out that it was not the case, but everyone had told him that he could not trust her anymore. She had been Morgoth’s prisoner, the Dark Lord had done terrible things to her and twisted her soul. She was not Laureanis anymore, she might have looked like her and talked like her but she was as good as dead, and whatever remained of her soul was now bound to the will of the Dark Lord.
So he had turned his back to her and walked away. With renewed vigor and bitter desire for vengeance he had turned his will on fulfilling the oath he had taken with his brothers. It did not turn out well. He had committed many evil deeds, his brothers were all dead now and the oath remained unfulfilled.
Since the end of the War of Wrath he had shunned the company of his kin and wandered the shores of the world alone, consumed by shame and regret. Laureanis, having escaped Morgoth’s captivity but finding out that she was now hated and mistrusted by her kin everywhere and abandoned by her husband, had finally returned to Morgoth, with nowhere else to go. After Morgoth’s destruction she had suffered a similar fate as Gwathrandir, doomed to wander the Middle-Earth alone and abandoned until she finally found refuge with Elrond’s Last Homely House in Imladris soon after the refuge was founded in the Secong Age. Morgoth had been gone a long time by then, and Elrond, who knew Laureanis and her history, had felt pity for her. Elrond could not believe that the Dark Lord could hold any sway on Laureanis’ mind or soul after all these years anymore, if indeed he ever had.
Gwathrandir had heard news of Laureanis in Imladris now and then, but he had never tried to reconnect with her or even let her know he was still alive. He was too consumed by his guilt and shame. A shame for all the things he had done and all the things he had failed to do, all the oaths he had taken and all the oaths he had broken and failed to fulfill. Like the oath he had once given to Laureanis, the oath to love her forever and to never leave her side.
And now, after all these countless decades, he had finally come to Imladris. He had followed her, still keeping in the shadows. The scenes of Imladris filled him with painful nostalgia. All because of a self-important man of Minas Tirith who had mentioned her name and asked if he would be willing to travel to Imladris to find out who or what was Laureanis. The man of Minas Tirith had wanted to know what connection that name had with the strange visions the Steward of Gondor had seen in the palantír about Imladris and a huge army of orcs and trolls being mustered in Dol Guldur.
I always loved her and I still do, Gwathrandir thought now. I saw the hint of her soul behind her eyes, those eyes that always changed color.
Gwathrandir heard rustling behind him. He put the pendant away and turned to look over his shoulder. It was Laureanis. She stood there, a book in hand, framed by the sunlight behind her. She saw Gwathrandir there and for a moment she looked displeased; she had come there for some peace and quiet, not to talk with strangers.
Gwathrandir’s eyes were wide and he felt a little afraid. He could not have imagined being so close to her again. Time seemed to stop. After what felt like an eternity he grabbed his hood, pulled it back and revealed his face to her.
Laureanis froze and stared at him. Then she dropped the book on the grass. Gwathrandir could not speak. Laureanis picked up the book and stood still, staring at Gwathrandir. Her eyes were large and calm and so blue that they made her pale skin seem even paler by comparison. She did not speak.
”Laureanis.” Gwathrandir pushed himself up and clambered up on his feet. There was a silence for a moment. They could have been the only two people alive in the world.
Laureanis’ eyes changed color then, the blue irises turned purple as her soul shifted behind them. Was it the color of pain, or was it his own pain reflected from her eyes?
”Maglor”, she said. Her voice was as low as he remembered it, but it was not as young and soft as it had been. The burden of unnumbered years had made it heavier.
”I never expected…” he began but then stopped. He could not lie to her. Not anymore.
”No”, Laureanis said. She stared at him like he was a ghost or an old memory. ”Neither did I.”
She took one hesitant step towards him.
