Farohir, the half-Elven twin brother to Eldariel, now stands just outside the great gates of Moria at the opening expanse into Dimrill Dale. This is the first time in his life that he has ever beheld this land, though he has heard tell of it from many voices: the forbidding white peaks of the Misty Mountains soaring above him to unguessed heights; the crumbling but majestic edifice of the East-gate of Khazad-dûm; and the expanse of Kheled-zaram, the Mirrormere stretching beyond sight towards the valley of the Silverlode. He stands for a few moments just breathing in the air, a chill tang from the mountains above, fresh and cool and moving after the still warm airs of the Mines of Moria. It is late in the day, and the shadows of the peaks are long in the valley, the stars just beginning to appear in the darkening skies.
As he contemplates the vistas before him, Farohir hears on the wind a bird calling, or so others might think so – but he knows it for what it is, a four-note call that only one other in all the world knows: Eldariel is somewhere near. He raises a cupped hand to his lips and calls the same notes in answer. In just a few minutes, through the undergrowth and the trees’ shadows comes Eldariel, garbed in black and grey with a massive bow slung across her back.
The twins have not seen one another since their parting from Rivendell weeks ago, and both have ridden far and wide through many leagues and dangers. They greet each other with a fierce hug, then turn to gaze down the length of Mirrormere, holding hands in silence for a long moment before Farohir breaks the silence.
“I am glad you came, Rosgalen. I am also glad I see this place with you, first.”
“I set out to find you, Faron, as soon as the falcon brought your message.”
“You must have been very close, to come here so swiftly.”
“I was beneath the eaves of Mirkwood, across the River. Coming down to the landings near Echad Sirion was easy – but I had to wait until cover of darkness to cross back. Finding my way up the Silverlode took longest, as the Galadhrim wanted to forbid my coming.”
“Still, you made good time. I’ve not had long to wait here.”
“You were easy to find – all I had to do was follow my nose.”
“Why, because I bathe more often than you?”
“Precisely – that perfumery you insist on could lead an entire orc patrol to your doorstep!” Several playful jabs follow, then Eldariel frowns.
“You are not dressed for a hunt; you’re wearing red, like Aunt Seregrían, why is that?”
“Yes, well,... you see, erm, well... it's involved, because...”
“’It?’ And what is ‘it’ that you’re sporting a new look, dandy that you are?”
“Look, I'm worried about her, is that alright with you?”
“So you wear red... wait, why are you worried about her?”
“I mean, you haven't heard about her in Moria, and what the Dwarves are saying!”
“How could I, I have been north in the Vales! I set out as soon as I got word and didn’t stop for idle chat. Faron, what is going on?”
“The Dwarves told me stories of Seregrían. How she fought dark creatures in the Mines, and she left all of a sudden; then after a few weeks she returned – changed. She was more powerful than ever we've heard! Almost as if she's become a Wizard or something. They say she can command fire and lightning like you use arrows!”
“And what’s wrong with being a Wizard? I’ve heard great tales of them, especially Mithrandir and Radagast; tales both in Rivendell and the Vales, same as you.”
“But Rosgalen, that’s just the point: Seregrían is not a Wizard, and never will be! Somehow, she’s mixed up with powers no one, not Elf or Man, has any business dabbling in! We have to find her, to save her!”
“Faron, don’t you even hear yourself? Is this why you asked me to come here? Farohir, what is going on with you - not her, you! Why this sudden concern for her?”
“She’s like family, isn’t she? I mean, Naneth and she swore the Sister-pact before we were born. But even so, she’s not kin, but she’s more than friend. So much more. I mean, when we all last were together in Rivendell, and she looked so sad and alone, and we talked, and watched the waterfall, and she smiled – don’t look at me like that, I mean, she really smiled! And we just held hands and talked, and watched…”
“You can’t be serious. Farohir, you’re getting – you’re feeling something for Seregrían!? I don’t believe this! That she’s family is bad enough – but she’s ages older than you! And she’s always angry, you know how bad her temper is! You think one tender moment means she – oh, I can’t say it! You know her, she can’t love! She hates Adar, she hates anything that’s not up to her Elvish standards!”
“Then why is she a hero to the Dwarves? Do you know what they call her? ‘Sister of the Dwarves’! She even parties and dances with them, they told me! With Dwarves! Does that sound like the Seregrían we grew up with? She’s softening, she’s loosening up. Her heart is melting, or something. And if it finally thaws, I want to be there for her. She’s lived for so long without love, that maybe that’s all she needs, someone to love her, and someone she can love in return. And I… I guess I want to be that for her. Maybe someone to love will save her from whatever power is taking hold of her.”
Eldariel is stunned to silence, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Seeing Farohir’s face and eyes tell her the truth: he means every word, and he’s trusting her with a secret he has held close for who knows how long. He is the only other person in the world who she could trust that deeply, how can she not believe him?
“I don’t have words for this. You’ve never talked like this, Faron, not ever. But you’re not thinking, you’re not making sense at all. If you won’t believe me, then we have to talk to the only ones you might listen to. I know where Naneth and Adar are staying, in Caras Galadhon. We’ll leave now and walk through the night – I want answers for this, and they are the only ones who can help make sense; or at least slap some sense into you!”
