Chapter Text
I call to you from the darkness of creation.
The sound of birdsong drifts through the air around me, a great rushing between my ears, the sound of a thousand leaves rustling far above my head.
To answer the call of one lifetime.
My fingers twitch, registering the lush grass I am lain upon. A soft breeze, carrying the sweet aroma of blooming wildflowers, wafts over my face.
To begin anew a second.
My eyes snap open, my arm reaching out before my face and up toward the canopy of trees. There is a silence around me, unearthly in its simplicity and completeness. I push myself up from where I lie, glancing first at the white shift I am wearing, then at the surrounding forest. Deep moss covers the base of the ginormous, ancient trees, stretching as high as mountains and as far as the eye can see. Something akin to moonlight bathes the clearing in an ethereal glow.
Your deeds will be to the triumph or ruin of the free folk of Middle Earth.
I glance around myself in confusion, trying to find the source of the voice. It echoes and fades until all that can be heard is the sound of my own breath. I stand slowly, placing my palm against my forehead as a knife-like pain erupts from within, as though splitting my skull from temple to temple. I steady myself with a hand against the nearest tree, breathing shallowly as the pain subsides, leaving me lightheaded.
As my vision clears, I notice a plinth some ten meters away, intricately carved from what looks to be green marble flecked with gold. Set in the centre in a concavity is a perfectly round globe, twice the size of my fist. I stagger toward it, toes encompassed in spongy grass with every step I take.
I reach the plinth, placing my hands on either side of the globe, the marble icy-cold to the touch. A biting wind rushes through the clearing, stirring my dark hair around my face. I shiver, hearing a light whispering just on the edges of audibility.
I reach out my right hand to the orb and splay my hand across the top.
“I see you, Havetha, daughter of Havethor.”
I gasp, crying out as a sizzling white-hot pain runs along my right arm, blinding me. I close my eyes briefly and when I reopen them, a flurry of images can be seen in the depths of the seeing stone.
A raven-haired girl, no older than 7, weeping beside two gravestones; one the size of a child, the other for a small adult.
The same girl, now years older, rides through the grassy plains of an open country on horseback. Birds stir up from the pastures, the wind teasing her long hair from its braid. She comes to a crest and overlooks the vast lands before her, a great river cutting the landscape below in two. She smiles.
The girl, now a woman, kneels before a third gravestone, eyes bloodshot but tearless.
The dark-haired woman now stands tall before a tiny man, lying on his back in the dirt. Her sword point rests just below his chin, a mask obscuring her face.
“Give it to me. Now!” She demands.
“I cannot, for it would mean the destruction of everything I hold dear.” The small man replies, a steely resolve beneath his quivering lip.
This scene swirls into a mist, reforming in the shape of four companions traversing a great wheat-coloured grassland.
It changes once more, the raven-haired woman now sitting astride a great chestnut bay with a white streak on its nose. Sword and shield in hand, she rides before the largest gathering of horse-mounted warriors I’ve ever seen. The earth shakes with the thundering of their hooves. She screams something in the face of a foe I cannot turn to see, battle fire in her eyes beneath her helm. The image changes once more.
Now I see the woman, clutching at her chest amidst a battlefield, the front of her tunic and mail stained red with blood. Her helmet has been lost, and she coughs, red speckling her lips. Then she looks up.
And I see myself, looking back at me.
The image of me falls to her knees, a strangled sob wrenched from her chest at the impact. I look into my own eyes and see the inevitability of death.
She falls back onto the blood-stained earth beneath her, eyes wide and unseeing.
I wrench my hand from the globe, a short and shrill scream tearing from my throat and echoing around the clearing.
“Child of Iluvatar, I lay before you a choice.” A deep masculine voice appears in front of me, startling me so much I jump. I look up, eyes widening as I see a huge man before me. His hair, a fiery red, is braided down the length of his back. Tattoos of unfamiliar runes cover his biceps, his forearms clad in leather vambraces. He is tall, enormously so, his head nearly brushing the tops of the trees. I tremble slightly, catching on to the feeling that this man is more than a giant.
“I am Mahal, forge-master and maker. Although you likely know me better as Aulë. I have chosen you, Havetha of Gondor, to complete a quest of utmost importance.” As he speaks, he appears to shrink until he stands only some feet above the height of a normal man. I stare dumbfounded at him, mouth hanging agape. The wind around me stirs, and I snap from my daze, instantly dropping to one knee and bowing my head.
“Forgive me, my lord, for I did not recognise you.” My heart hammers in my ears as I kneel, waiting for a response. It is when all that I receive is a hearty chuckle that I raise my head.
“Child of Ilúvatar, do not kneel for me. I do not desire the worship that my kin inspire amongst their creations.” I look up into his eyes, a kind smile beneath his grand beard and moustache. “I call you here, in the realm between life and death to answer a calling, to complete a quest in which you stand to lose nothing yet gain everything.” My eyes widen as I get to my feet, brushing my shift down.
“What do you require of me, my lord?”
“I require you to save the first line of Durin. You will join the company of Thorin Oakenshield and protect his young heirs on their quest to reclaim the lost dwarven city of Erebor, far to the East. This will take them through many perils, of which some of his company will not survive. I entrust to you the foresight of the events during the 3000th age to aid you on your journey, in return for a year of your servitude and the chance to save the line of kings amongst my creations. I too honour you with the privileged of fluency of the Dwarven language of Khuzdul, sacred among my creations.”
‘Should you accept and be successful, you will be gifted with rebirth at the moment of your demise.” He gestures to the seeing stone. “Should you fail or perish during the completion of this task, your soul will remain in the Halls of Mandos and leave Middle Earth, ceasing to exist.”
I stare at Mahal, eyes wide and barely breathing. “May… may I have a moment to consider, your greatness?” My voice is tiny, merely more than a whisper amongst the trees.
“Yes, mezzintar*, you may.” Aulë smiles down at me once more as I take a step back from the plinth, effectively removing myself from the conversation. After a few moments I frown, walking back and staring up into his warm, dark brown eyes. I bite my lip, wondering what the best approach to my question would be. (*daughter)
“My lord,” I begin cautiously, running over the words in my mind, “I would not be as foolish as to deny your wisdom, nor doubt your reasoning, however I do wonder…” I pause, casting my eyes down and fidgeting with the sleeve of my shift.
“Why I have chosen you?” He offers, voice soothing. I look back up, smiling gratefully.
“Yes, my lord, I do wonder that.” Mahal smiles down, a radiance of warmth that spreads through my whole being.
“As to why I have chosen you, I looked across Middle Earth to find a soul with a strong and willing heart, someone of modest means yet great courage. They needed to have the necessary knowledge of past events to be beneficial to my situation, yet not so influential at the time of their life that their presence would be missed from the halls of Mandos.” I feel my stomach sink a fraction at the thought, before reminding myself that he was, indeed, correct.
I was not a queen, not a warrior of legend, nor an elf capable of incredible deeds and knowledgeable in the many ages of the earth.
“But most of all, they needed to understand great suffering and have a heart of iron, in order to truly comprehend what is needed to overcome great evil. You leave behind nothing but acquaintances, yet have a world of possibilities before you.” He quietens. “My time with you is limited by your creator,” he admits, his voice holding a hit of bitterness, “I require an answer now, lest we not meet again.” I steady my breathing and raise my eyes up to meet his, an expression of resolute determination smoothing my features.
“I accept.” I meet Aulë’s gaze, the corners of his mouth turning up and a spark igniting behind his eyes.
“Well chosen, child of Ilúvatar. We must part now, and you do so with my blessing.” He pauses for a moment. “Know that you will achieve your task in a form that is not your own.” He places his hand on his chest and extends it to me, a gesture of good will.
“Until we meet again, arüna carn*.” The wind picks up in the clearing, carrying with it a foul metallic scent that tugs at the corners of my memory. The ground shakes and the plinth splits, the seeing-stone shattering as it hits the floor. I raise my head to Mahal, only to find no one there. (*blessed one)
A stabbing pain explodes across my torso, as though driven through my back and out of my front. I double over in pain, the wind knocked from my lungs as I fall to my knees. I look down to see blood pouring from an open wound in my chest. Bile rises in my throat and my senses spiral as I fall back to the ground.
Instead of hitting the grass, I pass straight through the floor, falling through an abyss. A scream tears from my lungs but makes no sound as I cart-wheel through the inky darkness in a freefall, wind rushing in my ears and tearing at my clothes and hair.
A pinprick of light appears below me and my head starts to thrum with a horrible pounding sensation. I close my eyes, dimly aware of the light rushing up to meet me.