The Awakening of Sadril

Chapter 1: The Lonely Vigil
by Sienna Dawn
Disclaimer: All familiar characters of this story belong to the awesome world and works of JRR Tolkien, who is an unparalleled genius of this genre. All unfamiliar and original characters, animals and places are of my own invention. I do not derive any monies from this work and created this story solely out of the love and respect that I hold for all of the works related to this canon.

The year 120 of the Fourth Age, in the Grey Havens.....

The man on the wide bed breathed with great difficulty. Air wheezed out of his lungs in a discordant sliver of sound. He was not old, having only lived 63 winters. But his body was tired and weak, as if the years of his youth had never been.

The room where he lay was dark and cool, window shutters drawn against the bright spring sunshine. Starkly decorated, there were no rich tapestries here, or thick woolen rugs on the stone floor. Anything that interfered with the man's intake of breath had been removed. All that remained were a few wooden chairs, a square table and a small dresser where his clothing was neatly stored.

The Healers held out no hope for him and his condition weakened daily. Still his spirit would not let go, bound to his body for reasons only the Valar understood.

What consumed the man was unknown. A withering, wasting disease, that began at first to rob the body of its strength and vitality, followed by the onset of high fevers and culminating in an endless sleep. Then, would the body slowly shut down, first the breathing, then the heart.

For the man it was only a matter of time.

Into the gloom entered a solitary figure, cautiously approaching the bed. Gentle hands caressed the man's high brow, soft raven-black eyes filling with tears as they traversed over the expanse of his prone body.

Pulling a chair close to the bed, the figure slowly sat, her eyes never leaving the man's face. Here she sat for time uncounted until another figure entered the room and placed a hand on the shoulder of the seated female. Although she knew she should have acknowledged his entry, she had grown tired of trivialities and dispensed with the greeting. She knew who he was and why he was there.

"There is no change, Sadril." The Healer gently said.

Sadril stiffened at the words. "I know that." She continued to stare at the man, her eyes sad, her mouth set in a firm line. She would not weep.

The Healer moved away, crossing over to the man. With a practiced hand, he checked the man's temperature, finding it cool. He then proceeded to examine the man thoroughly, finally placing his slender fingers over the man's forehead, a frown of concentration marking his elven features. Caressing the man's forehead in pity, he turned to Sadril.

"His mind is blank, Sadril. There is no light within it." His voice was as gentle as he could make it, his eyes covered the female elf in concern.

Sadril took a deep breath and stood. "No matter." She replied, finally raising her eyes to the Healer. "Do as much as you can for him."

The Healer bowed in respect and silently left the dark room.

Alone with her thoughts, Sadril resumed her vigil, waiting, praying to the Valar that her husband would one day be brought back to her. She closed the short distance between herself and the bed and reached for the man's hand. It was listless, yet the warmth of life still pulsed there. She could feel it. Sadril's eyes rested on the man's still features, remembering a time when his soft lips had covered her own in passion and love. That she would never have again.

Anguished, she finally yielded to the pain in her soul and wept bitterly.

~*~*~*~*~

Far from the unfolding tragedy, two figures on horseback leisurely sauntered into the fragrant valley of Lindon, northeast of Imladris.

After the devastation of the Second Age, many areas of this once-great fertile plain were beginning to rebound and small groves dotted here and there.

Birds sang, the breezes blew softly, flowers scented the land.

It was on this clear and bright spring morning that Gimli, the dwarf, decided to ask the one question burning most in his mind. Turning sideways he gave the elf beside him a sly glance.

"Er," he cleared his throat. That did it, Gimli thought, realizing he now had Legolas' full attention. Quiet, amused dark blue eyes settled on his face. Such eyes the elves had, thought the dwarf, remembering another pair of radiant elven eyes that haunted his dreams.

Patiently, Legolas waited, as their steeds strode at a slow trot.

Gimli harrumphed once and grumbled, "I do not know how you manage it." Was all he could muster, suddenly feeling shy under the intense, although friendly gaze of the elf at his side.

"My friend, I do not understand your words." Legolas said lightly, knowing fully well what the dwarf was driving at. He'd make Gimli work for it and enjoy every moment of it.

Gimli harrumphed again and turned his gaze toward a small clump of linden trees. Turning to look at Legolas, he spoke. "You know very well what I mean. What I can't fathom is how you do it."

Gimli tugged on his beard in thought. "How do you make them all land at your feet, Legolas?" Dark eyebrows furrowed in thought. "I must say, I am considered attractive in dwarfdom, and many a time I too have tumbled a willing maid, but..." A look of frustration crossed his face and he studied the elven figure beside him. "How do you do it, my friend?" He repeated in exasperation. "And it's not as if you do not want them...I observe you, you know. You stop yourself every time from crossing just too far. And it makes them want you even more." He scratched his beard in thought, "I wonder if that would work for me." He pondered outloud.

Beside Gimli, Legolas laughed but said nothing.

Several hours later they were entering the Grey Havens and Gimli marveled at its beauty. Although most of the sea-elves had departed for Valinor, there remained a handful in Mithlond, the name the elves had given to this place. The elves that still lived here had not yet sailed, and it was rumored they had forsaken the Blessed Realms and instead would soon depart for Ithilien or Gondor. Like Lorien and Imladris, Mithlond was doomed to fade.

The city itself was astounding, with terraced avenues, winding streets and forested hilltops. White buildings of all sizes and shapes hugged the landscape and gulls dove in-between the groved hillocks close to the water. Marinas, docks and quays, now all empty, jutted from the coastline. Graceful, tall lamps made of mithril, rose at almost every corner, and Gimli knew from Legolas' stories that they glowed at night with a soft blue and silver light. A single lighthouse sat on a massive stone quay, its light now dimmed. The white tower, called Elostirion, which had once housed the fabled Palantir of Cirdan, mutely stood upon a green mound, a silent witness to the passing of the elves. Had Gimli possessed the keen eyes of the Quendi, he would have seen the occassional elf making his way about the winding city streets.

Here they entered and slowly made their way around the city streets, now deserted and silent. The hoofbeats of the horses' steady trot echoed eeriely in the late afternoon. As they followed the winding streets, searching for the stables, they passed the Gray Harbours. They saw that the fabled white swan ships of Cirdan and his mariners no longer dotted the marinas.

Gimli turned to Legolas. "How are we to sail?" His brown eyes gazed impatiently on the elf's face.

Legolas gave Gimli one of his practiced angelic grins. "I will build us a ship." He guided his steed around a corner and there entered the stables. Dismounting with a graceful leap he did not see the dwarf's incredulous expression.

"You're going to what?" Dismounting slowly, he turned to the tall elf and then nodded in comprehension, "Oh, I had forgotten. Your people are boat makers."

Legolas grinned and said nothing. From experience he knew Gimli was not yet finished.

Walking a few steps out of the stables, Gimli's eyes caught sight of the vast sea spread out before them. Grabbing a brush, he began to dress down his horse. "I don't know if you ever knew this before, Legolas, but there is a difference between a boat for lake travel and a ship for sea travel."

Legolas said nothing, chuckling to himself and finishing his work, making sure his horse had water and hay. Turning to Gimli he slapped him firmly on the back and cheerily said, "Come, my dwarf, let us explore!"

Frowning, Gimli made sure his steed was comfortable and muttered something unintelligible. Following Legolas out into the bright spring sunshine, he suddenly felt old and tired. Taking a deep sigh, he set off after the elf.

Key:

Quendi = what the elves call themselves; the race of elves is called Quendi.

Disclaimer: All familiar characters are owned by JRR Tolkien and are used without permission. No monies are being made from this work.

Graphics copyrighted Cari Buziak