Where Peace Awaits Our Coming by Zdenka  

Chapter 1

This is what Rían remembers from the year she is six years old.

She is outside the main hall with her mother. There is the bustle of preparations all around her, men and women moving sacks of provisions, weapons and armor. Rían clings to her mother’s skirts, uncertain of what is happening. Her father is there too, in armor and with a sword at his side. He takes her mother’s hands. “Aradis,” he says quietly. “Sing me the Song of the Daisies.”

Rían’s mother takes a shaking breath; Rían can feel it through her side. Then she takes another deep breath and sings. It is a familiar song with a simple melody; it tells how Varda in friendship gave some of her stars to Yavanna, who set them to grow among the grass, and now the stars on earth look up at the stars in the heavens. Her voice is rich and full, making the simple song a thing of shining beauty. While she sings, there is nothing around them but calm and peace.

The song ends, and everyone near them has fallen silent. Rían’s father pulls her mother into an embrace and holds her tightly. After a long moment, he lets her go and gets down on one knee to be at eye level with Rían. “Will you give me a farewell, little one?” And he pulls her into an embrace also. Rían doesn’t like it; his armor is hard and cold against her. But he’s her father, so she dutifully presses a kiss on his cheek.

Her father sighs and pushes himself to his feet. “How long?”

“We leave in an hour,” says a voice behind them. Rían turns to look; it’s Lady Emeldir. She is in armor and with a sword herself. “Will you have a sword, Aradis?” Rían’s mother shakes her head, drawing back.

“You should have a knife, at least,” her father says. Rían’s mother looks away. “For Rían’s sake,” he urges. She gives an abrupt nod. He takes a sheathed knife from his belt and presses it into her hands.

“Lady!” That is Rían’s cousin Morwen, out of breath as if she has been running. “I want a sword.”

Emeldir makes a noncommittal noise. “What did your father say?”

“He’ll say I can have one if you do! Please.”

Emeldir gives her a thoughtful look. Then she steps back to give herself room and draws her own sword. It isn’t shining, covered in jewels like the Elvish swords in the tales, but plain and battered, with a worn leather hilt. “See if you can hold it,” she says, turning the hilt toward Morwen’s hand.

Morwen is thirteen this year; she has gotten taller, but her arms and legs are still skinny. She takes the sword with a look of great determination and slowly raises it, straightening her arm. But her arm shakes, and the sword wavers. Morwen sets her teeth and tries again, her arm shaking more badly this time.

“Enough,” Emeldir says briskly. Morwen gives the sword back to her, looking as if she wants to protest. “I do not doubt your courage,” Emeldir says, “but your strength is not enough yet.” She gives Morwen a weighing look. Finally she says, “There should be a lighter shortsword in the armory, that I trained with when I was younger. Come with me and I will help you find it.”

Rían’s mother makes a motion of protest. “She’s still a child.”

“I am Morwen daughter of Baragund of the House of Bëor,” Morwen says stubbornly. “I’m old enough to understand. I don’t want only to be protected.”

“It may save her life,” Emeldir says. “It is needful, if she is to reach a land where she can be only a child. I will give everyone a weapon who is able and willing to bear one.” She turns away. “Morwen, meet me at the armory when you’re ready.”

Morwen starts to follow her, but Rían’s father stops her. “Will you bid me farewell, niece?”

Morwen nods, and they embrace. “I will ask something of you,” he says seriously. “Will you stay close to Aradis and Rían during the journey? It will ease my heart if I know you are looking after each other.”

Morwen nods solemnly. “I will protect them,” she promises. Then she turns and runs after Emeldir, her dark braids bouncing against her shoulders.

They leave not long afterwards. There are no songs or trumpets. Barahir and Emeldir clasp arms like warriors and part. Emeldir raises her hand, and they set off. The women and children follow her in a straggling clump. Rían is resting on her mother’s back. She looks behind her to see Lord Barahir standing by the gate with his men around him. Her gaze finds her father, who raises his hand once in farewell. Rían means to wave back at him, but she was woken very early that morning, and she is sleepy; her eyes close. That is her last sight of her father and Dorthonion.

Rían remembers that song, when she is older, when the world seems to be darkening around her. She takes a deep breath, then another, making sure her voice will be steady. Then she sings, in defiance of Morgoth who would strike down every beautiful thing, filling the air around her with glorious music. For that one moment, for herself and those she loves, she wants to create an enchanted circle of perfect peace and beauty.