Title & Chapter Number: Tel' Lindar(The Bard): Sequel to The Empty Vessel 0/?
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: Lord Of The Rings/Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I'm not Tolkien, I don't pretend to be the Great one, nor am I the amazing JK Rowlings. I just play with their lovely Elves and Wizards and promise to return them in good condition. I didn't sell this, yada yada yada. Bronwyn is mine.
Disclaimer 2: To JS Bach, Andreas Vollenweider, Mozart, Elton John, Metallica, Bad Company, Howard Shore, AC/DC and any other musician whose music and lyrics I have impinged on. I have written none of the lyrics and apologize if I have offended any. I also wish to apologize to various television and movies which in the course of this I might have trod on, however, I don't think Beavis will mind the plug so much. And to the others who I was very much influenced by. This is ALL your fault!
Special Disclaimer for Tel Lindar: HANKIE WARNING. There. You have been warned.
Warnings: graphic het sex, excessive foul language, violence, major angst, character death, light bondage. Some serious reliving of the smoky 70's - It's rated NC-17 for a reason!
Betas: GotsSnape, Alex
Cast: Severus Snape/OFC, Haldir/OFC - implied
Timeline: Just a little in the future.
Spoilers:
Summary:
Notes: Dedication: This one is for all the beautiful women, who discovered that true beauty comes in the prime of their lives and not as skinny, young things!
Any word/phrase spoken in Elvish is either translated immediately or at the end of the chapter, depending on story flow.
Please be aware that I am writing this fic for TWO distinctly different fandoms. As I am aware that what one will automatically know and take for granted, the other might not. Therefore I am explaining - or translating - everything, including LOTR standard verbal knowledge at the bottom. Please be patient.
Please also be aware that this fic is a sequel to a LOTR ring called The Empty Vessel. Tel' Lindar should stand on its own, but you might want to read it first. If you cannot find it, please let me know.
Warning: This fic, while AU for LOTR, does remain in CURRENT canon for HP. That means if you haven't read the books, including OOTP, there might be some major spoilers.
This fic also contains character death. If you upset easily, do NOT read it. If you like pink and fluffy, this is NOT the fic for you! Do not start it and then flame the hell out of me! This is how the Muses agreed to have it written and I had no choice! If you start it, I suggest you finish it. All things aren't what they always seem...
And in the end, she followed him...
Prologue
~*~*~*~
There was a garden,
where my fortunes were planted
Roses of white round my head were entwined
The hand of the wind moved the wheel of my seasons
Love in the cup of my life
There was love in the cup of my lifePainter's Waltz Andreas Vollenweider Eliza Gilkyson
~*~*~*~
It was supposed to have been a quiet, romantic evening.
That was what Haldir had planned; a serene night out, good food, a movie of her choice, candle-lit bath, followed by passionate hours in the bed, if they actually made it there. Many nights in the past, they had not. After over 38,000 years, he was still surprised that their desire for each other exclusively had not waned, nor had the excitement of the other's body dimmed. Many Elven couples took extra partners, other lovers with the blessing of their spouse. It was not unheard of to have joinings of three or four. More often than not, it was expected.
But not he or his wife.
When he looked at her, he felt the same chill run down his spine that had been there since the night in the abandoned hovel where he had come to the conclusion that he loved the little she-devil.
His ice to her fire.
Just as the Valar had decreed.
The Elves had returned to the World fifteen months previously, to stop global warfare. They were thought to have been a myth, a rumor, a story made up by a learned, yet fanciful genius. Men were shocked to discover that the storyteller was HER child. Many great philosophers, politicians, musicians, artists, writers, people of great influence, were HER children.
Aristotle. Edith of Swan. Merlin. Caesar Augustus. Turlough O'Carolan. Cleopatra. Mozart. Michaelangelo. Arthur. Liszt. Poe. Columbus. Gandhi. Vivaldi. William the Conqueror. Shakespeare. Chopin. Merlin. Joan of Arc. Teleman. Henry VIII. Thomas Jefferson, Socrates. Morgaine. Abraham Lincoln.
The Storyteller.
All were hers, come down from hers and Haldir's lineage. Children of their son Beckett and of their daughter Anselm. For thousands of years, her children, their children, had forged paths and guided man. And she had been their voice, the whisper in the ear, their conscious, their Storyteller.
She had been the one to slowly whisper the history of all Middle Earth into the ears of her child. It had started when he was very young.
"John, John, my child. Harken to my words..."
And he had. And he wrote. And he told the world of the ancient Elves, still beautiful, still angelic, still very much alive.
No one believed the stories were real.
And yet, they arrived anyway, seeking to counsel, seeking to save, seeking to aid. It would not have mattered how skilled negotiators Elrond, Celeborn, and Gandalf, were if it had not been for her.
Bronwyn Morgan ap Powell.
A mere human woman, plucked from their time, slung back to Middle Earth, and given tremendous vision, tremendous gifts, tremendous burdens. She had stepped off the boat, a tiny, yet solid woman behind the tall Elves, wearing black jeans, a black turtle neck and a hip-length black cape, the hood back. It was her hat that caused a stir. A black baseball cap, with the words "Bite me" emblazoned across the front. She strode around the towering Elves, straight to the President of the United States, wriggling past his security, and grabbed his hand.
And showed him what would happen if serious negotiations for peace did not begin immediately.
It changed the course of the world. And saved Man from total annihilation.
There were those, however, who did not want peace, and several attempts had been made on her life. Haldir was forced to keep her locked away, hidden from unfriendly eyes and she chaffed at the restricted movement granted her.
But things had quieted down and he hoped they could enjoy a special, blissful evening, reminiscent of their days in Rivendell or the Undying Lands. It was early summer, the moon was full and the stars were out. Maybe, just maybe, they could go somewhere outdoors and make love under the trees, like they used to.
It was not meant to be.
As they exited the restaurant, she had leaned up to kiss him tenderly. When he lowered his head, he heard the hammer draw back. He pushed her backwards into the doorway, until he could determine the location of the sniper.
And as he had told her thirty - eight millenniums ago, he would gladly take the arrow, the knife, and now, the bullet, meant for her.
He lay in her lap, blood, his blood, on her hands as she called, attempting to bring him back to the light, tears running down her checks.
"Haldir, Heru en cormmin, lasto beth nīn, tolo dan nan galad."
"Do not cry, Baraermin. This is meant to be." His hand stroked her tear-stained face.
"Nooo. They took so much from me. Not you as well. Please, do not leave me."
He smiled a rueful smile. "Are our positions not reversed from all those years ago?" He referred to the day, before she had fully embraced her powers, when she had leapt down on an Orc's sword to rescue their friend, Heridil; Heridil, who later courted their wrath by marrying their daughter, Anselm. Bronwyn had died that day and argued with the Valar for a long time, before they sent her back to a grieving Haldir.
"Do not try to joke! Please do not leave me."
Her face was becoming fuzzy to his eyes. He could hear the singing from those already at the Halls of Waiting, wooing him. He pulled her face close to his.
"I am waiting for you, Baraer. You must retrieve your bow from our bad seed. Trust the new Guardian. He will help you. You cannot join me until you do that and...and... just trust him."
"New Guardian? Trust a new Guardian? Our Bad Seed? Haldir, you speak in riddles. You are my only Guardian, my Shield, my Lord, my Heart..."
"Elrond's child. His children. The New Wizards. Trust him." His voice faded quickly. "I love you, Baraermin."
"No. Please do not leave me. Haldir, Heru en cormmin, lasto beth nīn, tolo dan nan galad. Please, oh please. Haldir, Heru en cormmin, lasto beth nīn, tolo dan-"
"Bara..ermin. I love you, Barae-"
His hand fell from her face.
"Noooooo..."
~*~*~*~
Severus Snape jerked straight up in bed, his head pounding, the nightmare lingering.
Her scream still ringing in his ears.
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