A/N: Hey all, this is my first Haldir fic, so I'm sort of rusty here ;-). This story was inspired by my favourite set of books, the Gormenghast Trilogy. I hope this is enjoyable thus far. R&R GREATLY appreciated

  *Saker Falcon*

Chapter 1: The Silverwing Family

The Silverwing family of Rivendell were an odd lot indeed. A household of two Elves, and their children – a son and three daughters. No two Silverwings were the same.

  The parents, Erabur and Bellawen, were respectable folk – completely loyal to Lord Elrond and his teaches, and faithful servants to Rivendell. Both had dark hair and fair skin, as was customary for many Rivendell Elves. Bellawen had bright blue eyes, that reminded many of the sky when the sun was strong and pure. But Erabur had odd eyes – the golden-brown of fallen leaves or lightly-done toast. Merely two of his children inherited his eyes.

  The children…you couldn't have found a more different lot. There was the eldest – the son, Eradon. Dark of hair, fair of face, with his father's eyes and lithe but strong build. He sought out the humour and fun in life, whilst taking his blacksmith skills seriously, along with his own archery and sword training. Rarely serious was he, but he could be astonishingly astute when the timing called for it. His mind was inventive, his resourcefulness valued, and his skills in sword-making did not go unnoticed.

  Then there were the daughters. The first was Parweien. Her bright blue eyes matched her mother's, though her build was astonishingly more like her father's. This had encouraged her to wear hunting clothes, and take on the more challenging things in life than gowns – namely, she sought out to be a sentinel of Rivendell. She trained long and hard with her weapons, often seeking council from Eradon. She had few suitors, for her strong build seemed to deter many.

  The second daughter was Tálarieth. Truly her mother's daughter, she was fair of face, body and etiquette. Her eyes were the twinkling blue, here features soft and beautifully feminine. She wore gowns and behaved in the best way possible – though underneath this, she was spoiled, manipulative, and rude. She cunningly controlled many things from the shadows, whilst all believed her to still be the perfect she-Elf – which her parents believed strongly, and they foolishly continued to spoil her.

  The final daughter, however, was the one considered the spoiled daughter. Close to the build of Parweien, but not quite, she hid herself in baggy, shapeless gowns, which hugged her bosom but hid all else. Her hair was very dark, making her seem all the more pallid, and her face might have been fair, if it were not so expressive. She would stand at her window, watching the world outside, and thrust out her lower lip in a childish pout. Or she would narrow her eyes dangerously, with her jaw clenched and her eyebrows furrowing in pure displeasure. Or she might laugh – and it was this expression that revealed the beauty she held. Not astonishing beauty like Tálarieth, but an innocent, raw beauty which would appear only for a moment when she laughed, and would soon disappear as soon as it would arrive, replaced instead with a frown.

  Her imagination was sharp and poignant – her constant escape which protected her from the disapproval that was often sent her way. Few found her innocence and almost child-like grace appealing, and for this, she was not a social Elf. She could be intemperate, suspicious, loving, and angered all within a few minutes, often confusing those around her, and even sometimes confusing herself.

  But she was not stupid, and this was the mistake that many seemed to make. Nay, this daughter was not as stupid as many thought. In fact, she could find her way around many conundrums, and should her father have taken time to look at her, he might have discovered that she had inherited his sharp mind and cynicism. Had her mother looked at her, she might have seen that she had inherited her ability to make friends of birds, to speak with them and love them as dear confidents.

  But no. Only two seemed to care for her, and those were Eradon and the Lord Elrond.

  And such was the life of Raziel, the youngest daughter. A flag of black hair that fell to her waist would swirl around her when she danced to music only she could hear. Her lips, roughened from her nibbling on them, could pout, smile and twist in anger in the expressive ways. And her eyes – the golden, honeyed eyes of her father, could betray her many emotions in seconds.

  Simple, many called her. They would see her clutch her skirts and danced joyfully, her wavy hair bouncing behind her, and they would pronounce her a child. She heard this, and though she did not always show it, it upset her greatly. The only ones to console her were her brothers and the Lord Elrond himself, who sought her company over tea and seedcake. He would often ask her to use her artistic talents to sketch him, and then he would feed what he considered a very healthy mind with his tales of adventure, which she drank like sweet wine as she watched him, her golden eyes wide with enthusiasm.

  So was the Silverwing family – so contrasted within itself that many could not bear to think of it, for fear that their minds may collapse from exhaustion. This did not, however, prevent them from gossiping about the family, no matter how prestigious Bellawen and Erabur may be. And it was these rumours, full of praise, distaste and mocking, that greeted the procession from Lothlórien as it entered Rivendell to seek company with the Lord Elrond, bearing the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, who were so diligently accompanied and guarded by the March Warden of Lórien himself, Haldir.