Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the first chapter, we backtrack a bit to check in on Vildan, Vanguard of Imladris, who must cut short his exchange year due to a family tragedy.

Back in Dale, Thranduil tries to comfort Tauriel through her own loss, and reveals the reason why she should not give up hope.

“ A drop in the ocean
A change in the weather
I was praying that you and me might end up together
It's like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert
But I'm holding you closer than most 'cause you are my heaven…”

By Ron Pope

North of Lothlórien, 18th of August 2945 T.A.

Last September, Vildan, along with five other Vanguard, the elite of Lord Elrond’s army, followed the example of their Lothlórien brethren and spend a year in the North in an exchange with six Guardians of the Woodland Realm. 

It had been one of the best of Vildan's life. 

The blend of differing cultures and traditions were fascinating.  The immense size and beauty of the Halls of the Woodland Realm made him think of the ancient caves of Menegroth he had read about, though this Palace had a beauty unique to their people.  Many of Lord Thranduil’s subjects expressed their delight at the change in their King and their affection for his new husband and family.

Erebor was breathtaking—though Dwarves required an adjustment.  Vildan had met some during Oakenshield’s brief stay in Rivendell four years ago, before they surreptitiously left in the night to brave the Misty Mountains and continue their quest, the details of which are told elsewhere.

When Vildan first arrived in Dale, Bofur and Bifur greeted him with friendly head-knocks and copious amounts of ale at the Long Lake Tavern, as they caught him up on the events after the Original Thirteen entered the North.  Between the wine, pitchers of Rod’s finest brew, and games of darts, Vildan learned of their escape from King Thranduil’s dungeons, their encounter with Lord Bard (then only a humble bargeman and smuggler) and the sobering details of the Battle of the Five Armies.

His first sight of the Woodland Realm had been a shock—he had heard the stories of the curses on the Greenwood, but the decay and the utter silence of the trees was like nothing he’d ever imagined.  He was relieved to see the forest was healthy in the northern portion of the Elvenking’s lands.

Last fall, Commander Feren took them south to see what remained of Dol Guldur, and even the remnants of the evil that once dwelled there sent chills through their hearts.   The Vanguard, especially the sons of Elrond, gained a whole new respect for the sacrifices Lady Galadriel made to banish Sauron to the South. 1 

Of the three kingdoms, Dale was Vildan’s favorite.  The folks were warm and content, their lives now full of possibility, after years under the dual yokes of grinding poverty and a domineering Master.  

The city itself was colorful with its murals (restored by the Elvenking himself), and flower gardens he enjoyed perusing this past spring.  For most of his tenure in the City of Bells, he had been assigned to guard the Royal Family at Garon’s Castle, which was a delightful task,. King Bard’s children were respectful (for the most part) with enough of a mischievous streak to keep them interesting.

But the biggest blessing of his stay in the North was meeting and befriending Captain Tauriel, though their acquaintance did not have an auspicious beginning.  Their first afternoon together ended in disaster.

And that disaster was the reason why his beloved mare, Mistanâr was no longer with him. 2

It had been eleven days since his life had changed forever. 

Vildan’s unit had been patrolling in the south with Prince Legolas when the bird arrived, ordering them to report to the Palace immediately.  A message from Rivendell had come.  In an ironic twist, the message had been brought by one of the very same falcons that Meássë had raised and trained herself: 

Is my sad duty to report that Vildan’s sister Meássë and husband Narseg were killed by Orcs during a short trip with Lord Gildor Inglorion on 31st July.  Their small daughter Melui is inconsolable, and we are concerned.  Glorfindel leaving now with full escort to meet Lieutenant Vildan and hasten his return. My deepest condolences on this tragic loss.

Elrond Eärendillion, Lord of Imladris

“There they are!” Elladan pointed.  A small group of Elves, led by the great Glorfindel himself, were approaching.  Both parties set their horses to a run, until they met just north of the Gates of Lothlórien.

“Well met, Lieutenant,” the Elf Lord saluted.  “Nínion adin faergol dhîn.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” he returned the gesture.  “Elladan and I have barely left our saddles since our journey began.”

“And we will continue to do so, though there is no rushing over the mountain paths,”  Glorfindel dipped his chin.  His gaze fell upon the chestnut stallion beneath him. “Where is your mare, Lieutenant?”

 “She carries a foal due to drop within weeks.” His mouth thinned. “The pregnancy was not my wish, but it would be dangerous for her to attempt the Pass in her condition.”

“Another tragic loss.” Though he meant well, the sympathy in the Elf Lord’s eyes made Vildan’s pain worse.  Eyes stinging, his throat aching, he managed ask the question he was dreading.  “How fares my niece?”

Glorfindel’s brows drew together and he chose his words carefully. ““I am sorry to tell you this,” but the child is…not herself, Vildan.  Lord Elrond advises haste.”

The other Elves in their company companions were kind enough to avert their eyes as Vildan struggled to gain his composure.  When he could speak, he said.  “Then let us not waste a moment.”

Glorfindel’s eyes warmed. “The Lady sent out some additional provisions to aide us. She also gave me something to calm your nerves and help you sleep at night.  I also have a letter from Marchwarden Haldir.” He reached into his tunic and pulled out the envelope bearing a golden seal. “He faced a similar challenge and wanted to offer his guidance and support.” 3

“I am fine, My Lord.” he insisted. 

“You are not,” Elladan shook his head and addressed Glorfindel. “He barely eats and refused sleeping-spells until I stopped giving him a choice.”

“Let us make haste, shall we?” Glorfindel turned Asfaloth around, and they made for the Redhorn pass.

Rivendell, 3^rd of September 2945 T.A.

Their party had stopped at the top of the cliff overlooking Imladris, allowing their horses to rest and graze before beginning the long descent down to the valley below.

“The view from here never gets old,” Elladan said. 

“Never in my life have I dreaded going home,” Vildan whispered roughly. “I am selfish.”

“You are not selfish,” the son of Elrond said gently. “You are frightened and grieving.”

“How do I do this, Elladan?”

“There are no easy answers, Mellon nîn, except to love her.  That is as good a start as any.”

The ache in Vildan’s chest was present throughout their long journey, but now it was as a fist crushing his heart and he could barely breathe.  

“But will it be enough?” he asked.  “I can barely get past my own grief.”

“There is only one way to find out,” Elladan patted his upper back, “but we will help.”

“Mount up!” Glorfindel ordered and led them down the zig-zagged path cut into the side of the tall cliff. When they reached the bottom, he ordered Elladan to sound his horn to signal their return.

The horses were elated to finally reach their journey’s end.  In the lead, Glorfindel’s stallion Asfaloth, tossed his head with a loud neigh.  He pranced over the high bridge and into Elrond’s courtyard as the shoes on his hooves made a few sparks over the smooth stones.

“He never tires of that trick,” Glorfindel smiled, patting the horse’s neck.

Elladan chuckled but met Vildan’s gaze with concern.  “Give Hûrthenon over to me,” he said, “I will see to him while you speak to my father.”

Lord Elrond, followed by Lindir and the rest of his aides, descended the steps, and after the formal greetings, urged Vildan off to the side with a hand on his back. “In dem anden,Valendillion.  De mhaer?”

“I thank you for your concern, My Lord, but my grief is not important just now. Is Melui at home?”

“No.  Originally, she remained at home with her caretaker for the first few days; we thought the familiar surroundings might help her. I am sorry to say it had the opposite effect.  I moved her and her caretaker to rooms in the West wing where it is quiet.”

 “How is she, My Lord?”

“Melui has retreated in her own world, Vildan.” Elrond’s features pinched with worry. “She does not speak, nor does she even seem aware of her surroundings.”

“Ai, naergon…” Vildan’s chest caved in on itself. “Wh… Can you not help her?”

“I have tried, but to no avail, I am sorry to say.  I am hoping your presence will make a difference.”  Elrond’s blue eyes met his.  “But we will not give up, I can promise you that.  For now, Lindir will take you to get washed and changed, and then I will take you to her.”

Twenty minutes later, they approached the fifth door on the right.  “These are Lady Arwen’s rooms, though I am sure she will not begrudge us their use.” Elrond gave the door a few soft knocks.

“Minno,” a soft, female voice said.

Vildan took a deep breath, prayed for guidance, and turned the knob.

And there she was.

***************

City of Dale 16^th of October 2945 T.A.

Thranduil and Tauriel always enjoyed their regular evening stroll through the streets of Dale, while allowing Thangon to enjoy his daily exercise.  It was a special, private time between father and daughter, and as they took Thangon to the pastures near the Royal Stables to check on Mistanâr, now heavily pregnant with her foal, grazing under Lasbelin’s nervous watch, the Elvenking had some things on his mind. 4

“Thank you for sending for Falarion to attend the birth,” Tauriel watched the beautiful shimmer of the Grullo mare’s coat as she slowly moved to the next patch of grass.

“Of course, I would,” he told her with a dismissive wave.  Mistanâr is bred from the Mearas, easily the most valuable animal in the North,” he made a face and gave her a sidelong glance, “bo not tell Naurmôr or Lasbelin I said so, or we will never hear the end of it.”

“I will not,” the Elleth promised with a giggle, as she rested her arms on the fence.  “Falarion believes it will take place sometime next week, and not a moment too soon.  The poor mare is tired of the whole process.”

“Is she as full of mischief these days?”

“She is too big to misbehave, which does not help her mood, I think.”

The King and his daughter observed the horses peaceful silence, until the mare grew sick of her mate’s hovering, and nipped him in the withers.  Lasbelin neighed and trotted away for a moment or two, but soon returned to keep his watch.

“She reminds me of Mírelen soon before she gave birth to Legolas,” he told her with a smile.  “She was uncomfortable and could hardly get any rest, but I learned to stop asking her if she was all right.”

“What happened?” Tauriel’s dimple appeared with her smile.

“She threw a shoe at my head,” he smirked.  “As awkward as she was, her aim was true; I barely missed getting hit in the eye.”

The young Elleth covered her mouth and laughed.  “Do you remember those letters you gave me at our first Yule here?” 5

“I do.”

“One of them was from the midwife who helped Naneth give birth to me.  Adar Neldor nearly suffered the same fate as Lasbelin.”

Thranduil’s jaw dropped with delighted horror.  “Surely not!”

“Apparently, he was squeezing her hand much too tight and he was too anxious to listen. Naneth Solana bit him, and when he finally let go, she ordered him out of the room.”

“Oh, dear,” he winced.  “But I am sure they were overjoyed when you were born,” he rested his arm around her shoulders. 

“They were, according to the midwife.” Tauriel said wistfully.  “It is wonderful to read all those letters.  Neldor and Solana are no longer shadows of my past, but real people.”

“Like the first time Tilda saw her mother’s portrait?”

“Exactly,” she nudged him.  “But you know how much our family means to me.”

They both turned their attention to Thangon, who always enjoyed his nightly exercise a safe distance from the horses.  This night, however, Thranduil watched him carefully, and made a mental note to speak to Bard later. 

Tauriel also studied the giant dog’s gait.  “Do you see that?” she pointed to the dog.  “he is not as agile these days.  How old is Thangon now?”

“He was six years of age when I sent him to Bard, which would make him…” his shoulders fell slightly, “ten, now,” he said with sad resignation.  “I think I must speak to Bard about retiring him.  Even with Elven Healing, we cannot stop them from aging much longer than nature will allow."  He rolled his eyes.  "Although you would not know that at the moment..."

Tauriel laughed at his antics.  “You could talk to Bowen; I am sure he would be willing to have him breed with Beriel again, and give you the pick of the litter.  It would be a good project for the boys to raise and train the pup, and by the time it is old enough, Thangon will be ready to retire by then.”

“That is a good plan,” he smiled down at her, then, after returning his attention to the silver mare in the field.   Then the Elvenking brought up another subject:

"Tauriel, I feel I must speak to the Council again about lifting your banishment."

“Ada, we have talked about this,” Tauriel sighed.  “I will not abuse my position as your daughter to bend the rules!  The Council gave their verdict, and I intend to follow it to the letter.”

“But Turamarth is a good friend and I know you want to attend the wedding!”

“I do, very much, but,” she stopped and tilted her head to meet his gaze, "that is not a good enough reason to flaunt your power, not even for me. I love you for wanting this for me, Ada.  I know you forgive me for raising my weapon to you that day, and that is enough.”

“I deserved it!” Thranduil grabbed her shoulders.  “You changed the course of the Battle, and all of our lives!  Do you not see that?  We are here today in great part because of your bravery, Iellig.  There would be no Northern Alliance, I would not have Bard, we would not have this family and I do not think Legolas and I would have ever confronted our problems if it had not been for you!  I cannot accept that the Council still sees fit to punish you, when so much good has come from that courageous act!  I do have the power and the right to override the Royal Council’s decisions, and in this case, I feel I must!”

Tauriel studied his face for a few moments with pursed lips. “Oh, Ada,” she said in a soft, loving voice.  “How can I make you understand?  You could convince the Council to lift my sentence, but still I would not set foot in the Woodland Realm.  I…” she searched for words, “I told you that day I was afraid the Dwarves would get slaughtered, but the truth was, I was only thinking of Kili, and my feelings for him.

“I want to carry out this sentence because it is the right thing to do.  I need to redeem myself to Commander Feren and to all the Guardians who were dishonored by my actions!  Mostly,” her gaze fell, “I need to redeem myself in my own eyes.  True sacrifice has a price, and I want to pay it.”

“Well,” the Elvenking’s shoulders lifted and fell and a deep sigh escaped him, “if that is the case, then I need to go before the Council and confess my own crimes, for I am guilty as well.”

“That cannot be,” her head shot back up in surprise.

Thranduil swallowed down his shame and said, “I know I said I ordered a retreat to save our people, but mostly I was reliving horrors long past.  I was thinking too much of the day my father was murdered, and in doing, dishonored my promise to Bard to protect his people.”

“But—” Tauriel’s jaw went slack.

“It is true!” he tightened his grip on her shoulders.  “I acted in my own interests, Tauriel, not my people’s, and while it would have saved many lives on that day, it would have led to our destruction in the end!  Part of me knew that, but I allowed myself to be blinded by my own traumas; I was not fit to lead any Army and should have turned command over to Feren.  Instead,” he continued in a rough voice, “I became selfish and vicious toward my own children, and nothing you have done, or could have done was worse than my own behavior that day!”

“Oh, Ada,” Tauriel grabbed his waist and hugged him. 

Thranduil returned her embrace and settled his chin on the top of her head.  “I know you believe you are in disgrace, but that is simply not true.  No one is above imperfection, Iellig, we all make mistakes.  And if we cannot learn to understand and forgive ourselves, how can we give it to others?

“Tauriel, I know in the aftermath of the Battle, emotions ran high and it is true that Feren was very upset with you, but I think you should know it was he who approached me and asked that we both go to the Council and revisit the subject.”

“If you and the Commander truly wish to do this, then I appreciate it.” Tauriel pulled back and tilted her head slightly.  “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Has Bain approached you or Bard about your plans next year?”

“No,” he shook his head.  “If he had, Bard would have told me.  Why?”

“Well,” she said carefully, “he has some ideas, and though he never asked me to keep it in confidence, it would not be right to speak of it.”

“What is wrong?” Thranduil asked warily.

“Nothing at all, Ada, I promise,” she patted his chest.  “Just keep in mind that you and Bard have been working with him to prepare him for his role as King one day.  When he turns eighteen next year, he has earned the Crown Bard will place on his head.”  Her green eyes filled with determination.  “I have been made responsible for the safety of the children, Ada, but my main duty is to protect Bain, and I will not leave his side until I must.”

“I see,” the Elvenking nodded.  “I am proud of you for this, but I am not surprised.  Still, Feren and I will go before the Council and demand this be lifted, whether you agree or not.”

“But Ada—”

“Please,” he raised his hand.  “Hear me out.  Since the attack on Bain and the kidnapping, Feren and I have wondered if it was wise to restrict your movements as protector of Bard’s children.  What if something happens and you need to take Sigrid or Tilda to the Palace for their own safety?”

“I am permitted to take them to the Main Doors,” Tauriel reminded him. 6

“But that is not enough, anymore,” Thranduil sighed and pursed his lips.  “The Palace was not as safe as we thought.  What if the danger to them is inside those walls?  How many years did Saeros live among us?  He murdered his own parents, and no one knew!” 7 He swallowed down a surge of anger and said.  “Tauriel, I have faith in the Guardians at the Castle, but there is no one Bard or I trust more with the safety of your brother and sisters.  We must be sure you can get to them, no matter what the circumstances.”

The Elleth considered this.  “I understand,” she said.  “If I am completely honest,” the corner of her mouth curved in a mischievous smile, “if I believed Sigrid, Bain or Tilda were in danger, nothing would stop me no matter what boundaries I might cross.  It helps to know I would not be arrested.”

With a laugh, Thranduil kissed her forehead.  “Of that I have no doubt.”

“But still,” she said.  “I think I must stay near Bain, for the time being, at least.  He has developed excellent skills with his weapons, but he needs more experience.”

“I agree.  Now that that is settled, may I speak with you about something else that has been my mind?”

“Of course,” she said.

He lifted the hand that still bore the small ring of Kili’s that Dís had sent her, and made ready to air another concern of his. 8  “I am glad you still wear this,” he fingered the simple gold ring with the blue stone.  “Yet, I suspect that you think of someone else when you look at it,” he gently squeezed her fingers.  “I do not want to push, Iellig, but since the day you received that letter from Vildan, you have said nothing.” 9

Tauriel grew very still as her green eyes followed the mare. 

“Gwinïg?” he ventured gently. “I have tried to respect your privacy, but we are all worried, especially Galion and me.  How are you?”

For a long time, she said nothing then, “He…  Of course, he had to go, Ada.” If I had been present when the news came of his sister’s death, I would have insisted upon it myself.  Melui is little more than an infant, and she needs him much more than I do.”  She shook her head and shrugged, faking a nonchalance that Thranduil knew she did not feel.  “I was near that age when I became an orphan,” she turned her earnest face to him.  “What would have happened had Daeron not heard me cry under that floor that day?  Her jaw set with resolve.   “I know how it feels to be an orphan, Ada.   I was blessed to grow up with as much love and care as anyone could give me,” she leaned against him, “but no one can truly take my Adar’s and Naneth’s place, any more than Bard could take Queen Mírelen’s place.”

“That is true,” he murmured.  He kissed her ring and held her hand in both of his. 

“My heart hurts for Melui and Vildan because I understand their pain, and…” She pressed her lips together and after taking a few quick breaths, Tauriel lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye, “Vildan is where he needs to be, Ada.  That child needs him, and I cannot stand in the way of that.”

She and Thranduil turned to face the horses again.  Against the setting sun, they were but black silhouettes and though Mistanâr was bulging, the blood of her heritage still showed in her movements.  She was easily the most graceful and majestic horse in Dale.

“Ada?” Tauriel said in a hesitant voice. 

“Yes, Gwinïg nîn?”

“Do you think he will write to me?”

“Do you want him to?”

“In some ways I hope he does not. I’m afraid things will get stirred up with possibilities that can never be, but...” her voice trailed off.

“I sent a letter to Elrond a few weeks ago, asking after him and his niece.  Do you want me to share the answer with you when it comes?”

“May I let you know then?” Tauriel's mouth quivered. "I need to let him go, Ada." 

21^st of October 2945 T.A.

Five days later, Thranduil and Tauriel were once again walking in the evening when Mistanâr went into labor.  She was brought to her box next to Lasbelin, where Falarion was waiting and ready to attend her.  In the early hours of the morning, Mistanâr gave birth to a lovely silver filly, with hair that shimmered like the moon, even as she took her first steps. 

The joy of birth deeply moved the Elvenking, and when he and Tauriel returned home and climbed the Grand Staircase to second floor, he was eager to share the news with his husband.

When they stopped at Tauriel’s bedroom door he kissed her cheek.  “Get some rest, Gwinïg. I am sure the children will be begging you take them to see the new filly before breakfast.”

He was halfway to the double-door at the end of the hall when the sound of a sigh made him turn around.  Tauriel’s door was open and the lamp was burning.  He tiptoed back and peered into the room.  Tauriel was sitting on her bed, her eyes filled with tears.

“Ai, nae, Iellig vuin …” he sat down next to her, gathered her into his arms, and stroked her hair.  “If there was any way I could ease your pain,” he lifted her chin, “you must know I would do it.”

“I had just learned to have hope,” she said as Thranduil pulled out his handkerchief and wiped her cheeks.  “I had started to think perhaps…” her bleary eyes darted up to meet his, “He never even kissed me, and I do not know if that makes it easier or more difficult.”

“I know that, too,” he dabbed at her cheeks again.  “Legolas told me how distraught Vildan was at leaving, and it was not just because of his horse.  He has feelings for you.”

"I know his niece must come first," she said as she blew her nose. “I would never take him away from her, nor would I want him to choose between us.  Still," she teared again.

“I know, child.” Thranduil held her to him again. “Once a person has experienced grief, it is much harder to face, because you know how bad it will feel.”

“Yes,” she admitted in a small, wobbly voice.  “May I ask you something?”

“Certainly.”

“If something happened to Bard, you would feel the same way?”

“I doubt I would survive it,” he told her honestly.  “I did consider that, but in the end, the fear was not enough of a reason to run away from him.  Even if we had only one day of married bliss, it would be worth it.”

“Maybe one day I will feel that way,” Tauriel murmured.  “But now, my thoughts are bitter.”

“To grieve is not weakness, Tauriel.  Do not hide your heart, especially from yourself, for it is the most beautiful thing about you.” Thranduil gently took her face in his hands wiped his thumbs over her cheeks. “You will find joy again, one day.”

“You do not know that.”  

But actually, Thranduil did.  And what better time to tell her?

“Tauriel?” he leaned back and took her hand.  “Do you remember that first winter, when Bard and I almost died?”

She shook her head ruefully.  “How could I possibly forget?”

 “And do you remember what I told you about Queen Mírelen?” 10

“Yes.” Her green eyes searched his. “She told you about my parents.”

Thranduil hesitated for a moment, then made his decision.   “I did not tell you everything, Gwinïg.  At the time, I thought it best to allow events to happen naturally, but I am certain you would benefit from knowing this.”

“What is that?” 

“Mírelen was concerned for your sorrow, as I told you, but she also told me that you would eventually marry.  When your daughter is born, you will tell her about Kili, and the memories will make you smile.”

Tauriel blinked rapidly and bit her lip.  “I… She really said that?”

“She did.  Mírelen has been right about everything else,” he quirked an eyebrow with a small smile.  “I have no reason to think she is wrong about this.”

“Did she say who?”

“She did not, and I think that is best.  For now, take comfort; you are not doomed to a life of loneliness. The sun will come again, and shine just for you.”

“That is a lot to take in, Ada.” Tauriel rubbed the heel of her hand over her eyes. 

“Good; it will keep your mind occupied so you can get some sleep.” He rose and pulled her to her feet.  “Now," he kissed the top of her head.  Have a good wash and get to bed.  I will have Feren arrange the schedule so you can sleep in.”

“That is not necessary—”

“That is an order, Captain,” he said firmly, and after giving her another hug, he closed her door behind him and went to his bedchamber.

Bard was sleeping on his side, his arms stretched out in front, as if searching in his sleep for his husband. 

After quietly taking off his clothes and washing away the smell of the barns, Thranduil lifted the covers and slid into bed.

“Mmmm…” Bard murmured sleepily as he snuggled into Thranduil’s back.  “There you are.”

“Here I am,” he whispered with a contented sigh.  “Did you get the rest of the crops in?”

“The last of it’s in the silos, and praise Ulmo for another good harvest.  Do we have a new filly?”

“She is the image of her mother.  Mare and foal are doing fine; the stallion however fared about as well as we did at the births of our own children.”

The bed shook with muffled laughter for a few moments, then Bard asked, “How did Tauriel handle all that?”

The Elvenking lifted his husband’s hand and kissed each of his knuckles.  “I think she will be all right, now.”

“Another reason to praise the Valar.” Bard yawned, smacked his lips and in a few minutes, was softly snoring into the back of the Elvenking’s neck.

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Ai, nae, Iellig vuin…  - Oh, no, my beloved daughter

In dem anden,Valendillion.  De mhaer? – I am sorry for your loss, son of Valendil.  Are you all right?”

Minno - Enter

Nínion adin faergol dhîn – I weep for your grief.

Ni dem achin – I am sad for you

NOTES:

[1] What Makes a King, Ch. 23: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/26526516

[2] Broken Wing, Ch. 11: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/50766088

[3] An Invincible Summer, Ch. 31: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/36538245

[4] Broken Wings, Ch. 11: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/50766088

[5] An Invincible Summer, Ch. 32: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/36684912

[6] What Makes a King, Ch. 10: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/24938166

[7] Broken Wings, Ch. 16: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/51847021

[8] Legolas, Ion nîn, Ch. 37: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/47219776

[9] Broken Wings, Ch. 38: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/60050749

[10] And Winter Came…, Ch. 34: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/31479384

Chapter Text

***Character List for Sweet Child of Mine***

Adamar – Elf. Daeron’s father; Captain of the Gates; responsible for safety of the Palace and surrounding walls.  Husband of Idril, who is in in charge of the Palace Kitchens and chef for the Royal Family.

Adila - the Blacksmith's wife, who was born in Harad, and helping Indis look after the refugees rescued from a Pleasure House.  Husband Bron was killed in attack on Dale in May 2943 T.A.  Now owns the Coffee Café, as a gift from the King of Harad.  Has a daughter Tamir age 12, and son named Raif, age 10.

Aegis – Daeron’s grey horse.  His name means “Protection.”

Airen - Female Elf from Lothlórien, who helped escort Daeron and his unit to spend the year in the Golden Wood.  Married to Captain Elion, Guardian of the Woodland Realm.  She and her husband work at the Palace in Adamar’s unit.

Alagos – “Windstorm,” Legolas’s white horse with dark legs, mane and tail. (lit. “Storm of Wind).

Alis – Orphan from Dale; Adopted by Feren and Glélindë at the age of five.

Almarë - Infant daughter of Ermon and Elénaril, along with sister, Calapîa, and brother, Nórimo. (Triplets, born 2nd of September T.A. 2943)

Alun – father of Rhys, son of Ina, nephew of the late Iola. Widower. Used to work the accounts for the Master of Laketown.

Amaren - One of the Galadhrim visiting the North for a year.  Archer.

Amrol - Guardian of the Woodland Realm.  Son of Elinsor.  Spent an exchange year in Lothlórien in 2942-2943 T.A.

Anna – Wife of Daffyd, who runs the Livery.  Friend of Ellyn, widow of Owen.

Annael - Woman of Gondor.  Eldest child of future Steward Ecthelion II and Nienor.  Sister of Fíriel and Denethor.  Wife of Halmir and mother of Hareth, their daughter.

Arwen – Daughter of Elrond and Celebrian.  Sister to twins Elladan and Elrohir.  Lives in Lothlórien with her grandparents.

Bain – Crown Prince of Dale. Age: 17 (Born 18 November, 2928, T.A.). Son of Bard, King of Dale, and the late Matilda (Mattie) of Laketown.  Brother to Sigrid and Tilda; Stepbrother to Legolas and Tauriel.

Bard – King of Dale; archer, former Bargeman.  Age: 44 (Born 18 May 2902 T. A.); son of Brand and Sigrid of Laketown.  Husband of King Thranduil.  Father of Sigrid, Bain and Tilda.  Stepfather to Legolas and Tauriel.  Former husband of the late Mattie of Laketown. Gained Immortality upon marriage to King Thranduil.

Ben - See "Old Ben"

Beorn – Skin Changer; friend of Gandalf and Radagast.  Lives in Southern Mirkwood.

Beratín – Chestnut gelding owned by Rhys of Dale. 

Beriel - "Protector." Bowen's brindled dog of the same breed as Thangon.  She was a gift to Bowen from King Thranduil.  She and Thangon had eight puppies in June 2942 T.A.

Bert – Man of Rohan, forced to work for Jarod (“The Boss”) and his syndicate.  Helped Bard and Thranduil find the hostages when Dale was attacked in May 2943 T.A.  Went to Gondor with Gandalf to save more victims, and decided to stay.

Bilbo – Hobbit.  One of the Original Company. Had feelings for Thorin.

Blossom – Dapple grey palfrey owned by Princess Tilda.  A small mare to suit her size; she couldn’t pronounce her Elven name, so Falarion, Horse Master of the Woodland Realm, allowed her to change her name.

Bofur – Dwarf.  One of the Original Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Friend of Princess Tilda and Tauriel.

Bowen – Son of Ellyn and the late Owen of Dale.  Eleven years old.  Older brother of Maddox and baby Owena.  Very protective of his family – looks after him since their Da died.

Bregolas – Stallion belonging to Prince Bain.  Black with a star on his forehead and three white socks.  Was killed while protecting his master during the attack in Dale May 2043 T.A.

Bron - Blacksmith.  Husband of Adila and father to their boy and girl.  Killed by bandits in May 2943 T.A., when their children were held hostage with the Prince and Princesses of Dale.

Bronwyn – Head of Schools in Dale.  Cousin to Greta, the Housekeeper for Garon's Castle.  Aunt of Sylvi, Daeron's and Rhian's Housekeeper/Darryn's Nanny.

Byron - Baker of Dale.  Married to Efa, Enid's daughter.  Father of three, including Freya, who works for Galion and Rôgon.

Calapîa - Infant daughter of Ermon and Elénaril, along with sister, Almarë, and brother, Nórimo (Triplets, born 2nd of September T.A. 2943).

Caragos - “Red Storm.” A foal, born June 2945 T.A., out of Bowen's mare, Vórima, and King Bard's stallion, Fînlossen.

Catrina – Wife of Roderic.  Helps husband run the Long Lake Tavern.

Celeborn – Lord of Lothlórien; rules with his wife Galadriel.  Age: 6724 (Born in Doriath F.A. 251). Cousin of Oropher and Thranduil.  Father of Celebrian and grandfather to Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen.

Cook – Real name: Lewis of Dale.  In charge of kitchens in Bard’s Castle as well as the Great Hall.  Now lives in Bard and Thranduil’s old room behind the Hall.  Very strict with the cooking staff, but sometimes lets Tilda go in to make things for her fathers.  Husband of Greta, Housekeeper of the Castle.

Cwën - One of the Galadhrim visiting the North as part of an exchange in 2942-2943 T.A., but stayed, as she was betrothed to Lieutenant Ivran.

Daeron – Elf. Guardian of Woodland Realm and Healer. Age: 1997 (Born in Woodland Realm, 949 Third Age).  Son of Captain Adamar (Keeper of the Gates) and Idril, who runs the kitchens in the Woodland Realm.  First cousin and best friends with Turamarth, (their mothers are identical twins).  Husband of Rhian of Dale and stepfather to Darryn.  Was given special gifts of Healing by the Valar; can “connect” with the Fëas of the unborn.  Recent protégé of Elrond; learning how to fight the Black Breath.

Daffyd – Runs the Livery in new Dale.  Friend of the late Owen and Ellyn.  Husband of Anna, father of Powell.  Adoptive father to Bowen, Maddox and Owena, after their parents’ death.

Dafina – Three-year-old orphan from Dale; Adopted by Feren and Glélindë.

Dáin – King Under the Mountain.

Darla - Woman from Dale, and Hannah’s daughter-in-law.  Married to Jon, Hannah’s son. Mother of two: a boy and a girl.

Darryn – Rhian’s baby boy, named after Daeron, who became her friend.

Denethor II - Teenaged son of future Steward Ecthelion II and Nienor.  Brother of Annael and Fíriel, and uncle of Hareth.  Has been heavily influenced by his grandfather Anárion and shares his conservative, isolationist views.

Dilna – Dwarf.  King Dáin’s wife - Queen Under the Mountain.

Doran – “Oak.”  A giant tree outside of Dale; friend and confidant of Daeron.

Dwalin – Dwarf. Trained Kili and Fili.  Becomes a friend to Feren.  Will help train Bain.

Ecthelion II - son of Turgon, Steward of Gondor, who came to visit Dale in the summer of 2946 T.A.  Husband of Nienor, daughter of Anárion, the most conservative member of Turgon's Council.  Father to daughters Annael, Fíriel, and Denethor.  Grandfather to Hareth, daughter of Annael and her husband Halmir.

Egon - Son of Tom the Potter, new Constable of Dale

Eiliënt – Female Silvan Elf.  Archer in Army of the Woodland Realm.  Went to Rivendell in 2944-2945 T.A. for Military Exchange.

Elénaril – Elven Healer; wife of Ermon, the Chief Healer of the Woodland Realm.  Mother of triplets: daughters Calapîa, Almarë and son Nórimo.  Age: 2201 (Born in 745 T.A.). 

Elion - Guardian of the Woodland Realm, served in Lothlórien as Daeron's 2nd-in-Command 2942-2943 T.A.  Married Airen, Warden of Lothlorien and married in T.A. 2945

Elladan – Son of Elrond.  Identical Twin brother of Elrohir. Age:2816  Born T.A. 130. Good friends with Legolas, Daeron and Turamarth.  Likes to play practical jokes. Staying in the North for Military Exchange in 2944-2945 T.A

Eílíent - Lt. in the Woodland Guardians as an Archer, along with her husband, Thenin.  They spent a year in Rivendell, 2944-2945 T.A., and decided to stay.

Ellyn – Widow of Owen of Dale.  Mother of Bowen, Maddox and Owena.  Was diagnosed with a serious illness in July 2942 T.A. and died, leaving her children to be adopted by Daffyd and Anna of Dale.

Elrohir - Son of Elrond. Age:2816  Born T.A. 130. Identical Twin brother of Elladan.  Good friends with Legolas, Daeron and Turamarth.  Likes to play practical jokes. Staying in the North for Military Exchange in 2944-2945 T.A

Elrond Peredhel – Lord of Imladris.  Heir to Gil-Galad, though he rejected the title.  Age:  6445 (Born F.A. 532) Husband of Celebrian, who now lives in Valinor.  Father to Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen.  Helped save Galadriel when she was attacked in June 2944 T.A.  Used his Ring of Power, along with Galadriel and Mithrandir to defeat the Blue Wizard Pallando, a now-servant of Sauron, when he attacked Lothlórien.

Emëldir - Head of Thranduil's Council in the Woodland Realm.  Wife of Silmon, Head of the Agricultural Guild.

Enid - Widow of Dale; 61 years of age.  Mother-in-Law to the Baker in Dale.  Shared a tent with Rhian and Gladys, in the refugee camp after the Battle.

Erestor – Archivist and Counselor to Lord Elrond of Rivendell.  Husband of Glorfindel.

Eriol – Lothlórien Elf.  One Galadhrim who worked in the North for a year.  Warrior.

Ermon - Chief Healer of the Woodland Realm.  Age 5961 (Born 226, S.A.).  Husband of Elénaril.  Grew grew up with Galion and Oropher.  Was present at Thranduil’s birth.  Father of triplets: daughters Calapîa, Almarë and son Nórimo, born September 2943 T.A.

Esta - Black and white sheep dog.  Given to Bard's children as a gift over the Long Winter.  Killed in the attack on the Royal Family of Dale in May 2943 T.A.

Estel – Child of the Dúnedain and Elrond’s foster-son.  Age: 15 Born: 1 March 2931. True name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor; his true identity is hidden, even from him.  He was brought to Rivendell at his father’s death, when he was two years old, and Halbarad and the sons of Elrond created a scene to make Sauron think he was dead.

Ethan – Oldest son of Seren and Llewelyn.  Brother to Liam and Liliwen.

Evan - Assistant to Alun, Treasurer of Dale. Moved here from the East Bight to seek his fortune. Age 31.  Engaged to Eryn, Tilda’s schoolteacher.  Former suitor of Rhian, but they remain friends.

Evelyn - Evan's older sister who lives in East Bight.  Mother of Jack, Evan's nephew who came to live in Dale when Evan and Eryn got married.

Evranin “Evvy” – Lothlórien Elf.  Daughter of Óhtar and Vériel.  Wife of Turamarth, Captain of the Woodland Guardians.  Currently working to set up a library in Dale and help Daeron finish his book.  

Falarion - Farrier and Steward of the Royal Stables in the Woodland Realm.  Taught all the children of Bard to ride during the Long Winter.

Farien – Tauriel’s female cat.

Fengel – King of Rohan.  Father of Thengel, who lives in Gondor with his mother to escape Fengel’s tyranny.

Feren – Silvan Elf. Commander of all branches of the Elven military in the Woodland Realm. Husband of Glélindë (Married 1955 T.A. – 987 years).  Adoptive father of Alis and Dafina, and Imrahil, (born in August 2945 T.A. Named after his paternal grandfather).  Currently living in Dale with wife and children.  Best friend of King Thranduil since childhood. Age: 3848 (Born in Woodland Realm, 2538, Second Age). 

Fînlossen - “Snowy Mane.” Thranduil's favorite white stallion that he gifted to Bard.

Fíriel - Young lady of Gondor.  Daughter of future Steward Ecthelion II and Nienor, sister of Annael and Denethor.  Aunt to Hareth.

Floyd – Old Ben’s big orange male cat.

Freya - Galion's and Rôgon's part-time Housekeeper.  Daughter of Byron the Baker, granddaughter of Enid. Newly married to Wilfred, who works in the brickyard with Evan's nephew Jack.

Galadriel – Ancient Noldor Elf.  Daughter of Finarfin, King of the Noldor in Valinor.  Age: 8374 (Born 1362 Years of the Trees). Rules Lothlórien with husband Celeborn.  Mother of Celebrian.  Most powerful Elf in Middle Earth; former pupil of Queen Melian, a Maia.  Born in the Years of the Trees in Valinor.  Cousin of Thranduil through her marriage to Celeborn.  Grandmother to Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen. Special friend and Pen Pal to Princess Tilda.

Galion – Elf. Thranduil’s Chief Aide and Steward.  Childhood friend and Aide to King Oropher.  Age 5858 (Born in Doriath, 528, S.A.).  Father-figure to Legolas and Tauriel, best friend to Hilda and Percy.

Galcúron – “Moonlight,” Elladan’s Meara mare

Gandalf/Mithrandir – Wizard/Maia.  Came to Middle Earth abt. 1000 T.A. with Glorfindel.  Plays matchmaker in his spare time, when he’s not busy trying to save the Free People of Middle Earth.  Helped Bard and Thranduil get together, as well as Galion and Rôgon, and several Marshalls of Rohan.

Garon the Founder – First King of Dale.  Established his Kingdom in the year 2432 T.A.

Garth – Rhian’s late husband; died when Smaug attacked Laketown. Was a drunkard and abusive.

Gerion - One of the Galadhrim visiting the North for the year. 2942-2943 T.A. Warrior and 2nd in Command of Rúmil’s unit.

Gilfanon - Master Healer of Lothlórien.  Supervises Orlin and Penlod, Healers of the Golden Wood.

Girion – 15th King of Dale, killed by Smaug in the year 2770 T.A.

Gildor - Woodland Elf, named after distant Uncle Gildor Inglorion from Rivendell.  Son of Gwindor, Chief Archivist at the Palace, and husband of Nielthi.  Adoptive parents of Dylan and Rowena, two orphans from Dale.

Gladys - widow of Dale, about 60 years old.  Friend of Enid; works as a seamstress with Glélindë.  Shared a tent with Rhian and Enid after the Battle.

Glélindë – Elf. Commander Feren’s wife; adoptive mother of of Alis, Dafina, and Imrahil, (born in August 2945 T.A. Named after his paternal grandfather). Works as a Seamstress in Dale.

Glorfindel – Elven Warrior from the First Age, who died killing a Balrog.  Came back to Middle Earth with the Istari, as an emissary of the Valar in 1000 T.A.  One of the mightiest warriors in Middle Earth.  Devoted husband of Erestor.

Greta - Head Housekeeper at the Castle in Dale.  Wife of Lewis the cook, cousin of Bronwyn, the schoolmistress and aunt of Sylvi, Rhian's and Daeron's housekeeper.

Gruffudd – Grandfather of Alis and Dafina.  Lives with Feren and Glélindë, who adopted the girls. Missing one leg below the knee from BOTFA.

Gwindor - Chief Archivist for the Woodland Realm.  Evranin's boss since August 2944 T.A. Works out of the Main Library in the Royal Wing, but also takes care of the other one at the West end of the Palace.  Father of Gildor; adoptive grandfather to Dylan and Rowena, two orphans from Dale.

Haden - Guardian of the Woodland Realm.  Son of Arminas. Spent an exchange year in Lothlórien 2942-2943 T.A.

Haldir - Marchwarden of Lothlórien and Daeron's commanding officer during the soldier exchange.  Eldest son of Halfar, former Marchwarden, and his wife, Naimi.

Halmir - Man of Gondor.  Husband to Annael, eldest child of future Steward, Ecthelion II and Nienor.  Father of Hareth.

Hannah – Midwife from Dale.  Age: 58 (Born in Laketown, 2888 T.A.). Wife of Old Ben, and stepmother to Rhian and grandmother to Darryn. Widow of Martyn, with three grown children, including Jon, who lives in Dale with wife Darla and two children.

Harry - "The Boss's" right-hand man and the head of Security for his operation.  Helped kidnap the princesses of Dale and several others in May 2943 T.A.

Hilda –Seneschal of Dale. Age: 60 (Born in Laketown, 2886, Third Age).  Wife of Percy, Steward of Dale.  (Married 2905 T.A. – 39 years). Good friend of the late Brand of Laketown and devoted to Bard, King of Dale.  Good friend of the late Mattie of Laketown, and mother figure to the Bard’s children. In charge of the Castle and welfare of Dale’s widows, and orphans.

Hûrthenon - Vildan's chestnut stallion, a gift from Lord Thranduil's stables to replace Mistanâr, the pregnant Meara mare he had to leave behind in the North.

Idril – Elf.  Mother of Daeron; wife of Captain Adamar.  In charge of the kitchens at Thranduil’s Palace; personal chef to the Royal Family, when in residence.

Imrahil - Infant son of Commander Feren and his wife Glelindë.  Born August 2945, younger brother to Alis and Dafina.

Ina – mother of Alun, grandmother of Rhys, sister of Iola.  Was horribly abused by father and sister.  Lives in the Woodland Realm under constant care.

Indis – Woodland Elf.  Counselor who specializes in PTSD. Mother of Turamarth; wife of Captain Ómar.  Aunt to Daeron.  Works in the Palace of the Woodland Realm. 

Iola – sister of Ina, aunt of Alun, great-aunt of Rhys.  Was driven insane by father’s abuse; murdered Ina’s husband; killed herself while being taken to the dungeons.

Írimë - Elven Healer and caretaker of Ina of Dale, who lives at the palace after suffering a lifetime of abuse at the hands of her father and sister.  Sister of Ivárë, Mistress of the Healing Hall in the Woodland Realm.

Ivárë - Elven Healer.  Mistress if the infirmary at the Palace, and former protégé of Ermon, who oversaw her education.  Sister of Írimë, the Healer assigned to care for Ina of Dale.

Ivran – Woodland Elf; personal Guardian to Thranduil. Husband of Cwën, Warden of the Woodland Realm, who came to live in Dale.

Jack - Evan's nephew, named after his uncle, but referred to by his middle name to avoid confusion in the family.

Jarod (aka "The Boss") - a very powerful and ruthless head of a sex-trafficking ring west of the Misty Mountains. Was killed by Bard in May 2943 T.A., when he tried to murder his children.

Jarvis- "Farmer Jarvis," one of the livestock farmers that lives outside the City Walls.  He has sheep, cattle and goats. Father of Judd, two other sons, and a daughter.

Judd - Farmer Jarvis' oldest son, works with his father.

Kædhan – Male Elf. Archer in Rivendell’s Army staying in the North for Military Exchange in 2944-2945 T.A.

Laniër - Best friend to Vildan's late sister, Meássë, and Melui's caretaker when she became afflicted.  Currently living in the House of Elrond with Vildan, in order to help care for his niece.  Former handmaiden to Lady Celebrian.

Lalaith – Estel’s mother.  True name is Gilraen, wife of Arathorn.  Lives in Rivendell with her son for their safety.

Lasbelin - “Autumn," the name of Tauriel's reddish-brown Stallion, with a large strip on his face.

Legolas – Elven Prince of the Woodland Realm. Born T.A. 1942; 1004 years old.  Was 11 years old when Mírelen was killed. Currently traveling with the Dúnedain.

Legron  – Male Silvan Elf.  Warrior in Army of the Woodland Realm.  Went to Rivendell in 2944-2945 T.A. for Military Exchange.

Léod - Lord of the Wold of Rohan, and Third Marshal of the Mark.  His territory borders that of Lothlórien and its nearby villages and he works together with the Elves to rescue kidnapped children from Harad and destroy their captors.

Lewis – See “Cook.”

Liam – Second son of Seren and Llewelyn.  Brother to Ethan and Liliwen.  Likes to tease Tilda and tell her she can’t do things because she’s “just a girl.”

Lidros - Woodland Elf.  In charge of all non-military and Royal Mail at the Palace.

Liliwen – Daughter of Seren and Llewelyn.  2 ½ years old. Sister to older brothers Ethan and Liam. Born in the Woodland Realm during the Long Winter.

Lindo – Lothlórien Elf.  One Wardens visiting the North for a year, in the exchange program 2942-2943 T.A.

Lindorë – Wife of Oropher, Queen of the Woodland Realm; sailed to Valinor three years after Thranduil’s return from the War of the Last Alliance.

Llewelyn – Husband of Seren.  Works in Construction with Old Ben.  Father of sons Ethan and Liam, and daughter Liliwen.  Thrilled that baby Liliwen as red hair like him.

Lorda - Galion's cat.  His name means "Lazy" and he likes to bother Rôgon, but Galion adores him, so Rôg puts up with him.

Lusiël - Laniër's first cousin. Former handmaiden to Lady Celebrian.  Creates and preserves the historical tapestries of Imladris.

Lydia - Eryn's mother and Evan's mother-in-law.  Was widowed in the BOFTA.

Lynne – Former maid, now owns and operates Dale Fabrics with wife, Mona.

Mablung – Male Silvan Elf.  Lt. Commander of Army of the Woodland Realm.  Went to Rivendell in 2944-2945 T.A. for Military Exchange.

Maddox – Son of Ellyn and the late Owen of Dale.  7 years old.  Brother of Bowen and Owena. Adopted by Daffyd and Anna.

Maggie – wife of Tom, Chief Constable of Dale.  Runs the Pottery shop with her sons and their families.

Maglan - Lt. in the Woodland Guardians.  Spent a year in Rivendell, 2944-2945 T.A.

Mahtan – Lothlórien Elf.  Warden of the Galadhrim.  Childhood friend of Orlin and Evranin; killed by Pallando in the attack on Lothlórien, June 2944 T.A.

Mallorn – Princess Sigrid’s horse.  Golden mare with white mane and tail; named after the golden flowers of the trees of Lothlórien. 

Mattie – (Matilda) Bard’s late wife, died at Tilda’s birth. Came from Dorwinian; former teacher.

Meássë - Elf from Rivendell.  Sister to Lt. Vildan, wife of Narseg, mother of Melui. Killed by bandits July 2945 T.A.

Meldon – Woodland Elf.  Guardian in the Army; guarded Royal Family of Dale; childhood friend of Legolas.  Killed in May 2943 T.A. while guarding the Princesses of Dale.

Melui - Rivendell Elfling.  Niece of Lieutenant Vildan, child of his sister Meássë.  Her name means "sweet." Her Parents were killed in July 2945 T.A.

Meryl - Tilda's pug dog, a gift from Galadriel and Celeborn, in August 2943 T.A.; friend of Thangon, who watches over her.

Mírelen – Thranduil’s late wife, killed by Orcs. Killed in the T.A. 1953

Miriam – Woman of Old Dale, lived under King Girion’s reign.  Was a patient of Daeron’s but was killed by Roald, her abusive husband in 2767 T.A., three years before Smaug came to the North destroyed Dale.

Mistanâr – Wandering Mouse.”  Vildan’s Grullo-colored mare.

Mona – Former maid, now owns and operates a Dale Fabrics with wife, Lynne.

Morwë - Lt. in the Woodland Guardians.  Spent a year in Rivendell, 2944-2945 T.A.

Naimi – Mother of Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlórien, and wife to the late Halfar, former Marchwarden.

Narseg - Rivendell Elf.  Brother-in-Law of Lieutenant Vildan, husband of Meassë, father of Melui.  Killed in July 2945 T.A.

Narthon - Master Scribe of Woodland Realm; in charge of the manufacture of printed goods from the Woodland Realm.  Saeros's immediate supervisor.

Naurmôr – "Black Fire," Thranduil's black stallion.

Neldor – Elf. Tauriel’s birth father.  Killed by Orcs when their village was attacked and burnt down.

Nienor -Woman of Gondor, and wife of future Steward, Ecthelion II.  Mother of Annael, Fíriel, and Denethor.  Grandmother of Hareth, daughter of Annael and her husband Halmir.

Nórimo - Infant son of Ermon and Elénaril, along with sisters, Almarë, and Calapîa. (Triplets, born 2nd of September T.A. 2943).

Nualë – Woodland Elf; Guardian of Royal Family of Dale. Wife of Núin; killed along with husband by the Blue Wizard Pallando, during attack on Lothlórien.

Núin – Woodland Elf; Guard of the Gates of Dale.  Husband of Nualë; killed by the Blue Wizard Pallando, during attack on Lothlórien.

Núriel - Elf. Nanny for Legolas and Tauriel when they were children.  Sailed to the West some years ago.

Nyssiel – Female Elf.  Archer in Rivendell’s Army, staying in the North for a Military Exchange in 2944-2945 T.A.

Óhtar – Lothlórien Elf.  Keeper of the Archives.  Husband of Vériel, father to Orlin and Evranin.

Óin– Dwarven Healer.  Part of the Original Company.

Old Ben – City Planner of New Dale.  Age: 66 (Born in Laketown, 2880 T.A.). Husband to Hannah, Midwife of Dale.  Adoptive father to Rhian and grandfather to Darryn.  Former husband of the late Cristyn of Laketown.

Ómar – Woodland Elf. Father of Turamarth & husband of Indis.  Uncle of Daeron.  Captain of a Guardian Unit of the Woodland Realm.

Orlin – Lothlórien Elf, and Healer.  Friend and colleague of Daeron, brother to Evranin. 

Oropher - Late father of King Thranduil.  Killed during the Battle of Dagorlad in the War of the Last Alliance; 3434 S.A.

Orophin – Warden of Lothlórien. Brother of Haldir and Rúmil, Wardens of Lothlórien.  Middle son of Halfar, former Marchwarden, and his wife, Naimi.

Owena – Daughter of Ellyn and the late Owen of Dale.  Three years old.  Adopted daughter of Daffyd and Anna.  Sister of Bowen and Maddox.

Pallando – Former Blue Wizard.  Also called “Luinrandir.”  Disciple of Sauron; responsible for killing Thranduil’s wife.  Attacked Lothlórien in June 2944 T.A. killed by Thranduil and Celeborn.

Penlod – Lothlórien Elf and Healer, who worked with Daeron during his exchange year.  Born in Mithlond, friend of Rôgon.

Percy – Steward of Dale. Age: 64 (Born in Laketown, 2882, Third Age).  Husband of Hilda, Seneschal of Dale.  (Married 2905 T.A. – 39 years). Good friend of the late Brand of Laketown and devoted to Bard, King of Dale, and his family. Has good relationship with Thranduil and Galion.

Powell – Man of Dale, aged 21. Son of Anna and Daffyd; lives above the Livery in Dale with new wife Mari.  Helps his parents look after Ellyn's children.

Radagast – Wizard; helps the forest. Friend of Beorn.

Rahlen – Male Elf. Captain and Warrior in Rivendell’s Army.  Requested to stay in the North for a Military Exchange-Commanding officer for his unit 2944-2945 T.A.

Raif – Boy of Dale, aged 10.  Son of Adila, owner of the Coffee Café in Dale, and Bron, blacksmith who was murdered in the attack on Dale in May 2943 T.A.

Rhian – Woman, aged 22.  Wife of Daeron, Guardian/Healer of Dale, and mother of Darryn. Was abused by first husband, Garth. Age: 24 (Born in 2922 T.A.).  Gained unexpected Immortal Status and special gifts when she married Daeron.

Rhys – son of Alun, grandson of Ina.  Aged 15. Born 2931 TA. Bain’s best friend; stayed with Royal Family in Thranduil’s Palace during the Long Winter.

Roderic (Rod) – Runs the Long Lake Tavern in Dale.  Stayed in the Woodland Realm over the winter while he recovered from his injuries from the Battle of the Five Armies. Husband of Catrina.

Rôgon – Mithlond Elf.  Born in Grey Havens, Age 6189 (Born in Doriath, 197, S.A.); nephew to Círdan the Shipwright.  Skilled Blacksmith, married Galion (Aide to King Thranduil), August 2944 T.A.

Rowen - Mistress Eryn's Uncle, who lost an arm and an eye in the BOTFA.  He is the brother of Eryn's late father, and gave her away at her wedding to Evan in April, 2945 T.A.

Rúmil - Warden of Lothlórien, who is spending a year in the Woodland Realm/Dale in 2942-2943 T.A. Brother to Haldir and Orophin; youngest son of Halfar, former Marchwarden, and his wife, Naimi.  Was attacked by Pallando in Lothlórien June 2944 T.A., but recovering under the care of his brothers.

Ruvyn – Woodland Elf.  Personal Guard to Thranduil, but often watches Tilda.

Sandastan - Turamarth's dun-colored horse.  His name is a type of military shield formation.

Saeros – Woodland Elf, son of Seldion and Heril.  Works in the Printer’s Guild at the Palace.  Friend and colleague of Evranin.

Seldion - Father of Saeros, killed by his son, who was under the influence of evil magic via Pallando, the Wizard and servant of Sauron.

Sellwen - A child Daeron deeply bonded with when he was serving in Dale under King Girion.  When she and her mother were killed, in 2767 T.A., Daeron suffered a breakdown from the loss.

Seren – Wife of Llewelyn of Dale.  Mother of sons Ethan and Liam, and daughter Liliwen. Gave birth to her youngest in Thranduil’s Palace.

Sigrid – Princess of Dale; Age: 20 (Born 2926, T.A.).  Daughter of Bard and Mattie.  Stepdaughter of Thranduil.  Training to be a Healer full-time.

Silmon – Silvan Elf.  Head of the Agricultural Guild in the Woodland Realm.  Husband of Emëldir, Head of Thranduil's Council

Sílnaith – “Shining Spear” Black Stallion with white mane and tail, purchased by Thranduil for Bain when his horse, Bregolas, was killed in the attack in Dale May 2943 T.A.

Sylvi - A young servant at the Castle who was hired by Rhian to help look after her house.  Brought to Dale by her Auntie Greta.

Solana – Tauriel’s mother.  Killed by Orcs when Tauriel was very small.

Tamir – Girl, aged 12.  Daughter of Adila, owner of the Coffee Café in Dale, and Bron, blacksmith who was murdered in the attack on Dale in May 2943 T.A.

Tauriel – Silvan Elf; Lady of the Woodland Realm. Age: 622 (Born 2324, T.A.) Adopted in infancy by Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm. Stepdaughter of King Bard. Captain of the Guard for the Princess and Princesses of Dale.  Daughter of the late Neldor & Solana. 

Thangon – “Shield Wall” Bard’s humongous dog, given to him by Thranduil.  Goofy and playful, but can be deadly fierce.

The Boss - see “Jarod.”

Thenin – Male Silvan Elf.  Archer in Army of the Woodland Realm, and husband of Eílíent.  They went to Rivendell in 2944-2945 T.A. for Military Exchange, and decided to stay.

Thranduil – Elvenking of Mirkwood. Age: 3790 (Born 2597 S.A.); son of Oropher and Lindorië.  Sindar Elf.  Husband of Bard, King of Dale (Married Dec 17, 2941 T.A.)  Husband of the late Queen Mírelen (Married 1479 T.A. - Widowed 1953 T.A., married 474 years); father of Legolas; adopted father of Tauriel.  Stepfather of Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda.

Tilda – Princess of Dale.  Age: 12 (Born 2934, T.A.).  Daughter of Bard, King of Dale & the late Matilda of Laketown (Mattie).  She greatly resembles her paternal grandmother, and Sigrid of Laketown, and is very petite in stature like her.  Stepdaughter of Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm.  Sister of Sigrid and Bain.  Stepsister to Legolas and Tauriel.

Tim - A Cooper (barrel-maker) that moved to Dale last February from parts unknown.  He was secretly spying on the Royal Family in Dale for "The Boss" (who went by the name of "Jarod," in the City.)

Tîrevan - “the Archer”, Fifth King of Dale (and Garon the Founder's third great-grandson.)

Tom – Man.  Chief Constable of Dale.  Owns the Pottery shop, with his wife, Maggie. Father of three sons.  Was recently hired to be Constable of Dale, along with his eldest son, Egon.

Trastapîn - “Little Trouble”, the filly born October 2945 T.A. to Vildan’s Meara Mare Mistanâr and Tauriel’s stallion Lasbelin. She’s as full of mischief as her mother.

Trip – Man who worked for The Boss in the city of Duston, before the Dwarves rescued the children in November 2942 T.A.  Their ears were cut off and were branded criminals.

Turamarth – Woodland Elf. Daeron’s cousin and best friend.  Son of Ómar and Indis.  Learned to speak Westron over the Long Winter.  Lieutenant in the elite Guardian Unit of the Woodland Realm.  Has feelings for Evranin, but was attacked by Pallando in June 2944 T.A. and needs time to recover.

Valendil - former Horse-Master of Imladris, and breeder of Mearas descended from the Nahar, the legendary horse ridden by Oromë, Huntsman of the Valar.  Father of Measse and Vildan.  He and his wife sailed to Valinor in 2921 T.A.

Vildan – Male Elf. Warrior in Rivendell’s Army staying in the North for Military Exchange in 2944–2945 T.A.  Son of Valendil; sister to Meássë and Uncle to Melui.

Vórima – Elven Horse.  The strawberry roan that Turamarth bought for Bowen to help pull him out of his depression.

Voron - Woodland Elf, Head Stablemaster of Dale.  Son of Vornir. 

Wynny – Kitchen maid in Dale.  Was tricked by Tim into giving him details of the Royal Family for The Boss.  Was found murdered her apartment during attack on Dale May 2943 T.A.

Chapter Text

But first...

After weeks of tossing and turning, I had at last fallen back into my normal sleeping patterns.

That is, until someone was shaking my shoulder and calling my name. 

“Hmmm?” I rolled over and rubbed my eyes.  And there they were, only this time, there was a large mug of Adila’s coffee on my bedside tale.  Cream, one sugar and a shot of vanilla.  “Thank you so much.”

Hilda acted as spokesperson. “We’re so sorry about the deaths in your family, lovey.  I understand your poor Mam had been sick for a long time, and at least your uncle was in no pain when he passed.”

“We are also sorry for the loss of your dog, as well,” Thranduil added. “That was also unexpected?”

“Thank you."  My eyes traveled to the framed picture of her, alongside my cat, who had died just months before.  "Fang really liked you guys.”

“And I enjoyed her on our little visits.” His eyes rested on a spot at my feet. “Why do you have a dust mop on your bed?”

“That’s not a dust mop.  See? It has eyes.”

His dark eyebrows lowered as he scrutinized the pile of hair.  “Why do you have a dust mop with eyes on your bed?”

Said dustmop awoke, stretched her legs, smacked her lips and yawned with a soft whine.  After a vigorous shake, her hair settled enough to reveal brown eyes that blinked up at the small crowd.

“My friends bought me a puppy,” “I said.  “I’ll always miss Fang, and no one could ever take her place, but they thought I would need her now, after losing my mother.”

“It was a wise decision,” the Elvenking nodded.

“I’m glad to see you, but is there a reason why you’re here?”

“We came to offer our condolences on your losses,” Bard repeated, “and we need to talk to you about something else.”

“It was nice of you to give us a vacation,” Rhian but her lip, “and we all had a great time, but we’ve been talking, and—“

“Wait,” I perked up with curiosity. “What did you guys do with your time off?”

 The corners of Bard’s eyes crinkled. “Thranduil and I went on a tour of Italy.  The artwork in the Vatican was beautiful,” he winked.  “What we saw of it, anyway.”

“Okay….” I turned my head and gave him a sidelong glance. “What does that mean?”

Thranduil’s mouth pursed into a straight line. “That building you call the Sistine Chapel—“

“What about it?”

 “First off, all those pale naked bodies on the ceiling—“

“Well, that’s what men and women look like!” the Bowman scowled. “You like my body.”

“Your body has all that delightful hair,” the Elvenking pointed out.  “Do you honestly believe those ancient Mediterraneans were hairless?  Or that they shaved their entire bodies?” Thranduil wrinkled his nose. “How many women did you and I see on the street bearing mustaches!”

“But that’s not on purpose,” I said. “It’s just that their hair is very dark, and when all women get older—"

“I am older,” Hilda’s tone was imperious, “and you don’t see me with hair on my upper lip!”

”That’s because I don’t write you with one.”

“That is not so,” Daeron said. “Just last week, you came to see me for a spell—“

Rhian clapped her hand over her husband’s mouth with a warning stare.

”Er… I must have mistaken you for someone else.”

”Too right you did,” Hilda said with a glare that would have wilted flowers.

It seemed wise to change the subject.  “You were saying? About the paintings?”

“Why are the humans depicted as hairless and pale? And another thing…” he bit his lower lip.

“Go ahead,” Bard nudged him with his shoulder as he smiled into his knuckles.  “Might as well tell her all of it.”

“Tell me all of what?”

The Elvenking raised his palms toward me.  “Now, before you hear this, I want you to keep an open mind,”

“Uh huh.”

“Best to confess all and be done with it," said Hilda.

“Do I really want to know?” I asked her out of the corner of my mouth.

“Not really, no.”

“You see,” Thranduil began, “the Tour Guide was pointing out the painting of the one called Adam—”

“‘The Creation of Adam,’ by Michelangelo?”

"That is the one,” he said.  “He was touching fingertips with a bearded figure—”

“God.”

“Excuse me?”

“The bearded man represents God, the Creator,” I said.  “The Christian version of Eru Ilúvatar.”

“Oh.  Well, I merely pointed out Adam’s obvious flaw and suggested something be done about it.”

“What flaw?” 

“It is a disgrace,” Thranduil said.  “It is ridiculous to make anyone believe that poor Man’s genitalia could be that undersized!”

“Oh,” my eyes scrunched tight, “that flaw.”

“So, you know of it, and have done nothing about it?” The Elvenking’s hands flew to his hips. 

“I can’t do anything about it.” I said.  “Why?”

“Because that thing—”

“Adam’s thing?”

“Yes, Adam’s thing!” Thranduil pronounced it with the emphasis on the last syllable.  “It is no bigger than his thumb!”

“Technically speaking,” I cleared my throat, “Adam’s thumb is bigger.”

“Then you understand why something had to be done.”  Thranduil gave his husband a fond look. “While I consider myself fortunate that Bard is so well-endowed—“

“Oh, here we go,” Hilda rolled her eyes. 

Bard said nothing, but color stormed into his cheeks as he stared at his feet.

“Let’s not get into that just now, okay?” I exhaled slowly, girding my loins.  “Just tell me what happened.”

“I only did what I thought was necessary.”  Thranduil crossed his arms, his chin lifted in defiance.  “This Adam creature’s Gwîb is an insult to the world of Men!  It is grossly underproportioned, and it would have been better to simply paint a strip of cloth over his lap and be done with the matter!”

“Oh my God…”

“So this God belongs to you?”

“No, He belongs to everyb—  What did you do, Thranduil?”

 “First, I tried to resolve the issue diplomatically.”

“Of course.”

“I politely requested an audience with their King—“

“Oh, my G— You asked to speak to the Pope? “Pope Francis?”

“Yes, that is what the Tour Guide said, but he was very rude and refused me an audience!” Thranduil tapped his chest. “When I told him I was King of the Woodland Realm, he threatened to call Security! So…”

“So, what?”

“Naturally, I was forced to take matters into my own hands,” Thranduil said brightly.

“How?” I whimpered.

“He took off his outer robe,” Bard said, “climbed up the wall, and fastened it over Adam like a…” he flipped his finger in a circle,  “what do you call them?”

“You mean a toga?  On Adam. You put a toga on the Creation of Adam?” My hands waved in the air like jazz dancer and fought down the hysteria building in my chest.  How many of my worldly possessions I would have to sell to pay the legal fees?  “Ho…How did you get up there?”

“I am an Elf.”

“But how in the hell did you get the cloth to stay?”

“Elven magic,” Thranduil said smugly.

“Bullshit,” Bard said.  “You used gum!”

“You, mean you… you….” The hysteria won the fight. “You put chewing gum on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel?  Oh, my God,” I moaned, burying my face in my hands.  “Oh, my God, OhmyGodOhmyGod…”

“It worked,” Thranduil shrugged. “And that was my best robe!”

“’Artists must be sacrificed to their art,’” Bard quoted, then tucked his face into his shoulder and giggled.  

Rhian giggled because Bard was giggling. 

“Shhhh!” Daeron threw her a dirty look, hiding a smile.

Percy held his stomach and howled.  Even Hilda was biting the inside of her cheek.

I peeked through my fingers. “How did you know about chewing gum in the first place?”

“Mithrandir,” Thranduil said with a smile. “The tourists who came to Dale last Yule gave him some.”

“Yep,” Bard said helpfully. “He asked us to bring him some, so we bought this huge bag.”

“What happened next?”

Bard’s head sank into his shoulders. “We were sort of, arrested?”

“OH MY GOD!” I screamed.

“You say that a lot,” Thranduil observed. “I thought you said your Monotheistic Deity did not exclusively belong to you?”

“Don’t change the subject!  You and Bard were arrested by the Swiss Guard?”

“Is that what you call them?” Thranduil laughed. “How could anyone wearing such an outlandish costume expect to be taken seriously?”

“Those uniforms are traditional!” I argued. “And the guards in your Throne Room guards look just as weird!”

“They do not!” Thranduil said through gritted teeth.  “Take that back!”

“Enough, all of you!” Hilda stomped her foot.  “They’re here, aren’t they? So they’re obviously all right.”

“How?”

“Gandalf came to the rescue,” Bard said, “and nobody got hurt.”

“See what I mean?” Hilda said in a soothing tone. “All’s well that ends well, yeah?”

“But the painting—“ I wailed.

“Was fixed,” she reassured me.  “And don’t worry.  No one can trace any of this back to you.  Gandalf erased their memories.”

“Ooh,” My eyes lit up. “You mean like the flashy-thingie in Men in Black?”

“Huh?” Bard said, glancing at Percy.

”Don’t look at me,” Percy raised his hands and looked at Daeron.

“What is a ‘Flashee?’” Daeron asked.  He looked to Rhian for help.

“How would I know?” she said, turning to Thranduil. 

“Who are these Men in black attire?” the Elvenking asked. “Does this Flashee resemble Mithrandir’s fireworks?”

“Never mind,” I sighed. “Please, please tell me no one else got arrested.”

“Worry not,” Thranduil gave me a satisfied smile.  “Galion and Rôgon took all the children a boat tour—I believe they called it a ‘Croose—’”

“Cruise,” I corrected.

“…to a country called ‘Alaskia—’”

“Alaska. It’s actually a state.”

“Tauriel and Legolas enjoyed climbing Mount DAnalee—”

“Denali.”

“Sigrid and Bain enjoyed the nightclubs, and Tilda loved the Magick show.”

“Thank God— er, I mean, the Valar.”  I turned to Daeron and Rhian. “Did anyone notice your pointy ears while you were in Scotland?”

“He wore a hat,” Rhian nodded.  “Lots of Men wear those slouchy ones now.  But the scenery was gorgeous!  Darryn had a blast playing in all the Castles.”

“We went to Vegas,” Percy said proudly. “Won a bunch at the Blackjack tables!”

“Of course, you did.” I chuffed a laugh. “And Gandalf helped you with the exchange rate?”

Percy’s face fell.  “Oh, shit.”

“Tur and Evvy are still at their honeymoon cottage,” Daeron and his wife exchanged knowing smiles. “They are in no hurry to get back.”

“The thing is, love,” Hilda sat on the bed facing me, and took my hands, “We enjoyed our vacation, but we need to get back.  Your readers are worried about you.”

I sat up straighter. “And you know this, how?”

“Er, you see,” Bard winced, “we sort of asked Galadriel to use her Mirror to hack into your laptop—“

“Of course, you did,” I closed my eyes and let out a long breath.  “And?”

“We checked your AO3 Inbox—“

“Hey!”

“And we may have taken a  peek into your Email—”

“Eep,” I squeaked.

“…and your Messenger—"

“You have no right—  OW!”  The puppy bit my toes.

“See?” Bard said.  “Even she knows it’s time to get back to it.”

“Good dog,” Thranduil patted the pup’s head.  What is her name?”

“Brunhilda.”

“Of course, it is,” Thranduil rolled his eyes.  Brunhilda got hold of one of the Elvenking’s fingers and gave it a good chomp.

“Naeg!” he yelped. “Daro!”

Undaunted, the pup wagged her tail, yipped a few times and began to chew a hole in his robes.

“I don’t think she understands Sindarin,” Bard smothered a grin.

“She understands perfectly,” Thranduil frowned at the pup, who was growling and shaking at the expensive silk. 

“She’s still a baby, and her teeth are coming in,” I explained. 

“So?” Hilda pressed.  “Will you get back to it?”

With a sigh, I slid off the bed and grabbed my robe.

  “Life must go on,” I said.

And that’s when I woke up… 

(I’m beginning to sense a pattern, here...)

“For small creatures such as we, the vastness is bearable only through love."

— Carl Sagan

Rivendell, 5^th of September 2945 T.A.

Vildan took a deep breath, prayed for guidance, and turned the knob.

Vildan’s breath caught.

Melui was sitting on a couch with her caretaker, who was speaking to her in mild tones and trying to entice her attention with a doll.  The Elleth glanced up and caught his eye.  “Melui?” she pointed at him,  “Tôrano Vildan túliele, tithen pen!” 

Vildan’s heart pounded, bruising the inside of his ribcage, as he crept into the room, careful to make no large movements that might startle her.  

He knelt before the couch and studied his niece.  Melui’s light hair fell about her small shoulders, but the locks were dull in the light.  The child’s eyes, normally a bright blue like his sister, were a muddy grey.  She didn’t seem to acknowledge he was there.  He gently took her chin with his thumb and forefinger, turned her to face him and whispered with as much calm as he could muster, “Túliel, Mîrë nîn.”

Melui did not meet his eyes but looked over his shoulder with a stare that could have gone on for miles. 

 “Melui?  Please, look at me,” he pleaded.  “Please.” His vision swam.  He ran fingertips over his eyes to clear them.  “Tôrano Vida túliele,” he whispered, “In gi nathad.”

A firm hand grasped his shoulder.  Elrond was behind him, urging him to stand.  “Come away, Vildan,” he said in a low tone.

“What is wrong with her?” Vildan’s voice shook.  “Why does she not speak?”

“We will discuss that.”  Elrond gestured to the dark-haired caretaker.  “You know Laniër, of course.”

Vildan’s eyes fell upon the attractive Elleth.  “Yes, of course,” he said politely, and saluted her.  “Thank you for looking after my niece, Laniër.”

“It is my pleasure,” she said demurely, smiling up at him with keen green eyes.  “I am glad to be of some small help.”

“Come with me to my study,” Elrond’s words were gentle, but the grip on Vildan’s upper arm was firm and commanding.  “I am sure you have questions, but it is not beneficial to speak of such things in front of the child.”

“Yes, of course,” Vildan said dully, and in that moment, the grief from his sister’s death, the exhaustion from the trip, and the shock of seeing Melui in her present condition fell upon his shoulders like an avalanche.  His knees grew weak and his legs threatened to buckle.

“Are you well, Lieutenant?” Elrond’s face grew concerned.  “Do you need to rest, first?”

His cheeks grew hot.  “I am fine, My Lord.  Please, I need to understand what happened.”

Elrond scrutinized his face for a few moments, then gave him a slight nod of assent.   His hand did not leave Vildan’s arm as they made their way through the halls of the living quarters, around the courtyard, and into Elrond’s study.  He was seated in one of the tufted leather chairs and a large goblet of Miruvor was placed in his hand, along with an order to drink its entire contents.

“Again,” Elrond refilled his cup when he was finished.  “You do not have to drink this all at once, but I want this emptied before you leave this room.”

Vildan swallowed down another sip before he found his voice.  “Please,” he asked again, “what happened to Meássë and Narseg?  Was anyone else killed?”

“Before we begin, I would like Gildor to join us.” [1] Elrond lifted the small brass bell on his desk and gave it a couple of shakes.

“Yes, My Lord?” Lindir opened the room and stuck his head in. 

“Gildor awaits my summons in the library.”

“I will fetch him at once.”  With a salute, Lindir exited, and a few minutes later, Gildor Inglorion entered the room.  

Gildor, son of Inglor, was born in Valinor and had, in ancient times, joined Galadriel and her brothers on their long journey across the icy wastelands of Helcaraxë to make their homes in Middle Earth. 

Though the weight of that treacherous journey did not show in his ageless face, his eyes and his countenance bore the sadness that can only come from surviving such things.  He was taller than most of the Elves in Rivendell, though not as tall as Glorfindel or Elrond.  His black hair hung long and straight to his waist, and his piercing grey eyes were full of wisdom, and a plain silver diadem graced his brow.  He was wearing robes of crimson silk, with golden buttons at his wrists and throat, and his leggings and boots were black. As with Glorfindel and Galadriel and any Elf born under the light of the Two Trees, Gildor’s skin held a radiance and that set him apart—and above—any Elf born in this world.

Vildan stood and bowed his head with utmost respect. “Mae govannen, Hír nîn,” he saluted.  “I had the pleasure of making your nephew’s acquaintance in King Thranduil’s Palace.” 

Affection brought a twinkle to Gildor’s eyes. “I hope you found him and his family well.”

“Very much so.  Their foster-children, Dylan and Rowena, have recovered nicely from their ordeal last winter. They are the picture of health and bring their parents much happiness.[2]  I regret that there was no time for a letter to be sent with me but am certain that Gwindor and your namesake will send plenty of news when the rest of the Vanguard returns next month.” [3]

“I look forward to it.”

Gildor took the seat with a fluid, poetic grace that Vildan, under any other circumstance would have admired.  But not today.  They turned their faces toward Elrond, who rested his elbows on his desk and folded his hands together.  “Let us begin with what I know is your most pressing concern, Vildan.  As I said, I am greatly concerned about your niece.”

“Melui has just lost her parents, and I know she has missed me,” Vildan said.  “Surely she will improve, now that I have come to care for her.”

“That is my hope, of course.  But I must tell you, I have never seen anything like this.”

“How so?”

“Children of all races, especially the very young, are blessed with an extraordinary ability to adapt to their circumstances.  They accept things with an ease that most adults envy.  However, Melui has not.  You have seen for yourself what I was saying.” Elrond shook his head in dismay.  “She eats enough, praise Elbereth, and she sleeps with the help of a Losta-luith adapted to her age and weight, but beyond that, what you have observed is how she has been for several weeks.”  He raised an eyebrow and gave Vildan a meaningful look.  “The bigger problem is that Melui fell into that state before Gildor’s messengers arrived with news of your sister’s death.”

The muscles in Vildan’s neck went rigid.   “I beg your pardon?”

“Melui did not become so afflicted when the reports of her parents came back.  It appears that she did so at the exact time of their deaths.”

“She knew?” Vildan’s hand shook as he set his goblet on Elrond’s desk.  How can this be?” 

“That remains a mystery; one we will do our best to unravel.”

“What do I do?”

“For now, she requires constant observation.  I confess I was hoping for some sort of miracle when you entered her room, but...” Elrond’s voice trailed off.  “Still, I am convinced it is you that can break through those walls.” 

“How?”

“Keep her with you as much as possible.  Talk to her as cheerfully as you can, about things that will not upset or provoke her.  Take her riding, for walks, read to her, anything that can stimulate her attention.  Refrain from mentioning her parents, at least for now. After she begins to respond, I want to be there when we begin to speak of Meássë and Narseg.”

“Whatever she needs, I will do.”

“I know you will, Mellon nîn,”  Elrond gave him an approving nod. “I asked Gildor to join us, as I assume you wish details about your sister’s death?”

“I do, very much.”

“Before we go into that,” the Elf-Lord leaned toward him, “I must have your Gwest a Dhínen.  What you are about to hear is known only to Gildor, Glorfindel and myself, and it must go no further, is that understood?”

Vildan placed his hand over his heart. “You have it, My Lord.”

“Very well.” Elrond raised his hand to Inglorion. “Gildor?”

“De mhilui, Hír nîn. Early in July,” Gildor began, “I was told in a dream to make haste to the Tower Hills; an urgent message awaited Lord Elrond in the Palantír of Elostirion. [4] 

“’Message?’  I thought that stone went dark long ago!”

“None but a select few know the truth, Lieutenant.” Elrond said.  “We are only telling you to help you understand your sister’s role in such matters.  Go ahead, Gildor.”

“We left the next day; Narseg was among the Vanguard escorting the party, and Meássë brought four of our fastest birds.”

“She is a talented Falconer,” Vildan said, then winced.  “Was.” He took a shaky breath. “Is the vision in the Palantír why Orcs attacked Meássë and Narseg?”

 “Unlikely. The Palantir’s message concerned a future event that had nothing to do with them. [5]  In any case, no one besides myself looks into the Seeing Stone, and I send the only copy of the message to Lord Elrond with the Falcons.”

“Yet you yourself know what the Seeing Stone has revealed.  Does that not make you vulnerable?”

Gildor’s mouth hinted at a confident smile. “Every Orc west of the Misty Mountains knows to attempt such an attack on me would be suicide.”

“I had no idea, about any of this…” Vildan marveled.

“Which only serves to make the deeds of your sister and brother-in-law that much more admirable,”  Elrond said.

“On the sixth morning after we left the Tower Hills,” Gildor continued, “Narseg and Meássë could not be accounted for.  We organized a search and found their bodies in a small clearing a mile from camp.  There were obvious signs of a struggle, and we found several arrows of Orc-make, along with a few of their weapons.

“I immediately sent another bird back to Imladris with news of the tragedy.  I also asked him to send Glorfindel to me with all haste, and remained alone at the scene, while the rest of the party carried your sister and brother-in-law back home.”

A growing sense of foreboding stirred in Vildan’s breast. “Why did you need to do this?”

“I was hoping he could use his heightened senses to confirm my suspicions.” 

Gildor exchanged a meaningful look with Elrond, who said, “Vildan, Gildor and Glorfindel carefully examined that clearing, and they both agree that the murder scene was staged to look like an Orc attack.”

Vildan’s head jerked back.  “How can this be?”

“Oh, it was cleverly done and would have fooled even the best of Elves.   But Glorfindel and I have the advantage of our heritage, and we put them to good use on your sister’s and brother’s behalf.” Gildor reached over and placed a hand on Vildan’s arm. “Orcs were not responsible for this, my young friend.  We have reason to believe that the murders of Meássë and Narseg were not random, but a deliberate and well-planned attack.”

“But wh…” he sucked in a harsh gulp of air.  “Who could possibly want them dead?”

“I ardently wish I knew.” Elrond’s shoulders fell. “No one had any sort of grudge against them, nor have I heard any complaints about any member of your family.”

“What is being done to find those responsible?”

“The arrows and the Orc weapons are on their way to Lord Halbarad, Chieftain of the Dúnedain, to see if he can identify the pack they came from. In the meantime, Gildor, Glorfindel and myself are discretely coordinating an investigation here.”

“I want to help,” Vildan straightened his spine.

“Absolutely not.  It is imperative that you remain outside these matters.”

“But I must find out what happened to my sister!  My Lord, I am Vanguard, and one of the best trackers in your—"

“What you are right now,” Elrond’s voice was firm, “is a parent.”

“But—”

The Elf-Lord raised his hand to silence him.  “We have no idea who is behind all this, and until we know more, it must appear as if we all have accepted the lie, especially you.  For all we know, the killer could be watching you, and if he suspects we are still investigating this, you and your niece could be in grave danger.  We cannot risk assigning additional security, so it falls to you to serve as Melui’s guardian and protector.  Elladan will serve as her Healer, and since the two of you are friends, no one will suspect his frequent presence.

“I know it will be difficult, Vildan,” Elrond’s voice held both wisdom and compassion, “but you must trust us.  I do wish to make this an order, but I will if I have to, do you understand?”

“Yes, My Lord,” Vildan’s gaze fell to his lap.

“And again, I am truly sorry for your loss.”

Vildan managed to keep his composure as he was dismissed from Elrond’s presence, but when Glorfindel appeared in his path alongside Elladan, his heart lurched with dread. 

“Are you ready?” the blonde Elf-Lord asked gently.

“Can anyone ever be?”

“No,” Elladan grasped Vildan’s elbow.

“I can do this by myself.”

“You could,” Elladan inclined his head, “but you will not.” 

Vildan allowed his friend and his Commander to lead him out of the Gates of Imladris to a nearby hill, two freshly-dug burial mounds were covered in flowers. 

Glorfindel and Elladan kept a discreet distance as Vildan placed his flowers atop the others, their bright colors mocked the sea of dull, wilting petals that had been laid weeks ago. 

When it was time for the Naegûr Laer, he began the melody in a clear, strong voice. Glorfindel and Elladan joined in, blending in perfect harmony.  He sang for Melui, whose current state frightened him more than he could face just now.  He sang for his parents, far away and sorely missed. But when he sang for his sister whom he cherished, and her husband who was as a brother, his voice stuttered and fell silent, and he fell to his knees. The agony of loss exploded inside of him, and he buried his head in his arms, only managing shallow gulps of air between sobs. Warm, patient hands rubbed his back and held him steady.  The singing continued but was no longer a lament, but a song that offered comfort and consolation.

 How long did he weep before his cries finally slowed down and his vision cleared?

“It does not matter, Mellon nîn,” Glorfindel knew his thoughts.  “We are here for as long as you need.”

The same warm, patient hands lifted him upright and wiped his face with a soft cloth.  They pulled him to his feet and supported him, until his breathing returned to a semblance of normal.  When he could once again see, the stars of Elbereth were shining in the night sky, giving him reassurance, but not hope.  Not just yet.  The wind picked up and whirled around him.  Something warm brushed against his cheek; Meássë had kissed him goodbye. 

“I am all right, now,” he rasped, wiping his nose with the handkerchief.

“You are not, and you will not be so for a long time,” Glorfindel said. “Here,” he offered a skin full of wine, and unwrapped a linen napkin to reveal three plain rolls and a pear.  “It is a light meal, but I want you to eat it all.”

“My father insists,” Elladan said with a small smile.

Sheepishly, he took a bite of the bread.  “Thank you.”

Elladan rubbed his forearm.  “We do not have to return before you are ready.”

“But what about Melui?”

“One more night with Laniër will not cause difficulty.  Tonight, Ada has ordered a proper night’s rest.”

They helped him down the hill, and took him through the back gates and passages, so Vildan could avoid, at least for this night, the hundreds of condolences that will surely bombard him tomorrow. 

The servants had prepared a hot, soothing bath, with oil of Lavender and Athelas to calm his nerves and loosen the tension in his muscles that he hadn’t realized was there.

Glorfindel returned to his duties, but Elladan remained to help his exhausted body out of the bath and into a night shirt.  Once tucked into the first comfortable bed he’d been in since he’d left the North, the son of Elrond placed his hand over Vildan’s brow, murmured a Losta-luith, and at last, this terrible day was over.

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

De mhilui, Hír nîn – Thank you, My Lord

Gwest a Dhínen – Oath of Silence

Naegûr Laer -Song of Mourning

Túliel, Mîrë nîn – I have come, my Precious Jewel.

Tôrano Vida túliele an gi nathad – Uncle Vida is here, and I will help you  (Vida is Melui’s name for Vildan.

Tôrano Vildan túliele, tithen pen! – Uncle Vildan is here, little one!

Losta-luith – Sleeping spell.

Athelas – Kingsfoil; a weed to most people of Middle Earth, but a valuable healing herb to those who know how to administer it.

NOTES:

[1] http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Gildor_Inglorion

[2] Broken Wings, Ch. 18:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/52298323

[3] Broken Wings, Ch. 22: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/53531497

[4] http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Elostirion-stone

[5] Broken Wings, Ch. 45: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/63097606

Chapter Text

"True love stories never have endings."

– Richard Bach

Rivendell, 6^th of September 2945 T.A.

Last night wasn’t the first time since Vildan learned of his sister’s death that he slept with the aid of a Losta-luith, but it was the only time he’d truly welcomed its oblivion.  After the shock of seeing Melui and the affliction which kept her separate from the world she was in, after hours of weeping at his sister’s grave, he was weary beyond words.

Vildan lay in his bed, eyes still closed, and he wondered how he was going to face this day, when some of the wisdom his friend had tried to pound into his head came to mind… 

South of the Gladden Fields, 15^th of August 2945 T.A.

On their trip home, Elladan had been openly concerned for Vildan, which at the beginning of their journey was greatly appreciated, but after a week of constant attention, it was becoming annoying. Three days before they met up with Glorfindel’s party, they had made camp in a small clearing surrounded by birch trees. 

“Stop fussing!” he snapped, shaking off Elladan’s hand.  “I am not some delicate flower!”

“Indeed, you are not,” Elladan said pleasantly.  “Nor will I allow you to become one, lest my father blame me for neglecting you.  I’ve no wish to face his wrath, so please shut up and eat your dinner.  Then I will help you sleep.”

“’Shut up?’” Vildan’s lips pursed downward in irritation.  “You have been hanging around Men far too long.”

“’Hanging around?’” One corner of Elladan’s mouth hooked upward.  “Is this ‘the pot calling the kettle black?’”

Vildan groaned and struggled to come up with a clever retort. “I am not hungry,”  was hardly clever, but it was the best he could manage.  “And I can sleep well enough on my own.”

Elladan’s face was patient, but there was no mistaking the determination in his eyes.  “If you believe you are as intimidating to me as my Adar when he becomes angry, you are either arrogant or foolish.  Most likely both.  Either way, I will do what I deem necessary to make sure you are rested and well-fed, even if I have to wrestle you into submission.”

“Elladan,” Vildan pleaded, “I know you mean well, but—"

“Mellon nîn.” This time, Elladan’s tone turned serious.  “You call out in the night, even with the sleeping spells!  I expected thus when we made camp in Mirkwood, but it continues! You are pale, and your hair is growing dull and your eyes are starting to turn grey.  Not that pretty shade of grey, I might add.”

Vildan growled and jumped to his feet. “Well, what would you expect?”

“Sit down, Vildan; these histrionics do not help.”

“Stop treating me like a child!”  His hands clenched at his sides, the fingernails biting into his palms so hard they bled.  “Two weeks ago, my entire life was turned upside down!” he waved his fists outward. “I had to leave all my friends—”

“Not all your friends,” Elladan reminded him evenly. “But you did leave your horse, and for that I am truly sorry.”

“She…” Vildan’s words were shakier than he liked, “Mistanâr was all I had left of my Ada, you know that.”

For just a moment, Vildan allowed himself to picture Mistanâr in his mind, her belly heavy with the filly she was carrying.  And, unbidden, the memory came to him of a tall, fiery red-haired daughter of the King, laughing as she ran her fingers through the mare’s dark mane, and tracing the black line down the middle of her back…

Vildan’s throat tightened so painfully, words weren’t possible.  His fists loosened and he stared at the fire.  Eventually he managed to say in a thin, faraway voice, “In one fell swoop, everything I ever expected my life to be is gone.  I have lost those I care about most in this world, and I do not know what to do in the next moment, let alone the next weeks, or months.” He met his companion’s dark eyes. “I feel so lost, Elladan.”  With a sigh, he slowly lowered himself back to the ground and hugged his knees. 

“My sister and her husband are dead, and I have no idea how I am going to make that up to the child they left behind!  How could I possibly replace Meássë and Narseg enough so that Melui does not spend the rest of her life in pain, wishing for something she could never have!  Do you have any idea how frightened I am?”

“I could not begin to guess,” Elladan said gently.  “But I know you will give her everything you are, everything you have.  It is the best you can do.”  

“What if my best is not enough?” he asked. “Melui could grow up to be bitter and lonely, and it would be my fault!”

“Vildan, you do not have to carry this burden alone, and if you stop and think for a moment, you will see that.  But if you do not use this time to muster your strength, you will fail before you have even arrived home!

“The loss of Meássë and Narseg is a terrible thing, and of course you are in pain, but do not make things worse for yourself.  What you see as permanent now, might not be so.  You know Mistanâr will be cared for, as well as her foal; they will be safe and comfortable for the rest of their lives.  How do you know you will never see them again?

“As to the friends you have made in the North, our comrades will be returning in a month, and they will undoubtedly bring letters from those who did not get a chance to say farewell.” Elladan’s eyes softened. “The whole purpose of the Exchange Program is to help build lifelong friendships, and though they might be far away, are they truly lost to you forever?” 

Vildan’s eyes were drawn to the fire, mesmerized by the yellow and orange flames licking the underside of the log Elladan had just tossed onto it.  “You are right, of course.  I apologize for yelling.” He winced, embarrassed. “I feel so…”

“You are miserable and terrified,” his friend said, “and I would feel the same if it were me.”

“I would rather be angry; it is easier to endure than despair.”  He ran his hands through his hair with a groan.  “How do I get through this, Elladan?”

“How does anyone?” Elladan shrugged with a small smile.  “By concentrating only on what is before you and taking things a step at a time.  And, by allowing others to help you,” he gave Vildan a pointed look. “Ae, mellon vuin nîn,  I know you feel like you have lost everything now, but that is just the shock and fear.  It seems impossible to see your way past these sorrows, now,  but if you look to your left and to your right, you will see friends willing to walk this journey with you.” 

After a moment, Elladan cautiously approached another subject.  “I know Tauriel has come to mean more to you than you expected, and things were developing between you two, but there is nothing to say it has to end—"

“Please!” Vildan’s eyes shut and he held up his hand.  “I cannot bear to think of that, just now.”

“But why do you behave as if all hope is gone, Mellon?”  Elladan moved a little closer to him.

“I do not have it in me to hope,” he heaved a sigh. 

“Do you love Tauriel?” Elladan asked.    

“I… think I started to.”

A quizzical eyebrow arched over Elladan’s right eye.

“All right; yes, I do,” he scowled.  “Are you happy now?”

“Spoken like Lord Percy himself,” the Elf smirked.  “Do you think she grew to love you?”

“I am not sure.  It seemed best to take things slow,” he laughed wryly. “I thought we had plenty of time.”  He moved around to sit cross-legged, taking comfort in the warmth from the fire.  “Is it cowardly to say I was glad I did not have to tell her goodbye personally?”

“Not at all.  I saw how distraught you were to leave Mistanâr behind.  How much more to say farewell to the possibility of a life you had just begun to envision?”

“I wrote to Meássë in June,” Vildan’s eyes burned, and he waved his hand in front of his face, pretending it was from the smoke. “I told her about Tauriel,” he licked his lips.  “I wanted to ask her for advice.”

Elladan said nothing but tilted his head and waited.

“I planned to ask Lord Thranduil for permission to court Tauriel, but I could not consider such a thing without Meássë’s blessing.”  His voice grew rough.  “I do not know if she received it, and now…I will never know what her answer would have been.”

“I am sure Meássë was pleased,” a comforting hand settled on Vildan’s forearm.  “All she ever wanted for you was love and happiness.”

“She always looked out for me,” his eyes filled.  “She was as a second Naneth to me, and after my parents sailed, it was just the two of us.  Then she married Narseg and Melui was born, but she never let go of me.  Oh, the arguments we had!”  Vildan huffed a small laugh as he swiped his cheeks.  “I did not like to be bossed by her, especially after I was promoted to the Vanguard.  Now, I think that is what I will miss the most.”

Rivendell, 6^th of September 2945 T.A.

The leaves on the trees outside Vildan’s window were still green, though their blooms were long past.  He slowly rose to the surface of wakefulness, instinctively turning his face toward the light as his eyes fluttered open.  The air was crisp and fresh like Lothlórien, but the ever-present rushing of the Brunien River reminded him of where he was. 

He was home, and for the briefest of moments his heart lifted at the familiar sight of the intricately carved beams, dark against the white plaster of the high vaulted ceiling.  For a brief moment, he was at peace and was anxious to get up and see his family—

Memories all he had lost slammed into him, crushing the air out of his lungs.  The idea of getting out of bed to face the day, even the next hour, seemed impossible.  He lifted a hand to his chest and massaged it, hoping to ease the physical pain. 

A soft tap on the door interrupted his musings. Still clutching his chest, he sat up.

“Neledâf,” he called, smoothing back the hair that stuck to his face.

.

“Aur galu,” Lindir entered the room carrying a tray with a pleasant smile.  “Lord Elladan has sent you some breakfast.”

The Aide and Counselor was not nearly as old as Lord Elrond, nor Lord Erestor.  Lindir began his career under the Archivist and Librarian, and the staff of the House of Elrond were impressed with his sharp eye for detail, his quick thinking, and his ability to organize and anticipate his master’s needs. 

When Lord Rimion, who had previously served as Elrond’s assistant, decided to sail, Erestor was approached with an offer to take his place.  The Archivist, however, had just been wed to Commander Glorfindel and wanted to place his energies on the job he had loved for five millennia, and the husband he had loved for two. 

“Nay, My Lord," Erestor said with regret. “I would do you a disservice.  The better choice would be young Lindir, who has done remarkably well with the work I give him, yet I can see he grows increasingly bored and needs more of a challenge.  In short, the work I give him is far beneath his abilities, and he can be easily replaced.

So, the assistant was summoned to meet with the Lord of Imladris, and after a long interview, it was done, and neither the Elrond nor Lindir has regretted it since.

“I appreciate the gesture,” Vildan threw the covers back and crawled out of bed, “but I can go to the Dining Hall—”

“And you will, starting tomorrow morning,” “But today, you are to eat everything on this tray.”

“I will try,” Vildan said, “though where I am supposed to find any sort of appetite is beyond me, at the moment.”

“That is what we are here for,” Lindir’s tone was firm as he placed the tray on the table, poured out a hot cup of tea and handed it to him.  “Now, drink up, while I butter your sweetbread.” He picked up the bread and gathered some butter with the knife.”

“And if I do not cannot eat it?”

“What do you think?” Elrond’s Aide smiled impishly as he handed him the bread and a napkin.

Vildan took the bread gestured to the other chair. “Since you are staying, would you care to join me?”

“I have eaten, but I will sit.”  Lindir pulled out the chair and sat.  “You look a bit more rested than you did yesterday.  Which is not saying much.”

“Another fact you will report to Lord Elrond?”

“Are my motives that transparent?” Lindir grinned.  “My Lord tells me you will move to your permanent quarters today.”

“I hope it will be with my niece,” Vildan took a long drink and another bite. “I hardly remember where Elladan brought me last night.”  He stopped, worried.  “I was not close enough for her to hear me, was I?”

“Worry not: your weeping did not disturb Tithen Melui in the slightest.  You are sitting in  the East Wing, near Elladan’s rooms, so he could keep watch over you.” Lindir told him. “You were in quite a state when they brought you back from the graves last evening, and he wanted to give you some privacy.  ”

He let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.  “Thank you.”

“Trust me, Mellon,” Lindir’s smile was encouraging.  “We all understand.”

As Vildan finished his bread and sliced up his fruit, he noticed the Aide was giving him an expectant look.  “Have I done something wrong?”

“Not at all.  I was not just sent here to give you breakfast, although from the looks of you I should have brought twice as much,” his lips curved into a sad smile. 

“Lindir,” he pushed away his plate.  “Of everyone in Imladris, no one observes more than you, and no one is more discreet.  Is there anything you can tell me?”

“If it will help, though Laniër would know much more.” the Elf crossed his legs and settled his hands in his lap.  “You know she comes to stay at your sister’s home when Meássë and Narseg must travel for work.”

“The Ellyth have always been friends,” Vildan said.  “They both used to boss me around when I was young."

“You needed ‘bossing,” if memory serves,” Lindir said.  “Laniër was a spirited, adventurous child herself, and was highly skilled in weaponry.  I was always surprised she did not join Lord Elrond’s military, but when Meássë entered the service of the Lady Celebrian, Laniër joined her.”

“All the better to protect the Lady, I suppose.” Vildan said.  “They did everything together, or so my parents always told me.  Laniër had a sister, yes?  Who wore her hair up, instead of down?”

“You are referring to Laniër’s cousin, Lusiël?  The three of them were friends as children.  They all served as handmaidens to Lady Celebrian, you know."

"I remember."

"After the Lady sailed, Laniër and Meássë remained close, as their occupations complimented each other.  Lusiël works with the tapestries in Lord Erestor’s libraries, so they do not see as much of each other as I am sure they would like.”

“The library is one place I would never visit unless I had to,” he made a face.

“A fact of which your parents despaired, during your schooling,” the Aide said.

Vildan bit his lip and mustered the courage to ask the question: “What happened to my niece, Lindir?”

“Melui spent most of the summer playing in the gardens and was perfectly fine, as many will attest to, both before her parents left, and for most of the time while they were gone.”

“She always loved the flowers.”

 “She and I were friends, you know.  Her mother used to help her pick flowers to bring to me.   Her little fists would often crush the petals, and her bouquets were as likely to be made up of weeds, as not,” his eyes lowered with a fond smile, “but that did not matter.  She liked to help me select the perfect vase to put next to my desk…  Oh!” His eyes lifted and met Vildan’s.  “Melui finally managed to climb up to Estel’s tree house just before her parents left.”

“She did?” Vildan’s face lit up.  “But her legs are not long enough!”

“They are still too short, but she somehow managed to stretch her arms up and reach the steps on the ladder and pull herself up, but alas, she did not know how to get down.  Melui had been missing for over an hour; no one thought to look up there except Estel, who climbed up and found her sleeping.”   

“Meássë must have been frantic.”

She was, but Narseg was thrilled.  Melui was a bold, curious child,” Lindir told him, “and I have to believe she will be so again.”

 “What happened to her?” he asked again.

“Melui was perfectly fine the day of the thirty-first of July.  We saw her and Laniër in the Dining Hall, and after, Estel sat down with her and some of the other Elflings and read to them during the evening music.  Several hours later, Laniër ran to Lord Elrond’s rooms carrying the child, saying she woke up screaming, and then… she is in the state you have seen.  It is as if…” he shrugged,  “a light inside her just... went out.”

Vildan ignored the lump of fear in his breast.  “Could it be some sort of spell?”

“If Lord Elrond suspects that, he has not spoken of it to me,” Lindir said carefully.  “I caution you not to speculate as to the cause, unless it is in the confines of his study.”

“Go on.”

“Melui spent the next few days in our infirmary, and we kept her under careful watch.  She did not speak, nor will she even look anyone in the eye.” Lindir then asked,  “You have seen Laniër?”

“Just for a moment.  I hope to speak to her at length today. How is she taking all this?”

“Not well, but her focus on the child distracts her.  There is something you need to know,” Lindir leaned forward.  “We have noticed that Melui grows a bit agitated if Laniër is not with her.”

“That seems natural.  I was gone, and she had no one else,” Vildan said sadly.  He threw down his napkin and rose.  “I cannot eat any more. Thank you for breakfast, but I need to get ready.”

“Of course.” Lindir stood and gathered the dishes back onto the tray.  “Elladan will meet you here in a half-hour and will accompany you to see Tithen Melui.”

“Is that necessary?”

“Lord Elrond wants the child examined daily, and Elladan will be taking over temporarily as Melui’s Healer.  He also wants to make sure you are well.”

“I do not need looking after,” Vildan snorted impatiently.  “I simply need to help my niece get well.”

“Yes, you do,” Lindir’s response was firm, “because yes; you do.”

In his bathing room, remnants of the lavender and Athelas from last evening’s bath still hung in the air.  Vildan closed his eyes and allowed the fragrances to seep into his skin, his hair, and his lungs, but it did little to soothe the swirl of butterflies that had suddenly taken up residence in his stomach.  After washing his face, cleaning his teeth and tying his hair into his customary knot at the back of his head, he glanced at himself in the small looking glass. “Stop stalling,” he said to the nervous face that stared back at him. “You are as ready as you will ever be.”

Vildan dressed in a plain burgundy tunic, brown leggings and black boots that came almost to his knees.  He was just closing the door to his temporary quarters when Elladan stuck his head around the corner at the end of the hall.

“Are you ready, Mellon?”

“No,” Vildan ran his damp hands down the front of his tunic, “but I am here.” He averted his eyes to avoid Elladan’s scrutiny.  “Stop worrying,” he grunted.

“I did not say anything.”

“You do not need to,” Vildan said. 

“You still look tired.”

“I have had plenty of sleep.”

“Those circles under your eyes tell a different tale.”

“I am just nervous,” he waved dismissively, then changed the subject. “Do you think Melui knew I was there, yesterday?”

“We will soon find out.” Elladan said.  “Come on.”

Their soft boots made little sound on the smooth floors of Elrond’s halls, causing the son of Elrond to remark, “Would you believe Imladris seems almost too quiet after a year in the North?”

“Dale was noisy.”

“Even Lord Thranduil’s palace was full of chatter, thanks to all the foster-children.  I liked it.  Though no one could miss Estel when he is in the area.”

“Have you seen him yet?”

“No, but I plan to, later today.”

“I know what you are doing,” Vildan said.

“I know you know,” Elladan nudged him with his shoulder.  “Is it working?”

“No,” he admitted.  “I am still nervous.”

“Oh.  What would you like to talk about?”

Vildan didn’t respond, but continued walking, his head spinning with thoughts and ideas and fears and memories.  When Elladan began to hum, he could take no more, and stopped in his tracks.  “Would you please have some consideration?” he snapped, jabbing his elbow into Elladan’s side.  “I need to figure out how to get Melui through all this, and I have no idea where to start!  If you must make noise, at least let it be something constructive!”

“Mellon nîn,” Elladan turned to him and grasped both of his shoulders.  “Do you really want to walk into that room with that look on your face?”

Vildan’s mouth fell open, ready to throw out a crushing reply, when it dawned on him what his friend was doing, and his cheeks warmed with shame.  Elladan wasn’t refusing to take the situation seriously at all.  He was one of the very few who completely understood not only what Vildan was feeling, not only how painful this was, but he was one of the few Elves who knew how to help.  

Just four centuries ago, Elladan’s mother had been captured and tortured by a band of Orcs. This son of Elrond, along with his brother, had found Lady Celebrian chained to the wall of a cave, naked, cold, and nearly insane with grief at the humiliations forced upon her. 1

After weeks of waiting, of constantly beseeching the Valar for help, the silver bells Imladris announced the rescue party’s arrival.   With relief and optimism springing into the hearts of every Elf in the vicinity, they dropped what they were doing, picked up the hems of their robes and ran to the Courtyard to greet their beloved Lady and welcome her home. 

But there were no cries of triumph.  The thin, frail Elleth, wrapped in thick wool blankets up to her chin was barely recognizable.  The long, shiny hair that would glisten in near-white waves under Arien’s Sun, that would reflect the silver of Tilion’s Moon at night, was now dirty and dull, as was her once-glowing complexion, both as grey as Elladan’s horse.

And no one in that Courtyard could forget Lady Celebrian’s murky eyes that looked longingly to the West.  No one could forget Lord Elrond’s strangled scream when he rushed down from the dais to his wife, took her from their son’s arms and nestled her face into his neck as he carried her to the Healing Halls, his shoulders shaking with sobs.  No one could forget the despondency in the faces of the Sons of Elrond as they followed, tears streaming down their faces, their bodies stooped with guilt.

Jubilation was instantly transformed into horror, and those that had gathered were unwelcome intruders in an intimate tragedy.  They slinked away, eyes lowered, knowing what even Lord Elrond was not ready to accept just then: Celebrian, the Lady of Imladris, was lost to them forever, and was not long for this world.

After Celebrian sailed, many speculated whether Elrond might also be forced to sail, and perhaps he would have, if not for his children.  Arwen didn’t leave his side for many years and was his support and solace, while he struggled to regain his strength.  During that time, the twins eased Elrond’s burdens by taking over the running of the Last Homely House and all the surrounding lands of Imladris.  

When the danger had passed, Elladan and Elrohir made it their mission to keep Elrond from falling into melancholy.  They poked and prodded at their careworn Adar until his lips curved upward into a small smile.  They refused to allow Elrond to become blind and deaf to the beauty of the flowers and the birds that sang in his garden.  They told funny stories, played childish pranks on poor Lindir, Erestor, and even Lady Arwen until at last a laugh erupted from Elrond’s chest. 

Few remembered the twins’ private struggle, but Vildan did.  Elladan and Elrohir mostly confided in each other, bonded as only twins can be, but occasionally he would come upon one or both of them wiping away surreptitious tears, or murmuring consolations to each other in rough voices.

And on this morning, Vildan recalled all those things, and understood that Elladan was right.  He needed to set aside his own anxiety, to project nothing but strength and hope to Melui, or she might not feel safe enough to see past her prison.

Elladan’s brows drew together.  “Are you well?”

“I think I will be,” Vildan gave his friend a tremulous smile. 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Aur galu – Good morning

Neledâf – Come in

Tithen Melui – Little Melui (Little Sweet)

NOTES:

[1] “In T.A. 2509, on a trip to Lórien to visit her parents, she was waylaid by Orcs of the Misty Mountains in the Redhorn Pass of the Misty Mountains. She was captured and tormented, receiving a poisoned wound. Her sons rescued her, and she was physically healed by Elrond, but she never fully recovered in mind or spirit, and no longer wished to stay in Middle-earth. She left for the Grey Havens and passed over the Great Sea the following year.”   http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Celebrian

Chapter Text

Finally! 

The dishes were in the dishwasher, the counters were clean, a load of darks were agitating in the washing machine.  Brunhilda had had her breakfast, and was properly praised when she did her business in the yard (#1 and #2!), and I finally settled in front of my laptop to write another chapter.

It takes some effort to leave reality and enter the world of my imagination, you know.  I’d love to just drop into my version of Middle Earth and continue my chronicle of all the characters, both Canon and Original and all beloved, but it just doesn’t work that way.

Take a deep breath and close my eyes…  Focus…  Focus…

Shit.  Forgot my coffee.  

I set aside my lap desk, put my +1.50 computer glasses on the bedside washstand, hauled my arse up.

Here we go again. 

In through the nose counting to five, exhale to six, and think of Dale.  The Great Hall, the Market, Adila’s Coffee Café…

Ah, here they are:  Characters in Dale are going about their everyday business, greeting each other with friendly smiles and waves…  

And there's Bard, who is exiting the Throne Room of his Castle. 

“He takes off his plain gold coronet, move his neck back and forth to loosen the muscles and stretches his back a bit.  A good day’s work, he thought, but he’s glad it’s over.  Bard glances toward the ceiling and the floor above.  A slow, sly smile lifts one corner of his mouth—"

“OW!!” I yelped. The puppy pounced on my feet and sank her teeth into my big toe.  “Here, Brunney,” I pick up a one of her Bully Sticks and toss it away.  “Go get it!”

Deep breaths, and here we go again…

“Thranduil looked up from his book and smiled at Bard who entered their chambers with a gleam in his eye.

‘How was Court today?’ the Elvenking asked, his voice carefully neutral.  ‘You look weary, Meleth nin.”

‘Not that weary.’  The Bowman tossed his circlet on his dresser and strode over to Thranduil’s chair. ‘I’ve waited all day to get back at you for that stunt you pulled this morning.’

The Elf feigned ignorance.  ‘What stunt?’

‘So that wasn’t your hand that teased my cock under the table in the conference room this morning?’ Bard quirked his brow.  ‘The one that made me hard enough to pound nails.”

Thranduil snickered as he gazed upon him through heavy-lidded eyes.  ‘Perhaps it was… Percy?’

Bard ran his hands up the Elvenking’s leggings, and reached for the lacings—

“Yip!” barked Brunhilda.  The cat spit and hissed at her.

“No, baby, the cat is not a chew toy,” I said and grabbed her favorite stuffed duck and squeaked it.  “Mommy really has to get this done.  Can’t you just lie down for a while?”

“Yip!  Yap!  Yip!” she got hold of my duvet and shook it in her teeth. 

“Bruni— “ A hand grabbed my shoulder and I screamed.

It was Bard, and he was trying to surreptitiously rearrange himself.  “Don’t scare me like that!” I yelped, clutching my chest.

“Did you have to stop that passage there?  Thranduil and I were just about to—”

 “I know what you were just about to, and I’m trying, but she’s just a baby, you know.  It’s like living with a two-year-old again!”

The King of Dale pursed his mouth.  “What if you get her another toy?”

“Besides six dozen she already has?” I waved my hand over the floor of my bedroom, littered with squeakies, chewies, and stuffies.  “There’s Big Duck, Baby Duck, Rocky Racoon, Skunky, Pink Elephant…”

“’Skunky?’” he made a face.  “Really?”

“Think you can do better? Knock yourself out.” 

Bard picked up the ball and shook it.  “This has something in it.”

“That’s a Treat Ball.  You put kibble in it and let them roll it around to make it pop out one piece at a time.”

“There you go, then.  Here, mutt,” he wheedled.  “Come on, love; let’s leave your mother be for a while so she can get us off—er, get some work done, yeah?”

Brunhilda barked ran over to lick Bard’s fingers.  He put her on the floor and tossed treat ball out of the room.  The puppy barked with delight and ran after it.

“Problem solved.  Now,” he said and made a rolling gesture with his finger, “chop-chop!”  He dashed back to wherever he came from.

“Bard reached for the lacings of Thranduil’s breeches and slowly, seductively untied the strings.  The Elf bit his lower lip, as Bard opened the fabric and reached for his husband’s already rigid cock…

“Ruff!  Ruff!  Ruff!”

“Oh my God what now?” I grit my teeth. She zoomed into the room, with the shoulder strap to one of my bras in her teeth.  She gave me a look of triumph as the rest of the garment trailed behind her.  “Give me that!”

After a surprisingly challenging game of Tug of War, I wrestled it out of her clutches and check the laundry hamper.  Just as I suspected: she’d knocked it over again and spread the undies all over the place.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.  I grab the cast-iron doorstop from the mud room and after I clean up the mess, closed the lid to the hamper I put the weight on top.  So there.

Thranduil threw his head back and groaned.  ‘I have been longing for you to do that,’ he breathed. ‘I love how you touch me, Meleth nîn.”

‘You mean like this?’  Bard lifted his rigid member out of the layers of fabric and leaned down to take it into his mouth—

Retching.  From the living room.

“Brunhilda?  Are you okay?”  I set the tray aside and stumble up and into the living room, just in time to see the pup cough up something unspeakable on carpet.

“Oh, no!”  I grabbed her and rush her outside.  “Finish whatever you’re doing out here,” I cried, and raced back into the house and grabbed cleaning brush and the 64 oz. jug of industrial strength pet stain remover.  I’m scrubbing away on my hands and knees when a baritone voice boomed in my ear.

“Wenderful!  I really must protest!  Bard was just about to—”

“I know!” I dropped the brush and blotted things up with paper towels.  “I understand how frustrating this must be, Thranduil—”

“Frustrating does not begin to describe it!” he spat. “My husband and I cannot just put our Gwîbs on ‘Pause’ while you go running off in all different directions!”  He waved a finger in my face.  “Then you come back and expect us to pick up where we left off?  It is physically impossible!”

“You think this is easy for me?” 

“For you?” he yelled.  “We are the ones who are supposed to stay aroused!  Do you have any idea how difficult that is?  Why all these disruptions?”

“It’s called Real Life,” I got to my feet.  “And you’re being unfair.  Every time I write the two of you having sex, I try to make it genuine and exciting for you, don’t I?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“What am I supposed to do?  I can’t help that Brunhilda is still a baby and needs a lot of attention.”  I put the cleaning supplies under the sink and opened the back door to let the puppy in.  Brunhilda barked with joy and wagged her hairy tail at the Elvenking.

Thranduil picked the brown-and-white bundle fur up and stroked her head.  Brunney wiggled into him and tried to nip at his chin.  “Does her stomach still upset her?”

“I don’t think so.  My friends were sneaking her bits of pepperoni last night, so I was expecting this.”

The Elvenking’s face softened and he smiled at her.  “She is sweet,” he said.  “I can see why you enjoy— Amarth faeg!”  He cursed and held her out at arm’s length and glared at me.  “This creature  just emptied her bladder all over my new robes!” 

“Oh, well.  I’ll just, er,” I stammered as I pointed to my room. “Get back to.  Um.” I turned and ran for my life.

“But what am I supposed to do with this animal?  Wenderful?” he called to my retreating back. “Wenderful, you get back here this instant!”

And that’s when I woke up…

"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched—they must be felt with the heart."

– Helen Keller

Rivendell, 6^th of September 2945 T.A.

Melui Narsegiel was a truly beautiful child.

Of course, all children are exceptional to their parents, not to mention doting uncles, but she really was stunning.  Vildan had to doubt that King Thranduil, an accomplished portraitist, would take one look at that long white/blonde hair, those striking light grey eyes, and soon after, Melui would be immortalized in an ornate frame, depicting her in a field of long grass, the wind whipping that spun gold into the air as she bent to pluck a daisy or some other tall flower.

Her coloring reminded him of Elénaril, one of the Healers from Dale (who was as light as her husband, Ermon, was dark) and, of course, the Elvenking himself, but there the similarities ended.  Melui’s features as a younger, purer version of her mother, and the only glimpse Vildan would ever have of Meássë as a child.   

She was sitting on the thick rug of the sitting room, the folds of her blue dress surrounding her like the petals of the morning glories that grew just outside the window.  A small pile of toys lay in a tempting pile at her knee but went unnoticed.  Vildan’s heart clenched when he recognized the pair of brightly-painted wooden horses he had given Melui for her tenth-begetting day.  They lay next to some stuffed animals and a colorful knitted ball.

“Dailên,” Vildan used his special name for her as he sat on the floor in front of her.  “Good morning, Little Beauty; I have missed you, and I have come home to take care of you.  Do you not have a smile for your Tôrano Vida?” He followed Elladan’s suggestion and was cheerful and engaging, and only his fingers, laced together in his lap to quell the impulse to reach for her, gave him away.

“Melui,” Laniër rubbed her upper back gently.  “You love your Uncle Vildan, yes?  Can you wish him Bain-Aur?”

The child turned her head in his direction, but did not meet his eyes, focusing instead on his fingers.  Vildan released his hands from their nervous clench, and slowly held one out, palm up, as an invitation.

“Does she even know I am here?” he asked Laniër softly. “Do you think she recognizes me?”

“I wish I could tell you, Mellon,” she gave him a sad smile.  “At first, she was completely oblivious to her surroundings.  Lord Elrond tried a few spells to help her come out of her shell, which was only partially successful.”

“I do not see any success.” Vildan’s eyes remained on his niece. 

“We can discuss the details later, in private,” Elladan nudged him.  “What did we talk about?”

Vildan nodded, and adopting a cheerful tone, began to speak to his niece the way he always would.  His hand was still held out in invitation.  “You love to hold my hand when I take you to the river, Dailên.  Do you remember the day we were at the Ford of Bruinen and I showed you how to skip rocks across the water?  You clapped your hands and said, ‘Goltho nin, Tôrano Vida, goltho nin!”  He scooted a little closer.  “I put my hand over yours and showed you how to hold the stone sideways, and you refused to give up until you could do it all by yourself!  Ai, your Nana was not pleased when we were late for your supper, but—”

At the mention of her mother, Melui lifted her chin slightly and blinked a few times. 

“Melui,” he said gently.  “Can you take my hand?”

Slowly, the child raised her arm and rested her tiny hand lightly in his.  Vildan kept his palm flat, not wanting to rush her. “Mae garnen!” he grinned.  He continued to speak softly as he oh-so-slowly closed his fingers around hers.  The child’s flesh wasn’t cold, but wasn’t warm, either.  Did Elrond know this?  Dozens of questions came to mind, but he pushed them aside and poured all his energy, all his love into that touch, praying to Queen Elbereth that she might feel a little of it.

“Gi melin, Dailên nîn,” he swallowed down a painful lump.  “I will take care of you, Melui.  You do not need to be afraid; we will all keep you safe, do you understand?  I will never leave you and will always, always protect you.”  With his left hand, he lightly stroked her hair and said, “I am here now,” but the movement was too much.  The Elfling jerked her head away and pulled her hand from his, though her face remained impassive.

Was it foolish to wonder of his promises might break down whatever is holding this child prisoner? Perhaps, but there was still a thread of hope, and Vildan refused to

“Perhaps we might try a book?” Laniër picked up a picture book from the small stack near the toy box and handed it to him.  “This is her current favorite, and she especially liked it – likes it,” she corrected herself, “when I make the animal noises.”

Vildan moved to sit beside her and held the book so she could see it.  Elladan and Laniër discreetly moved to the table and spoke quietly together while he read it to his niece.  And he read it again, making sure to imitate the ducks, geese, dogs, cats, horses, and all the other animals listed in the book.  It was a bit dicey when he tried to figure out what an Oliphant sounded like, but he made his best guess. 

“Do you still put your finger in your mouth when someone reads to you?” he made a silly face and sucked on the tip of his forefinger.  “Like this, do you not remember, Melui?  I liked to tease you about it, but can I tell you a secret?”  He leaned down and whispered into her little ear.  “I think it is adorable.”

When Vildan came to the last page, he set the book aside and grabbed a couple more.  He read to her for over an hour, pointing out the pictures like he had always done, pretending that all was as it should be.  Pretending that his heart wasn’t breaking.

Laniër approached and placed a hand on his upper back.  “It might not seem like she is responding, but she knows it is you.”

“How can you be sure?” he craned his head to meet her dark eyes. 

She smiled.  “Melui has always worshipped you, Mellon nîn.  If anyone can help her, you can.”

“I need to examine her now.”  Elladan came over and squatted down next to the child.  “Have you thought about what you want to do with Meássë’s house?”

“I have not thought that far ahead.” Vildan rose to his feet and urged Laniër into the hallway.  When he shut the door, he asked, “What brought you two to Elrond’s Halls?”

“The night Melui,” she struggled for the right words, “‘fell ill,’ she woke up screaming and ran out of the house and into the street before I could stop her.  Praise Varda a couple of guards happened to be nearby and caught her before she hurt herself.”

“Which guard?”

“I think it was Lieutenant Thenin, one of King Thranduil’s Guardians. ^[1]   He was returning to his rooms after his shift with Eílíent, his wife.”

Vildan’s forehead grew tense.  “What did Melui say?”

“Nothing.  She was hysterical. We were afraid she had somehow injured herself and we rushed her to Lord Elrond.” Laniër swallowed. “It was only a few days later that we learned that Melui’s parents had been killed.  I am so sorry.”

His brows drew together in confusion, “I thought she was struck dumb.”

“She has not spoken a word since that night, but when she is upset, she thrashes her limbs and makes guttural noises,” Laniër’s eyes filled as she laid her hand on his arm.  “You must prepare yourself, Mellon.”

“But why—"

A series of wordless shrieks were muffled by the solid wood.  “Melui, Pinig, I am not trying to hurt you—”    The noises grew louder accompanied by a series of soft thumps against. The door.

Vildan grabbed the knob and swung it wide.  “What happened?”  he demanded.

“I am sorry, Mellon.” Elladan jumped to his feet and stood before them.  “The minute you two were out of her sight, she became frantic.” 

Melui’s mouth hung open in distress, and though she didn’t meet his eyes, a guttural, animalistic moan escaped her lips as she rushed in between him and Laniër.  His memories looked for her little face to turn upward with a big smile and hold out her arms, asking to be picked up.  She did neither.  Nor did she try to meet his eyes, but least she grew silent.

“This is what I was talking about,” Laniër murmured.  “She does not seem to do well if I am not present, so Lord Elrond had my bed moved into her room, to soothe her at night.”

“But you cannot be expected to be with her every minute!”

“Meássë was my dearest friend, and I am fond of Melui,” Laniër assured him.  “It is no sacrifice.”

“It is all right, Dailên,” Vildan stroked Melui’s head, and when she didn’t pull away, a thin strand of hope pierced his fëa.  “Tôrano Vida is here.”

“I am going to move my things here today,” he lifted his gaze to meet her dark, pensive eyes, “but I think she will need us both.  Laniër, I know it is a lot to ask, but could you stay with us, at least for a while until she gets used to me again?”

The Elleth’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Of course, I will,” she said with a wide smile. 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Bain-Aur – Good morning

Dailên – “Little Beauty,” Vildan’s nickname for his niece, Melui.

Goltho nin, Tôrano Vida! – Teach me, Uncle Vida! 

Tôrano Vida – Uncle Vildan (Melui couldn’t pronounce his name fully when she learned to talk, and the name Vida stuck).

NOTES:

[1] Broken Wings, Ch. 3:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/48867101

Chapter Text

"All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt."

- Charles M. Schulz

13^th of September 2945 T.A.

“You seem restless this morning,” Laniër observed, as she held a forkful of eggs in front of Melui’s mouth.  “Here you are, gwinnig.” She lifted the child’s hand, placed it on the handle, and helped her put it in her mouth. “That was tasty, yes?”  she smiled.

“I suppose I am, rather,” Vildan said as he lifted his teacup to take a sip.  “A Vanguard’s days is filled with activity: weapons drills, patrolling, riding, and such.”  He stroked Melui’s head and forced a smile. “I keep expecting her to run off and get into something.”

“I know,” Laniër’s eyes grew sad.  “Do you need to take some time for yourself?  Perhaps go riding, or take a walk in the forest?” 

The tablecloth under their breakfast dishes glowed a bright red under the morning sun, and small sparkles of light danced across the fabric as they lifted their glasses of juice. 

Vildan swallowed his lemon tea and picked up a roll.  “That is not a bad idea. Tell me; have you left Melui’s side since this all happened?”

After a moment of silence, she shook her head slightly.  “I have no reason to complain. I love Melui and want to do this for Meássë.”

“Still, we all need a change of pace, to rest our minds and regain our perspective.  Let us strike a bargain,” he said.  “We will all spend the morning outdoors, and you will take this afternoon off.  I am sure you want to spend a few hours in your own home?”

“It might be nice,” she admitted.  “I took Melui there once a week or so to take care of the dusting and pick up more clothes, so it is not neglected, but it would be nice to spend a few hours there.”

“Then it is settled.  Once Melui settles down for her afternoon nap, I want you to take the rest of the day.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, giving the Elfling a sidelong glance.  “I can—”

“No,” he said firmly.  “You have earned this.  I am grateful for your dedication, but I am here now, and Melui needs to learn to turn to me for her needs.”  He set down his fork and wiped the corners of his mouth.  “It is a pleasant day, and I would like for us to spend the morning outdoors. Some of the birds are preparing to fly south, and I would like to hear them before they leave.”

“I have an idea,” she brightened.  “You might want to walk through the Arnœdiad a Inglor?”

“I have not done that exercise in years,” he mused, “and the need for it has never been greater.” He smiled.  “Thank you for suggesting it.”

Once breakfast was done, and Melui dressed for the day, he kissed Melui’s cheek, left the apartment and wandered outdoors.  The leaves were beginning to turn on the trees, the summer flowers were devoid of blossoms, making way for their autumn friends: Sweet Alyssum, Asters in both lavender and pink, the sturdy Marigolds in gold and maroon, and of course, Chrysanthemums in every shade.  Bees hovered over the flowers seeking pollen and nectar to take back to their colonies in the hives just outside the city. 

“Look, Melui!” Laniër raised her finger skyward as geese flew overhead in their customary V formation.  “Listen to them!  They are looking forward to their winter home, yes?”

Vildan swallowed hard, grateful for the discipline of his military training to drive out any hint of desperation.  “Do not worry, Dailên; not every bird leaves us.  We still have the Owls, the Cardinals, and the Jays to entertain us.  I will ask Lord Elrond if we can place a bird feeder outside our window so you can watch for them.  Will that not be fun?”

 “What a wonderful idea!” Laniër squeezed Melui’s hand, as they walked.  “Here we are!” she said cheerily as they reached the entrance to the tall shrubs.  “I could stay here with her, Vildan, while you take your turn and go after myself.”

“I think we could do it together." Vildan reached down and took his niece’s hand.  "Who knows?  Melui might receive some benefit from it.”

“I hope so, Mellon.”

Inglor’s Labyrinth, as the residents of Imladris call it, Arnœdiad a Inglor, was a replica of the original garden in Valinor built by Gildor’s father.  Several centuries ago, his son created the structure as both a tribute to his Adar, and as a means of comfort to those in Middle Earth who remembered the beauty of Aman under the light of the Two Trees.  It also held great benefits for those who had not; almost everyone who embarked upon this introspective journey came away feeling better.

The Labyrinth is not a maze, but rather a circular structure made up of tall, manicured shrubs, which gently guided its visitors through several curvilinear paths, the center of which held a small stone tower, surrounded by an ornate, winding staircase in the center, leading to the top where the participant knelt before the sculpture and revealed what was on his heart.  It has no blind alleys or dead ends as mazes have. The path twists and turns back on itself many times before reaching the center, but there is only one path. And, once at the center, there is only one way back out. [1]

“Let us begin,” Vildan said.  He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began the ancient, meditative song.  As they began the Hyamiëndë their voices harmonized as they slowly walked through the paths, and Vildan focused on the burdens that weighted upon his heart: the grief over Meássë’s and Narseg’s deaths, his sorrow at seeing his beautiful, impish niece so silent and unaware.  The three of them walked slowly in prayer, Vildan recalled his own failings and made ready to confess them and ask forgiveness, thereby cleansing his troubled fëa and hopefully  have Eru’s will be made clear to him.

Vildan’s eyes remained closed yet the song guided them around each sharp turn, and while he never let go of Melui’s hand, he could no longer feel her fingers in his.  The world and all its distractions slowly fell away, like dropping pebbles onto the stone path, until there was nothing but feel of his lungs rising and falling as he took in the fresh autumn air, and it was only then he understood what lay upon his heart, and what he needed to ask.

When he opened his eyes again, they were at the foot of the ornate staircase in the center.  He turned to meet Laniër’s eyes, who nodded at him to go first.

Breathe, focus, focus… 

As he climbed the narrow staircase, he thought of Melui, as she used to be: Golden hair flying behind her as she ran through the halls of Imladris, her delightful giggle when he picked her up and swung her over his head.  The joy he felt whenever she gazed up at him with her bright eyes and wide smile.

Once at the top of the tower, he studied the carved seated figure of the seated, ageless being.  Some think it Manwë, the Highest King of Eä and husband to Queen Varda.  Some who need the comfort of Eru Ilúvatar himself, imagine it is he who looks benevolently down upon the petitioner.

The Vanguard knelt before the statue raised his palms to the sky with closed eyes and an open heart.

Vildan cleared his mind and  inward, to that small part of himself where dwelled the purest love of for the Ilúvitar, who first bid the Ainur to sing the world into being.  His mind grew quiet, eager for any sort of response or inspiration that might come. 

An image came to him, but it wasn’t Melui. It was of a tall, red-haired Sylvan with green eyes and the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

His eyes flew open and he managed to cover his mouth before the sob escaped.   

Please help me, he begged silently.  I need the strength let go of what can never be.  To drive Tauriel from my heart and wish her a happy life with someone else.  I have to help Melui; she is my only concern now, but how can I do this when I feel so divided?

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Arnœdiad a Inglor – “The Labyrinth of Inglor” was an outdoor maze-like structure built by Gildor, in honor of his father, Inglor. 

Dailên – “Little Beauty,” Vildan’s nickname for his niece, Melui.

Gwinnig – my little maid

Hantalë Calyalé – (Quenya) “Path of Illumination” is the prayer to be sung as they slowly make their way out of the Labyrinth.  It is a song of thanks to Eru for helping the participant find his or her calm center, and, at times, has a plan to proceed with the situation or problem they might be experiencing.

Hyamië Surië – (Quenya) Lit. “Prayer of Seeking” is the song Elves sing as they enter the Labyrinth.  “Center” does not mean the center of the structure, but the center of one’s fëa.  It is a meditative exercise to help the participant lay down the outward (and inward) burdens, on the way inside.  When the Elf reaches the center, he or she climbs to the top of the tower, the kneel before the statue and beseech the  of one’s heart, to lay aside the cares that are weighing

NOTES:

[1] This is based on the Labyrinths we have here on earth.  More information can be found here:  https://www.verywellfit.com/walking-the-labyrinth-3435825#:~:text=Labyrinth%20walking%20is%20an%20ancient,a%20spiritual%20question%20or%20prayer.

And here:  https://www.guideposts.org/faith-and-prayer/prayer-stories/pray-effectively/4-ways-to-pray-in-a-labyrinth

Chapter Text

“Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold."

– Zelda Fitzgerald

Rivendell, 4^th of October 2945 T.A.

Elrond adjusted the shoulders of his robes before he descended the steps to the Courtyard.  A crowd had gathered to greet rest of the Vanguard who had served their exchange year in the North. 1

A month ago, Elrond and his people had a Feast to bid the Woodland Guardians a fond farewell.  All six had served him with distinction, and lifelong bonds of friendship had been formed.  Elrond had written to King Thranduil regularly, praising their discipline, character, and their skill as soldiers.

To no one’s surprise, not all the Guardians had chosen to return home.  Thenin, and his wife Eílíent, were two of Thranduil’s best Woodland Archers, but Commander Feren had been concerned about Eílíent for quite a while.

Twelve years ago, Eílíent’s parents had disappeared, and during the search, it was she who found their mutilated bodies trapped in the web of a giant spider.  Eager to add her to its meal, the creature launched itself toward Eílíent.  Out of pure reflex, she whipped an arrow out of her quiver and nocked it in her bow, sending it deep into one of its many eyes.  The spider shrieked in agony yet continued its charge.  Throwing her bow aside, she drew her sword.  Blinded by tears of grief and outrage, the blade swung in furious frenzy.  She sobbed and screamed obscenities, not caring in that moment whether she survived, as long as that deplorable monster was hacked into slices like a loaf of bread.   When she drew near, the spider took advantage of her grief-filled hysteria, and towered over her on his hindmost legs, ready to strike again.

Thenin’s heart was in his throat when he came upon the scene.  “Ai! Eílíent, daro! Baw! Baw!”  he cried.  He grabbed his wife around her waist and pulled her out of harm’s way as the rest of the Elves finished off the beast.

“Do not look, Mellon nîn.” He said, turning her away from the bodies of her parents and holding her to his chest.  The others hacked their way through the web and gently retrieved the remains of her Ada and Naneth and covered them with Eílíent’s and Thenin’s cloaks.  They formed a reverent circle, singing a prayer that Eílíent’s parents, who had been kind and generous in life, would swiftly find their way through Mando’s halls to enjoy the paradise of the Blessed Realm.

Since that day, Thenin’s beloved wife hadn’t been the same.  Her normal smile and easy laugh were replaced by eyes full of anger and a grim resolve to rid Thranduil’s kingdom of all foul creatures, single-handedly if need be.  Despite her husband’s concerns, Eílíent begged Feren for more tours of duty in the south, which he reluctantly granted, hoping she might get this out of her system.   It worked—but only to an extent.  Eílíent’s eyes began to lose the dull grey of grief and while they were never quite as bright, Thenin was glad to see the sky-blue of their depths once more.

But in October of 2941 T.A. Smaug the Terrible awoke and destroyed the city of Laketown, and Thranduil brought life-saving aid to the refugees in Dale, along with almost his entire army.  Then on 23^rd of November of that same year, the Elves and Men of Dale confronted the Company of Thorin for reasons explained elsewhere, and the ground shook.  Wereworms erupted from the soil, followed by legions of Orcs, sent by Sauron to destroy every last Man, Elf and Dwarf.

Thenin and Eílíent fought valiantly.  Feren commanded his troops to help bury the Men of Dale and aid the living wherever possible.  At the joint funeral service on the 29^th of November, Thenin again grew concerned.

When Elrond and his company were visiting last year, Thenin approached his Commander with the idea of an exchange year with Rivendell. Feren liked the suggestion, went to see the King, and off they went under Lt. Commander Mablung’s charge, the newly-promoted Captain Legron serving as his second, along with the brother-warriors Maglan and Morwë.

All the Guardians worked hard that year, spending their free time wandering through the woods and swimming in the rivers and pools.  They reveled in the clean air, the beautiful architecture and the peace that soothed their fëas and gave them strength. Mablung, the head of their visiting unit, often commented on the remarkable sense of irith within the borders of this land. When he went to Elrond to ask about it, the Elf-Lord merely smiled and thanked him for the compliment. [2]

Clearly, the Elf that benefited the most from her time in Rivendell was Eílíent, and Thenin was relieved to see her heart become as light and happy as when they first wed.  In July, the couple, with Mablung’s approval, approached Glorfindel and requested to make their home there.  The Elf-Warrior was thrilled to have them, pending their King’s approval, of course.  Elrond wrote to King Thranduil, who granted their request, though he reserved the right to call them back to defend the Woodland Realm should circumstances warrant it.  Then he wished the couple well and asked that they write regularly to apprise him of their progress.

The horns signaled the Vanguard’s arrival, the Gates opened, and Captain Rahlen entered, smiling, and waving to the crowd. His grey horse pranced into the courtyard, tossing his head with a delighted neigh, happy to be home again. Elrohir, came next, followed by Archers Kædhan and his sister Nyssiel.

Elrond bowed his head, extended them an Elven salute then raised his hands to bless them, saying, “Gwannas lûmh and; mae govannen a mâr maedol, Mellyn nîn. Trevaded varna?”   

Rahlen dismounted, as did the rest of the returning company, and went down on one knee in salute.  “De fael, hîr nîn.  We are happy to be home once more,” he said.  “The Valar blessed us as we encountered few difficulties on our journey.”

“Rise, Captain,” Elrond urged him, and motioned for the others to get to their feet.  “Once your horses have been seen to, take a few hours to rest.  There will be a Welcome Feast in my main dining hall at seven o’clock this evening.  You are dismissed.”

The formalities now over, the crowd broke into applause and cheers as they pressed forward to greet their friends.  With a satisfied smile, Elrond left the dais and returned to his study to wait.

In due time, as expected, there was a knock on his door, and his sons entered.  Elrond rose from his chair and met his Elrohir’s embrace.

“It is good to see you again, Ada,” Elrohir murmured.  “You are never far from my thoughts.”

“As you are always in mine.  More than you deserve, I think,” Elrond quipped with a sly smile.  “Imladris has been blessedly quiet in your absence.”

“Now that I am back, I will make sure things around here will be livelier!”  Elrohir grinned, as he stepped back to give his father the once-over.  “You look old,” he said, his mouth pulling into a lop-sided grin.

“I am old.”  Elrond’s eyebrow quirked with a half-smile.  “If that bothers you, I can always assign you and your brother to spend another two years with the Dúnedain, to spare your feelings.”

“Do not listen to him, Ada.” Elladan gave his brother a hard jab in the side.  “I am not going to get into trouble because of your big mouth.”

“Ai, naeg!” Elrohir cried and rubbed the spot.  “Our assignment with the Dúnedain was to protect King Thranduil’s son—”

“Enough, children,” the Elf-Lord motioned his sons to sit.  The smile slipped from his face and his countenance grew serious.  “I need to speak with the two of you.”

“I thought you might.” Elrohir’s jocularity had also fallen away. “There was much you did not say in your message about Narseg and Meássë’s murder.”

“He refused to tell me more until you arrived,” Elladan told his brother, with equal gravity.

“For good reason, which I will explain later.”  Elrond pulled a desk drawer open and pulled out a rectangular box.  After placing his palm upon it, he recited the spell and opened it to reveal a scroll tied with a red ribbon. 

“This is official report of Lord Gildor’s and Glorfindel’s observations at the scene, and my own after examining the bodies.  Aside from the three of us, you two are the others who will be given this information, do you understand?”

“Ma Adar,” they said, as one.

Elrond untied the parchment and read:

“Narseg and Meássë were found lying on their backs, pierced with arrows and weapons were scattered on the ground around them, dripping with black blood. 

“Five arrows—all of Orc-make—had been shot into Narseg’s chest and abdomen, as were the four protruding from Meássë’s body in the same area.  Narseg’s sword, his fighting dagger and both of his boot-knives were found on the ground nearby, smeared with black blood as was Meássë’s fighting knives.  The ground, stained with both Orc and Elven blood, had been torn up to suggest a great struggle had taken place, but no clear footprints could be identified, save for those of the victims. Narseg’s horn was smashed, Meássë’s clothing was torn to her undergarments indicating, the creatures had sexually assaulted her.”

Elrohir’s breath caught, and his eyes closed in horror. “Like Naneth,” he whispered. 

All the color drained from Elladan’s face, including his lips, as he grasped his brother’s arm. “Go on, Ada,” he murmured.

“Upon closer examination, however, Meássë’s body bore no bruises in her private areas, nor any sign of forcible rape—”

“Belain galu,” Elladan breathed.

“There is more, I am afraid,” Elrond said, and continued:

“Despite the apparent signs of struggle on the ground, neither body bore defensive wounds, nor even bruising.  We have carefully inspected their arms, hands and even checked under their fingernails, which were perfectly clean.  The wounds from the arrows in their abdomens had bled some, but not nearly as much as one would expect under normal circumstances. This raised our concerns that all might not be as it appeared. Our suspicions were confirmed when the bodies were turned onto their front.   There were no wounds along their legs, torsos or arms, but when we lifted their hair, we found arrow wounds at the base of their skulls—”

“Ai, gorgor!”  Elrohir straightened in his chair. 

“It would seem so,”  Elrond said grimly.

“—which appeared to have severed their spinal cords, thus preventing any sort of effort to protect themselves.  Once accomplished, it was obvious that the arrows had been removed and their bodies were positioned in the manner which Gildor’s party discovered them.  The state of these injuries leads us to believe they were alive while the attackers stood over them and shot their bellies full of the Orc-arrows, which explains the bleeding, and were probably aware on some level what was happening to them.  Mercifully, Narseg and Meássë were unable to feel the pain of the wounds from the Orc-arrows as they went in, but their lungs were no longer functioning to take in air.  Though you shall be the final judge as to the exact cause of death, we believe they slowly suffocated to death several minutes after they were shot.”

"This does not get any easier, no matter how many times I read it," Elrond lowered the paper and set it on the top of his desk and rubbed his forehead.  “They lay there helpless, forced to watch their own murder take place.”

“Natho mhen, Bereth Varda mhuin,” Elladan whispered roughly.

“I do not understand how this could have happened!”  Elrohir said angrily.  “How could they have been separated from the group in the first place?  Narseg was a talented soldier; surely, he would have smelled Orcs in the area, and he would have heard the movements of Men, even if they were of the Dúnedain!”

“According to this report,” Elrond’s finger tapped the parchment, “the angle of the wounds in their necks had a downward trajectory, meaning—”

“The killer—or killers—were waiting for them in the trees,” Elladan said.

“Correct.  And there is more; perhaps the most important finding of all.” Elrond reached into the drawer of his desk and took out a sealed envelope.  “Once again, I order you not to reveal what you are about to see, is that clear?” 

“Of course, Ada.” Elladan’s brow creased in confusion.  

“Not even to Vildan,” Elrond said.  “Especially not to Vildan.”

“Why?” Elrohir was taken aback.  “Surely—"

“No!” Elrond’s eyes blazed. “If he were made aware of these details right now, he would spend all his energies hunting for those responsible.”

“One can hardly blame him,” Elrohir’s mouth thinned dourly.  “I would not tolerate staying put while others did my duty.”

“He must stay with Melui and protect her,” Elrond’s tone was patient and firm.  “Until we find the person responsible for this, that child continues to be in danger.”  

“Here?”  Elladan was incredulous.  “You cannot be serious, Ada; there is no safer place in Middle Earth than Imladris!”

“Not anymore.” Elrond let out a heavy sigh, broke the envelope’s seal and removed a piece of cloth.  “When the bodies were brought to me, Gildor sent a message asking that no one else be present while I examined them.  Now I see why.” He unfolded its layers to reveal a small, triangular piece of metal. “I found this embedded in the base of Meássë’s skull.”

The twins leaned forward with narrowed eyes.  “The tip of an arrowhead.” Elrohir said.

“Correct,” Elrond said ominously, “but this is not just any arrowhead. We have confirmed it was fashioned here, in our own forges, stored in our own armories.”

***************

LETTERS

To Elrond from King Thranduil:

Dhe suilon, Hír nîn,

As you can see, Mellon, I have returned the rest of your Vanguard, hopefully in the same shape as when I borrowed them.  We held a feast in the Great Hall a few nights before their return journey, and we were humbled at the praise they heaped upon our people (though I strongly suspect much of that was due to the copious amounts of wine that was consumed).  I can report that these compliments were sincerely reciprocated, and they will be missed.  Legolas was especially reluctant to say farewell, as he has fond memories of his time spent in your Halls, and I believe he gave them several letters to be passed on to the friends he made there.

I am certain you are safe and well, so I hope you will forgive my lack of protocol in not asking.  Instead, I must express my concern for the welfare of Lieutenant Vildan and his young niece.  I regret that there was no time for me to go to the Palace, but you can be assured that Legolas and Galion sent him off with the very best wishes and prayers.

Besides the melancholy of missing your Vanguard, my family is well.  My husband and I are pleased with the success of the crops in our Kingdoms and look forward to a bountiful harvest this year. 

Tilda has just begun another year of school, and enjoys excellent health, as you predicted. [3]  It will be no surprise to you that Bard still occasionally expresses amazement at the gift your father bestowed.  We have both decided it is best not to say anything to our daughter until she comes of age, and to accept whatever fate awaits her—though you can be sure I strongly desire a marriage to an Elf!

Once again, I wish to ask you to pass along my blessings to Thenin and Eílíent, as well as my prayer that they thrive in Imladris.  You will not be disappointed in them, Mellon.

With the highest regards,

Thranduil, son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realm

***

To Elrond from Bard

Greetings My Lord,

Please add my thanks to Thranduil’s for so generously allowing Captain Rahlen and the others to stay here.  We’ve loved having them.  Everyone at the Market says nothing but good things about your Vanguard and wanted me to pass along their compliments. 

I should also tell you that Percy and Rôgon miss your sons, especially.  Those two are a lethal combination at the gaming tables in the Tavern, and no one except the twins ever managed to skunk them at cards on a regular basis.

I also wanted to add my own message of sympathy.  From what I have heard, Narseg was an excellent soldier and they tell me none could match Meássë’s skill with your messenger birds.  I don’t need to ask that you keep a close eye on Vildan—I know you will—but if it helps to know we are thinking of him, please relay our hopes that he and the baby will be well.

I am and I remain,

Your humble servant,

Bard, son of Brand, King of Dale

***

To Elrond from Tilda

Dear Lord Elrond,

I am doing really good.  I started school again yesterday.  Miss Mistress Eryn is still my teacher which is good.  Rhys’s Da told my Da that Evan and Eryn are going to have a baby next spring.  I am exsi really excited.  Uncle Galion says I still have to work on my spelling, but he says I am getting better so that is good.

You said you want me to tell you when I have dreams, right? 4 I told you abowt the one with the pretty grass and flowers, and I see that sometimes, but that Elf I told you about was in the field this one time and he was all glowy like Gloorfindel and Lady Gallerdil only his hair was really really big.  He kinda looked like Gallerdil but only a little bit. He dident see me there, or maybe I was invisable or something, but he just stared and looked so lonly lonely I wanted to cry. 

Anyways, if I see him again, I’ll write.

Your friend,

Tilda

P.S.  Da and Adda said to tell you thank you, but they wouldn’t say why.

***

To Elladan and Elrohir from Sigrid

Suil, Mellyn nîn,

I hope you don’t have any problems read my Tengwar, but Uncle Galion says I need the practice.  I wanted to thank you for all your help with my lessons this past year at the Healing House.  I won’t bother your Ada as I am sure he is very busy, but when you get a minute, tell him thanks again for sharing his time and knowledge with me.

We really do miss you all here in Dale, and I hope someday we can come visit Rivendell.  Ada and Rôgon tell me how beautiful it is.  Legolas talks about it all the time, especially when he got a chance to talk with those who knew his Naneth the best. 

Sincerely,

Sigrid, Princess of Dale

P.S. Auntie Hil says the things are a lot quieter around here, since you two left, but I know she misses you, too.  

***

To Gildor Inglorion from Gildor Gwindorion 5

Suilad, Tôrado mîl,

My family sends you much love and hopes this letter finds you well.  Adar tells me he has also enclosed a letter to send along with the Vanguard, so please look for it.  I can tell you he and my mother are in good spirits and take great delight in their foster-grandchildren. 6

As to said children, I am thrilled to tell you that Dylan and Rowena suffer no effects from their experience last December.  There was the occasional nightmare for a few months, but they were quickly back to adding their own happy noise to the other children of Men at the Palace.  They do well at their lessons, both are voracious readers and love to sit at their grandfather’s knee and listen to stories about their powerful great-uncle.  

Parenting children of Men has many rewards, but alas, it is all too temporary.  In a blink of an eye, they will be taken from us, and I cannot help but worry for my beloved wife when they are gone.  When Nielthi asked me to adopt them, I hesitated for that very reason.  My wife and I share the same heart in all things, but in this matter, we were divided.  I admit I was selfish, Uncle; I did not think I would be strong enough to bear her grief.  Still, she persisted, and you know I can refuse her nothing she really desires.

I found myself in much the same position as many other adopted Adars: it was easier at first to keep my distance and think of the children as more Nielthi’s than mine.  But then they were kidnapped by Saeros and had it not been for the efforts of Evranin Ohtariel, they would have been lost to us. 7  It was then I realized what a foolish coward I had been; any child is a precious gift from the Valar!  When Commander Feren brought our children back to us, all I could do was hold them tight and sob a prayer of thanks. 

Since that day, I count every moment, every memory as a blessing. 

They are most anxious to meet their famous relative, so I hope you are prepared for nothing short of hero-worship. Dylan has a great many questions about your skill with weapons, and Rowena wants her Haru to tell her all about your hair, and why the Two Trees makes you, to use her words, “shiny” like Lord Glorfindel.”

With much affection,

Your namesake and nephew,

Gildor

***

To Vildan from Lord Thranduil

Suilad, Nardû Vildan Valendillion,

On behalf of myself, my family and everyone in the Northern Kingdoms who have enjoyed your acquaintance during your stay this past year, I wish to offer my deepest condolences at your recent tragedy. 

I speak to you not as a King, but as a fellow Eldar whose family was forever damaged by those creatures who call the Dark Lord their master.  As much as I wish otherwise, I have no words that might ease your grief, but if you would kindly permit, I would like to confide in you and offer a few words of advice:

There will be times when you think shielding others from your sorrow is a sign of strength, but I assure you, your grief will not stay buried.  It will only harden you from the inside out.  I wish I would have had more faith in my love for my son to carry me through the worst of it.  I wish I had had more faith in the power of his love for me.

Please, Vildan, do not make the same mistakes that I did.  Look to your friends for help and accept whatever support they offer.  And do not allow your heartache to make you bitter.  Remember that the Valar is there to offer strength and comfort, and I have it on good authority that your parents’ love can reach across the sea and bring you solace.

I feel I must address a matter which you might find personal: I would be lying if I said I did not notice the growing affection between you and my most-beloved foster-daughter.  In this matter, I hold you blameless.  None could have foreseen these current circumstances, or your reasons why your stay in the North could not continue.  Do not burden yourself with thoughts of returning, now.  Just take each day as it finds you and not beyond that.  It is the smallest steps that take us on the longest journeys of our lives. 

You have my personal assurance that Tauriel and I will take the utmost care of Mistanâr and her foal.  We will notify you as soon as the mare has given birth and if possible,  find a way to return them both to you.  She is a remarkable horse, and one that must be seen for the treasure she is.  I have no doubt her filly will be the same. 

If there is anything you need, Vildan, myself and my Kingdom are at your disposal.

Best wishes,

King Thranduil

***

To Vildan from Tilda

Dear Vildan,

I dident get a chance to say goodbye when you had to go, so I wrote you a letter.  You are still my friend and I liked it when you guarded me and Bain and Sigrid.  We all miss you.  Tauriel is very sad, but only when she thinks I can’t see.  This one time I walked by her room and she was sitting on her bed and playing with this loop of brown hair.  I ran in and gave her a big hug and told her not to cry, so I know you will like that.

Your horse is getting really really fat, but she isn’t grouchie or anything like that.  She likes it when I bring her carrots or apples and sometimes Cook even gives me this sugar thingies to give her and she really loves that!  Its like she smiles at me when I pet her.  Blossom can’t even do that.  I thoght she would cry a lot when you left, but its like she knows what happned to your poor sister and doesnt want to make you sadder.  She’s taking really good care of her baby and I can’t wait until its born!  I promise I will send you a really good picture of the baby so you know what it looks like, okay?

If you want, I can send your baby neece some pictures too.  It might make her feel better.

Your friend,

Tilda

***

To Vildan from Bain, Rhys, and Bowen

Hi Vildan!

We just wanted to say we’re sorry you had to leave early.  Elrohir and Rahlen said your sister and brother-in-law were real nice people and it’s terrible what happened.  They said you have a niece who is cute and we hope she’ll be all right. 

We don’t want to talk about our practices, because it’s just not important when you have too much to think about. But we can say we help Tauriel take care of Mistanâr every chance we get.  Ada takes Tauriel to see her in the pastures every night when they take Thangon for his walk.  Even Thangon likes her.  She lowers her head so he can lick her nose, like he’s saying she doesn’t have to worry. 

Please write to us, but only when you can, okay?

Your friends,

Bain, Rhys, and Bowen

P.S.  You remember Tauriel’s horse?  Well, Lasbelin fusses over Mistanâr something awful and she gets annoyed and bites him.  Auntie Hil says he’s probably going to have labor pains too when the foal is born!

***

To Vildan from Tauriel

Suilad, Mellon nîn,

I confess I started this letter to you so many times, there is a pile of crumpled paper on the floor next to my desk.  Try as I might, I couldn’t find words that could ease your sorrow, but I soon realized what a foolish idea that was.  I truly wish I could take this pain from you, but to dwell on such a thing only wastes energy neither of us have.

I fear I must dispense with propriety, and ask that there be only truth between us. To behave as if the growing affection between us did not exist would dishonor both of us, do you not agree?  For my part, I do not regret the time I spent with you, for you showed me that my heart could still be open to possibilities. For that I will always be grateful. 

But things have changed, Vildan.  That is nothing we could have prevented.  Of course you had to go to your young niece; I would have been furious if you had delayed your journey for even an hour! 

You need not regret leaving Mistanâr; though her love for you has not wavered, amazingly, she relaxed and at peace in your absence.  Mistanâr understands, Vildan, and so do I. 

Few can say with certainty what lies ahead for either of us, but none of that matters as much as your little Melui, who needs her uncle more than ever before.  

Be well, Mellon.

Yours fondly,

Tauriel Neldor-Thranduillion

P.S.  Thank you for the lock of hair you left for me.  It is in jewelry box along with your letter. Whenever I see it, I will smile at the memories that it evokes—especially that first, disastrous lunch in the willow tree! 8 

I also hope the small token I have enclosed in this letter will do the same for you. 9

 

 

 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Ai! Eílíent, daro! Baw! Baw! – Oh no!  Eílíent, stop!  Don’t!  Don’t!

Ai gorgor! – Oh no!

Ai, naeg! – Oh, OW!

De fael, hîr nîn – Thank you, My Lord

Gwannas lûmh and; mae govannen a mâr maedol, Mellyn nîn. Trevaded varna? – It has been too long; welcome and well met, my friends. Was your journey safe?

Gwanûr – brother

Ma Adar – Yes, father

Mellon nîn – My love

Natho mhen, Bereth Varda mhuin – Help us, beloved Queen Varda

Suilad, Tôrado mîl – Greetings, kind Uncle

Tirith - safety

NOTES:

[1] Broken Wings, Ch. 3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/48867101

[2] What Mablung or the others didn’t know was that Elrond possessed Vilya, one of the three rings of power.  Thranduil, is aware of them, but has vowed to never speak of it until he sets foot on the White Shores of Valinor.  The Elvenking never desired such a ring for himself because he knows they come with a tremendous burden.  http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Vilya

[3] Broken Wings, Ch. 3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/48867101

[4] Ibid.

[5] And Winter Came…, Ch. 26: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/30451701

[6] Broken Wings, Ch. 15: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/51847021

[7] Broken Wings, Ch. 18: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/52298323

[8] Broken Wings, Ch. 11: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/50766088 

[9] Broken Wings, Ch. 38: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/60050749

Chapter Text

“I don't want to be alone

And it's too hard for you to ride along

So wait for me

And I'll be back again

Let me know if you feel a little lost

A little too real

And I'll come back again

I'll come back again…”

Back Home Again, by flor

Rivendell, September 2945 T.A.

Vildan’s first few weeks at Lord Elrond’s house were a struggle to adjust to a reality he had neither anticipated nor wanted.  He did not resent becoming Melui’s guardian, but how could he possibly be a parent to a child who was little more than a living, breathing ghost?  Some days he was numb, hardly able to focus, and others he was irritable, wanting only to be left alone.  A few times he snapped at Laniër—and felt terrible about it afterwards—but when she forgave him with that patient smile, it just made him want to scream and break something.

On those days, Vildan went to Lord Elrond and poured out his heart wanting answers when they both knew there was none.  Bless Elrond for listening to his musings, his complaints, and even his rants, with grace and understanding. 

A week after his arrival, Vildan showed up in his study with a hypothesis:

“Is it possible Melui is suffering from some sort of head injury?  Lindir told me how she managed to get up into Estel’s tree house, and we all know she is too small to use that ladder! Maybe she hit her head. What if—”

“I assure you,” Elrond said smoothly, “once the child was located, your sister and her husband brought her straight to me and I examined her from head to toe.  There was not a mark on her, nor did I find any sort of bruising inside her skull.”

 “But the effects of concussion or even bleeding on the brain do not always occur right away.”  Vildan pressed his hand on his right knee to keep his foot from bouncing.  “Did you look again?”

“I did, three days later, and every day since she became afflicted.”

“Of course, you have,” His chest deflated.  “I do not mean to doubt you, but…”

“Think nothing of it,” Elrond dipped his chin. “I welcome any idea that might bring that child back to us.” 

October 2945 T.A.

 Just after the rest of the Vanguard returned home, Vildan approached him with another theory:

“My Lord,” he asked, as he took a seat. “Do you think Melui might possess some sort of gift that had not had a chance to make itself known?  If so, it is possible that this made her vulnerable, and when she sensed her parents had died, she suffered severe shock.”

“Your theory is a good one,” Elrond’s voice was rich with understanding. “While is not typical for such gifts to manifest themselves at such a young age, it is not impossible.  However, I cannot sense any sort of unusual powers from her.”

“Do you think Elladan or Elrohir would see it, if she had?”

“I have asked them both to check, and they agree with my findings.  That is not to say she does not possess such powers, but at this time, none of us can see or sense it in her.”

Soon after, Vildan found himself in the same chair, struggling to find the courage to ask his next question:  

“What if… what if someone has put a spell on her?”

“I am afraid that remains a strong possibility, but if there is, we cannot see it.”

“Could Mithrandir help?  Surely, his powers could something behind the walls of  this prison she is trapped in!” 

“I did consider this,” Elrond told him.  “I sent him a message the week before you arrived, asking that very thing.”

“Have you heard back?”

“Not yet, but as soon as I hear anything, I will send for you.”

Eight days later, Vildan was summoned to Elrond’s study and was handed Mithrandir’s answer:

“I would have to meet with the child in person to make any sort of determination.  Unfortunately, I am currently in Gondor on important business and cannot get away.  Unless it is a life-or-death emergency, I am loathe to risk the good graces of Gwaihir and his Eagles, as my heart tells me I will have need of their assistance in the near future. 1  If it is magick, your best hope is to find the person who cast the spell.  In the meantime, I will pray for the child and ask that you keep me informed.

 

 “I am sorry, Lieutenant,” Elrond took the paper back, set it on a silver tray and set it on fire.

Vildan stared into the flames. “Do you think whoever might have cursed Melui is the , person who murdered Meássë and Narseg?”

Elrond’s eyes were grim.  “I am sure of it.”

Sometimes Vildan went to see him simply because his sorrow, his fears, and his longing for all he had lost became too much, and Elrond’s study was the only safe space to try and work it out.  The Elf-Lord would press a cup of Miruvor into his hands and listened to him talk, or cry, or scream or whatever he needed to do, until the ground under Vildan’s feet felt solid again.

These moments of serenity didn’t last long, and by the first week of November, his desperation had morphed into rage:

“I feel like we will never know who killed them,” Vildan’s hands clamped on the arms of his chair until his fingers hurt.

“You must be patient—”

“No!” he surged to his feet and stomped around the room. “I cannot just sit by and do nothing about this!”  Vildan threw out his arm, clearing a nearby table of its contents. “This is my family,” he roared. “I should be the one to—"

“No dhínen!” Elrond barked; his eyes hard. “Sit down! That is an order, Lieutenant!” 

Cheeks burning, Vildan clamped his jaws and sat.

Elrond’s voice was both soft and steely. “I am not without sympathy, and if it were one of my family, I would want to do the same.  But you must trust us.”

“I am a soldier, My Lord,”  he wiped his eyes. “I am Vanguard, and I should be out there hunting down this Gûdithron!” 

Elrond raised his left eyebrow. “Has it occurred to you that this enemy may not be ‘out there,’ but here in this city?”

“But…  That cannot be!” Vildan’s head jerked backward as if he were slapped, his gut twisting. “You would know if we had a Kinslayer among us!”

“I am powerful, but I am not infallible.  While I can see the hearts of many, there are some who, are closed to me with no nefarious motives.  Furthermore, I cannot see into someone’s fëa if they are not in my vicinity. Short of going door to door or having every citizen of this land dragged before me—"

“Could you not do this?  Surely if—"

“Let me remind you that we are supposed to think Meássë and Narseg were killed by Orcs.”  Elrond walked around his desk and took the seat beside him, giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Suppose this person is in Imladris; what would happen if he discovered the truth and feels cornered? What would stop this murderer from killing Melui to protect himself?” 

“So,” Vildan’s tongue felt sandy, “if you sent the army to every house in the realm…”

“…he would panic and would want to silence Melui permanently.”

Vildan’s vision blurred. “I hate feeling so powerless,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Not powerless, Vildan. Yours is the most difficult task of all: You must behave normally, never forgetting for a moment that Melui is in danger.  Who else could protect her as well as you?”

Vildan blew out a slow breath to calm himself down. “What if I took her somewhere safer?”

“What is to stop the murderer from following you?” Elrond asked.  “Even worse, suppose the murderer does not follow: how could Melui get better?” he squeezed his shoulder again.  “For now, you are under constant guard while here in my Halls. Do not allow her to leave this building without you, and at least one of my sons.”

Vildan chewed on his lower lip. “Is not the fact that we are living in your Halls a clue that something bigger is taking place?  How do I explain that?”  

“Tell them that until Melui no longer needs constant care, I have ordered that you remain. Elladan is your mentor and friend, so it is natural that he spends a great deal of time with you.  Elrohir will also help when needed.” 

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes.” He patted Vildan’s hand. “In the meantime, we will not give up hope, yes?”

Rivendell, 20^th of November 2945 T.A.

Vildan opened his eyes, pulled back the covers, and strode over to the window.  He pulled the translucent white curtain, as at the morning sky shone through the small, diamond shaped panes, which was clear but for a few fluffy clouds.  He turned the latch near the windowsill, pushed the window outward and enjoyed the warm breeze that lifted a few strands of his long hair to caress his face.  After washing, dressing and arranging his hair in its usual bun, he went to Melui’s room.

“Aur galu, Dailên!” he said gaily.  Keeping his movements slow, Vildan rolled her over to face him.  He kissed her temple, picked her up and took her to wash up, all the while keeping up a pleasant chatter. 

“The green dress, or the blue?” he held up both.  “I like the blue; it matches your eyes.”  Vildan helped her into warm socks and smalls, then pulled the dress over her head.  “I think we will braid your hair today, Mîrë nîn,” he said as he laced up her boots, “we do not want it getting tangled, do we?”  He sat down on her bed, pulled her into his lap and arranged it neatly out of her eyes.  “Perhaps one of these days I will put in in a bun like Tôrano Vida!” he tickled her ribs, something that used to send her into giggle fits. 

But Melui was too far away, and Vildan was terrified he would get used to it.  Pretending helped.  Making himself smile helped.  And if he kept his eyes away from her face, he could fool himself into thinking she returned his smile, eyes clear and full of mischief.

Vildan ignored the tears that threatened to appear, and picked her up, settling her on his hip.   “I am hungry, are you?”

In the main room, Laniër smiled up at him from the table by the bay windows as she set up breakfast, placing the plates of bread, fruit and cheese.  There was tea for the adults and a glass of goat milk for Melui.  “Good morning,” she said pleasantly.  “Did you sleep well?”

“We did,” he smiled down at Melui. 

She pulled out a chair for him.  “Elladan will be here shortly to examine her, so we should eat.”

Vildan and Laniër made pleasant conversation, as she poured out his tea (she insisted), buttered his bread, and sliced up his fruit (“It is no trouble; you are busy feeding Melui, and I do not want you to neglect yourself.”).   Melui sat in her highchair next to him and took the bites he gave her with no trouble.  She did not hold her glass, so he put it to her lips and urged her to take small sips. 

“What are your plans for today?” Laniër asked him. 

“I was thinking about taking Melui riding today.  The autumn colors are at their peak and it would be nice to spend time admiring Yavanna’s work.” [2]

“That would be wonderful!” an eager smile graced Laniër’s features.

Vildan acted as if he didn’t notice. “What about you?  Why don’t you have some fun with your friends, or Lusiël, if she is not busy? You barely have time to yourself, since all this started.”

“I do not mind,” she stared down at her plate.  “Melui needed me, and you are in mourning—"

“Yes, I am, and I will be for a long, long time.” He put down his fork. “Laniër, you had a life—and a career—of your own, and you will eventually need to get back to it.  I would never ask you to give all that up for us.”

“But Melui still does not respond!” Her lips trembled.

“And we have no idea when or if she will ever recover, do we? You have been wonderful, Mellon nîn.” He reached for her hand and squeezed her fingers.  “Meássë and Narseg would be grateful beyond words for all you have done,” his voice grew gentle. “But Melui is ultimately my responsibility, and I must begin to make plans for our future.”

“I know,” she tried to meet his eyes.  “I just thought perhaps we could help each other through this time.”

“And we are! We will! You cannot believe that I wish to phase you out entirely, can you?” he gave her a sympathetic smile.  “I will need a great deal of help, but…” he paused, nervous at his next question:  “Is it possible you are putting all your energies into looking after us to avoid your own pain?”

“I am not…” She closed her mouth and blinked away the tears that threatened to fall, two bright spots of red emerging on her face. 

“Laniër, the last thing I would ever want to do is to hurt you—”

“Speak no more of it,” Laniër pulled her hand out from under his and set it in her lap.  “I still want to help you if I can.”

They avoided each other’s gaze for a long moment, until Vildan couldn’t stand it anymore and made a fuss over his niece.  “Melui! Did you eat your bread all by yourself?”  He picked up a napkin to wipe the child’s mouth when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he called.  “Dailên,” he booped Melui’s nose, “Elladan is here!”

“Aur galil!” the Elf bounced into the room.  “There she is!” he grinned.  “Your braids are lovely, Tithen pen.  Did you save me some sweet bread?” he picked up a morsel from her plate and pretended to gobble it up, while scrutinizing her reaction.

“Well,” Elladan told him, “she hasn’t tensed up when I come; that is some progress, at least.”

“We will take victories wherever we can find them.” Vildan rose from his chair and picked her up.  “Let us take a seat on the couch so our friend can examine you today.”

Elladan checked Melui’s heart, lungs and reflexes.  “Very good…”  He snapped his fingers in front of her face several times in a steady rhythm.  Then he clapped his hands sharply in front, beside and behind her.  “That is the same, but at least it is no worse.”

“Laniër,” Elladan addressed the Elleth, who still sat at the table.  “How are you today?” he asked cheerfully.

Her smile was unnaturally bright. “I am very well.”

“I was thinking of taking Melui riding today,” Vildan said.  “We have barely left Elrond’s Halls since I came, and I am going stir crazy.”

“Might I tag along?” Elladan’s demeanor remained casual, but they exchanged a meaningful look.  “As one of her Healers, I would like to see how she reacts.” 

Laniër slid her chair back and stood, arranging her skirts. “Please excuse me.”  She stepped over and kissed Melui on the cheek. “Have a good time, Sweet One.” She smoothed the Elfling’s braids, then exited the room, closing the door behind her.

Vildan kept his focus on his niece, though he couldn’t miss the slight narrowing of Elladan’s eyes as he watched her leave the apartment. 

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Not at all,” he slumped back against the couch cushions and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “I should not have mentioned my plans to ride this morning in front of her.”

“Whyever not?”

“I just finished telling her I would rather she stay.”

“So?” Elladan stared at the door.  “She is jealous?”

“She is just hurt.  Elrond suggested I spend more time alone with Melui.  I worried that my niece might be too attached to Laniër, but the problem might be the other way around.”

Elladan’s eyebrow arched.  “I wonder if Laniër’s attachment might not just be to the child?”

“Why?”

Elladan raised both eyebrows.

“Fine, fine,” Vildan let out a frustrated groan.  “I know what you are thinking, but I promise you there is nothing between us but friendship.  Even if that were different, I have no energy to pursue it.” 

“Fair enough. Where do you want to go?”

 “Melui always loved the Ford,” Vildan lowered his voice. “I was hoping that it might stir some memory, but if it would endanger her…”

Elladan’s lips twitched as he considered this.  “Let me ask my Adar what he thinks.  If he deems it too much of a risk, we could always ride around the City for a few hours.”  He ruffled Melui’s hair and got to his feet.  “Either way, meet me at the stables in twenty minutes.”

***************

“You are doing it again.”

Elrond’s fingertips were steepled, tapping together in rhythm.  “What, pray tell?”

“That,” Elladan pointed to his father’s hands. “You always do it when you are thinking deep thoughts.”

“It is a serious matter, Ion nîn.  I hardly think this is the time for levity.”

“I disagree, Ada; humor can relax the muscles, which increases the blood flow to the brain, which helps one think more clearly…  If memory serves, I learned that from you.”

Feigning aggravation, Elrond dropped his hands. 

Elladan leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.  “So, what are your thoughts?”

“They are safest within my Halls, but we cannot keep them locked away like prisoners. I would like nothing more than to believe Imladris is their best protection, but we both know better.” [3] Elrond rubbed his forehead.  “If Vildan’s suggestion could jog a memory strong enough to free the child, then she could help us find the killer.”

“I could arrange an escort,” Elladan offered.

“That would be too obvious.”  After another moment of deliberation, Elrond nodded his assent.  “Go; take Elrohir with you.  This will be nothing more than a casual outing with friends, to enjoy the sunshine, to admire the autumn leaves, and to allow Melui to benefit from some fresh air.” 

“I could have the kitchens prepare a picnic lunch.”

“Even better, but,” Elrond held up a finger. “go no further than the Ford, and do not deviate from the road; take advantage of the sentries’ protection. If you are not back by three hours past noon, I will send Glorfindel with a search party.”

Their ride to the river was uneventful.  Elrohir rode ahead, scanning for any sort of movement, while Elladan rode behind him. Melui was relaxed, leaning against her uncle in the saddle, swaying with the horse’s movements, while he softly sang to her.

The breeze was unseasonably warm, and the water at the Ford of Bruinen moved just enough to sparkle in the late morning sun, as they spread out the blanket and unpacked the food.

The twins took turns keeping watch while Vildan took Melui to the water and talked to her about how much she loved to watch him skip rocks.  He picked up a stone, positioned it in his fingers and let it go.  Four skips.  Then another; five.  The next one was four again.  Six.  Three.

Elladan squatted beside them and studied the child’s face.  “Keep going” he whispered. 

Maybe it was the change of scenery. Maybe it was the memory of happier days.   Maybe Elrond was right: fresh air can do a world of good.  But for just a moment or two, Melui had lost her thousand-yard-stare, and was following the trajectory of the smooth, round stones, as they bounced across the water.

“Look, Mellon!”

Vildan turned his head in time to see her blue eyes focused, and the slight upward curve of her mouth. 

“Elgeria i Belain,” he murmured, dropping the rock he’d been about to launch and wiped his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.  “De athae…” He fell to his knees and enveloped Melui in his arms.

“It was only a few moments,” Elladan cautioned.

“But it happened,” Vildan fought to keep his voice under control.  He turned his moistened eyes to Elladan, a note of desperation in his voice.  “We did not imagine it?”

“Nay; it was real.”

He laughed through his tears and picked up another stone.  “Then we will keep going.”

After lunch, Vildan helped her settle down for a nap, tucked his cloak around her, tenderly brushing the stray tendrils of hair away from her forehead. 

“Have you heard from Tauriel?” Elladan decided to broach another subject.  “Surely Mistanâr has given birth by now.”

Vildan reached inside his tunic, took out a lock of red hair, bound in a golden  clasp, and a small piece of paper. He handed them over, his gaze averted.

Elladan admired the jewels on the clasp, then unfolded the paper.  “’A filly,’” he read, “’of good size was born to Lasbelin and Mistanâr on 21^st October 2945 T.A.  Takes after her dam, though her coat is as silver as Lord Celeborn’s hair.’” His eyes crinkled with mirth.  “I know not whether my grandfather would see that as a compliment, but I imagine it means the foal is beautiful.” Elladan read the next sentence with a soft laugh.  “Tauriel named her Trastapîn?  She has a good sense of humor.” He handed both tokens back to Vildan, who shoved them back into his pocket.

“Perhaps I should be overjoyed,” the muscles in Vildan’s jaw clenched, “but for the fact that there is a mountain range between us.  This is the most important event in her life, and I should have been there!”

“I know how much you love her, Mellon.”

“It is more than that. Mistanâr was all I had left of Ada. 

“You have no memories?  Nothing that your Ada taught you that still influences you to this day?”

“You know what I mean!” Vildan snapped, his eyes angry. “How long had he struggled with the  Sea-Longing?” 

“I remember.”

“But he and Nana refused to leave.  ‘Not yet,’ Ada would say.  When Mistanâr was born, he made sure mine was the first face she saw, the first voice she heard. Ada guided me through her training and when she was deemed ready to serve in the Vanguard as my mount, he said his work was done.  So yes, Elladan, Mistanâr was the biggest gift he ever gave me, and now she is gone, he and Nana are gone, Meássë is gone, any hope I ever had with Tauriel is gone, and Melui is…” Vildan struggled to keep his voice under control.  “I feel as if I have nothing left.”

“That is not true.  Just today we have seen improvement,” he pointed to the sleeping child.  “You cannot yet say Tauriel is lost to you forever.  Valendil gave you a lot more than a horse, and so did your Naneth.”

Vildan picked at the grass by the edge of the blanket.  “I just… If Ada and Nana were still here, they would know what to do about all of this.”

“You visit  study nearly every week.” Elladan stretched his legs and leaned back on his elbows.  “Is my father not offering you guidance and comfort in Valendil’s stead?”

“It is the only place where any of us can speak frankly without being overheard.”

“That is no surprise; Mithrandir himself placed the Silencing Spells, and none can dislodge it but him.  But Ada looks out for you because he was a good friend of your father’s, and you are more to him that just one of his Vanguard.”

“I am truly grateful for that,” Vildan sighed.  “But if I had not stayed for the exchange year, none of this would have happened, and Mistanâr would not have gotten pregnant—”

“Meássë and Narseg always accompanied Lord Gildor on his pilgrimages.  You have never been assigned to protect them, so how could you have done anything to prevent this?  As for Mistanâr,” Elladan met Vildan’s eyes, “her destiny is more important than you know.” 

Vildan’s mouth dropped open.  “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that when Mistanâr was born, Glorfindel and our fathers agreed that you should not know of this right away; the bond between the two of you had to develop naturally, lest it affect—”

“Affect what?” Vildan demanded, then winced as Melui shifted in her sleep.  He took the hand that had come out from under the cloak and tucked it back in. “Affect what?” he whispered.

“The reason your father stayed as long as he did was because Glorfindel foresaw Mistanâr’s birth, and that she was meant to be yours.  Not that you were not worthy of a Meara, but you are much younger than most of the Vanguard, yet you received one of the best horses in Lord Elrond’s stables.  Did you not wonder at this?”

“I thought she was a gift from Ada, to remember him by.”

“She is, of course,” he affirmed, “but there is much more to it.”

“How much more?”

“The day after Mistanâr was born, my father and Glorfindel came to see her.   Ada was amazed, and said, “‘Great are the steeds that protect all my Vanguard, but this one outshines them all.’”

“But Glorfindel said,  ‘Not since Eorl the Young rode Felaróf  to the aide of Gondor has this world seen the like.^[4]  Verily, there are also shadows of Nahar, the mighty steed of Oromë, from whom all the Meara have descended.’” ^[5]

 Vildan had to prop himself up before he fell over.  “He said that?”

“It gets better, Mellon nîn. The way I heard it, Glorfindel looked into the distance and gave this prophesy:

‘"Great she may be, yet there will be two born from her line, one greater than any born in Aman. ‘The Lord of All Horses,’ he will be called, and will suffer none to ride him but those whom he deems worthy, and the fate of nations will rise or fall by the swiftness of his feet. The other shall be the bane of his Master, yet through him, One who cannot be felled by any man, will meet his doom.’”

“You made that up!” Vildan accused.

“I most certainly did not. That,” Elladan lifted his chin with a half-smile, “has been recorded and given to Lord Erestor for safekeeping.  You may look for yourself, if you like.”

“But…” Vildan covered his mouth, anxiety in his eyes.

Elladan’s brows drew together.  “What is wrong?”

“If this is true, is that not all the more reason why Mistanâr should be here and part of our breeding program?” 

“Vildan, you are missing the bigger picture, here.  Where was Mistanâr when she became pregnant?  And did you not tell me that you placed a Nuitha-luith to prevent that?  Despite this, she chose Tauriel’s horse for her mate and initiated the act, did she not?”

“How could I forget?” he grimaced. “I was furious with her stallion, and Tauriel was furious with me!” [6]

“Thankfully not for long,” Elladan teased.  “But have you considered that Mistanâr was meant to be east of the Misty Mountains?  That she was meant to mate with Lasbelin for the very reason Glorfindel spoke of?  Let me also point out that Mearas are not exclusive to Rivendell; King Fengel boasts of several such creatures in his Royal Stables that could match your Ada’s.” ^[7]

Vildan’s eyes rested on the swirling water of the Ford. “So… “ he murmured, “This could be something… good?”

 “I believe so,” Elladan smiled warmly as he sat up straight.  “Mistanâr might not be with you right now, but she is serving the Valar in her own way, and you should be very proud.”

The first genuine smile Elladan had seen on Vildan’s face since this nightmare began, convinced him he had made the right choice. 

“De athae,” for telling me this,” Vildan said.  “De i mhellon nîn n’uir.”

“You are most welcome.”  Elladan got to his feet with a stretch. “Now, let us go home and tell Ada of Melui’s progress.”

While they were packing up and getting ready to leave, Elrohir pulled him aside.  “Gwanûr, did our Adar give you permission to tell him?”

“No,” Elladan shook his head, “but if Ada is displeased, I will gladly bear the consequences.”

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Aur galil! – Good morning everyone!

Aur galu, Dailên! – Good morning, Little Beauty!

De athae… - Thank you

Elgeria i Belain – Praise the Valar

Gûdithron – evil sorceror

Gwanûr – brother

Mistanâr - “Wandering Mouse” the name of Vildan’s Grullo-colored mare

No dhínen!- Be silent!

Nuitha-luith – Spell to prevent female animals from becoming pregnant.  (lit. “to prevent from coming to completion-spell”)

Tôrano Vida – “Uncle Vida”  Melui couldn’t pronounce Vildan yet.

Trastapîn – “Little Mischief”  Mistanâr’s foal.  Lord Thranduil foresaw she would be trouble.

NOTES:

[1] Indeed, Gwaihir does assist Gandalf frequently during the War of the Ring.

[2] http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Yavanna

[3] SCOM, Ch. 7: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090521/chapters/72741651

[4] http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Felar%C3%B3f

[5] http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Nahar

[6] Broken Wings, Ch. 11: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/50766088

[7] http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Fengel

Chapter Text

"Deep within us — no matter who we are — there lives a feeling of wanting to be lovable, of wanting to be the kind of person that others like to be with. And the greatest thing we can do is to let people know that they are loved and capable of loving."

– Fred Rogers

City of Dale, 14^th of December 2945 T.A.

Bard burst into the Royal Bedchamber carrying a tray. 

It was a week before Yule, and it was Tilion’s custom to let Arien and the Sun rest, while he spends more time shining his Moon down on Middle Earth. 1  The amber glow of the fireplace kept their spacious bedroom from complete darkness, which saved Bard from ramming into the furniture, thus sending their breakfast flying through the air.

Bard padded along the rich thick carpet (a gift from the King of Harad, sent along with a shipment of coffee beans last Yule) and carefully set the tray on Thranduil’s bedside table.  After lighting the lamp on the sconce above him, he blew out the stick and nudged Thranduil’s shoulder.  “Wakey-wakey!” 

“Mmmmmm…”   Thranduil was face-down, away from the Bowman.  “Do I have to love you in the mornings?”

“You often do,” Bard quipped.  “Vigorously.”

“I meant early in the mornings,” he mumbled.  “We are Kings; can we not pass a law about this hour?”

“You said, and I quote,” Bard’s voice dropped to a low baritone, “’Meleth nîn, if I do not get caught up with the end-of-year reports, I will not be able to go to the lodge for our anniversary.’”

“I do not sound like that.”

“Yes, you do.  Now,” Bard pulled the covers off his  Elf, admired his magnificent backside for a moment before giving it a hard smack, “up and at ‘em!”

“Naeg!”  Thranduil yelped and the rubbed pink spot on his right buttock.  “Bard!”

“I brought you some breakfast.”

The Elf lifted his head and sniffed.  “Coffee?” he rumbled.

“Adila’s finest.  Just the way you like it; light to match your hair.”

With a longsuffering groan, the King of the Woodland Realm rolled over and dragged himself up to a sitting position, pulling the covers up to his waist.  Then he held his hand out and grunted. 

Bard handed him his cup.  “You’re cute when you’re grumpy.”

“You woke me up in the middle of the night.”

“Oh, hardly.  It’s only five o’clock.”

Snorting in disgust, Thranduil took a sip.  “What is on the tray?”

“All your favorites:  sweet bread with honey butter, some sliced apples, and a bit of that sharp cheese you love.  Here, move over.” Bard snuggled against him and picked up a plate.

Thranduil shifted to the right, careful not to spill his beverage. “I smell bacon.”

“That’s my favorite.  Now,”  Bard picked up a slice of bread and spread it with the sweetened butter.  He broke off a piece and held it up to his lips.  “Come on, open up…”

The Elf clamped his lips together and jerked his head away, his face like a thundercloud.

“Oh, stop being such a big baby.  Come on…” he zig-zagged it through the air,  “Heeeeere comes the seagull… Whoosh! Whoosh! Heeere it comes…” When Thranduil’s mouth went slack, Bard stuffed the morsel in.  “There you go; that wasn’t so bad, was it.”

When the Elf chewed and swallowed it down, he gave Bard a filthy look.  “’Whoosh, whoosh?’” 

“That’s how we got the kids to eat when they were stubborn.”

“Did it work?”

“Only with Tilda.  Sigrid was too smart to fall for it, and Bain grabbed anything we put in front of him.” 

“Bain has not changed much.”

Bard held up another piece, and Thranduil rolled his eyes and took it.

“Good boy,” Bard said, handed him the plate and grabbed his own cup of black coffee.

“I am not a dog, either,” Thranduil groused, but ate his meal and emptied his cup.

“You’ll thank me, later,” Bard leaned over and whispered in his ear, “when we’re naked in our bed at the Lodge, fucking each other into exhaustion.”  He nibbled on the Elf’s earlobe, then kissed a trail down his neck.

Thranduil’s shoulders relaxed, and he leaned into Bard’s ministrations.  “And if I do not finish in time?”

“I’ll go without you and spend the next four days diddling myself into exhaustion.”

“I would love to see that,” Thranduil’s eyes darkened.  “Would you care to give me a demonstration?” He set the cup and empty plate on his table and grabbed the back of his neck for a long, devouring kiss that left them both breathless.

Bard huffed a laugh as he put his hand over Thranduil’s crotch and massaged the hardening cock through the blankets. “I see you’re… up.”

“Yes… I—"

“Good!” Bard patted his thigh and jumped off the bed.  “See you downstairs in ten minutes!” 

He almost made it to the door before the pillow hit the back of his head. 

An hour later…

“Bard?” Percy stared at him from the doorway. “You’re never here this early.  What’s up, lad?”

Bard lifted his head from the folded arms on his desk.  “Thranduil’s way behind, and has to go through a mountain of documents, so Galion and Legolas can present them to the Council next week.”

“Really?” Percy’s brows shot up as he crossed his arms.  “I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“Galion says I’m a bad influence,” Bard yawned.

“And you’re here because?”

“If I go back to bed, he’ll just find an excuse to follow me.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Percy went through the doorway that separated their offices, came back with a large stack of papers tied with a red ribbon, and thumped it down in front of the Bowman.  “These have been waiting for over a week. Get a move on, kid.”

“Aw, come on, Pers!”

“—and if you’re not done with this by lunch, I’m telling your Elf on you.”

***************

An hour before lunch, Rhian was in the conference room, sorting out the recent bundle of mail that came from the Palace.

“Oh, it came!” Hilda came in.

“Just now,” Rhian shuffled through another pile. “I thought I would get this done before I leave for the day.”

Hilda tilted her head and studied her.  “How is your Tengwar, love?”

“Very good, according to Daeron,” Rhian said, baffled. 

“If you don’t have anything pressing this afternoon, I’d like to ask a favor.”

“What do you need?”

“I don’t need anything, but Thranduil could use a little help.  He’s been going at it all day, and he’s still surrounded by stacks of stuff.  Organizing isn’t really his strong suit, Galion’s not here, and…” Hilda’s lips drew back in an apologetic smile. “If we got someone to look after Darryn this afternoon, would you be willing to lend him a hand?”

“Sure,” Rhian said.  “Who do you have in mind to babysit?”

“Do you remember Greta’s niece?”

“The one that just finished school?”

Aye, I’ll see if she’s willing, and we’ll pay her for her trouble.  If she can’t, I’m sure one of the guards would keep him busy.  Go get him, and you’ll have your lunch here, all right, love?”

Luckily, Greta’s niece Sylvi was available, and Darryn took to her almost instantly. Greta set up a cot in one of the smaller rooms on the first floor and brought the box of toys and books the Castle kept on hand for small visitors.  After kissing her son on the cheek, Rhian left him to play with his new friend, and went to help the Elvenking dig out of the chaos.

After asking several questions, she set up four boxes in Galion’s adjoining study and began to sort.  Once she was caught up with what Thranduil had already processed, she skimmed over each report, showed him the highlights he needed to see, and if he approved, he would sign, and she would seal it with wax.

Three hours later when they broke for a cup of tea and a snack, Thranduil’s eyes swept over the neat, organized piles, waiting to go into their proper boxes. “I think we might just get through all of this by dinner,” Thranduil said, “Lady Hilda’s praise of you hardly does you justice.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” Rhian said bashfully, “but I can’t take all the credit. Galion taught me a lot when I first started, and I’ve put it to good use.” 

“On the contrary,” Thranduil picked up another cookie.  “Before you came to my Palace that first winter, you had no formal education, though, much like the rest of the Laketown folk, you could read and do sums.  Yet within four years, while coping with an infant and caring for a large house, you worked your way through my entire collection of history books on Dale, taught yourself how to do complex math, became fluent in Sindarin and,” he gestured to the papers, "learned to read Tengwar!  Your modesty does you credit, but do not make the mistake of minimizing your accomplishments, child.  You have a real thirst for knowledge, and that is not something one can teach.”

Awestruck, Rhian could find nothing to say, except a simple, shy, “Thank you, My Lord.”

They had just gotten back to work, when Hilda came in with Thranduil’s letters, and one for Rhian.  “You’ll want to see this,” she said when she handed it over.  “Bard got one, too—ooh, here he comes now!”

The King of Dale entered the study with a lopsided grin.  “I’ve got news.”

“What?” the Elf asked.

“This,” Bard waved the ecru-colored paper in his hand.  “Here.”

Thranduil took it and read aloud:

To Bard, son of Brand,

King of Dale and New Esgaroth,

5^th of December 2945 T.A.

 

My dear friend,

My highest hopes that this letter finds you and your family well and safe.

  It so happens I was in the Golden Wood in late October to visit the Lord and Lady, and they asked me to pass along their best wishes and affection, as did the Marchwarden and both of his brothers.

Last year, Lord Elrond informed me of Rhian Adamarion’s unique heritage and the powers the Valar have bestowed upon her.2  He asked me if I would be so kind as to spend several months in Dale to tutor the young Lady, that she will need my help developing and controlling the powers with which the Valar has gifted her.  Of course, I was delighted to have that opportunity and was ready to attend her as soon as my schedule would permit, but Elrond wisely suggested that at that time, Rhian was busy with her new marriage, and helping her cousin-in-law.  

Though Elrond did not share the details of Turamarth’s affliction, I was delighted to see the Captain in Lothlórien, looking hale and happy, especially in the company of Lady Evranin Ohtariel, his betrothed.

With yours, and, of course, Lady Rhian’s permission, I would like to come to Dale sometime in the spring, probably in late April—or at least after the heavy rains—and begin her tutoring.  Gandalf and Elrond have a great deal of confidence in her abilities and foresee the need for her talents in the future.

If this is not convenient for her or for you, My Lord, you may reach me at the House of Beorn, where I will be spending the cold winter months by his fire. 

I am, and ever shall be,

Your most devoted servant,

Radaghast

 

The Elvenking lowered the paper, and the room became silent as every eye turned to Rhian.

Eyes full of concern, Hilda came to stand next to her and put her hand around her waist.  “No one here is going to make you do anything you’re not ready for, lovey.”

“She’s right,” Bard’s smile was warm.  “We can just have Radagast here for a social visit.  Or not.  Nothing is so important that you risk having a setback.” 3

“How do you feel, about this?” Hilda rubbed her back.

Heat crept across Rhian’s face.  She stared down at the envelope in her hands and recalled all the problems she’d caused last October. 4

Lord Bard knew what she was thinking.  “No, darling; don’t do that.” He grabbed a chair and motioned for Hilda help her sit down. “Nobody blames you for what happened last year.” 

Maybe they didn’t, but the memory of it was excruciating.  Thankfully, Elénaril helped her understand that what upset her wasn’t what Elrond had told her; it was the terror she felt because she had no say in her destiny.  She had felt overpowered, and it brought back the agony of life with her father, with Garth.  How she had to hide inside herself just to survive.

But now, she was better.  Rhian wanted to repay their kindness and their confidence in her, but it was more than that, now.  Over the past months, she’d mulled over Lord Elrond’s revelations with a growing curiosity.  What if this turns out to be something wonderful, like Daeron’s ability to talk to babes in the womb, or to recognize shadows on someone’s soul?  What if her talent really could, in some small way, help the North succeed?  

Her shoulders relaxed, and her stomach calmed down as the tension ebbed away. “I’m fine, really I am,” Rhian gave them an appreciative smile.  “I’ll need to talk to Daeron about it first, but I’d like to do this.”

“That’s our girl!” Hilda hugged her side. 

Lord Thranduil tilted his head as a pleased smile spread across his face.  “It takes a great deal of courage to become the woman the Valar knows you can be.  I am very proud of you.”

“We all are,” Bard agreed, as he patted her hand. 

“Just one thing,” Hilda put her hands on her hips and glared at the Kings.  “I don’t care how you boys do it, but see thst he's cleaned up. That Wizard will not set foot in this Castle with a head full of bird shit!”    

Rhian smiled at Hilda’s decree for the next two hours.  It was then that Lord Thranduil glanced at the water clock and wrinkled his forehead.

“Is that the time?” he exclaimed.  “You should go, Rhian; I can manage from here.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

The Elvenking waved his hand dismissively. “Thanks to you, I will be finished today, which will make my husband very happy.  You have done enough, and your son must be anxious to see his Nana.”

She set down a small stack for him to sign.  “Thank you, My Lord.”

“No; thank you. Enjoy your evening.”

Rhian tiptoed into the Blue Receiving room to find her son still taking his afternoon nap, and Sylvi sitting in a nearby chair, reading.  The girl had the same light brown hair as her Auntie Greta, though no streaks of grey.  Both had lovely dark eyes, prominent cheekbones, and a patient smile.

“How was he?”

“He was very good,” Sylvi told her eagerly.  “Thanks for warning me that he likes to fight sleep.”

Rhian made an apologetic face.  “How did you settle him down?”

“My Mam and Da used to sing me silly songs at night. Darryn especially loved ‘Slippery Toad.’”

Rhian giggled softly.  “I always liked ‘Little Boats.’  Did he tell you he’s been learning some new songs in his nursery school?”

“Oh, aye,” Sylvi’s brown eyes danced. “He’s a wonderful little boy.”

“Thank you,”  Rhian sat down on the other cushioned chair.  “I was wondering; are you looking for a permanent job?”

“You mean, here at the Castle?”

“No, although I do appreciate today on such short notice.  My problem is that our cousin used to live with use you remember Turamarth? "

“He's away for a year, right?”

“Aye, he’s betrothed to an Elleth there, and when he comes back, he’s going to be setting up a home with his new wife.”

“Oh, that’s so romantic!” Sylvi clasped her hands together.

“We're thrilled for him.  Anyway, Tur was a big help, but since he left, I can hardly keep up with the cooking the cleaning, the marketing, and taking care of Darryn.  Daeron helps when he can, but he gets called away to deliver a baby at the drop of a hat, so…” she spread her hands.  “Your Aunt tells me you’re a hard worker, and we’ll pay you a fair wage.”

The girl beamed.  “I’d like that very much!”

“I’ll need to talk to Daeron, but he’ll agree to anything that gets him out of housework,” Rhian winked.  “I should warn you; he’s a real slob!”

***************

It was well past dark when Thranduil screwed the lid on his jar of ink with a particular satisfaction, dripped the green wax beside his signature of the very last report in the pile, and if he pressed his seal a little too hard, no one could blame him.  He threw the last document into the wooden box, slammed the lid, and used the Thurinlach to ensure that none but Legolas or Galion would be able to open it.

They were welcome to its contents;  had no desire to see them again. 

Ai gorgor, what time was it? He’d forgotten to look when he locked up his study and wearily headed up the Grand Staircase.  At the top, the family quarters were dark and quiet, but for the soft light coming from the double-doors at the end of the hall.

Bard was seated on his comfortable chair by the fireplace.  His green robe was open due to the warmth of the fire, revealing his loose, cambric shirt and soft cotton pants. On his feet were the thick grey socks Sigrid had made him last year.  The sight of Bard always stirred him, whether he was dressed in his full armor and circlet, his silk robes when he held court, or his everyday tunics and leggings, or even fully naked in bed.   

But when his Bowman was completely relaxed, the lines of tension gone from his face and giving off an air of complete contentment, this was when his Meleth was the most beautiful.

Bard’s eyes lifted from the page and gave him a sympathetic smile.  “You look tired.”

Thranduil shook his head “I would rather face down a dozen Orcs than sit and read those reports for an hour, let alone all day.”

“Not a fair comparison,” Bard’s mouth twitched, as he rose to greet him.  “You’d enjoy facing down a dozen Orcs.  Why do you do this to yourself every year?”

“I did not, until I married you.”

“So, it’s my fault?” Bard leaned into him for a kiss. 

“Not in a bad way.  Before I fell in love with you, work was all I had to fill my days,” he leaned his head against Bard’s hair. “Now, I have things more important to me than Kingship.  I take the time to have meals with our family; I love to help Sigrid with her anatomy drawings, or play Dagornaw with Bain.  I treasure my evening walks with Tauriel…”

“And your walks with a certain little girl to school and back?” Bard smiled.

“Not so little anymore,” he swallowed.  “But yes.  I hate feeling like Tilda is somehow slipping through my fingers, but I try to remember your advice, and to ‘meet her where she is at.’” 5

“Does it help?”

“Sometimes.” Thranduil took Bard’s hand, kissed his knuckles, and led him over to the bed.  After they both undressed and crawled under the covers, he snuggled into Bard and lay his head on his shoulder.  “Would you believe I miss her crawling in bed with us at night?” he chuckled  “She was a menace!” 6 He lifted his head and met Bard’s warm eyes.  “Perhaps I see my time with Tilda as a way to make up for what I missed with Legolas.”

“Well, now that he’s back,” Bard’s eyes twinkled, “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you scooping him up and smothering his face with kisses.”

His reply was to grab Bard’s nipple and pinch it, hard.

“Hey!” he yelped.  “I thought you were too pooped to play!”

“I am,” he sighed, and settled back down.  “Tell me what I missed today.”

“I have good news, and bad news.  What do you want first?”

“The good.”

“Everything is ready for us to leave,” Bard stifled a yawn. “All we have to do tomorrow morning is get on our horses and go.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” he sighed into his Bowman. “And the bad news?”

“Do you remember that group that came to Dale last year?” 7

“Vaguely.  My recollections of that day are hazy…”

“Me, too.  I think Gandalf put some sort of whammy on us.”

“I recall your singing.  The dogs howled and the Elves’ ears nearly bled.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” Bard pouted.

“Yes, you were,” he grabbed Bard’s other nipple.

“All right, all right!” Bard flinched with a soft laugh.  “I know you remember us marrying that older couple. Luther and Maude?  Elrond said she was sick, so we let them stay?” 8

“Yes,” Thranduil smiled. “I ran into them in the Marketplace a few times.  What about them?”

“Well,” Bard’s chest rose and fell. “Hilda got word that Maude passed away last night.” 

“Û, nae!” Thranduil lifted his head again. “Was she not treated for her illness?”

“Her blood sickness was cured, but it took its toll on her body, which was already past eighty years old.  Ermon said she passed peacefully in her sleep.”

“How is her husband?”

“Sad, but grateful for the extra time they had.  Hilda ran over just after lunch, and the Dale Women’s Society had the place cleaned from top to bottom with enough food to last a month.”

“When is the funeral?”

“Tomorrow.” Bard lifted his chin.  “And no; we don’t need to cancel our holiday.  Luther only wants a small gathering of close friends. We’ll pay him a visit after we get back.”

“Is it terrible that I am relieved?”

“No.  The focus should be on Maude and Luther, not us.  Hilda wants to talk him into moving into the Elder House, so he won’t be alone.”

“No one should be that alone…” Thranduil rubbed circles in Bard’s chest. “Percy once told me that, when an elderly couple has been together a long time, the widowed one usually dies soon after their spouse. They become so much a part of each other that they can’t survive it.”

“That’s true.”

 “It is not unlike fading, is it?”

“I suppose it is,” Bard gently kissed the top of his head. 

***************

The Woodland Realm, 16^th of December 2945 T.A.

“In your study you are my liege-lord,” Mablung quipped, “but out here, I still outrank you.”

“Ma, Hîr,” Legolas grinned.

It wasn’t often the Prince and the Lt. Commander had an afternoon off at the same time, so they decided to enjoy the clear, crisp day riding in the woods.  Legolas had always admired the older Ellon, and when he was first promoted to the Woodland Guardians, it was Mablung who had been assigned as his Saelor.9

“It has been over a year since you returned, Mellon,” Mablung said, his tone pointedly casual. “How do you feel about being home, now?”

“It is like home, as you said, but not any home I have ever had,” Legolas answered, a bit shy.

“But?”

“What do you mean?”

“Legolas, even good changes require an adjustment.  That is natural; you left under a cloud of turmoil with your father and Tauriel.  Since that time, everyone’s priorities have changed, have they not?”

Above them, three snow geese merrily honked their way across the sky, the black tips of their wings a sharp contrast to their white bodies, as they, too enjoyed the sunshine.

“You mean Bard and the children.”

“And the fact that your father is based in Dale for the next few decades, while you are running things here.”

“But I volunteered to do that!”

“Exactly.  Did you do it to help your father, or did you do it to have an excuse to avoid him?”

Legolas was shocked at the truth of Mablung’s words.  “I… never thought about it that way.”

“It is not a bad thing if you did,” Mablung shrugged, as he eased his gelding around a large tree. “And?”

He blew out a long breath. “It is not that I do not want to be around Ada, or that I am jealous. Bard is a good friend to me, and the children have gone out of their way to make me feel at home.  Tauriel and I are closer than we ever were.”

“And?” Mablung’s eyebrow lifted, waiting.

“They are a close-knit group, and they enjoy it.  Even Galion has blended in effortlessly.  Ada is  a different person now.  He expresses his thoughts and feelings; he is affectionate and tactile…”

“And you need time and space to get to know this newer, better Adar?”

“Exactly!” Legolas said, relieved.  “After a lifetime of barely speaking, I suddenly wake up in Lothlórien to find Ada crying and telling me he loves me and…”

“Hanging all over you?” Mablung tucked in his lips.

“Yes!”

Mablung burst out laughing, and, after a moment, Legolas joined in. 

“I am happy; really, I am,” he said, “but I think Ada feels the need to make it up to me. I love him for it, but I would rather just let it go and move on.”

“And now that you have figured this out?”

Legolas rolled his eyes.  “I will tell him. Can we change the subject? Please?”

“Certainly. How did you like Imladris?”

“It was as beautiful as the Golden Wood, but in a different way.  I made friends, and I learned a great deal serving under Glorfindel.  How did you find Imladris?”

“I enjoyed the milder weather and the artistic atmosphere, but my home is here, and I was glad to return.”  Mablung’s tone grew serious.  “I… considered Narseg a friend, and had the pleasure of dining with his family on a few occasions.  His wife and daughter were wonderful.”

“They were a beautiful family.” Legolas’s eyes fell, and his voice grew quiet. “Were you there when they brought the bodies back?”

The Lt. Commander’s face wrinkled in pain, as he gave a small nod.

“How did Melui manage the funeral?”

“She was not there. A week or so before their bodies were brought to Imladris, Lord Elrond brought Melui and Laniër to his Halls, and they had not been seen since.”

“Laniër?” Legolas’s eyes widened in surprise. “Was she hurt, as well?”

“Not that I know of.  Apparently, she was looking after Melui while her parents were away,”  Mablung said.  “After the funeral, I spoke to her cousin Lusiël to express my condolences, and she told me Laniër volunteered to keep caring for the child.”

“Tauriel was also orphaned at a young age, yet she was happy at the Palace. I think Melui will thrive with Vildan.”

That is my prayer, as well.”

“I remember Lusiël and Laniër,” Legolas recalled. “They are quite beautiful.”

“They are indeed,” Mablung said, slightly wistful. “Lusiël was charming and clever, but I have to admit I was drawn to Laniër.”

“Really?” Legolas’s brows shot up in curiosity. 

“Why not?” he rolled one shoulder in nonchalance. “I flirted with her on a few occasions, but I got the sense that her affections lay elsewhere.”

“Who?”

“No one there, at least at the time.  It occurred to me she might have been waiting for one of the Vanguard to finish his exchange year.”

“Who? Rahlen?  One of the Twins?”

“I have no idea,” Mablung clicked his tongue and urged his horse to a trot, “but whoever he is, he is a lucky Ellon.”

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Dagornaw – means literally “Battle Plan.” In Westron, it is called “Stratagem” which is basically Chess.

Ma, Hîr – Yes, Sir

Saelyr - Advisors

Thurinlach – A spell an Elf places to ensure only the intended recipient will receive some sort of message.  It can be placed over a box, or over a seal. 

Û, nae! – Alas, it cannot be!

NOTES:

[1] http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Yuletide,   http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Sun,  http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Moon,

[2] Legolas, Ion nîn; Ch. 43: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/48543257

[3] Broken Wings; Ch. 6: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/49342766

[4] Ibid.; Ch. 5: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/49202357

[5] Ibid.; Ch. 1: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/48700067

[6] And Winter Came…; Ch. 43: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/34940987

[7] Two Thrones ComiCon 2019 (Or, What Happens When Gandalf Gets Behind the Wheel...); https://archiveofourown.org/works/21946684/chapters/52377106

[8] Ibid.; Ch. 5:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/21946684/chapters/53362405

[9] The Saelyr were the brainchild of Glorfindel of Rivendell, as a way to help those that made up Elrond’s Vanguard, cope with not only the additional responsibility of their position, but the violence they had to face.  Just after King Thranduil took the throne in the year 3 T.A., after all the horrors his Army had been forced to endure during the War, wanted the additional support for his officers.  These older, more experienced advisors provided a listening ear, and a little discreet advice.  For this reason, The Woodland Army chose to assign Saelyr from outside the individual’s unit, which Feren and Thranduil agreed would encourage his Elves to seek out their advice.

Chapter Text

“It's always times like these
When I think of you
And wonder if you ever think of me
Cause everything's so wrong and I don't belong
Living in your precious memory

Cause I need you
And I miss you
And now I wonder

If I could fall into the sky
Do you think time would pass me by?
Cause you know I'd walk a thousand miles
If I could just see you tonight…”

A Thousand Miles by Vanessa Carlton

Rivendell, 30^th of January 2946 T.A.

To everyone’s delight, the mild temperatures of November continued well into December.  Just before Yule, however, Winter woke at last and, ashamed of its indolence, made up for lost time by sending a blizzard into the region that lasted three full days. January saw lots of snow, two more blizzards, and temperatures as low to the same degree as they had been high in the autumn.  Lord Elrond remarked that he had not seen such a harsh season in eight centuries.  Many of the Elven folk teased the returning Vanguard for bringing the weather from the Northern Kingdoms.  Vildan didn’t much care either way.  To him it seemed fitting that the chill outside reflect the frozen ice of his heart.

Since the small miracle at the Ford last November, Melui had remained much the same, though he, Elladan, and Laniër wracked their brains to find ways to stimulate her.  Elrond pointed out that she had not regressed, and that was something to be thankful for. Vildan agreed and tried to make it be enough, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that he just needed…more. 

When the city was buried under three feet of snow, Vildan jumped at the chance to help his colleagues dig everyone out and bring food and supplies to all the outlying villages.  Elladan noted the improvement in his friend’s mood and, after a private word with his father, asked Glorfindel to put Vildan back on the roster on a part-time basis, to give him some structure and a sense of normalcy. Laniër did the same, and once they coordinated their schedules to look after Melui, things settled into a routine that worked for everyone.

Deep down, Vildan was relieved at spending fewer hours in Laniër’s presence.  Elladan’s earlier observation that her feelings might be stronger than friendship had niggled at him the past few months.  The growing burden of guilt weighed on him, but he stubbornly ignored it, hoping it the situation would resolve itself without anyone getting hurt.   

Yule came and went, the New Year was celebrated with all the usual festivals, and after another month of procrastinating, it was time to decide where he and Melui went from here.

Which meant doing something else he had been dreading.

Vildan and Elladan had come down a particular street and stopped before to the house with the dark blue door, the third on the left. The exterior of Meássë’s home was the same as the others on the row with its smooth light grey concrete, gracefully ornate iron railings along the steps, and the plaque on the door bore a whimsical caricature of a grinning falcon, holding three arrows in its claws.

“Are you sure about this?” Elladan asked softly.

“Yes.” Vildan climbed the steps and took the key from his pocket, and if his hand shook a little as he placed it in the lock, he was grateful to his friend for not to mentioning it.

The cheery, comfortable parlor was just as he remembered it, although the coating of dust over the furniture wasn’t.  Narseg’s books were stacked by his favorite chair, and Meássë’s basket of needlework was under the table at the end of the couch.  She liked to sit close to her husband in the evenings and work quietly while he read to aloud.  The small smile teased the corners of Vildan’s mouth as a memory spoke to him.

Meássë had once confided that she didn’t care for Narseg’s tastes in literature, but would never tell him:

Vildan was baffled. “That is ridiculous,” he said.  “You should say something if you do not enjoy it.”

“I did not say I did not enjoy it,” she gave him a conspiratorial wink.  “He loves to share this part of himself with me.  Who am I to disappoint him?”

“It might be a small one, but it is still a lie,” Vildan scowled.  “Is it not wrong to deceive him like this?”

“Ah, the wisdom of an Ellon who has never been in love,” she laughed. “Narseg could read me an agricultural manual and I would still love hearing the sound of his voice.”

“I do not understand,” he said.

“You will,” Meássë gave him a serene smile and patted his arm. “One day, you will.”

The kitchen was off the parlor to the right, and Vildan spied a mug of what used to be tea on the table, most likely left behind the night Melui became ill.  He took it to the sink and tried to clean the inside, but the brown liquid left a permanent stain, an affront to the white porcelain, just as its reason for being there was a stain on his own soul.

At least twice a week, more often three times, Vildan had enjoyed dinner with his family, always seated next to Melui, at her insistence.

“Can you say Vildan?” he urged the Elfling. “Veel-dahn.  You try it.”

From her high-chair, Melui stared at him in fascination as she chewed on her string bean.

Narseg smirked as he handed Meássë the bowl of lettuce. “She is too young to say such words.”

“Of course she is not!” Vildan gasped in mock-offense. “My niece is brilliant.” He grinned at the child.  “Let us try again, little beauty; Veel-dahn.  And you,” he pointed to her, “are Melui.”

Melui’s forehead wrinkled as she watched his mouth again.  She set down her spoon, pointed at him and said, “Vee-dah!”

“Did you hear that?” Vildan beamed.  “Say it again!”

“Vida!” Melui crowed, pointing at him.

“Wonderful!  And you are?”

“’wee.” She grinned.  “Wee!”

Meássë ruffled the baby’s hair. “She said, ‘Vida,’ not ‘Vildan.’”

“She said it perfectly." He cupped her small, soft cheek. “She is perfect.”

The master bedroom was neatly made, of course; Laniër used it while Meássë and Narseg were gone, and the Elleth was a fastidious housekeeper. 

His sister’s personal things were still on her dresser, also covered in a delicate layer of dust.  He picked up the silver hand mirror and wiped the glass clean.  The Elf who stared back at him looked old, with worry lines around his mouth and weary, dull eyes.

Meássë’s jewelry box was carved out of walnut with mother-of-pearl inlay, a gift from her husband.  Vildan lifted the lid and picked up one of the pear-shaped sapphire earrings he had bought from the Dwarves in Erebor and sent her as a gift.  Meássë never wore jewelry while she worked, lest the falcons become distracted, but Vildan found himself wishing she’d taken them with her to the Tower Hills; not as a protective talisman, but a simple reminder of a brother who adored her.

Where were the earrings he’d bought for Melui?  He fumbled around the box’s contents, then checked the small drawers.  His shoulders relaxed some when he pulled out the bottom drawer and spotted the little round jewels in their solid gold setting.  Were the baby’s ears pierced?  He’d never thought to check. 

Their silver betrothal rings were in their small velvet pouch, but the gold wedding rings must have either been buried with them, or taken by Elrond for safekeeping.  Vildan didn’t mind either way, but Melui might want them when she was older.

Across the hall was his niece’s room, and the sight of Melui’s disheveled bedclothes brought tears to Vildan’s eyes.  On the nights he came to dinner, the child would insist that her beloved uncle put her to bed with at least two stories.

“Ai nae!” Meássë would tease, as she and Narseg came in to kiss their daughter good night.  “You spoil our child, Hanar nîn.”

“But Nana,” Melui would say, with huge blue eyes that could charm a Warg into submission. “Tôrano Vida tells them better!”

He gave his sister a sheepish smile. “I always do the voices.  And you,” Vildan tickled his niece under the chin and making her giggle, “are very good at persuasion.” 

Last June, the night before his unit left for Lothlorien, he’d made a point to spend the entire day with Meássë and her family. [1]  And, because Tôrano Vida was going to go away, his Dailên talked him into singing, too.  After the bedtime rituals were dutifully observed, Vildan stood and tucked the blankets around her.

“Ada is a soldier,” she said, when Vildan leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“Yes, he is,” he answered. “As am I.”

Melui tapped her lips and considered this news. “But I think Ada is better.”

“He has been a soldier far longer than I,” Vildan sat back down on the bed and patted her leg. “Your Ada is very brave.”

“Are you brave?”

“I like to think so.”

“But not as brave as Ada.”

“I am sure you are right.”

“Do not feel bad, Vida.” Her eyes grew serious.  Someday you will be as good as Ada.”

Vildan stifled his amusement. “Do you really think so?”

She nodded vehemently.  “Why do you have to go away?”

“Lord Elrond had to go to the Golden Wood with Mithrandir.  I have to help make sure he gets home safely.”

“Ada said he flew away on a big, big, bird.”

“How big?” he smirked.

She spread out her arms as far as they could go. “Why did he have to go?”

“Some people were in trouble, and Lord Elrond wanted to help save them.”

“Is Elrond brave?”

“Braver than even your Ada.  He is one of the greatest Elves in the whole world.”

“Oh,” Melui let that sink in.  “You will take good care of him?”

“I will do my utmost.”

“When will you be back?”

“I do not know, but I will send letters for Nana to read to you.  If you are a very good Elfling,” Vildan booped her nose, “ who drinks all her milk and eats her vegetables, I might even send presents. Would you like that?”

Melui’s eyes danced as tucked her chin into her chest and squirmed with excitement.

“Dû galu, Dailên nîn.”  He stood and leaned down to kiss her brow.

“Dû galu,” Melui yawned as she rolled onto her side and tucked her hands under her cheek.  “Gi melin, Vida.”

I love you, Vida.

Three words that he might never hear again.  Vildan covered his eyes and let the tears come.

“Mellon?”  Elladan asked from the doorway, “are you well?”

Startled, he sat up straight and wiped the heel of his hand across his eyes.  “Sorry,” he sniffed.

“Do not be.” Elladan stepped into the room.  “Have you decided what you want to do with the house?”

“Yes,” his voice roughened. 

Elladan’s face softened.  “Too many bad memories?”

“Just the opposite,” he rasped.  

“Might Melui do better in familiar surroundings?”

“Who knows?” he swiped his handkerchief under his nose. “But it will do her little good if we move in and I am driven mad by ghosts. They are all gone, Elladan, in one way or another.  I have to let them go and find a way forward.  I cannot do it here.”  

“What do you want to do?”

“Give the clothes away to the poor, then sell the house, the furniture, and everything else.” 

“I can help with that,” Elladan said.  “Do you really believe Melui is gone forever?”

“It takes too much energy to hope,” he admitted shakily.  “Energy that is in short supply these days.  I need to say goodbye to the Melui that was my sister’s child, and accept the Melui who is mine.  She needs me to love her as she is now.”

Vildan went to the white dresser and searched through the drawers until he found an empty pillowcase.  He opened it and crammed every toy he could fit inside.  Then he stepped past his friend, retrieved Meássë’s walnut and mother-of-pearl box from her room and handed Elladan the keys.

After locking up, they headed back, with Elladan waving to neighbors and acquaintances along the way.  Two blocks from the apartment, a familiar figure, with dark hair piled atop her head in attractive braids came into view.

“Lusiël!” Elladan waved. “Come and say hello, Vildan.”

“I am really not in the mood—”

“You have not spoken to her since you returned, and her cousin has done a lot for us. I will not allow you to hurt her feelings.” He grabbed Vildan’s elbow and forced him across the street. “Lusiël!” he said again. “ It has been too long since we have seen you in my father’s halls. How do you fare?”

If Laniër was a lovely Elf, her cousin was downright gorgeous. Both were a bit on the quiet side, but Lusiël had always been painfully shy.  At Elladan’s and Vildan’s approach, her cheeks reddened, and she tilted her head shyly, not meeting their eyes.  “Mae govanthen,” she said. “How is Melui pin today?”

“It is to your cousin’s credit that she is doing as well as she is,” Vildan said.  “You are always welcome to visit Laniër whenever you wish.”

“You are most kind,” Lusiël smiled, her gaze still focused on the ground in front of them, “though I am not sure when I can spare the time. Lord Erestor has commissioned a tapestry depicting King Gil-Galad freeing Imladris during the Siege of Eradior.[2]  It is quite an involved project and I want to get it just right.”

“I can see why Erestor chose you,” Elladan said warmly. “Every visitor to my father’s halls admires your work.”

“Imladris under siege?” Vildan was shocked. 

“He is young,” Elladan apologized, as he elbowed Vildan’s ribs, “and did not pay attention to his history lessons.” [3]

“I see you have been busy,” Lusiël observed the items they were carrying.

Elladan, pointed to the pillowcase.  “Melui might enjoy the rest of her toys.”

“Laniër has been wonderful to my niece and a good friend to me,” Vildan praised earnestly. “I am grateful for her help, but I fear I am taking advantage.”

“There is no need to be concerned. She does it out of love.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Lusiël’s face turned the shade of a ripe tomato.  Her eyes widened at her audacity and grabbed her skirts. “I… must hurry; it was nice to see you again.” 

After Lusiël scurried off, Vildan exchanged a meaningful look with his mentor.  “Do not say it,” he murmured. Then he turned on his heel and marched on.

“I think,” Elladan easily caught up to him, “that she means Laniër loves Melui.”

“That is not all she meant,” Vildan’s left eye twitched, “and you know it.”

“So, you are not considering a marriage of convenience for Melui’s sake?”

Vildan gave him a venomous look.  “That is not funny,” he growled. 

“I am not laughing. If it is not true, you need to find a way to let her down gently.”

“How?” Vildan’s head fell back, and he stared up at the sky with a groan.  “How do I do that without hurting her, or making her hate me?”

“You cannot,” Elladan said simply.

“I would rather face down two dozen Orcs than this."

"So would I.  And do not look at me like that; I will not talk to her for you."

"Fine," Vildan rolled his eyes. "It seems weak and cowardly and maybe I am, but I cannot handle this right now, Ell; I just cannot”

“I know.  But putting it off for too long will only make things harder.”

Over the next weeks, he made a point to keep his distance with Laniër, and avoided the whole thing. It wasn’t until the beginning of March that a solution presented itself, and for good or ill, Vildan knew it was time.

Rivendell, 4^th of March 2946 T.A.

“Mae govanthen!” Vildan entered the apartment after his sword practice.  He set his equipment in his room, washed up and returned to the Sitting Room to kiss his child.

Laniër was seated at the table, arranging a few sprays of evergreen into a decoration.  Melui was beside her, a scrap of ribbon in one of her hands, while Laniër held the other and helped her feel the textures of the pine needles. Does this not smell wonderful?” she breathed deeply through her nose, then smiled up at Vildan.  “You seem happy with your drills today.”

“I am pleased, but for another reason.” Vildan pulled out one of the other chairs and took Melui into his lap. “Grithnir and his wife have just bought Meássë’s house, furniture and all!”

“Really?” Laniër said, a little too brightly. 

“I had doubts, but now that it is done, I feel good about it.  We cannot hold on to something that is no longer there.” Vildan paused for a moment to prepare his next words.  After a deep breath to muster his courage, he said in a kind tone, “ Neither is it wise to hold on to what was never there; do you not agree?”

Laniër’s eyes left her work and met his gaze. “I am not sure what you mean.”

Here it is.  Vildan licked his lips.  “As soon as Lord Elrond deems Melui strong enough, I plan to buy a house for us.”

“I see.” Her lips thinned into a resolute line, yet the tears that welled up threatened to fall. “Just you and her, then?”

His heart lurched at her downcast eyes. “I would never keep her from you; you must know that.”  

She stared down at the branches.  “I know.”

“I wish I could give you what your heart desires, but I cannot.  We both care about Melui and you are a dear friend, but it is not enough to justify a fallacy of a marriage. We would end up hating each other and I do not want that for myself, and you deserve better.”

She swiped at her cheeks.  “I… forgive me for being so foolish.”

“You are wrong, Mellon. It is I who must ask forgiveness.  I had no idea you felt this way, until Elladan—”

“What,” her grey eyes grew icy, “does Elladan have to do with any of this?”

Ai, gorgor. Vildan stomach sank at his utter stupidity. “I only meant to say that I have been too torn up to notice anything but my own grief, and Elladan does not want to see you get hurt.  He is right, Lanier.  I should have made things plain long ago, and made other arrangements to spare you any pain—"

“No,” she said, her voice clipped, businesslike, “you should not have.  Melui’s welfare is your first priority, and that is what Meássë would have wanted.  You sister entrusted her daughter into my care, and I have honored that to the best of my ability.” Laniër rose from the chair and smoothed down her dress.  “Are we finished?” she asked, businesslike.  “Because I want to leave.”

He reached for her hand. “Laniër, I never—”

She cringed away from his touch, then forced herself to be calm. “I understand, Vildan.  Truly, I do, but I will deal with my humiliation in private, rather put in on display for all to see.”  She went to the coat rack and pulled down her fur-lined cloak. 

“You are leaving?” he bit his lip. "Where will you go?"

“Anywhere but here!” she snapped. “Do you honestly expect me to stay here,” she waved toward the table, “and just have a normal evening after this?  Or are you that obtuse? Or is it that you are just arrogant?”

“That is not fair!” he yelled back.  Melui squirmed in his lap and leaned her head against chest.  Vildan made soothing noises and stroked her hair as he forced himself to calm down.  “I deserved that, and you have every right to be angry with me," he said evenly.  “But I am honestly doing the best I can, would you please remember that?” 

“It is because of…her, yes?  The Woodland King’s daughter?”

Vildan’s jerked back in shock. In that moment, his two worlds, the one he left and the one he returned to, crashed together. The distance he had so carefully cultivated during the last six months had been wiped away, destroyed by a clap of thunder that shook his very bones.

“Laniër,” he said quietly, forcing his voice to remain even.  “You do not understand—"

“Let me tell you what I do understand, Vildan,” Laniër had gone pale with fury.  “Your sister died, her husband died, and your niece, your last living relative is very unwell. Where is she?  You have nearly lost yourself in grief, but which one of us has been her for you?  You pine after her.  No, you might try to hide it, but you carry around a lock of her hair and look at it when you think no one is looking.   Has she bothered to even write you?  Have you received anything but the news that your horse gave birth?”

“No,” he admitted. "But it is complicated."

“Complicated???" she shrieked.  “She has not sat up with you while you cried.  She has hovered over the both of you day, after day after day, to make sure you eat, and get some rest. This Elleth--and I use that term loosely--has not lifted a finger to help Melui, has she?  She knows nothing of your struggles since you came home, yet if she did bother to show her face here, you would kneel at her feet and cry with joy, would you not?  You are a fool!"

“That is enough!” Vildan jumped up so fast the chair toppled over.  He balanced Melui on his hip as he said through gritted teeth.  “I know I have hurt you, and I am sorry for it, but..." he closed his eyes and tried to still his pounding heart.  "Lanier, you have been very good to us, and I am grateful, but I cannot let you throw away your life like this.”

 “How dare you presume to know what is best for my life, my heart, when you cannot manage your own!” She laughed bitterly, her cheeks wet. “You have not the faintest clue how much I have done for you, to be by your side through all of this, how much I have tried to protect--"

“’Protect who?  Protect me?” he scowled.  “What are you talking about?  “Laniër! You will tell me—"

But she was gone.

He spent the rest of the day with Melui and telling himself he had done the right thing, that Laniër, would be all right all right in the end, and that her parting words meant nothing.  After they had supper and he put Melui to bed, he read for a while, knowing sleep wouldn't find him this night.

Vildan stood at the mouth of a cave on the west shore of the Bruinen River.  The day was beautiful and warm, and the sun reflected off the moving water and lit up Melui’s golden hair as she waded into the waters of the Ford.  Laniër, was nearby, keeping watch.  Off to the left, Mistanâr contently grazed on sweet grass, while her foal, Trastapîn, frolicked toward the shallow water, kicked up her heels, and soaked Melui from head to toe, much to the child’s delight. 

It was a merry picnic.  Elrond sat cross-legged, playing his harp while Meássë and Narseg danced together, smiling into each other’s eyes.  Elladan and Elrohir lounged in the tall grass, laughing at some private joke that only twins could know.

Vildan enjoyed the relaxed scene as his eyes were drawn to the large, lovely hickory tree at the edge of the meadow to the right.  A gentle breeze swayed the branches to and fro and the soft rush of the wind through the leaves was the perfect accompaniment to Elrond’s music.

The purposeful movement of one of the high branches drew his eye, and before he could move or even shout a word of warning, a faint twang was followed by a wet thunk as a crude, black-feathered arrow sank deep into the heart of the Lord of Imladris, who slumped forward against his harp and never moved again.

“Ae Belain, natho din! Vildan raced out of the cave to get to them, but was stopped by some sort of barrier.  He backed to gain speed and tried again, but he only bounced off and landed on his backside.

No one noticed that Elrond was dead.  Meássë and Narseg danced as if the music had never stopped.  Elladan and Elrohir were now making whistles out of blades of grass. Melui, Laniër and the horses were as content as before.

Another zing, another wet sound of sharp metal hitting live flesh.  Trastapîn stopped her play and fell in the water, her head submerged.

“Natho!” Vildan screamed again. “Help! ”

  Narseg was the next to fall, blood pouring from his mouth, yet Meássë laughed and danced like Luthien in the forest.  Mistanâr was felled by an Orc arrow through her eye.  Then the twins.

Meássë was struck in back of her neck, and when she fell forward with blank eyes.  Vildan sank to his knees and began to cry.

Melui threw a smooth stone into the river and it skipped again and again down the river until it was out of sight.  Laniër clapped her hands and showered her with praise.

“Laniër!  Ego!  Ego!  Get the baby out of here! Laniër, please!” he begged, as yet another arrow peeked out from the leaves. 

Confused, the Elleth looked around to see where the voice was coming from and gasped at the corpses lying in pools of blood.

A wild surge of hope rose in his chest.  “Go!” he shouted, still trying to break through.

“Melui!” Laniër whipped out her dirk and grabbed the child’s arm.  “Hold on to the back of my skirt and do not let go!” She kept a fighting stance as she carefully backed them toward a thicket that suddenly appeared. 

“Crawl under this bush, sweetling,” she commanded. “Tuck yourself into a nice, tight ball for me.  Do not come out, no matter what you hear.”

“Where is Tôrano Vida?” Melui asked tearfully.

“He will come for you soon; now go, quickly!”

Once the child was hidden away, Laniër’s face grew hard and determined.  She raced across the meadow to the hickory tree and jumped on the lowest limb.  Defying gravity, Laniër climbed up through its branches at a pace unheard of, even for an Elf.  The entire tree shook, and the air was filled with the grunts and shouts of hand-to-hand combat. 

Then, a sharp inhalation, a moan of agony, and Laniër landed on the ground in a bloody, broken heap.

“Û, nae…” Vildan whispered, afraid to chance any sort of noise.  His brown eyes were riveted to the bush where his child was hiding.  “Please, stay there,” he prayed.  “Do not move, Dailên…”  

All was silent. A lock of Mistanâr’s mane lifting in the breeze.  A butterfly danced among the tall wildflowers. A rabbit came out of the thicket and stood on its hind legs, wriggling its nose at the strange sight and smells.

Vildan’s slumped against the glass, for it must be glass that kept him prisoner.  His child, all he had left in this world, was a hair’s breadth from death and there was nothing he could do about it.

Small fingers crept out from under the bush, turning over to absorb the warmth of the sun.  A forearm followed, then a shoulder, followed by feet, legs and torso.  Melui got on her hands and knees and backed out, perhaps to avoid the sight of the carnage.  Vildan splayed his hands and pressed his nose against the glass-like barrier.  Go back, he prayed to the Valar, though it was increasingly hard to breathe. I beg of you, help her go back, go backgobackgoback…

Melui got to her feet and turned her head toward the noise. 

“Melui!” he cried before he could stop himself.  Her eyes lit up when she saw him and he realized his mistake. 

The relieved Elfling raced toward him, arms open wide, but she, too was felled by the barrier that separated them.  Frustrated and frightened, she pounded and kicked at the thick glass as she screamed his name. “Vida!” she yelled, hitting it again and again. “Tôrano Vida!”

Vildan opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.

Behind Melui, a graceful figure dropped out of the tree and landed beside Laniër’s body. This was no Orc.

Melui was crying now, her face wet with tears as she begged him to help.  “Vida,” she sobbed.  “Please!”

The assassin tossed his chestnut hair and turned to face him with a grin.

It was himself.

What little breath Vildan had left him, and his mouth hung open as he desperately clawed at his throat.

“No, Tôrano Vida!”  Melui her arm swiped through the air as if to slap him, again and again. “Vida, you must wake up.  Wake up!”

Her high-pitched screams morphed into the deeper voice of an adult Ellon.

“Vildan!  Vildan!”  The sound of flesh hitting flesh was a crack of a whip, and his right cheekbone exploded in pain.

“Wake up!” Another hard slap and another shout, more of a frantic sob this time. “Please, Mellon nîn, YOU MUST WAKE UP!”

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Ae Belain, natho din! Natho! Dhen iallon natho! – Oh, Valar help them!  Help!  I beg of you; help!

Ai, nae… - Oh, no…

Dailên – Little beauty

Dailên nîn - My little beauty

De mhilui dae – You are very kind.

Dû galu, Dailên nîn – Good night, my Little Beauty

Hanar nîn – my brother

Melui pin – little Melui

Tôrano Vida – Uncle Vildan

NOTES:

[1] Legolas, Ion nîn, Ch. 20: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/43700078

[2] http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/First_Siege_of_Imladris

[3]Vildan is only 828 years old.  Elladan is much older at 2816.

Chapter Text

“Yet, if he said he loved me

I'd be lost, I'd be frightened

I couldn't cope, just couldn't cope

I'd turn my head, I'd back away

I wouldn't want to know

He scares me so

I want him so

I love him so…”

 by Yvonne Ellimann

(Jesus Christ Superstar)

Rivendell, 4^th of March 2946 T.A.

“Vildan!  Vildan!”  The sound of flesh hitting flesh was a crack of a whip, and his right cheekbone exploded in pain.

“Wake up!” Another hard slap and another shout, more of a frantic sob this time. “Please, Mellon nîn, YOU MUST WAKE UP!”

Vildan scratched and scrabbled his way to the surface of consciousness, and with a loud guttural croak, gasped.  Air, blessed, wonderful air, the element of life he would never, ever take for granted again, filled his chest, again and again. Each inhalation nourished the blood that still thrummed in his ears, nearly drowning out the concerned voice of Elladan, whose hand was raised to strike him again.

“Vildan?” The son of Elrond had gone white to the lips.

“…”. He opened his mouth to assure his friend, but he couldn’t spare even a little breath. A sharp pain seized him right below his sternum. 

  “All right…” Elladan placed his hands on his chest, and said, “Vildan.”  He grabbed his face and yelled. “Vildan!  Look at me!  You have winded yourself, and your diaphragm is in paroxysm.  Calm down and take slow, deep breaths…”

Soothing warmth flowed through Vildan’s chest, easing the frantic, spasming muscles of his chest wall, but the sense of panic was harder to ease.  Sweat poured down his face and stung his eyes.  Or were they tears?  The sobs that accompanied every exhale gave him the answer.

“Keep trying…  That is it…  Is it a little better?”

Vildan managed a grunt in response while his gaze swept the room and settled on the open door of his bedroom.  “Wh…” he tried to say.  “Me—"

“Do not try to talk yet.  Keep your eyes on me and breathe…”

After what seemed like a century, the tingling in Vildan’s face and arms subsided and the pain was gone.  He flopped back down with a grateful sigh.

“Very good.  Do you know where you are?”

“Your  father’s halls.” Another sigh. “You broke my cheekbone.”

“I did not; although I am sure I bruised it. Hold still.” Elladan placed his hand on the side of his face and sung down the pain and swelling.

“Ci vilui,” Vildan said as he worked the stiffness out of his jaw.  “Why would you do that?”

“I struck you only as a last resort,” he said apologetically.

The tightness and tingling returned to Vildan’s chest again.  “Why?”

“You were not breathing, Mellon, and it looked like you had not for several minutes.”

“Melui—” he propped himself onto his elbows.

“My father is with her.” Elladan pressed on his shoulders and made him lie down against the pillows.  

“What happened?” he demanded.

 “I was hoping you could tell me.” Elladan sat on the bed, facing him. “Nyssiel was on duty and heard shouting.  She came in to find you thrashing about in your bed.  When she could not wake you, she sent for Ada and me.” The soft, yellow glow of the bedside lamps reflecting the worry in his dark eyes. “You we’re not breathing.”

“Do not worry about me,” Vildan sighed. “I am just grateful I am awake and out of that…place, though I hardly think it was necessary to clout me upside the head.”

“Did you not just hear what I said?” Elladan said, grabbing the pyjama top. “It was as if someone was choking you! I praise the Valar we came in time; had we delayed for even another minute, we would be speaking!”

“I did not wake Melui, did I?”

“N…no.”

“What is that look?” he said, looking past Elladan’s shoulder.  “Where is she?”

“Ada took her to the infirmary, which is where you are headed next.”

“I do not—”

“Vildan, you are going! Ada wants you both kept under constant care until we figure out what happened to you.” He called to Nyssiel, who was waiting outside the door, “Please help me take the Lieutenant to the Healing Hall.”

“I can do it myself,” Vildan scowled and pulled the covers back.

Elladan’s eyes moved upwards in a circular motion. “I would like to see you try.”

Vildan swung his legs over to the edge of the bed with a groan, made a feeble attempt to stand, and lurched sideways into his friend. 

“Very well,” he groused, as another wave of dizziness overcame him.  Nyssiel dashed forward to grab Vildan’s other arm and the trio waited a moment for him to get his bearings. 

“Stop grabbing at me!”

“Stop whiny.  I will grab you anywhere I need to.”  Elladan pulled Vildan’s right arm over his shoulders, and Nyssiel did the same with this left.  They exited the apartment made their way to Lord Elrond’s infirmary, where they found the powerful Healer exiting a room.

“Ah,” he said, gently closing the door behind him. His eyes turned to his son as he gestured toward Vildan with a wary look.  “How is he?”

“Do not speak as if I am not here!” Vildan was filled with rage. “What did you do to my niece?”

Elrond’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied his face.  “Well, that certainly answers my question.”  He directed Vildan’s gaze toward the last bed in the infirmary which had been curtained-off.  “Melui is sleeping comfortably at last, so if you would please lower your voice?”

A wave of shame swept over him, yet it was not enough to remove Vildan’s anger.  “My apologies, My Lord,” he said through gritted teeth.  “I do not mean to disrespect—”

Elrond raised his hand in assurance.  “I understand.”

“Do you?” Another wave of fury made his spine go rigid, but he managed to keep his tone low. “I have lived with this for six months without even a hint as to what I can do to help her!  And now this?” he ground out. “Enough of this nonsense!  Get the Lady Galadriel, and Mithrandir, if you must!  I nearly died, and while I do not care so much for myself, I will not leave that child alone in the world!”  Vildan struggled against Elladan and Nyssiel, who were no longer trying to keep him upright, but trying to prevent him from doing something he would regret.  The urge to hurt this Elf made his blood boil and Vildan lunged toward Elrond wanting to kill him, to maim him, to make him feel the emotional torture he had been forced to endure for the last half-year.

Elrond remained calm and rather than the reprimand he deserved, the Elf-Lord narrowed his eyes and grasped either side of Vildan’s face.  He looked deep into his eyes, and after a moment or two murmured several words in Quenya. Vildan’s head jerked back, and he tried to free himself, but Elrond held him firmly.  Elladan and Nyssiel tightened their grip on his arms and forced him to keep still.

More words, ones he did not recognize, reverberated inside his mind, though Elrond’s mouth was no longer moving.  It was as if Elrond had sent something in his fëa that poked and probed and seemed to reach into the smallest most insignificant parts of Vildan’s conscience and memory, until all was laid bare. 

Vildan tried to fight it. Never had he felt more exposed, and the vulnerability frightened him.  The words grew louder and more urgent, and all else faded away into nothingness as this…force attacked him.  This time he screamed.  Or did he?  Why would Elrond want to kill him?  Was he even in Elrond’s halls?

For an instant, he saw the cave in his dream and feared he’d been thrown back there to die, and he was sure his Lord and Master was the one behind Melui’s illness, the one who robbed him of air and—

But no.  As soon as the thoughts surfaced, they were dissipated, and at last Vildan understood: the spell—for obviously it was a spell—was not malevolent at all.  It was helping him dispel and heal the damage to his fëa from the dream itself, or to his brain from prolonged lack of air.  Vildan didn’t know, nor did he care at the point.  All he knew was relief.

“Better?” Elrond stepped back and analyzed his face carefully.  “If not, you must tell me.”

Vildan managed a nod.  “I am sorry—”

“Think nothing of it.  Can you stand now?”

“I think so.”

“We need to speak, but not here.”  Elrond nodded to Nyssiel and another guard.  “Watch the child and do not allow anyone to approach her.” 

“Ben iest gîn, Hîr nîn,” the Elves bowed their heads and saluted.

“We will go to my study,” Elrond said. “Lean on Elladan and hurry.”

***************

As soon as they were seated, Elladan handed Vildan a glass of Miruvor and ordered him to sip it.  The Elf still looked a bit pale but at least there was a bit of color to his lips. 

“Do you know what happened, Ada?” he asked.

 “I have my suspicions, but I must know more to be certain,” Elrond said, his face intense.  “Vildan, drink, gather your strength, and tell me everything you can remember about your ordeal.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Vildan’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.  And with a visible shudder, he shared everything he could remember about the dream.

Ai, gorgor! Elladan’s stomach turned as he listened to the words. “The assassin was you?”

“No! Well, yes.  He looked like me, but I would never do such things!  And how could I be in that tree slaughtering everyone below, when I was imprisoned in that place watching it all happen?”

“Interesting,” Elrond leaned his elbow on his chair and grasped his chin.  “Perhaps this dream was invoking your own sense of guilt; you feel as if you failed your loved ones by not being here to protect them.”

 Vildan’s face disintegrated, but he did his best to remain stoic. 

“Peace, mellon nîn.” Elladan rested his hand on his friend’s forearm and gave it a small squeeze.  “Whatever the reasoning, no one believes this is your fault.”

“I know. In my head, I know, but…” Vildan cleared his throat as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “But...what happened?  How did you know to come?”

“Lt. Kædhan found me and said there was something terribly wrong with you and Melui.  He had already woken Adar nîn.”

“Hence my losta-haib,” Elrond indicated his thick robe.  “We arrived at your rooms and found you both in a terrible state,” he said gently.  “Nyssiel was trying to revive the child, but to no avail.”

“Ai, nergon…” the cup nearly fell from Vildan’s fingers. 

Elladan grabbed it and set it on the desk. “Ada went to Meriel, while I went to you.”  He turned toward his father.  “Vildan was grasping at this throat, as if something was choking him to death.  It took a echuia-luith to revive him, but I still needed to get shock his system into wakefulness.”

“I am afraid I found the baby in the same condition,” Elrond’s voice trembled slightly.  “Fortunately, it did not need to get physical.”

A cry escaped Vildan, and his head fell into his hands. 

“Vildan…  Vildan, listen to me!” Elrond’s sharp voice cut through the panic.  “I did revive her!  Melui is in a genuine healing sleep, now.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” Vildan said, his face still pale. “Can you explain what happened to me in the infirmary?  I heard strange words, and it seemed like you, but not.  Was kind of spell was that?”

“One I rarely dare to use, Vildan,” Elrond sighed.  “The incantation was spoken in an ancient dialect once used in Valinor.  The spell is called a Barthanc in that language, and I had to be absolutely certain of yours and Melui’s condition and even then, only as a last resort.”

“You mean, you used it on Melui, as well?” Elladan’s eyes rounded.

“Once Melui was awakened,” Elrond said evenly, “she tried to kick and bite me, as if I was the enemy in her dream, or whatever she was seeing.  Even with her illness, that child was never aggressive.”

“What condition do you speak of?” Vildan asked, rubbing his forehead.

“It is easier to understand if I explain how this Barthanc works.  You should know that less than ten people in the history of Middle Earth could recite that spell. I was taught by my mother-in-law, but she cautioned me of its use.”  Elrond pursed his lips for a moment, then said, “Praise Queen Varda that I was correct; had I been wrong, you both would be dead.”

No one moved, spoke or even breathed for several moments.  Elladan glanced at Vildan, whose eyes darted back and forth as he tried to let the events of this night sink in.

Elrond steepled his fingers together—a sure sign of his worry—and continued. [1] “The Barthanc is a ‘seeking spell,’ one that is summoned, if you will, then sent to find that which is damaging the mind and/or the fëa.”

“I remember…” Vildan said in a faraway voice.  “I heard you say something, then it was as if something foreign was inside my head and looking…” he shuddered.  “It saw everything terrible thing I was feeling and thinking and attacked it. Then…I could think clearly again.”

“Exactly.  The Barthanc can only be administered for a certain kind of,” Elrond hesitated, “curse.”

“Who would want to curse us?”

“Most likely the same person who had your sister and Narseg killed,” Elrond said. 

“So, if this Barthanc banished that curse; does that mean Melui will be well again?”

“Sadly, I do not think so.  You both were under a spell which we refer to in Quenya as a Gurutholórë—"

“’Dream of Agony,” Elladan interpreted. “I thought such things were only a myth.”

“You are supposed to think so,” Elrond said sadly.  “It is a tactic used by the Dark Lord to control his followers.  Someone here or in the nearby region has the not only the power to wield it, but also to mask it from people like myself and Glorfindel.”  Elrond pulled out a drawer and removed a folded piece of cloth.

“Vildan,” he continued, “we did not share this with you before, because you needed to remain focused on your niece, not search the countryside for the owner of this.  If I have erred, then I ask your forgiveness.”

Elrond held out the bundle to Vildan.  “When I performed an autopsy on your sister, this was buried in the base of her neck.  It is the tip of an arrowhead, which we have determined was of Elven-make.  Specifically, made in our own forges.  Elrohir and his unit have worked for months to find out who might have owned this, but I cannot help but belief the true culprit is someone known to us. 

“I chose Arwen’s apartment for you to live because it is quiet and out of the way from much activity, but obviously it made you vulnerable to…” A muscle in Elrond’s jaw twitched.  “I will send for your things and for now, you both shall remain together in the infirmary where I can keep you both under heavy guard.” 

“Ai, gorgor…” A thought struck Elladan.  “Where is Laniër? We did not see her at the apartment; I had assumed she was visiting friends.”

“She usually does a few times a week,” Vildan said, looking up from the cloth in his hands as he grasped what Elladan was suggesting. “Yesterday afternoon, I finally told her.”

“Told her what?” Elrond asked.

“I am sure you have noticed Laniër’s attachment to Melui,” Elladan told his father.  “What is not commonly known is that Laniër also has a particular attachment to Vildan.”

Vildan’s eyes fell to his hands. “I should have done something about this a long time ago, before she had a chance to get her hopes up.”

“She was hurt,” Elrond said.

“And angry,” Vildan admitted.  “Very angry.”

“I see.”

“But surely all this is a coincidence?  And if the person who cursed us was also responsible for Meássë’s death, then it could not have been Laniër!  She was here that very same night!”

“Vildan,” Elrond’s voice grew soft.  “What if she were working in concert with someone else?”

The Lieutenant’s face grew ashen.  “She… just before she left, she said I had no idea what she has done for me, what she protected…”

“Protected who, and from what?”

“I do not know,” Vildan winced.  “I lost my temper and she stormed out.”

“Perhaps she was not as good a friend as we believed.” Elladan mused.

“There might be something to that,” Elrond said.  “Whoever orchestrated all this has fooled both Glorfindel and me, and that is saying something.  Someone that powerful could easily manipulate others into believing she—or he—has honorable intentions.”

“Oh, no…  It cannot be…”

Once again this night, Elladan had to steady his friend to keep him upright. “Ada?  Are you well?”

His father clearly was not, and suddenly Elrond looked as old as his years.  “In my house…  into my very own halls has this evil entered...” He scrubbed his face and got to his feet.  “Stay here,” he ordered.

Elrond returned a few minutes later, shutting the door behind him.  “I told the guards to find her telling her only that something terrible has happened to the child—”

“Which is not a lie,” Vildan said wryly.”

 “We must speak with her, but if there is any truth to this theory, we cannot afford to spook her.  Once she arrives, Glorfindel and I will interrogate her.”

“I want to be with Melui,” Vildan barely held back a sob.  “I need to be with her.”

“I agree,” the Elf-lord and Elladan help Vildan to his feet.  “We will take you to her.”

***************

Elrond Peredhel, son of Eärendil, could barely contain his rage.  While he had sympathized with Galadriel and Thranduil when evil had breached their protective barriers, only now could he fully grasp the depth of their anger and frustration.  Times have changed, and as Middle Earth approached the time when the fate of all Free Peoples will be decided once and for all.

At the heart of the murders in his mother-in-law’s realm was a power-crazed Wizard who had fallen prey to the Dark Lord’s powers.  Pallando had also caused considerable damage in Thranduil’s realm by placing an evil trinket into the hands of an Elfling.

Elrond was a fool to think for a moment that his realm was impervious to things like this, and for the second time in his life, the bottom had fallen out of his world, causing him to question everything he had ever believed. [2]

Born near the end of the First Age 532, Elrond and his brother Elros had no recollection of their birth names, nor were they old enough to remember their mother but for vague memories of a soft breast and the voice that sang them to sleep.  A brave, resigned smile in a damp, dark place, a kiss on both cheeks and a hurried command:

“No matter what you hear, do not come out for anyone but me or Lord Cîrdan.”

It was 538 F.A. and the Havens of Sirion, was under attack.[3] All Elrond could remember of that terrible time was screaming and fire and the grasp of his brother’s arms as they huddled together.

But no one came.  Not for days and days.

During the day, they carefully ventured out to eat the berries on nearby bushes, but once they’d been picked clean, there was nothing.  The nights were full of gnawing hunger and a chill that sank into their very bones.

One day, although the twins never counted the days, Elrond was lying down inside the cave, clutching his stomach in hopes of easing the cramps, when the voice of an adult Elf reached his ears.  Elrond ran to the entrance to see Elros standing knee-deep in the water as a tall Elf squatted on the banks of the pool and asked him questions.  Tired and hungry, Elrond lacked the energy to flee, though that did not stop his pulse from racing and his body nearly frozen with terror.  Were they going to burn, as well?

But this dark-haired Elf merely held out some food and a blanket to Elros, who timidly stepped out of the water, grabbed the biscuit and jumped back a few steps as he devoured it greedily.  A soft groan left his mouth and Elrond stopped caring about anything but that food.  If getting a meal and a little warmth led to their deaths, then he was willing to die for it. 

The Elf turned in surprise and when his eyes fell on Elrond, he slowly rose from his haunches to his full height.  He had never seen anyone so tall before, and though there was a lovely glow about his face, the light grey eyes held great sadness.  The Ellon approached him cautiously, breaking off another piece of biscuit and holding it out for him.

“Nán alassea omenita let,” he said, breaking off another piece of biscuit and holding it out for him.  “Ma samit maure matto?”

With filthy, shaking hands, Elrond snatched it from his fingers and gobbled it up. 

The Ellon’s lips curved into a small smile and rested his hand on his chest.  “Maglor,” he said. “Essenya Maglor ná.”  Then he pointed to Elrond and his brother.  “Man esselya ná?”

But neither child responded.

“Maglor,” he said again, pointing to his chest, then picked up the thick wool blanket and held it out.  The twins took it and wrapped themselves up in it, grateful to find some warmth at last. 

The blanket and the food seemed to bring the twins back to life. And with that life came the ability to finally express their sadness, for they knew now that their mother was lost to them forever. They pulled the blanket around them, and burst into tears.

When at last Elrond’s vision cleared, he wiped his eyes with his fists, he for an instant, believed they had been abandoned again.  But no; the Elf was approaching in the distance, leading a large black horse.  Strong, solid hands lifted them into the saddle, adding a second blanket to keep them warm.  Elrond leaned down and buried his face into the horse’s silky dark mane and slept, Elros contentedly resting his cheek against Elrond’s back.

They arrived at camp full of strangers, all speaking a foreign tongue. And even taller, red haired Ellon waved his handless arm at Maglor (for that indeed was his name).  Their voices rose and fell in the firelight, the Red One’s full of frustration, Maglor’s soft and soothing.  Finally, the Red One approached. His face was grim and a long, jagged scar ran down his left cheek. He had the same eyes as Maglor, only these grey eyes weren’t just sad.  They were haunted. 

“Ni cheniog?” he asked, this time in Sindarin.

Elrond’s shoulders finally relaxed, and both brothers nodded their heads. 

“Ma i eneth gîn?”

But as relieved as the twins were, Elrond was afraid yet again.  After of living in the physical darkness of that cave and the emotional darkness abandonment, both Elflings had lost the power of speech.  Would this grim, scarred Elf abandon them, too?  Would they be sent back to that awful place?

But to his surprise, the Red One bent over, lifted Elrond’s chin and stared into his face. Tears fell, blurring his vision, but a soft hand rested on his cheek to wipe them away.  When he could see again, the Red One’s eyes were filled as well.

After a few days, the four of them left the camp and were taken to a splendid house, where the Ellyn were given new names:  Elrond, because he had been in the cave, and Elros, because he had been splashing in the water, when Maglor had rescued them.  They eventually regained their powers of speech and were educated in the language of their foster-fathers. people.  Indeed, to children who had no real memory of their own father, Maglor and Maedhros had loved and cared for them as their own. Maglor preferred to tutor them himself rather than attend school, although Elrond could not help but notice the gaps in their history lessons.  When he asked about that, Maglor insisted that they were learning all they needed and changed the subject, usually by handing him a harp and beginning their music lesson.

Maedhros trained them well in weapons and military strategy, and he was a thorough teacher, despite the occasional lapse in patience. This Elrond and Elros forgave because they heard him in the nights as he cried out, followed by Maglor who rushed past their door to attend to his brother. 

One night, Elrond woke in the night to find Maedhros sitting by their bed, thoughtfully stroking their hair.  He sat up and asked, “Are you well, Atar Russ?” he pointed to his foster-father’s cheek. “Do your scars hurt you?”[4]

“Ui, Onya,” Maedhros swallowed a bitter smile.  “It is the scars that cannot be seen that plagues me this night.”

“Do you want me to play you song?”

“Some other time, perhaps.  Your smile does a great deal to ease my pain.”

Elrond scrambled from under the covers and wrapped his little arms around Maedhros’s neck.  “Will the pain ever go away?”

“No,” a rough voice whispered into his ear. “But it is right that it should be so.  Would you promise me something?”

Elrond pulled his head back and gave his foster-father a quizzical look.  “What?”

Maedhros caressed his cheek as a tear fell onto his cheek.  “Promise me that you will never, ever swear an oath that invokes the name of the Creator.  No matter what the circumstances, no matter who might try to persuade you, do not do it.”

“I will not; I promise.  But why?”

“Because if you do,” Maedhros’s voice cracked, “you will be forced to do things that break your heart. And if I can at least be sure that you,” he bit back a sob, “and your brother will be safe from such things, I might find it easier to bear my punishment.”

“Who wants to punish you?”

“That is not important.  All you need to remember is that, should you swear such an oath, you will lose everything and everyone you ever loved.”

“I will never leave you.” Elrond promised.

Another tear trailed down the scars of Maedhros’s face, and he lifted a strand of hair from Elrond’s eyes.  “Oh, but you will, my beloved son, and all I can hope for is that you might remember this and remember that you were loved.”

 

The years passed, the twins grew into their majority and traveled to the land of their birth, which was now called Lindon.  To their great joy, they found Cîrdan the Shipwright, whom they believed dead all these years.  Cîrdan had invited them to his home where they spent hours listening to stories of their parents, and even told them their birth names.

“I should have never stopped looking for you,” he cried. “Elwing entrusted you to me and I should—”

“Fear not,” Elros said, “for we were not lost for long.”

“Oh?” Cîrdan sat back and poured himself another drink.

The twins related the story of their rescue and the brothers who took them in and raised them with great love.  And as they spoke, Elrond grew uneasy at the look of utter horror on Cîrdan’s face.

“You were found by the sons of Fëanor?”

“Yes, but what is wrong?”

  Those Elves are the same ones that were responsible for the Kinslaying here!  They are the ones who murdered your mother!”

Enough.  Elrond shook himself back into the present.  A bed had been prepared next to Melui and Vildan was asleep at last.

He leaned down and, just as Maedhros had done long ago, he lifted a strand of golden hair off Melui’s forehead, and left them under the watchful eyes of Elladan and two other armed guards. 

Elrond had barely exited the Healing Hall when an alarmed voice shouted his name. 

“My Lord Elrond!” Captain Rahlen rushed up to him, “Lusiël has been stabbed!”

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Adar nîn – my father

echuia-luith – (lit.) wake-up spell

Gurutholórë – (Q.) “Shadow of agonizing death

losta-haib – sleeping clothes

Man?  – What?

Man esselya ná? – (Q.) What is your name?

Ma samit maure matto? – Would you like some food?

Nán alassea omenita let – (Q.) I am happy to meet you two

Ni cheniog? – Can you understand me?

Ui, Onya – (Q.) No, my child

NOTES:

[1] SCOM; Ch. 8:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090521/chapters/73036815

[2] “When the Sons of Fëanor attacked the Havens of Sirion, Elwing was taken by Ulmo. The twins were carried off, but later found near a waterfall and they were named as such; Elrond was discovered in a cave. Taken captive by Maglor, they were subsequently raised by him.  http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Elrond

[3] http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Third_Kinslaying

[4] Short for Russandol, Maedhros’s father-name. http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Maedhros

Chapter Text

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”

― Kahlil Gibran

Rivendell, 5^th of March 2946 T.A.

“My Lord Elrond!” Captain Rahlen rushed up to him, “Lusiël has been stabbed!”

“Where is she?” Elrond demanded.

Before Rahlen had a chance to answer, Elrohir raced into the Healing Hall carrying the Elleth, who was unconscious and bleeding.

“Get her over here,” Elrond indicated the nearest unoccupied bed and rolled up his sleeves. Two of his assistants began to cut off Lusiël’s dress and try to stop the bleeding.   “Wake up Lindir and the members of the Counsel and tell them to wait in the Meeting Hall.  Then a terrible though struck him. “Where is Estel?”  Ai gorgor, what if—  

Elrohir rested his hand on his father’s shoulder. “Glorfindel has him, Ada.”

Elrond’s shoulders rounded in relief.  Whatever witchery is going on, there is little that could outmatch the light of the Two Trees. Estel had to be protected at all costs.

 “Where did you find her?”

“There was no one in Laniër’s rooms, so we went to Lusiël’s to ask questions.  We found her on the floor of her sitting room.” 

“Was she conscious then?”

“Only just.  She managed to say one thing before she went under, My Lord.”  Rahlen said grimly.  “’Laniër.’  We can only take it to mean it was she who caused her injuries.”

“Where is the knife?” Elrond asked, as he probed the wound on Lusiël’s abdomen. 

“I have it, My Lord,” Lt. Thenin held it out.  It was a common weapon possessed by most of the residents of Imladris, but for the blood drying on the blade. “We found it on the floor next to her.”

“Set it over there,” he ordered, “Rahlen, assign two of your Elves to guard the entrance to this room, and the rest of you, go continue the search.”

“Right away, My Lord.”

After washing her up and dressing her in a plain white gown, Elrond and the assistants tucked her under several warm blankets and left her to awake on her own.  He recorded the injuries plus her treatment and went to his study to wait and worry while the search for Laniër continued.

Not an hour later, Elrond sat in his throne in the Meeting Hall, surrounded by the members of his Council as the screeching, wailing Elleth was brought before him, hands bound behind her back struggling against Elrohir and Rahlen.

“Silence!” Elrond commanded, and the noise level dropped instantly.  He rose to his feet, stepped off the dais and drew a wrapped parcel from the folds of his robe.  He kept his eyes on Laniër as he unwrapped it and threw the contents of it at her feet.

“This is your knife, is it not?”

 “It is, My Lord,” she sobbed.  She swallowed, as more tears fell from her face. 

“Laniër, daughter of Nornorë, you have been brought before this Council and accused of the stabbing of your cousin, Lusiël, daughter of Bruithwir.  To this serious charge, what say you?” 

“My Lord, you do not understand!” she sobbed.  “This is all my fault, and if I had just—”

“Are you saying you carried out this deed against your own kin?” 

Laniër closed her eyes and nodded her head.  “I had to.  If you would just allow me to explain—”

“What possible explanation could be given to justify such a thing?” he roared.  

“Because it is,” the Elleth’s entire body shook with fright. “I should have…” Her face suddenly grew very pale, and she swayed in their hold.

“Get her a chair!” Elrond ordered Lindir.  “And a glass of Miruvor! Quicky!”

Once she was seated, Elrond held up a goblet to her mouth and ordered her to drink, then he returned to his seat and pressed his steepled fingers to his lips.

“Laniër, I have known you since infancy.  Long had you and your cousin served Lady Celebrian, and she had nothing but praise for you both!” his tone grew harsh.  “How could you do this?”

“I understand My Lord, and I will not try to excuse my actions, but there are some things you do not know, and the fault is mine for not realizing the truth earlier.  If I had only come to you when I first suspected…”

“Suspected what?”

“Lusiël might be the cause of Melui’s affliction, and the murders of my best friend and her husband.”

“You cannot be serious!” Elrohir’s eyes bulged in disbelief. “She can barely look at anyone in the eye!”

“There is a reason for that,” Laniër gaze rested on the floor at Elrond’s feet.  “And it was only last night that I understood.”

“What do you speak of?” Elrond leaned forward.

“Vildan and I had had words, and I left.  I was upset, and Lusiël found me crying in the gardens and she … persuaded me to go back to her rooms, and I told her about our argument.  I did not want to, but…  I could not stop myself.   Maybe a part of knew all along but could not believe it.  Last night, when I came back to talk to Vildan, and saw what had happened to them, I knew it was her!  And I knew she would not stop until they were both dead!”

“I find this story very hard to believe,” Elrond’s brows lowered. 

“My Lord,” her head raised.  “Can you recall ever actually looking into her eyes?  Especially since Lady Celebrian left these shores?”

“You will leave our mother out of this!”  Elrohir shook her, hard. 

“Wait, ion nin,” Elrond said.  Then he addressed the prisoner in a calm but deadly voice. “This had better be good, for I am in agreement my son in this.”

“I have always had nothing but the utmost respect and devotion to your Lady; if you believe nothing else, please believe that.”  Laniër went on. “Since we were small, Lusiël was shy and anxious around other people, and she could barely tolerate crowds.  When we were honored to be chosen as handmaidens, the Lady became concerned and wanted to help her.”

“I remember that,” Elrond said.  “Celebrian said she was oversensitive to the emotions of those around her, that it overwhelmed her to the point of pain.”

“That is right,” Laniër nodded.  “And you remember that the Lady taught my cousin how to place a wall, a barrier, of sorts between herself and others?”

“A treatment that was deemed necessary at the time, but not without consequence,” the Elf-Lord said thoughtfully.  “But nothing justifies what you did, and for that you will face consequences of your own.”

 “I know,” Laniër’s chest and shoulders lifted and fell in a heavy sigh.  “As the daughter of Galadriel, Lady Celebrian had the power to help my cousin, and for many years, things were much better.  Lusiël seemed happier and her personality blossomed into what our family had always hoped she could become.  Until…” she blew out a breath.  “When our Lady was captured, it was as if Lusiël retreated back into her old ways, and we could do nothing about it.”

“I did not know this,” Elrond said.

“You were grieving, My Lord, and our parents did not wish to add to your burdens.  Lusiël changed, and we thought it was despair, or that maybe the Lady’s gifts had gone with her to Valinor, but it was…more than that.  She could still shield herself,  but it was as if, instead of shutting the world out, she wanted to shut herself in, to keep others from seeing her.”

“Why did you not bring her to me when you became worried?” Elrond asked.  “I could have done something to help, or even sent her to my mother-in-law.”

“We should have, My Lord, I know that now, but at the time, the only evidence her my aunt and uncle had was just…a vague feeling that something was amiss. 

“That is all well and good,” Elrohir grew impatient, “but it has nothing to do with why you have been captured and brought before my father!  What does Lusiël have to do with the murders of Meássë and Narseg and of Melui’s affliction?”

“She did it!” Laniër cried, tears of frustration running off her chin.  “She killed my best friend, and she nearly killed Vildan and Melui!  If I had not stopped her, she would only try again!  Do you not see?  That was why Lusiël avoided you!  My Lord, you and your sons have the power of the Maia in your blood, and Glorfindel was born under the Light of the Two Trees!  She knew you would be able to see her fëa and you would know what she had become!  

“I will not turn away from whatever punishment you deem fit, even if it be my own death.  I had to kill her…” her face crumpled, “because…” she broke out into sobs, “I love Melui, and I love Vildan with all my heart, though I know now he does not return my feelings.  It was too late to save Meássë and Narseg, but I would rather die knowing I had saved her daughter and her brother, than to live knowing I did not!”

 The other Council members and Lindir began to whisper among themselves.  Elrond’s eyes met his son in utter confusion. 

“Laniër,” Elrond stood and went to her.  “You did not kill your cousin.  Lusiël lies in the infirmary, even as we speak.”

“She is alive?” The expression on the Elleth’s face a mixture of relief and terror.  “Where are Vildan and Melui?” Laniër tried to jump to her feet.  “You must stop her, My Lord!  Ai, gorgor, she will kill them! She—”

Dread, and something else he couldn’t name slammed into Elrond, nearly knocking him to his knees.  He clutched at the neckline of his robe, as if to free himself.  Elrohir and Rahlen were doing the same.  Behind him, the dull thumping of bodies hitting the floor…

And before him, Laniër was on her back, her mouth wide open, her eyes bulging, her face turning red, then purple, then blue.  She writhed in torment, her spine arching and falling on her still bound hands, over and over, desperate to get air.  Somehow she managed to turn toward Elrond, she mouthed the words.

Save them…

And with that, Laniër’s body finally relaxed, just as Elrond and the others were released from whatever had cursed them.  Moans of relief echoed throughout the hall, as they gave thanks for the air that filled their lungs once again.

But Laniër, daughter of Nornorë did not get up, nor would she ever.  Elrohir, still gasping, pressed his fingers into her neck and shook his head at his father. 

“Blow the horn, if you can,” Elrond croaked and got to his feet.  “Get everyone to the infirmary, at once!”

The spell, or whatever it was, may have lifted, but the guilt that washed over Elrond threatened to take away his breath again, as he raced through the halls and corridors of the Homely House. 

“My Lord!” Thenin called from the door of the Healing Hall, holding his bleeding head.  “They are gone!  All three of them!”

They reached the infirmary to find the beds mussed and empty. Elladan was on the floor by Melui’s bed.  Elrond raced to his son, still envisioning Laniër dying before his very eyes. 

“Elladan?” he knelt and felt his son’s cheek, which, praise Varda, was still warm.  “Ion nîn?  Please, wake up!”

Elrohir was beside him, his face like a ghost, his voice wavering.  “Is he alive?”

“He is.  Help me get him on the bed.”

“I will do it.”  The twin lifted his brother in his arms and set him where Melui had been.  Elrond quickly checked his son’s vital signs as Thenin came over.

“My Lord, I heard Elladan cry out, and before I could turn around,” he grabbed at his chest.  “Something made it so I could not breathe, then I was struck from behind…”  Elrohir grabbed his waist and eased him down on the bed Vildan had occupied. 

“That is everything you remember?” he asked. 

“Yes.  All was quiet and the lamps had been turned down.  I stayed in the doorway, to intercept anyone who might approach without your leave, and then…” Thenin winced at the light and held up his bloody fingers.  “I should have stopped them…”

Thenin’s wife, still in her uniform, had muscled her way into the room. 1 “Meleth nîn!  What happened?” She grasped his hands. “I was at my post when they told me…”

“It is a long story, and we will take stock later,” Elrond said, still bent over his son.  “You husband will be fine, but Vildan and Melui have been taken, and I must ask you to go and help rescue them.  Elrohir, you join them.”

“Please, Eílíent,” Thenin squeezed her hand.  “Go. I will be here, waiting.”

Elladan stirred with a low moan, then opened his eyes.  “Ada?  What—” He lifted his head and took in the sight of a room full of soldiers running out of the room, and his eyes widened in recognition.  “No—”

But Elrond held his shoulders down.  “Not until I am sure you are well enough.  What do you remember?”

“I was there,” he pointed to the foot of the bed he was lying on.  “And then Lusiël just…sat up, as if nothing was wrong with her at all!  I saw her wounds, Ada!  You put her to sleep!”

“I did not,” Elrond’s mouth thinned.  “Had I administered a losta-luith, perhaps it would have at least slowed her down. What happened then?”

“I tried to go to her and help her lie down again and she…looked at me…  I couldn’t move… I could not do anything, then she lifted her hand,” he said in a small voice, “and there was nothing until I woke up just now.”

“Was there something about her eyes, Ion nîn?”

“Yes.  They were not…right. ” He closed his eyes and shuddered.  “I have never seen anything like it.  It was as if I were looking at the face of evil.”

Elrond, swallowed down the painful lump in his throat, sending up a silent prayer of thanksgiving. Lusiël could have easily killed his son with a flick of a finger.

“Lord Elrond!” Lieutenant Nyssiel burst in the room.  “The Guards at the North Gates are both dead; and there are hoofprints leading out of the City.”

“I am going, Ada,” Elladan forced himself to sit up.  “Vildan is my responsibility.”

Elrond studied his son’s face, then said.  “All right, but you will ride behind me. It might take all three of us to stop whatever she plans to do.”

“We would have better odds if Glorfindel were with us.”

“No,” he shook his head.  “I cannot chance it.  Get my horse ready; now!” he yelled, as he helped Elladan to stand.

By the time they reached the courtyard, his dark stallion was saddled and ready.  Once Elladan was safely seated behind him, Elrond leaned down and whispered, “Follow the tracks heading North, Sûllum; show us the meaning of haste!”

Sûllum’s shoes sparked against the cobblestones and his riders could only hang on for their lives as the horse raced through the North Gates which were barely opened in time to allow them to exit without calamity.  Elrond had trusted his faithful steed to aid and protect him through countless patrols and battles; he would not disappoint his master now.  Both Elven riders instinctively flattened themselves against his back to avoid low-hanging branches and keep their seats as the battle-horse jumped over obstacles to short-cut their way to the rescue party.

By the time they caught sight of them, they were working their way up the hill to the—

“Ai! Amarth faeg!” Elladan cried out in horror.  “Ada, she is taking them to the Îfnan Bruinen!”

“We may already be too late.”  With a pounding heart and blood rushing in his ears, Elrond he did something he had never done before.  He slapped the reins on the horse’s neck and shouted, “Hortha, Sûllum; Ego! Ego!”  

Praise Varda, his equine friend was not offended, and spurred even faster until at last they were pulling to a halt.  Father and son jumped to the ground running until they reached the semicircle of soldiers.   Elrond grabbed Elrohir’s arm.  “Why are you just standing here?”

“She threatened to throw the child over if we came any closer.” his son pointed to the figures slowly circling each other at the cliff edge.  Lusiël had Melui clasped to her front, a knife held to her throat, while Vildan crouched, hands out, pleading with her.  The cold, driving rain muffled their voices, but the look on Lusiël’s face was unmistakable.

And her eyes. 

Ae Belain natho din, he prayed silently. Berio din…  Beside him he could sense the prayers of the others and hoped the Valar heard them.

Elrond made to step forward but Elrohir stopped him.  “No; we tried that, and she just pulled the child closer to the edge.  We cannot risk it.”

“Please, Lusiël,” Vildan was sobbing, “Take me.  I will do anything you want, and I will not fight you, but please, I beg you, let my child live!”

All eyes were riveted on the terrifying Elleth and the child who stared off into space, as she had done for the past half-year, unaware of the wet, the cold.  Unaware that if that blade moved even a little, her blood would pour out and mix with the mud faster than even Elrond could prevent. 

No one was looking at the ground.   Not until it was too late.

The heavy rains that had fallen over Imladris and its surrounding lands had caused the Bruinen to rise rapidly, changing it from a smooth, clear river into a roaring, rushing, deadly force. Whether it was the wet, or the bodies shifting on this particular piece of Middle Earth, or it was the vibrations that came from the roar of the river, that caused the soil to shift under Lusiël and Melui and start to slide.

Time slowed to a crawl, as Lusiël’s eyes widened in fear, all malevolence gone.  She swung out the arm holding the knife in an attempt to regain her balance, but it was too little, too late.

“No!” cried Lusiël as she fell backward, still holding Melui.

“No!” Vildan screamed, as he dived forward, grabbing the fabric of Melui’s dress.

“No!” screamed Elladan, as he ran to save his friend.

With a shriek, Lusiël disappeared over the edge, taking Melui with her.

With a roar, Vildan followed, refusing to let go.

***************

Elgeria i Belain!

Vildan saw the branch—or was it a root?— sticking out from the side of the cliff just below.  He tightened his fist in Melui’s dress and grabbed at it, breaking the hold Lusiël had on her.

She was free!  He held on tight and prayed his niece’s dress was sturdy.  He carefully lifted his right arm, until Melui was against him and let go of the skirt just long enough to catch her waist and hold her to him.

“I have you, sweetling,” he panted.  “I will not let you go; I promise.”

Below him, the screams stopped as Lusiël hit the water.  He dared a glance down and followed her with his eyes as she struggled to keep her head above water.  Fifty yards downstream, the water swept her to a rock that jutted out into her path and dashed her body against with too much force to survive.  Ten yards past, her body reappeared, face-down and flopped into the waves like a rag doll.

Ai, gorgor…

“Vildan!” a shout from above.  It was Lord Elrond. “We are getting you a rope!  Hang on!”

“Hurry!” he called up.  “It will not hold us for long!” 

After what seemed like centuries, Elrohir jumped over and began to repel against the side of the cliff.  “They will throw down another rope.  Do not grab it; I will tie it around you and they will pull you up!”

Melui clung to her uncle, shivering. Vildan tightened his arm around her and prayed.

“No matter what happens,” Vildan told her.  “Hang on to Tôrano Vida and do not let go, do you understand?  Do not let go!”

Elrohir reached them and grabbed at the other rope, ready to begin but just as he stretched out his hand, the branch gave way.

Everyone watched helplessly as they fell, unconsciously stretching out their arms.

Vildan managed to gather Melui to him and hold his hand over her nose and mouth. The river Bruinen seemed to rush up to meet them halfway, giving Vildan barely enough time to inhale hold his breath.  The water was like a thousand icy knives, and he had to force himself not to inhale from the shock of it, as he kicked with all his might. When their heads breached the surface, he took his hand away. 

“Breathe!  Do not let go!”

That sharp rock was just ahead, but Vildan was ready for it.  He bent his legs and ricocheted off of it, sending them back into the foamy waves.  His eyes swept the terrain ahead and was able to maneuver the two of them past several more, making sure to keep Melui’s head above the water and away from anything could hurt her, and desperately trying to find some sort of inlet to swim toward.

Where were they?

He had spent countless hours swimming in the Bruinen as a child.  He and his father had hiked and fished and camped along its banks until he knew every inch of it for miles.  But this was not the river he had loved all this life.  Today it was a stranger, barely recognizable.  Somewhere there must be a landmark that could tell him where they were at!

It wasn’t until he saw the sharp bend looming before them that he finally got his bearings, and he remembered the large, boulder that sat in the middle.  Still gasping and stroking with his left arm, they went around the curve and once again, he bounced them away.

What he didn’t know, what he couldn’t possibly have anticipated was that earlier that year, one of the trees on the nearby bank had fallen into the water.  In any other circumstance it would have been visible to the naked eye, but today it remained hidden under the opaque, brown surge.  Vildan had just cleared the boulder when his foot became caught in it, sending them both under.  Fighting off panic, he held Melui up, and twisted himself around until he sprung free.

Once again, his head came above the surface and he coughed and shook the water from his eyes as he tried to turn them around to face the current, but he wasn’t quick enough.  Vildan’s back crashed into sharp jagged rock causing an explosion of pain.  Yet he held on, and Melui didn’t let go.

They had made it through the roughest part of the water; the terrain was no longer steep, and they were heading toward level ground, but though the river was calmer, it was still deep.  And Vildan was still struggling to stay afloat. Mercifully, the pain began to subside, as did the pain of the cold below the waist. 

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

When Vildan tried to kick his legs, they did not respond but dragged behind him.  When he hit against something under the water, he only felt the jarring of his upper body, and there was a trail of blood in his wake.  Vildan was growing weaker.  

No more, he thought.  I cannot do this anymore. 

His body scraped against solid ground and at last, they came to a stop.  Melui slipped away from him, and he lacked the strength to reach for her, or to even lift his head from the water.  Elrond would take good care of Melui, he could rest safely with that.  And Tauriel?  The thought of never seeing her again brought an agony he was surprised he had the energy to feel.  It was as all the pain from the bruises and cuts on his lower extremities were gathered into a sharp point and sent to his slowing, weakened heart.  He’d never see her or Mîstanar or her foal.

Vildan was too tired to think, to breathe, to live anymore. 

Time to stop. 

To rest. 

To wait for the Call of Mandos and be taken to the Halls of Waiting, where he hoped Meássë would forgive him.  

Hoofbeats, shouting.  Boots running on gravel.

The last thing Vildan heard before the darkness fell was Melui crying and calling out his name.

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Ae Belain natho din -  Oh Valar, help them

Ai! Amarth faeg! – Basically the Sindarin version of “Holy Shit!” (Lit. “Oh no!  Evil Fate!”)

Berio din – Protect them

Hortha, Sûllum; Ego! Ego! -  “Hurry, Sûllum; Go! Go!

Îfnan Bruinen – The Cliffs of Loudwater.

Sûllum – (Lit. “Windshadow”) the name of Elrond’s dark stallion (as seen briefly in The Hobbit Trilogy).

NOTES:                                                                                            

[1] Thenin and Eílíent are Woodland Guardians who chose to say in Rivendell after their exchange year.  SCOM, Ch. 7:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090521/chapters/72741651

Chapter Text

“Sacrifice is a part of life. It's supposed to be. It's not something to regret. It's something to aspire to.”

― Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven

Rivendell, July 2945 T.A.

“See?” Nana took Melui’s hand and helped her stroke the smooth feathers on the falcon’s head. “Is he not soft?  Did you know that Lagrôval is the fastest falcon in Middle Earth?”

Melui shook her head and tentatively petted him again.  “He must be very strong.”

  “He is, and when Lord Elrond needs to tell people things, writes out messages on paper, I attached them right here,” at a command the falcon sticks out his left leg, his long, sharp claws relaxed. “Then I tell him to fly to places like Gondor, Mithlond, and even to the Elvenking up North.”

“Does he not get lost?”

“No, my sweet.  He knows where he needs to go.  Sometimes I send two of his friends along to protect him.”

“Why?”

"Such a curious child!" Nana laughed. “You remind me of your Uncle Vildan when he was your age.”

Melui’s parents normally went on trips with Lord Gildor a couple of times a year.  Though she missed them, she was used to having Laniër come to stay while they were gone. But this last time, when Ada and Nana said they had to go, something in Melui’s stomach told her it would be bad, and she burst into tears and begged them to stay.

“Laniër will stay with you like always, and you will have a wonderful time!  You love her, yes?”

“But why do you have to go?” she wailed.

Lord Elrond is sending Gildor to the White Towers especially, and I must send news of what he wants us to find out.”

“Could he not send somebody else?”

“There is no one else, Iellig; Dalron has gone to visit Lothlorien and will not be back until the fall.”  Meássë studied her face.  “What is wrong?”

“I just feel scared,” Melui told her mother.  “You and Ada have to stay?”

Naneth pulled Melui into her lap. “I do not want to leave you Iellig, but we have to.  But after we get back, I will see if Dalron could take the trip for me next time.  Does that make you feel better?”

“Yes, Nana,” she said, but she did not feel any better. 

In the weeks that followed, Melui closed her eyes at night and told herself that Ada and Nana would return, and all would be well. 

Mostly she wished Uncle Vida were here.  He would fix everything.

Two days before her parents were supposed to leave, Laniër came to visit.  Nana had to nudge Melui to be polite and not sulk.

“Melui, be nice.” Nana pursed her lips and made excuse.  “I am sorry,” she said to Laniër. “Our little one does not want us to go.”

“I cannot blame her,” Lusiël smiled and kissed Melui’s cheek.  “But I will make sure we do something fun every day.” She winked leaned over to whisper in Melui’s ear, “If you’re very good, I will let you eat cake after lunch and supper.”

Melui,” Nana said.  “I need to speak with Lusiël; could you play in your room for a few minutes?”

She went to her room but stayed near the door to listen, hoping that Nana had changed her mind, but all she heard were snippets of conversation:

“What is wrong, Meássë?”

“I did not want you to hear this from someone else.”

“That sounds ominous,” Laniër laughed.

“I know how you feel about Vildan, Mellon nîn.”

“I do not understand what you mean,” came the tentative reply.

“Laniër, I am your closest friend, and I have watched you this past year.  I do not think you understood yourself how much you would miss him.  Am I right?”

“Yes.” Laniër said softly. “I know he has only ever seen me as a friend, but yes, I wish it were more.  Why do you ask this?”

“Because I love you both very much.” Nana sighed.  “I have thought long and hard about all of it, and there is no other way but to just say it outright.  I received a letter from him last week, asking for my advice.”

“What happened.”

“Laniër, he has fallen in love with the foster-daughter of King Thranduil.” 

“Does…does she love him back?”

“He believes so, though they have not spoken for each other. Vildan did not want to ask the Elvenking for permission to court her until he had my blessing.”

“What are you going to do?” Laniër’s voice was sad.

“I do not want to hurt you,” Nana said. “That is the last thing I would ever want to do, but he is my brother, and I cannot make him feel something when he does not, nor can I force him to stop when he does.  I have to support his choice.”

“Of course, you do,” Laniër was trying not to cry.  “It is my own fault for not realizing sooner, when I had the chance.”

“Ai, naeg,” the kitchen chairs scraped across the stone floor. “Do not be grieved,” Nana said in a muffled voice. “The Valar has someone wonderful in mind and he will be everything you could ever dream of.”

Melui had to find a way to stop Ada and Nana from leaving, and after a few minutes of thinking hard, she came up with a perfect plan. 

After lunch, Nana put her down for her nap and said she would be out weeding the vegetables, Melui pretended to go to sleep, but waited until the back door closed. pulled her boots on, crept into the kitchen to fill her pockets with cookies and rolls, went through to the sitting room and stretched her arm up as far as it would go, and pulled the front door latch.  When it clicked, she froze, fearing Nana had heard, but after a moment or two, she slipped out, leaving the door slightly open.

She made her way to Estel’s treehouse by hiding behind bushes and trees, and when her hands reached that first board of the ladder, they trembled with excitement.  She’d always wanted to do this, but everyone said she was too small.  It didn’t matter that she could only reach the next rung if she stood on the very tips of her toes, and grasped the next with her fingertips; she slowly made her way up, rung by rung.

At last, with a triumphant sigh, Melui reached the top, pulled herself onto the flet, and took in the amazing panorama of her home city.  To the far right was the—Melui couldn’t say it—was the circle of bushes the people liked to walk. [1] Behind her was a view of the barracks and the practice yards, probably Estel chose this tree so he could watch the Army spar and train. 

It was perfect; nobody would think to look here, and if Ada and Nana could not find her, they could not go away.  With a determined smile, she settled down into the small hut Estel had built, pulled out only one cookie—she had to make them last—and had a snack.

The sound of weeping startled her, so she crawled over to the edge and looked down. It was their friend Laniër, and she was crying.  Another dark-haired Elleth, Laniër’s cousin (she couldn’t pronounce her name) came and spoke to her.  The Elleth had come to the house with Laniër a few times, and though Nana and Ada seemed to like her, Melui didn’t; and she always felt scared when she was around.

The cousin said something to Laniër, but then she stopped and looked all around her.  Did she see who was hiding in the tree? Melui scooted back unto the hut to hide again, but when she heard them talk about her Uncle, her curiosity got the better of her, and she slowly inched back to the edge to see what was going on below.

Laniër was still crying, but her cousin looked very, very angry.

“How could Meássë do that to you?” she stomped and waved her hands.  “I have heard that Elleth is nothing more than a Silvan, not good enough to wipe Vildan’s boots!  And she would rather see her brother with that?”

“It is not Meássë’s fault.” Laniër took out a handkerchief and wiped her nose.  “She only wants her brother to be happy.”

“Meássë is a fool, and so are you.  She has no right to keep pushing that brat of theirs onto you.  And this is how she repays your kindness?”

“Lusiël,” Laniër said, “you do not understand.”

“Go to Mirkwood, and fight for him!” Lusiël urged. “Once he sees you again, he will come to his senses and bring you back here and marry you!”

“I am not going to do that,” Laniër lifted her hands outward.  “And do not speak unkindly of Meássë or her child.  We all used to be friends, remember?  What happened to turn you against her?”

“I have just come to my senses, that is all.”

“No, cousin,” Laniër said. “You have been a recluse ever since Lady Celebrian sailed, but you never were hateful and aggressive like this!”

“I have never been hateful to you,” Lusiël said earnestly.  “I could kill Vildan for betraying you like this!”

“He betrayed no one." Laniër’s eyes filled.  "Vildan has only ever seen me as a friend.”  

“I am tired of seeing you taken for granted like this, and I will not just sit by and watch you suffer,” Lusiël straightened and turned to leave.  “Leave it to me, dearest.  I will straighten out this mess.”

“What could you possibly do?” Laniër asked in alarm, as her cousin turned away.

“Mark my words,” Lusiël turned back said, with a smile that made Melui’s chest hurt.  “I promise: by this time next year, I will be dancing at your wedding.”

“No!  You will only make things worse; just stay out of it!  Please!”

Just then, the Elleth stared up into the trees, looked straight at Melui’s with narrowed eyes that glowed a sickly green.

 A chill of pure terror ran down Melui’s spine. She scooted back, not caring about the noise she made until she in the farthest corner of Estel’s treehouse.  She curled up into a tight ball, closed her eyes tight and started to cry.

It wasn’t until the sun was starting to go down, that she dared to come out again.  Melui sniffled as she carefully made her way down to the ground.  She started to cry in earnest and ran home as fast as her short legs could carry her. 

She was crying so hard she did not hear someone shouting her name, nor did she see who grabbed her and scooped into his arms. 

“No!” She screamed and punched and kicked to get free, “No! I need my Nana!” she cried, barely able to catch her breath.  “Nana!”

”Ai, gorgor, child; you are shaking like a leaf!”  It was one of the soldiers from the North.  “Narseg!  I found her!”

“Let me go!” She screamed, “Nana!”

“Shhh…” his low, soothing voice broke through her hysteria.  “Do not cry, muin; you are safe.  There is your father now!”

”Melui!” Ada ran to them and took Melui into his arms. ”Thank the Valar,” he said as he clutched her to him with relief.  “We have been looking all over for you.”  He smiled, though his eyes were red and wet. “What happened, Iellig?”

Melui could only bury her head into his chest and cry harder.

“Ae, de athae i Belain; there you are!” Nana ran down the street, skirts flowing behind her, and threw her arms around them both and squeezed so hard, Melui could not breathe, then grabbed her arms shook her. Do not ever ever run away like that again!” she sobbed, before hugging her again. They were all crying now.

“Where did you go?” Ada asked, but Melui couldn’t say.  She gripped his neck and held on tighter.

“Is she hurt?” Nana asked, checking her arms and legs.

“I do not think so, but let us take her to the Healing Hall, just to be sure.”

“I see no injuries,” Lord Elrond said, “but she has certainly had a fright.”  He gently grasped her chin and his blue eyes searched hers.  It was like what Lusiël did, but this wasn’t horrible, it was nice.  “Can you tell me what happened, child?”

But Melui, no matter how hard she tried, couldn’t make those words come out of her mouth.  She had admitted to climbing up to Estel’s tree house—Nana gasped, but Ada looked proud—but whenever she tried to tell them what she saw, nothing would come out.  Melui grew frustrated and pounded at her head to force the words from her lips, but Lord Elrond gently grabbed her hands and held them away.

“No, child.” Elrond said, concern in his eyes.  “Do not hurt yourself like that.”

“She cannot tell us anything?”

“No, though clearly she wants to. Perhaps it is shock; I think it wise not to press her just now.  What she needs is a good sleep,” Lord Elrond said.  “Take her home, and give her a good dinner.” He handed Ada a small pouch.  “Put a pinch of this into her juice, before she goes to bed and see how she is in the morning.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Ask her caretaker to bring her see me every few days while you are gone.  I want to keep an eye on this.”  He gave her parents an apologetic smile.  “Under any other circumstance,  I would tell you to stay with her—”

Melui’s shoulders strained in hope.

“—but I need you there.” He sighed. 

“We understand, My Lord,” Ada said, and Nana bowed her head, too.

Her heart fell.

“I should send you to bed without supper,” Nana scolded on their way home.

“Leave her be, Hervess nîn; the child has learned her lesson the hard way.”  Ada tilted his head and smiled at Melui.  “Is that right?  No more running off, do I make myself clear?  And if you try this nonsense while Laniër is watching you, she has our permission to spank you.”

“Yes, Ada,” Melui sniffed. “I am sorry I scared you.  I just do not want you to go.”

“Ai, darling,” Ada sighed, tightening his arms around her.  “We will miss our little flower every minute we are away, but your Nana and I made a promise to Lord Elrond to serve our people whenever they need us.”

“Why?”

“Because Lord Elrond works hard to give us a good life here, and we all must work together to protect our home and our people.  Uncle Vildan does the same.”

“I wish he was here to take care of us.”

“He will be back soon,” Ada booped her nose.  “And will probably have a trunk full of presents for his Little Beauty.  Would you like that?”

“Yes, Ada,” she said and leaned against his shoulder.

When Nana and Ada kissed her goodbye, she tried to be brave, but two weeks later, she woke in the night with a terrible, terrible dream and knew they were gone forever.  She screamed and cried and tried to go get Lord Elrond.  Then something happened, and she never spoke again.

Until there was cold rain and a knife to her throat.

A long, long fall.  Then water on her face, in her mouth and Uncle Vida promising to not let go.

And he didn’t let go, until she was on land again, and Lord Elrond came to help.

And Melui was on the shore, crying and calling to Tôrano Vida to wake up.

***************

Rivendell, 5^th of March 2946 T.A., the Healing Hall

“Lusiël; you are awake!”

Vildan was stirred from his sleep to the sound of Elladan’s startled voice, as the Elleth stirred carefully rose from her bed.

“I think so…” she groaned, rubbing her abdomen. 

“You should not be out of bed until my father approves it,” Elladan rose from his chair beside Vildan and approached. “Here; allow me to help you lie back down.”

“No,” she held up a hand, her eyes on the floor in front of her.  “I feel fine.”

“Well, at least allow me to check your wounds,” he said.  “We know who stabbed you, and I am sorry for it.  I had no idea of Laniër’s true nature, or we could have prevented all this.”

The Elleth laughed softly, “It is my true nature you should be worried about.”

In that instant, Vildan a cold hand of dread gripped his stomach.  Shy, quiet, Lusiël who hid behind the looms of her tapestries, who almost never showed up at public functions or festivals, and only then for a few minutes before she made her excuses and left again.  Next to her gregarious, friendly cousin, Lusiël was barely noticeable; Vildan had hardly exchanged a half-dozen sentences with her in his entire life, which was true with almost everyone in Imladris, but for Elladan, who went out of his way to be kind, and draw her out of her shell.

His heart slamming against his ribs, Vildan slowly, cautiously slithered out of his bed to go to his niece—

“Do not move!” Lusiël’s hard voice scraped at the air in the room like fingernails against a chalkboard. 

Vildan’s feet were cemented to the ground, his hands still clutching his blankets as if they had been sewn onto his fingers. “Stop her!”

 Elladan unsheathed the knife in his belt.

With a casual wave of her hand, weapon clattered to the floor, curled her fingers, raised her arm.  Elladan’s feet lifted off the ground as he desperately grabbed at his neck.

“Stop this!” Vildan shouted.  “It is me you are after,” he said. “Just free him and Melui and I will do whatever you want.

Lusiël nonchalantly return her gaze to Elladan and, with a shrug, effortlessly sent them crashing to far wall, into a cart.  Metal trays and instruments clattered to the floor and Elladan lay motionless, a bleeding from a small cut in his scalp.  The guards outside shouted in alarm and pounded on the door trying to get in.  Lusiël flicked her fingers and the clang of armor hit the floor, followed by silence.

Lusiël, showing no sign that she had ever been injured, marched over to Melui’s bed and pulled down the covers.

“You said you would let her go!” Vildan struggled against his invisible restraints.

“I said nothing of the sort,” She grabbed Melui’s arm and dragged her out of bed. The Elfling’s body went rigid in terror and another guttural moan fell from her mouth.  Furious, the Elleth bend down and stared into the child’s face.  “Do you want your Uncle to die?”

Instantly Melui relaxed and cooperated. 

“You will never get away with this,” Vildan said furiously. 

“Will I not?” Lusiël laughed.  “Watch me."  She turned and made for the door.

“Please!  Take me with you, at least!”

“No,” she turned and narrowed her eyes.  “You will follow.”

And she was gone.

Vildan wanted to scream for help, but it took energy away from the effort to free himself from whatever had taken him.  He sobbed and pulled and pushed and prayed, and when suddenly he was freed, he barely managed to keep his balance.

Still clad in the pajamas he had put on the night before, he scrambled barefoot out into the corridor where Thenin lay unconscious on the polished floor,  a small pool of blood coagulating under his head.  Vildan bent down and pressed his fingers against his neck and breathed a silent prayer of thanks to find him still alive, and kept running.

Everywhere he looked, Elves were slumped on the floor, on benches, and he could do nothing but ignore them.  His child was taken, and he would die before he let anything happen to her.

Vildan wasn’t surprised to find the courtyard empty.  It had been raining nearly non-stop for the past two weeks, and it hadn’t let up today.  The he shielded his eyes to keep out the water as he searched the area for some clue as to where they might have gone, and when he found nothing.

He ran to the stables wishing more than ever that he still had Mistanâr but when he found Hûrthenon agitated and all but throwing himself against the door, Vildan sent up a prayer thanking the Lord Thranduil and Falarion for their choice. 

“There is no time for saddle or bridle, Mellon nîn,” he pulled the door open on its rollers to hard it bounced back, and grabbed the stallion’s nose.  “Pi law dín, eth gwand,” he begged, his last words came out as a sob. “Natho nin, listo!”

The huge chestnut yanked his head free, let out a deafening neigh and pawed the ground as if to say, what are you waiting for? With a grateful sigh, Vildan threw a blanket over his back, mounted him and barely had enough time to duck as they exited the barn. 

Vildan felt foolish for doubting the beast; Hûrthenon clearly understood the situation, and ran like the wind, heading for the North Gates.  There was nothing to do but lean forward, bury his hands into the stallion’s mane and hang on.

The Gates were open wide, and the guards, both good friends, were sprawled on the ground. Aldon was still, looking up at the rain with lifeless eyes.  Naeven was clutching his chest and coughing up blood.

With a roar of anguish, Vildan tore his gaze away, knowing that he was leaving his friend to die. But he could not stop; all he could do was say a prayer that Naeven would easily make his way to the Halls of Waiting, and that he would understand and forgive him.  Vildan dragged his sleeve over his eyes, not knowing if his blurry vision was from the rain or his own tears.

As Hûrthenon’s pace slowed to a careful walk, Vildan realized where they were. The Îfnan Bruinen was a hundred feet ahead, and Lusiël had Melui by the arm, shaking her and shouting.

Vildan jumped from the stallion and raced toward them.  “Do not hurt her, Lusiël. Do not be afraid, Dailên nîn! I am here!”

“Do not come any closer, or I’ll throw her in the river.”

“Why are you doing this?” Vildan held his arms out.  “I have no weapons.  I cannot hurt you, Lusiël. Just tell me what I have done to hurt you, and I will put things right if I can.”

“It is too late for that,” the glow in Lusiël’s eyes, wrenched Vildan’s gut, but the sight of his baby made him focus. 

 “I never meant to hurt anyone—“

“But you did!  All her life, Laniër has loved you, wanted you, and you break her heart by casting her aside like she is trash?  Like she was nothing?  And for what?  Some low-born, Silvan peasant who is not fit enough to lick her boots.  You broke her heart!”

“Why are you punishing Melui for this?  She is just a baby!”

“A baby whose talents go beyond what even Elrond can see.” She rolled her eyes in disgust.  “I went to a great deal of trouble to bring you and my cousin together, and I wasn’t going to let this brat get in the way.” Lusiël’s face twisted.

”And what then?” he demanded. “Even if you kill us both, how—“

“You disappoint me, Vanguard,” Lusiël shook her head in disgust. “You still do not understand, do you? Oh, she’ll die, but you will not.  Not until I drag you to that cursed wood and make you watch your Silvan mongrel and that precious horse die before your very eyes! I am going to make you live, knowing you have truly lost everything!”

A guttural, primitive noise came from deep within.   “I will marry Laniër,” was the only thing he could think of to say.  

Lusiël’s mouth lifted amused surprise.  “Say that again,” she scoffed.

“You have my solemn vow as a Vanguard of Imladris.  If you release Melui from this spell and let her live, I will wed your cousin, and never leave Rivendell again. I will do anything, just stop this madness!”

To his shock, Lusiël laughed.  “Oh, the irony!” she hooted. “Only now are you willing to give Laniër her heart’s desire?”

“Why is that funny?”

Her demeanor changed to fury. “Because it is a vow you cannot keep!  It is too late!”

“What do you mean?” he wiped the rain out of his eyes.  A flash of lightning illuminated the scene, followed by a clap of thunder so loud, they all flinched.

“Because I had to kill her, you fool!” She screeched.  “When she realized how hard I worked to get you back here, all I had done to help her, she tried to kill me.” She pointed to her chest. “Me!  Right up until her last breath, she was protecting you!” Lusiël’s lower lip quivered ever so slightly. “I have nothing to lose, anymore!” 

Then it dawned on him; a truth so unexpected, it offered him a sliver of hope. “You loved her,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even.

Lusiël’s eyes rounded in surprise and trepidation, the green light in her eyes flickering.

Vildan took heart and pounced.  “She was your One, yes?  I am so sorry, Lusiël.”

Her eyes dimmed.  “It should have been me,” she worked her mouth to keep control.  “You and I have that in common, at least.  All my life, I loved Laniër, but she was too blind to see it.  All her life, Länier wanted you, and you never bothered to notice.” Her grip on Melui loosened and the knife lowered from the skin of her neck. 

Vildan risked a small step forward.  “Yet you loved Laniër enough to put her happiness before you own, though it must have been agony.  That takes a great deal of courage.”

“I wanted her to love me,” her voice lost it’s hard edge. “I could have taken her away from here, to a place where no one could disapprove because we are related.  I would have made her happy….” She lowered her gaze. “But if I could not have that, I made it my life’s work to grant her every wish, and feed off the crumbs of her joy. It could have been enough.  I would have made it be enough!”

“I believe you,” Vildan said and slid forward again.  “Maybe I could not love Laniër because she was always meant to be yours. I think she would have understood that, before too long.”

Her eyes flew up to meet his.  The malevolent green light, was gone, leaving only sorrow in the soft brown depths.

“I truly am sorry for your pain, Lusiël,” Vildan inched closer.

A flash of lightning illuminated the blade of the knife.

Vildan slowly reached out his hand—

Behind him, hooves and feet the squelched in the mud.

“No!” With a growl, Lusiël once again put the knife to Melui’s throat. 

Vildan stifled a scream as a drip of blood mixed with the rain on the baby’s throat.

Another clap of thunder.

The ground gave way.

And he jumped.

***************

The Ford of Bruinen, 5^th of March 2946 T.A.

When the branch holding up Vildan and Melui gave way, just seconds before he and Elrohir could pull them to safety, Elladan pulled his brother back up, fell to his knees and screamed in frustration.

“Get up,” Their Adar ordered sternly. “we will follow them down the river!  Hurry!”

They raced to their mounts  and ran parallel to the river, looking for glimpses of the pair.

“By that rock! 

They are alive!”

“Over by that tree!”

”I see them!”

Praise Varda, the rain had stopped, and when they neared the Ford of Bruinen, the horses needed no urging.  Sûllom led the way, with the riderless Hûrthenon by his side.  The chestnut stallion from the North had become a good friend to all the beasts in Lord Elrond’s stable, and the absence of any bridle or saddle only served to add to their respect. 

“There they are!” Elrond pointed up ahead. Vildan was face-down in the water, not moving.  Melui was beside him, crying and pushing at his arm.

Hûrthenon wisely pulled back, allowed the Elrond and his sons to get to his master first, but stayed nearby, watching, and waiting.

“Get him out of the water, and make sure he lives!” Adar shouted as he dismounted, ripped off his cloak and ran to Melui. He picked up the hysterical child, and tried to turn her away, but she struggled against him and reached her arms toward Vildan. “They will help him, child.  I must see if you are hurt, then I will take you to him, all right?”  Elrond took her to Eílíent, who had already removed her armor.  She took Melui in her arms and sat on the ground, whispering soothing words as Elrond checked her from head to toe.

Elladan and his brother fished their friend out of the water and carried him over to the patch of grass.  Elrohir felt his neck for a pulse, then pressed his ear to Vildan’s chest.  “His heart beats but it is weak.”

Elladan nodded, and began chest compressions until Vildan’s upper body jerked back to life, and they turned him onto his side as he vomited and coughed up the liquid in his lung and stomach.  When he settled, they put him on his back and checked for other injuries.

”I am not dead,” Vildan croaked in surprise.

”Leave it to you to state the obvious,” Elladan replied smoothly. “Now be still while see what you’ve done to yourself.”

One eye was bruised and swollen shut, there was a cut along his cheek and under his jaw, his pajamas were torn to ribbons and a there was a deep, ugly gash along his left leg that needed immediate attention. 

Vildan grabbed his wrist. “M-“ he coughed again. “M—“ he lifted his head to look around.

”She lives, my friend.  I can hardly believe it, but you saved her.”

Elrohir had fetched their saddlebags full of supplies, and Elladan grabbed his bottle of spirits and pulled off the cork.  “This is going to hurt, but I must clean the wound in your leg.”  His brother held him down while he carefully dribbled the alcohol straight into the cut, then dabbed away the dirt and matter. 

He was busy repeating this process and assumed that Vildan had either fallen unconscious again, or Elrohir had put him to sleep. When he was satisfied, he placed his hand over the wound and sealed the worst of it. “We will bandage it until we get home.”

“Gwanunig?” Elrohir murmured softly, his eyes full of worry.  

Vildan hadn’t jerked at any of Elladan’s touches or even the burn of alcohol on his broken flesh.  He was focused on Elrond and the child, but that would not prevent even a slight flinch when the alcohol met his broken skin.  Elladan pursed his lips and soaked a clean pad to clean the cut on his face.

”Ai, naeg!”  Vildan yelped.

Elrohir gave him a silent nod and moved down toward Vildan’s feet.  Elladan moved to keep Vildan from seeing his legs being poked and pinched, but he needn’t have worried.  Vildan’s only focus was on his niece.

“She is…talking!”

“I see that,” Elladan clasped his friend’s hand and smiled.  “Lusiël is dead, and whatever spell she used on the child has died with her.”

“Laniër is dead, too.” Vildan’s good eye filled with tears.  “She killed them all.”

“I know.  Do not think of that just now; we will sort all out after we get you home.”  Out the corner of his eye, Elrohir met his gaze.  He shook his head sadly, then silently rose and went to speak to their Adar.

“I need to—” Vildan tried to sit up, but Elladan gently held him down with a small laugh. 

“Do not be hasty! If I let you overexert yourself, Ada will banish me to the Dead Marshes for a decade.  Not even for you will I tolerate that smell!”

“But I need to see her!”

“All in good time.  And do not worry about the crying.  It is clearing all the water from her lungs.  See?” he pointed to his brother and father.  “Elrohir is telling Ada to bring her to you.”

“Why do they look so worried?” Vildan asked.

“Because you are a mess,” Elladan said drolly.  “I should have brought a mirror, so you could see yourself.”

But Vildan was not fooled.  “You are keeping something from me.”

Elladan opened his mouth, but was saved by the approach of his father who squatted down and placed a bundled-up Melui into Vildan’s eager arms.

“Vida!” she wrapped her arms around him. 

”Ae, Dailen nîn …” Vildan sobbed into her hair. “I love you.”

"Do not cry, Toráno,” she said.

“I am just so happy to see you again,” he gave her a bleary smile.

The child cuddled into him and touched his face.  “Your eye is hurt.”

“Yes, but it will get better,” he kissed her head and ran his fingers through her wet hair.  

“I did not let go,” she lifted her head again.  “You told me to hold on and I did.”

“Yes, you did,” he cupped her cheek.  “I am so proud of you.”

"I was scared."

"So was I," Vildan chuckled and hugged close. "But it does not matter now.  I have you back, and that it all that matters.”

Praise Varda, Vildan was too preoccupied to notice Elrond running his hands along his arms, legs and his abdomen  with a concentration that Elladan and his brother had always envied. When he was finished, he took Elladan aside. 

“I had hoped your brother was mistaken,” Ada whispered sadly. “Vildan’s spine has been torn in two.”

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Arnœdiad a Inglor – “The Labyrinth of Inglor” was an outdoor maze-like structure built by Gildor, in honor of his father, Inglor.

Dailên – “Little Beauty,” Vildan’s nickname for his niece, Melui.

De athae i Belain!– Thank the Valar!

Ma, Nana – Yes, Mommy

Natho nin, listo! – Help me, please!

Pi law dín, eth gwand – If we do not find her, she is dead

[1] SCOM, Ch. 6: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090521/chapters/67649222

Chapter Text

The metallic crash of pots startled me into full wakefulness in less than a second.

“GAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!” I screamed, clutching my chest.  “What the fiddler’s f—"

“Wakey Wakey!”

“Echuiad, echuiad!”

“WOOF!”

“Screech!  Kak-kak-kak-kak!”

“Where you did you get those pots you’re banging?” I sat up, reached for a blood pressure pill, and held out my other hand.

“From your kitchen cupboards.” Bard dutifully placed a cup of Adila’s coffee in my hands.

“What’s the problem this time?” I asked, downing the pill and taking a sip.

“Several things,” the King of Dale replied.  “And seriously, don’t you think it’s counterproductive to take that pill with a cup full of caffeine?”

“It’s fictional caffeine, so it doesn’t count.”

“How do you know?”

“Because,” I said, stating the obvious, “I wrote it that way.”  I glance over at the small crowd by my bedside, and my eyes blinked.

“There’s a raptor,” I said. “In my bedroom.”

“There certainly is,” Elrond turned his eyes skyward.  “Since you mentioned him in the last chapter, he’s been impossible to deal with!”

“The falcon is demanding to be included in the cast,” Elladan added. “He has gotten himself an agent and—”

“Hello,” a short, pudgy man pushed through the group and wiggled his fingers at me.  “I’m Marty, and I represent Lagrôval, here—”

“But his name isn’t Lagrôval; it’s Hôrtho.”

“We’ve decided he needs a much more interesting stage name,” Marty said, handing me a scroll. “We are demanding a two-year contract, his own trailer, a 30% increase in pay, plus a starring role in at least three chapters of SCOM.   And we demand that the caterers provide fresh mice and rats for him on a daily basis.  Live, so he can get his exercise by hunting them.”

“Pay?  What pay?” Bard demanded.  “Who’s getting paid here, because I sure as hell am not!”

Oh, crap.  “No, that isn’t—"

“What is a trailer?” Elrond asked.

“I don’t have any—” I try to signal a Time-Out.

“What about me?” Vildan pushed himself forward in his wheelchair.  “You broke my back, and I’m not going to see a copper of the net profits?”

I put my fingers in my mouth and let out a window-rattling whistle, which brings everyone a stop.

“There are no profits!” I yelled. “This is fan fiction; I don’t make any money, I do it for the joy of the fandom!” 

“Joy? Sorry, but it didn’t exactly feel joyful when you killed my sister and brother-in-law!” Vildan pounded his fist on the arm of his wheelchair.  “I had to leave my horse, my girlfriend…”

“She wasn’t officially your girlfriend,” Bard scowled, before turning to me.  “He does have a point, though. My step-daughter’s heart is broken,” he added severely, making air quotes, “for the joy if it?  Don’t get me started on that time you nearly killed me by smashing my leg to smithereens!”

“Er…” Now seemed a good time to change the subject, and luckily, an opportunity presented itself.  “Who the hell is smoking in here!” I waved my hand, coughing.

“The falcon,” Elrond’s nose wrinkled in disgust.

“His name is Lagrôval,” Marty corrected.  “It stipulates in his contract that you refer to him by proper name, not his species.  And, between scenes, no one is to make eye contact with him, so he can stay in character…”

“I’ll agree to the name change, but that’s it,” I said.  “And tell your client to put out that damned cigar before I kill him off, too.”

“You can’t,” Marty stepped forward, finger outstretched. “Paragraph twelve, sub-heading A specifically states—”

I set down my coffee cup, and with a wicked glare, tear the document to pieces.

“Oh,” the agent said, stepping back, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.  “I’ll just, um…”

“Damned straight you’ll ‘just, um…,’” I growl.  “Why is Thangon here?” I ask Bard.

“He heard about the bird in Rivendell,” the King of Dale shook his head, “and wanted a bigger part, too.”

“Okay,” I agreed.  “He’ll be in this next chapter.”

“I really appreciate it,” he sagged in relief.  “This month alone, we’ve had to clean up three revenge-poops in the Castle the size of a cow pie.  Greta says the staff is threatening to quit.”

“Now, wait just a minute,” Marty emerged again.  “Why does this beast gets anything he wants, but you won’t even consider—” 

Thangon’s hackles rose with a low, menacing growl, baring his teeth.

“That’s why.” Bard said, proudly.

I purse my lips to the side, and studied Lagrôval, who was using his wings to surreptitiously flap the cigar smoke out of the room.  “Tell you what; I’ll give the raptor a bigger part on three conditions.”

“Which are?” Marty asked.

“No contract.  No money.  And,” I raise my finger, “if he even thinks about lighting up one of those tobacco-turds again, Lagrôval will be out his ear. Do you understand?”

“Fair enough,” Marty shrugged, and turned to his client.  “Sorry, buddy; it was the best I could do.”

Bard leaned down and whispered, “Where are his ears, exactly?”

And that’s when I woke up…

“This love that thou hast shown
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes;
Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears.
What is it else? A madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.”

-Romeo and Juliet, (Act 1, Scene 1)

Rivendell, 5^th of March 2946 T.A.; Ford of Bruinen

“Are you certain, Ada?”

Elrond’s outward calm was betrayed by the worry in his eyes.  “I have never seen a back injury this severe. His eye socket is fractured, as is his right leg, and he is badly bruised, but those are easily dealt with; it is a miracle there is so little damage to his organs.”

Elladan glanced over at his friend.  Vildan was weeping with relief, still stroking Melui’s head and speaking softly to her. His horse, Hûrthenon stood guard over them both, his nose gently nudging his master and nibbling at the child’s blanket as if to make sure she was covered up properly.  “He does not appear to be in a great deal of pain,” he observed.

“He will be, and soon. Once the joy of seeing Melui wears off, his body will acknowledge the damage.” 

“It will be excruciating,” he whispered.

“Yes. The muscles in his back have either sprained or torn, and are starting to swell.  The phantom pains of his lower limbs will be the worst, though I am not certain if that is something I can help, besides keeping him drugged with poppy juice or asleep altogether.”

“You have never seen this before?” Elladan asked, incredulous.

“I have, but only in those who did not survive.”

He winced. “Can you help him?”

“I doubt it, Ion nîn.” His Adar rubbed his eyes. “Muscles we can heal, and I will need to operate to put his bones back into place.  But the spinal cord is unlike any other tissue in the body; even if we grow it back together, the nerves will probably not reconnect.”

“He does not yet realize what has happened to him.”

“No.  And we cannot tell him now; he is too weak from shock and blood loss.”

It took a minute for Elladan to swallow down the lump in his throat.  “Naenanest hûn nîn.”

“As does mine,” Elrond gripped his shoulder and squeezed.  “He will need you to be strong for him.  More so than ever before.”

“I know.” He cleared his throat. “We cannot take him on horseback.  I will send for a wagon.”

“I have done so,” Adar said. “I want him kept as still as possible, though I doubt there is anything we could do that would make things worse.  Go to him, while we gather materials to make a splint for him. I do not want him or the child to be upset or frightened, so say whatever you have to keep them calm while you put him to sleep.”

They were all too busy to notice the sun trying to peek out from the clouds, but when a shadow passed overhead, followed by a kack-kack-kack-kack, father and son glanced heavenward. 

A large bird swooped low and landed on a branch in the tree nearest Vildan and Melui.  He ruffled his wings and feathers back into place, and tilting his head to look down at Vildan and Melui.

“Is that not Meássë’s falcon?” Elladan’s eyes rounded.  “What is he doing here?”

Indeed, it was Lagrôval, the fastest of all the falcons on Middle Earth, highly prized by the Lord of Imladris and of his former handler, who now resides in the Halls of Mandos.

Elrond pointed to the ragged edge of the leather thong on his right leg.  “Apparently, he escaped.”

Elladan stared in fascination, as the bird marched worriedly back and forth along the branch, never taking an eyes off Vildan and his niece.  What was he doing here?

That was another mystery to be solved, but not now.  He shook his head to clear his mind, took a deep breath for courage, and went over to where his friend lay on Elrohir’s cloak.  Someone else had folded their own and placed it under Vildan’s head.

“What did your Ada want?” Vildan asked, running his fingers through Melui’s wet hair.  His breath caught and he stifled the moan that wanted to escape.

“I saw that,” he quirked an eyebrow. “You’re in pain; do not deny it.  I have orders to put you to sleep, so we can prepare for your journey home.”

“I can—” he raised his head and shoulders, still holding Melui.

“No!” Elladan quickly pushed him back down.  “My Adar has commanded thus.  Must I remind you of the foulness of the Dead Marshes?  If I have to go, I will drag you there with me.” 

Melui lifted her head and opened bleary eyes. 

Elladan rubbed the child’s back.  “Sweetness, how do you feel?”

“I am sore. All over.”

“I do not doubt it.  Are you still cold?”

“A little bit.”

“We will see what we can do about that,” he leaned down with a conspiratorial wink.  “I need your help with something very important.”

“What?” she sat up and rubbed her eyes with her fists.

“Lord Elrond wants to take your Uncle back in a wagon, and I need you to help me think of ways to help him, so he will not be afraid.”

She considered this.  “I could hold his hand.”

“That is an excellent idea,”  Elladan smiled.  “Tôrano is very, very tired, and that is also not good.  What do you think he should do?”

“He should take a nap.”

“You are very smart. Can you take his hand and hold it while I help him go to sleep?”

She nodded, full of self-importance, and she reached for Vildan’s hand. “Stay still, Vida,” she ordered.  “Do not be afraid. El’dan will help you.”

”Thank you, Dailen nîn.”

He exchanged amused glances with Vildan, but kept his face serious.  “Are we ready?”

“Yes.” Melui nodded.

Vildan closed his eyes as Elladan placed is hand on his friend’s forehead and recited the spell.  Once he was unconscious, he thanked the child very seriously.

“You were a big help.  Now, I have another favor to ask.”

“What?”

“They need to do some things to help Uncle so he can travel safely, and that means you and I must get of their way.”

Her face fell, and her eyes—thank Queen Varda they were no longer dull and grey, but blue as Morning Glories—filled with tears.  “I need to be with Vida,” she said, her voice high and thin.

“We will not go far, and as soon as they are done, you can go right back.  But while we wait, you can help me with something else, yes?”

“What?”

“Someone else has come, and I think he wants to see you.”

Melui’s eyes blinked a few times, and held up to arms.  Elladan scooped her up, adjusting Elrond’s cloak to keep her warm, and balanced her on his hip as he walked toward the tree where the falcon still paced.

“Nana’s bird!” she squealed.  “Why did he come?”

“I think,” Elladan smiled down at her and stroked her head, “he is here for you.”

The child regarded the large falcon for several minutes.  “Why?”

“I am not sure, but I am glad to see him.”

“Nana and Ada died,” she said in the disarmingly simple way of small children.

“I know, and I am very sorry.”

“I dreamed it when they died," she said.  "I was sad.  Then Tôrano Vida came.  He cried a lot."

“He came right away,” Elladan ran a finger over her cheek.  “So did I.”

“Laniër took care of me, and she cried, too.  You came every day.”

“I wanted to help you get better,” he kissed her head.  "We all wanted you to get better."

Her chin bobbed up and down as the corners of her mouth turned downward.  “But the mean Elleth hated me and would not let me do anything!”  Her tiny, perfect face crumpled, and she started to cry.

Elladan did nothing to discourage these tears; they were long, long overdue, and a necessary part of her own healing after enduring such atrocities.  He held her against him, rested his cheek against her head and swayed back and forth, murmuring words of comfort. 

To their left, Elrond and Elrohir carefully wrapping Vildan to keep his body still.

Above them, Lagrôval glared, flapping his enormous wings in warning.  Elladan hoped he wasn't about to lose one of his pointed ears (of which he was rather proud), or a chunk of his hair, (which he liked just as much). 

“Samestë, sermonya,” he said in Quenya, “an lá ilyë níreli nar úmiéo.” 1

This seems to mollify the great bird.  He collected himself and returned to his dignified posture, still keeping a close, suspicious eye.  

Melui’s sobs reached Elrond’s ears, and he looked up, his brows furrowed in concern.

“She cries for her parents,” Elladan mouthed to him.

After a long moment, his Adar gave a small nod, and got back to work.

While the sorrow in Melui’s fëa was finally allowed to be expressed, Elladan mentally made a list of answers they all needed in order to untangle this entire ordeal.  Melui’s dreams were an unexpected revelation, which certainly explains why Lusiël felt the need to silence her.  But how could  a child so small be aware of such things in the first place? 

How was Lusiël able to do such things?  Was born with such dark power, and if not, how did she come by it?  And why did not even his father detect such a malevolent presence in Imladris? 

Elladan patted and rubbed Melui’s back in small circles, hoping she could not sense his growing alarm, as a terrible possibility emerged in his thoughts.  

He rested his hand on the back of Melui’s head.  “Hênig,” he said, “can I take you to see my friend Eílíent again?  I must speak with my father.”

“Can I not go with you?” she hiccupped and held him tighter.

“Shhh….” he smiled, went to the Elleth, and handed her over.

“Is she in pain?” Eílíent asked in Westron.

“It is grief, mostly,” Elladan answered likewise. “Keep her warm and give her what comfort you can.”  He jerked his head toward the tree.  “And make sure you stay in sight of the falcon.”

“Of course,” she cuddled the Elfling. “Why?”

“I am not entirely sure, but I think it best for now.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

He walked over to the now trussed-up patient, and whispered. “Ada, I would speak to you and my brother in secret.”

“Not just yet,” Elrond rose to stand and nodded to the road.  “The wagon comes.  Help me get Vildan ready to move.”

It took nearly twenty minutes before the preparations for their return were completed.  Vildan’s blanket was fastened to the wagon to form a sling, to minimize the impact on his broken body.  Eílíent helped Melui settle beside him, and stayed with her, awaiting further orders.  The child tried to be brave, but was still teary-eyed, but when Lagrôval took off from the tree and perched on the side of the wagon near her, she seemed to feel a bit better.

Hûrthenon would not tolerate being tied to the back; rather, he stubbornly took his place alongside the wagon, his velvety dark eyes fastened on the Elf he had been chosen to serve and protect. [2]

“Now, what is it that is so urgent?” Elrond turned to him, eyes impatient. “We need to get them back right away!”

“Yes,” Elladan said, “but my brother and I must stay.”

“I have already dispatched the others to go in search for Lusiël’s body—”

“No!” Elladan hissed sharply, grabbing his father’s arm.  “Call them back!”

***************

City of Dale, 5^th of March 2946 T.A.; Hope Field

“Easy,” Tauriel patted Lasbelin’s neck.  “you will be back with your family tomorrow.” The stallion had been a handful this entire ride, and she had to keep a sharp eye on him.

The sun was shining, and the milder temperatures was especially welcome after a harsh winter.  This warm spell was a short respite, before the frosts and the true rains of spring came to their area.  The people of Dale were taking advantage of break from the cold to open their shutters and enjoy the sun.  At the Castle, Greta and the staff rushed through the rooms to let out the stale air of winter and bring in the fresh.  Everyone there bounced with a renewed energy with smiles on their faces.  

After receiving a summons from Queen Dilna, a week ago, Tauriel had made arrangements for an overnight stay during her next days off.  After kissing her Ada and Tilda, she mounted Lasbelin and rode through the North Gate. 

The Lonely Mountain was part of the Dale landscape to the North, but only when one rode past Hope Field and over the ridge did the magnificent entrance of Erebor come into view.  As her friendship with the Dwarves of Erebor grew, so did her knowledge of their history and folk tales.  To the left of the door stood a statue of Durin, poised and ready to strike at the heart of any enemy of their people.  Thror stood proudly at the right, the founder of Erebor, and though his beard and his axe had been badly damaged from the dragon Smaug, she was happy to see that he was now whole again. 

The sharp, angular lines of Dwarven architecture might not appeal to Elves, who much preferred smooth flowing lines and motifs that reflected their love for flora and fauna, but none could help but admire the craftsmanship, the attention to detail, and the artistry that these people were famous for.  Tauriel had always liked it, and when Lord Elrond came to visit two years ago, he was amazed by the sheer beauty of Erebor.  More than any diplomatic speech, or flowery promises made of good relations, the unabashed admiration by the Lord of Imladris, was what convinced the King Under the Mountain that this famous Elf was of a high quality.

Tauriel’s eye was drawn to the small window on the top left with a smile.  When King Daín and Queen Dilna had awarded Tauriel with her own apartment in the Mountain, they kindly made sure it had a window facing Dale, along with a private balcony.  Her rooms suited her; small, but light and airy, and she had even placed window boxes outside where colorful flowers bloomed in the spring and summer.  Last autumn, she covered the boxes with burlap sacks to help the bulbs enjoy their winter sleep.  Today there was some rich soil in her saddle bags that Legolas had brought her from the Woodland Realm, along with some seeds to start some colorful annuals.  There was also a book Ada had found in his library she might enjoy.

“Good morn, Lady Tauriel,” Bofur took off his hat and bowed low as she trotted across the bridge and came to a stop in front of him and the two Dwarven guards, resplendent in their brass armor. “How was your trip?” he asked with a wink.

“Long and arduous,” she laughed at the standing joke between them.  “I am looking forward to some peace and quiet.”

“Well, if that is what you wish, you have come to the right place,” Bofur smirked.  “We are known for our quiet manners and soothing words, My Lady.  Queen Dílna and Princess Vís have been looking forward to your visit.”

“As have I.”  Tauriel dismounted, and made to lead Lasbelin toward the stables, but Bofur reached for them.  “Allow me; Lasbelin and I are old friends.”

“That may be so, but ever since he became a father, he is loath to be separated from his mate and filly.  He may just decide to return to Dale and drag you along the side.”  As if on command, Lasbelin stomped his feet angrily and turned completely around to face Dale.

“Ah.” Bofur stepped back with his hands up.  “He is protective?”

“Oh, yes.  Mistanâr pretends to be annoyed, but secretly I think she is glad he is there.”

Bofur stroked the stallion’s nose thoughtfully. “How is the filly?”

“Healthy, beautiful, and growing like a weed.  You should go see her on your next visit.  The Horse Master told me this morning that he plans to put them out to pasture at the end of this week.  They both tire of being cooped up.”

“I’m sure they are.” Bofur stepped closer and lowered his voice.  “I hear she has the bearing of her ancestors, Tauriel.  I have to wonder if that is a good thing.”

Lasbelin tossed his head and tried to turn around again.

“Easy!” the Elf grabbed his reins and pulled him down.  “I understand that Dwarves are not overly concerned with Elven history,  but surely even you—”

 “You misunderstand me, bâheluh.”  He put his hand over hers. “I have seen Vildan’s mare, and she is remarkable even to my untrained eye.”

“She is,” Tauriel let out a relieved laugh. “For a moment I thought you were trying to frighten me!”

“Not frighten you, but perhaps to warn you.  This filly is the purest white, with black eyes and nose?  And when the sun hits her just right, she ‘shimmers?’”

“Well, yes,” Tauriel said softly.  She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes.  “That is no secret.”

“Not to us, perhaps, and you have nothing to fear from our folk.  But you should know that word has spread.”  He leaned closer. “There has been talk in other lands that this foal is a Ghîvashel.”

“I do not know what that means,” Tauriel’s voice was wary.

“It means, in our language, that she is a ‘jewel among jewels.” The Dwarf shook his head ruefully.  “Gloin and some of our blacksmiths went to Dorwinian to trade in metal goods and work on some custom orders for Lord Brandir and his folk.  He returned yesterday and mentioned rumors about a mysterious horse in King of Dale’s pastures, and her rare offspring.  He didn’t think anything of it, but I worry that if word has spread that far, it also means that…  What is her name?”

“Trastapîn,” Tauriel answered, as tentacles of worry wormed their way through her stomach. “Are you sure?”

“I am,” Bofur nodded.  “You know what I am saying, I think.”

“I do.”  The trepidation in Tauriel’s breast grew to a full-blown panic attack.   And with it came a deep shame. 

Vildan entrusted her with them, and until that moment, she had thought it a sentimental gesture, a comfort in the face of doomed love.  Only now did it struck home that Vildan had not just trusted her to not only care for them, but he trusted her as a warrior to protect their lives.  They both knew Mistanâr was valuable, but no one anticipated the splendor of the foal she was carrying. 

And she had been so busy feeling sorry for herself, she didn’t think about it.  She'd been trying not to think about Vildan at all.

Ai, gorgor…

 “Please; tell the Queen that I am sorry, but I need to go back to Dale!”  Tauriel took the reins from Bofur.  “I do not wish you to get in trouble, but…”

“Oh, I’ll be in a great deal of trouble, but hopefully once I explain, she’ll calm down.  Either that, or I’ll be spending the next month cleaning chamber pots.”

“You are a true friend, Bofur, ”she said mounted Lasbelin.

“Well, I certainly hope so!” he grinned, before his face grew serious.  “I know how much that Elf meant to you, Bâheluh.  I also know how much it would kill you to think you let him down.  Go!” He smacked the horse’s rump and sent them on their way.

The stallion needed no encouragement and took off like the wind. 

She should have listened to him.

From the moment she entered the Royal Stables that afternoon, Lasbelin’s ears had been laid back in displeasure.  She coaxed, wheedled, then grew stern when he fidgeted and clamped his mouth tight against the bit she was trying to put into his mouth.  The stallion was a spirited handful on his best days, but this was the worst he’d ever behaved.  He’d even gone so far as to nip at her. 

And instead of seeing the stallion’s behavior for what it was, Tauriel had dug in her heels and forced him to submit.

Mistanâr was no help.  Her vocal protests filled the ears of everyone in the large building, and even Trastapîn, threw herself into the spirit of things and added her voice.

She should have paid closer attention.  She should have listened.

“I am a fool,”  Tauriel repeated to herself, as she urged Lasbelin to go faster. “An utter fool!”

***************

Thranduil was in the conference room with Percy, Bard, and Galion, going over some rough designs for New Esgaroth, of which the building would begin in earnest as soon as the ground settled from winter.  He was pointing to the plans for the town hall when Thangon’s head jerked up with a low growl. Everyone glanced over at the dog, whose muzzle had only just sprouted grey hairs this past winter. 

“Calm down, boy.” Bard said absently.  “I’ll take you out for a walk in a bit.”

“It’s a nice day,” Percy observed.  “He’s probably got cabin fever.”

Thranduil straightened and studied the big dog.  “Nay; he knows something.” 

By now the dog was on his feet, racing to the door and scratching frantically as he whined.

“Easy there!” Bard grabbed his collar and yanked him back. “You’ll damage the varnish!”

Thranduil barely had the door opened when Thangon pushed through and raced down the wide hall. Barking and howling in earnest.

“Go get mine and Lord Bard’s swords!” he called to the nearest guard.  To the others he commanded.  “Follow that dog!”

Outwardly, the spectacle of Elves in armor chasing Thangon through the streets of Dale would have been funny, and many who stepped out of their way laughed about it, thinking Thangon had stolen something he shouldn’t.  To the Elvenking, his guards and to the Men of Dale trailing far behind, the giant Elven dog sensed trouble, which only served to validate his own unease after Tauriel left for Erebor not two hours ago.  Her horse was clearly making the trip under protest, but the furious swish of his tail made something niggle in the back of his neck, though for the life of him, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

In the distance bells of the North Gate chimed three times; someone was given leave to enter the City.

“Who’s here?” Bard asked.

“I do not know,” the Elvenking said, grabbing his husband’s wrist to pull him along faster, but now I know I was not imagining things!”

Thangon headed toward the Western Wall, where the Royal Stables were kept, his muscles bunching as he ran.  He leaped over the half-door and scrambled to get his footing on the wooden floor of the barns, with the Elves close behind. 

It was utter pandemonium.  Almost all of the stable’s occupants were neighing and rearing and kicking, their combined cries were painful to Thranduil’s ears.

Thangon raced to the far right, and skidded to a stop in front of Mistanâr’s box stall, where the door was opened slightly.

“My Lords!” Lt. Legron ran up to them.  “The Stablemaster Voron has been killed!”

“Where are the guards?” Thranduil demanded angrily.

“I do not know—”

But Ivran yelled from the far corner.  “My Lord!  Amrol and Haden have been shot!”

“What the bloody fuck is going on here!” Bard roared, as he finally caught up with Thangon.  “Oh, shit…  Thranduil, you’d better get over here.”

The Elvenking gave quick orders to see to his wounded guards and ran to the last box stall on the right.

Mistanâr was straining against her halter which had been chained to one of the bars in the door.

And the filly was gone.

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Ai, gorgor… Oh, crap.  Oh, shit.  Oh, no.

Bâheluh – (Khûzdul) my  close friend

Dailen nîn - My little beauty

Echuiad, echuiad! – Awake, Awake!

Ghîvashel – (Khûzdul) Jewel of Jewels

Naenanest hûn nîn – My heart weeps for him.

Naneth a adar naenan – Crying for mother and father

Samestë, sermonya [--] an lá ilyë níreli nar úmiéo – (Q.) Be at peace, my friend, [--] for not all tears are an evil.  (lit. “have peace, my friend) (for not all tears are evil-of).

WOOF! – Get up!

NOTES:

[1] The Sindarin and Quenyan phrases come from three different websites:

https://realelvish.net/phrasebooks/sindarin/doriath/

https://www.elfdict.com/

https://www.elvish.org/gwaith/epitaph_1.htm

[2] Broken Wings, Ch. 38: “Thranduil had sent a message, ordering that he be given the best in his private stables.  Falarion, who ran the Royal Stables picked out a spirited chestnut stallion named Hûrthenin, who, as his name suggested was fierce but loyal.

“He will take special care of you, Mellon nîn,” Falarion told the Lieutenant, when he presented the tall horse to Vildan.  “I put him in the box stall next to your mare, and she made sure he understands your sorrow.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/60050749

Chapter Text

"Love is something sent from heaven to worry the hell out of you."

 – Dolly Parton

Before even the First Age of Middle Earth began, Melkor needed a barrier across his lands to prevent his greatest enemy, Oromë, Hunstman of the Valar, from killing fell beasts that were his creation.  The Dark Lord stretched out his hand, made the ground shudder and quake until giant rocks burst from the earth.  He waved his hands again and again, as these rocks grew in length and breadth until they became the steep, unforgiving peaks of the Misty Mountains that separated the East from the West on every map made throughout the ages. [1]  [2] 

In the bowels of these mountains, there dwelled the Goblin King with his foul minions, until the year 2941 T.A., when he was killed by the Wizard Gandalf and the Dwarves of the Original Company. In the northernmost peak, lies Angmar, the former kingdom of the dreaded Witchking, who now dwells with his Master in Mordor.   Near Angmar is Mount Gundabad, where Durin the Deathless first woke, Orcs dwelled during most of the Second and Third Age, until its fortress was emptied in and most of its inhabitants destroyed during the Battle of Five Armies, which also took place in 2941 T.A.

The Vala Yavanna was with her husband, Aulë, when she came across the destruction wrought by the creation of the Misty Mountains.  Thousands of her beloved trees had been uprooted, leaving countless animals homeless and without food.  She cried out in anguish, fell to her knees, and buried her face in her hands.  Aulë, Craftsman of the Valar, hated to see his wife so distraught, so he took out his hammer, and went to work.  

When he was finished, he kissed Yavanna’s brow, gently took her hands and formed a small pool for her tears.  With a reassuring smile, he pursed his lips and gently blew the tears up to the mountaintops, where they shrouded each peak with low-hanging clouds that brought a constant source of moisture.  Snow formed, which melted into the purest water, and began to flow through the paths and falls that Aulë had so carefully carved out of the rock, to fill the ugly chasms and turn them into rivers.  Yavanna smiled at her husband’s kindness, waved her hand, and soon the area was carpeted with green and growing things, which would be nourished by the rivers that came from her tears: Anduin the Great, which flows along the East, and the Bruinen River which nourishes the land to the West of the mountain range.

Down through the ages, the Elves and Men lived, died, loved, fought, and triumphed at the foot of these silent Mountains near these rivers.  In 1697 S.A., an Elven Lord named Elrond Peredhel came to an area beside the Bruinen River, and founded the Last Homely House east of the Sea.  That house was, as Bilbo had long ago reported, “a perfect house, whether you like food or sleep or story-telling or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all’.  Merely to be there was a cure for weariness, fear, and sadness.” [3] [4]

Imladris—or Rivendell, as it is referred to in the Common Tongue—is famous all for its culture and love of the arts and has served as a refuge and place of safety for over four thousand years. 

Until now.

Rivendell, 5^th of March 2946 T.A.; Ford of Bruinen

Everyone at the Ford still struggled to make sense of the events of the last seventeen hours, and from the haggard look on their Elrond’s face, he was also overwhelmed.  Elrohir had just ordered his unit to prepare for their journey back, when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elladan grab his father’s arm.  The Elves under his command had seen it, too, though their gasps had been stifled and their shock and outrage were well-hidden behind masks of calm.

“Do not let them go!” Elladan tightened the grip on his father’s arm.  “Elrohir and I must do this!”

“You forget yourself, Ion!” Elrond jerked out of his grasp. 

With a quick nod to Rahlen, Elrohir left the group and stomped over to his brother.

“Gwanunig!” Elrohir hissed.  “Man cerig?”

“I am sorry,” Elladan raised his hands, “but I must beg your patience.”

“Make yourself clear,” Elrond’s lips pressed flat, “and be quick about it.”

“I cannot,” Elladan lowered his voice to a whisper, “lest our words fall on the ears of our enemies, for nothing can be taken for granted in these uncertain times.  I can only ask for your trust, Ada.  We have another problem:  While it is true Lusiël was behind all this, who actually carried out the murders of Meássë and Narseg?  We need to start an urgent search for this confederate.  He could be among us, even now!”

Elrond studied his son’s face, and exchanged glances with Elrohir.  “What are your thoughts?” 

“Though I am not happy with him at present,” he murmured, skewering Elladan with a glare, “my brother has a point.  What if the same magic that kept Lusiël from suspicion also protected her accomplice?  Rahlen, Kædhan, and Nyssiel were with us in the Woodland Realm at the time of the murders, so we should be in charge of the search.  Elladan and I can take them and ride ahead—”

“No,” Elladan said.  “You and I will look for Lusiël’s body.”

“No,” Elrohir gritted his teeth. “We are going back with the wagon.  Your patient is more important than a dead body!  And you know I hate it when you volunteer me for things.”

“I have to!” Elladan said earnestly.  “It would be better if Ada could come, as well, but he needs to help Vildan.  Brother, we must stay and find her.”

“Anyone can do that; Vildan and Melui need you!”

“I know that, and if it were any other circumstance, you know I would not leave his side—”

“So, we will go, and send two of the others.”

 “No, we cannot.”  Elladan’s words were slow, as if he were speaking to an errant child.  “It is not just a body we need to find.” His eyes bore into Elrohir’s, as he rolled his finger. “Think about it.”

“Wha—”  And suddenly it dawned on him.  Elrohir’s words dried up, as did the moisture in his  mouth.  He managed a swallow and met his father’s eyes.  “Though I am loathe to agree, my brother is correct.”

“What are you two talking about?”

The trio of Elf-Lords exchanged whispers for several minutes, and the worry on Elrond’s brow deepened.

“Are you certain of this?” Elrond asked his sons.

“Nothing is certain, but we cannot risk it.” Elladan said.

“Very well.  Rahlen!”

The captain left his place at the wagon and approached.  “Yes, My Lord?”

After repeating Elladan’s suspicion in a low voice, Elrond said, “Your orders have been rescinded; my sons will undertake the search for Lusiël.  Take Kædhan and Nyssiel and return to Imladris at all speed.  Tell Glorfindel what has happened here, and begin the search.  Start with all those who went with Gildor last July and question them thoroughly.”

“My Lord, we have already done so—” Rahlen began.

“Well, do it again!” Elrond snapped.  “If you find this accomplice, do not harm him; put him in a cell and wait for me.”

“Yes, My Lord,”  Rahlen turned away—

“Wait!” 

After receiving another, whispered order, Captain Rahlen saluted and left with the selected Elves.

Soon after, Elrond took his place in the wagon beside both sleeping patients.  “Faro mhae,” he said, drily, as he gave the signal to leave.

After the wagon rode out of sight, Elrohir gave his brother a dirty look. 

“If it helps, I hope I am wrong,” Elladan winced. 

“If you are wrong, you will personally wash my smalls for the next six months!”

“And if I am right, you will wash mine,” Elladan’s mouth twitched.  He went to Galcúron and jumped into the saddle. “Come on.”

Elrohir gave his brother a filthy look and went to his own mare.  “Where do we start?”

“We should backtrack from the last place we saw her,” Elladan said, “just in case her body is trapped under one of the rocks.”

“All the way back there?” he groaned. 

“Stop whining,” Elladan said.  “Just pray that we do not have to scale those cliffs to get this done.”  He turned Galcúron northward and trotted away.

Elrohir rolled his eyes, made a face, and followed.

Just hours after their frantic chase along the river to keep up with Vildan and Melui, the twins carefully retraced their journey.  They looked for signs of Lusiël along the banks of the Bruinen, in the faint hope that her body might have somehow washed ashore.  They studied the rocks and boulders peeking out of the water for any signs of blood, but found none.  The water itself was nearly opaque by eddies and whitecaps created by the constant movement of the silt and mud stirred up by the heavy rains.  They could not rely on their Elven noses; the cold river would prevent the decay of Lusiël’s body for a long while.  In any case, the combined odors of algae, wet earth, and the sodden wool of their clothing, would make such an effort fruitless. 

Tall trees rose in their path to brush the sky, still overcast, but mercifully dry.  Hooves made a spongy, crunching sound as they carefully avoided stones that peeked out from the thick carpet of dead leaves and twigs.  Elrohir’s ears perked up at a grassy rustle to his left; a doe had pulled a mouthful of greenery from a nearby juniper and paused, mid-chew to meet his eyes.  At any other time, she and the other animals in this forest would simply give him a nod and go about their business, but today, she turned tail and disappeared into the brush.

“What did you do to her?” Elladan quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Me?” Elrohir said.  “I am not the one leading this wild goose chase.  I would much rather be home, in dry clothing, and with a hot meal in my stomach.  I have missed breakfast and lunch, and, thanks to you, I will probably miss dinner!”

“That might not be so bad,” Elladan smirked.  “You could stand to lose a few pounds, anyway.”

“What?”  his jaw dropped.

“Do not worry,” his brother shrugged. “It is hardly noticeable under your armor.”

“I am not getting fat!” Elrohir sputtered.  “I look exactly like you!”

“Now, calm down, brother,” Elladan’s soothed. “A great many females prefer their Ellon with a little ‘meat on his bones’.”

“Where did hear something as ridiculous as that?” Elrohir groaned.

“Nobody.”

“It had to be somebody; you are not clever enough to come up with that on your own.” Elrohir’s brows shot up.  “Did Percy of Dale tell you that?”

“My apologies,” Elladan smothered a grin.  “I should not have brought it up.”

“It is too late for that now!  What did he say?”

“Oh…” Elladan waved a hand absently.  “He mentioned something about ‘love handles,’ and how women like to grab them during—"

“Aha!” Elrohir pointed at his brother.  “Percy said ‘women’ not Elleth!  You are making all of this up.”

“If you say so.”

“I do not have ‘love handles!’” 

“I believe you; really, I do.”

“Stop that!”

Elladan pulled Galcúron to a stop and looked down at the river.

“I did not mean your horse,” Elrohir snapped, “I meant your mouth.”

“We are at the spot where they fell,” Elladan pursed his lips.  “She is not here.”

“Very observant.”

“We will have to search south of the Ford.”

“Car sandh?”

Elladan’s response was a rakish grin.  “Come on.”

Elrohir swore under his breath, turned Prestapant around, and followed his brother.  He waited until Elladan’s back was turned before he allowed the corners of his mouth to turn up. 

Four miles south of the Ford of Bruinen, they nearly missed the scrap of white fabric floating on the water’s surface on the far side of the river,   

“There she is!”  Elladan pointed. 

“Are you certain it is not just another whitecap?”

“No; it looks too dirty. See?”

Elrohir was forced to agree.  He also noted the depth and speed of the river.  “We will never get across here,” he said grimly. “It is too rough,”

“We will have to backtrack again at the bridge just above the Ford.”

“Again?”

“Fine; I will backtrack, and you can swim.”

“I have a better idea.” Elrohir quirked his eyebrow. “You can backtrack and fish her out of the water.  I will wait here.”

“I will tell Ada on you.”

“You would not dare!”

“Gwanunig,” Elladan’s face grew serious, and he moved his gelding closer.  “You can feel it, too,” he said softly.

“I hoped I was imagining it,” Elrohir admitted, as he turned his mare around. 

Once again, they rode North to cross the river.  When they reached the two large boulders on the West bank, Elrohir spied the outlines of legs under the water.  “Her upper body must be trapped below the surface.”

Elladan dismounted and patted Galcúron silver-grey neck, and retrieved the rope from his saddle bag.

“No, gwanûr,” Elrohir said softly, as he took the rope from his brother’s hand.  “I will do it.”

“Thank you.” Elladan joked, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “This is unusually kind of you.”

“Then take advantage of it, before I change my mind.”

Elrohir removed his boots and socks, then his breastplate.  After making a loop, he gave his brother one end of the rope, ordered him to not let go, and waded into the river.  The slimy rocks, combined with the strong current challenged even an Elf’s sense of balance.  On his fourth step in, he slipped under but quickly regained his footing, and cursed after he spit out a mouthful of gritty, bitter water.

“Be careful!” Elladan shouted.

“Now he tells me.” He muttered, then shouted, “Stop distracting me!”

The leaves, twigs, and other debris that brushed against his skin made him shiver, as he located Lusiël’s feet, tied them together and ordered Elladan to pull.  They dragged her body up the riverbank and onto a nearby patch of grass.  The Lusiël they had once known was gone, replaced by a stranger. Her face was unrecognizable: a mass of cuts and bruises, as were her limbs, and what was left of the white gown from the Healing Hall was a ragged, muddy mess.  In a bizarre way, Elrohir was relieved; it was easier to focus on the work that needed to be done.   Still, out of respect for who she had once been, and for his brother, he took a handkerchief from his pocket and covered her face.

“Thank you…” Elladan closed his eyes, then shuddered. “Do you feel that?”

The pulsing had become a steady, seductive hum.  Elrohir instinctively threw his arm out and pushed his brother back. After murmuring a spell, he waved his hands over the length of her body, and said with some reluctance. “It is around her neck, whatever it is.”

“Oh, no,” Elladan rubbed his forehead.  “Are you certain?”

“I am afraid I am.”

“How are we going to retrieve it, if we cannot see it?” Elladan asked.

“How are we going to retrieve it without touching it?” Elrohir asked.

“Well, how did you get that ring off Saeros’s hand?” his brother gave him a meaningful look.

“I did not take it off.   I just—” his eyes widened.  “You cannot be serious! I know you did not just ask me to chop off her head!”

“Do you have a better idea? You’ve done this sort of thing before!”

“Which is why I am not going to do it this time.” He pointed to Elladan’s sword.  “It is your turn.”

“But… it is her head!”

“I know it is her head!  You were the one who told Ada we would do this.  And might I point out you did so without talking to me first?”

“Do you think I am enjoying myself?” Elladan pointed to the body.  “We have got to find this….whatever this is!”

Elrohir put his hands on his hips.  “And just what are we supposed to do with it when we’ve retrieved it?”

“I asked Ada to send back a box.  Lined with Mithril; just like the one King Thranduil used.” 

“Good idea,” Elrohir nodded.

 “Go on, then.”

“Do not look at me!  You are the oldest!”

“By fifteen minutes!”

This free trade of insults was normal for them in dire circumstances; only those close to them understood why.  Those close to them also know the twins had not always been that way.

Though Elladan and Elrohir were exactly alike in looks, and while they both were legendary in their skill with sword and bow, they were the opposite in demeanor.  Elladan was studious, contemplative, and attuned to the emotions of others.   Of the two, he had the better skill at healing.  Elrohir hated to sit still, had always preferred to accompany his words with action. When not at his lessons, he would be hanging off the in fence taking in the action at Glorfindel’s practice yards.  And, as twins, each brother understood how to balance and encourage each other as they lived with the joys and pressures of their unique roles.

They were the sons of the most powerful Elf-Lord in Middle Earth; the High King in all but name, and that was only because Elrond had refused the title.  But referring to himself only as a Lord didn’t diminish the expectations that had been placed on him, and, in turn, the pressure upon his children to be better, stronger, faster and deadlier than everyone around them. 

Thanks to the power of their royal ancestors, Elladan and Elrohir did not disappoint; they were always respectful to those of superior military rank, and served on the front lines in whatever battle that came to their feet.  The twins worked well together, knowing each other’s minds and moves that saved each other’s hides more times than they dared count.

Then their mother’s party was attacked on the road to Lothlorien, and she was reported missing. 

Elladan and Elrohir were proud to be protectors of their father’s realm, defenders of their faith, champions of the weak…

…until the day they entered a cave and amidst the darkness and filth, found a poor creature that was once their Naneth.   

Her bones had been broken, her body was bruised, and she was bleeding from places that should only have been touched in love.  Celebrian had been hanging in irons chained to the wall of the cave, denied the comfort of repose, denied the release of death, and left there in the darkness to starve. 

When Elrohir held up his torch and met his brother’s eyes, Elladan was just as shattered as he was.  In that moment, the brothers understood the difference between arrogance and quiet confidence, between bravado and true courage, and that all the victories they had celebrated before were hollow and meaningless, compared to this.

They freed Celebrian from her chains, spoke gently as they covered her in layers of warm blankets, and took turns carrying her home, softly humming the songs she had sung to them as children, repeating the stories told at their bedsides, recalling every pleasant memory they could think of.   Neither brother was ready to say the words out loud, but Elladan and Elrohir knew that this was the beginning of their long farewell.  Their Naneth was lost herself, to her family, and to all who lived east of the Sea. 

That night, Elladan asked quietly, “How do we tell Ada?”

They had made a large fire and laid their mother’s swaddled body as close to the flames as they dared, with Elladan cradling her head in his lap.  “How do we tell Ada what we saw?” he asked, his voice breaking.

“We do not.” Elrohir said firmly. 

 “He will want to try and save her.”

“I know. Let him try for a while,” Elrohir leaned forward and stroked his mother’s brow.  “Then we must help him understand.”

“I do not know if I am strong enough for this,” Elladan sobbed, his face pale, eyes full of sorrow.

“You are not,” Elrohir said.  “Neither am I.  But we will find comfort in helping Ada.  We will serve him faithfully, and lighten his heart until the Sea calls him home.”  He grasped his brother by his tear-streaked jaw and turned him so that their eyes met.  “I will not let you fail.”

Elladan straightened with a nod and wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand.  “Nor I, you.”

And they didn’t. 

When they returned, the brothers took over their father’s rule as he sat by their mother’s side.  Celeborn and Galadriel had come, of course, but when it was certain that nothing more could be done to save Celebrian, it was they who convinced Elrond to remain, not to travel to the Havens, for fear he would carry her onto the ship and refuse to get off, or worse, cast himself into the sea.

Arwen was a gentle comfort to all of them, but when Celeborn and Galadriel eventually returned home, they took Arwen with them at the brothers’ insistence, for they had noticed what their sister refused to admit: she was bereft and struggling and would benefit from this respite as much as Celeborn and Galadriel needed to have her there.

“Haru and Haruni need you,” they said. “We will look after Ada.” 

For the last four centuries, Elladan and Elrohir made it their mission to keep Elrond from taking himself too seriously, and to lighten his burdens with playful antics that brought a smile to his face.  It was how they learned to handle most things.

They saved their weeping for the night and the privacy of their rooms.  Neither of them ever knew that, while Elladan and Elrohir had promised each other not to fail their beloved Ada, Glorfindel had promised himself to look after them so they could.

Elladan made a face, unsheathed his sword, lifted it—

“Wait!” Elrohir grabbed his arm .  “I have a better idea.”

Elladan slumped with relief and blew out a breath. “Well, you left that until the last minute, did you not?”

Elrohir found a flat piece of flint nearby, set it beside Lusiël’s neck and after murmuring a spell, maneuvered the tip of his sword around the area scraping against the stone.  He flipped the blade over to the blunt side and smashed it down again and again. 

It wasn’t just altruism that prompted Elrohir to push his brother out of the way and proceed with this himself;  Elladan had genuinely liked Laniër, but he especially went out of his way to befriend her shy cousin Lusiël. 

Elrohir had wondered whether Elladan harbored romantic feelings toward Lusiël, but when asked, his brother denied it.  Still, he could sense something—or at least, the beginning of something—stirring in Elladan’s heart a few years ago, but the relationship could hardly advance if the Elleth gave him no encouragement, or even look him in the eye.

Elladan’s affection for Lusiël, platonic or romantic, could could have been used as a means to get to Melui long before this, and praise Varda it hadn’t.  Maybe underneath whatever had influenced Lusiël, whatever had empowered her and compelled her to murder, she harbored some sort of fondness for him, and no doubt that had saved his life. 

If Elladan’s theory was correct, and there was some sort of evil trinket involved in all this, it would be looking for a new owner to possess, and his friendship with Lusiël would make him the perfect choice. 

Which was not going to happen, if Elrohir could help it.

 He lowered his sword one last time, and a broken chain of silver bearing an emerald pendant materialized on the flat rock, accompanied by a thick, heaving, sigh of air that rustled the trees, slapped at their faces sent their hair flying around their faces.

Elrohir’s arm went completely numb.  His sword grew white hot, and seared the leather of his glove.  Elrohir quickly tossed it from him, yanked off the glove and threw it to the ground as the full weight of their folly took his breath away.  What were they thinking to try something as stupid as this? 

“Look,” Elladan said in a strangled voice, pointing to the rock. “Is that…”

“Amarth faeg…” Elrohir said, when he studied the necklace.

It was the same one their mother had been wearing it when she kissed her family goodbye, to go visit her parents.

Which was not around her neck when Elladan and Elrohir found her nearly three weeks later, chained to the wall of that cave.

“I was wrong…” Elladan breathed, eyes rounded in shock backed up toward the nearest tree trunk. “This is no ornament left by Pallando.” [5]

Elrohir shook his head slowly, trying to keep his growing anxiety at bay.  “This is beyond either of us; I fear that revealing it only brought us further danger.”

“What do we do?”

“I do not know,” Elrohir moved to stand beside his brother and forced himself to take deep breaths.  “We cannot remain in its presence, nor can we just leave it here, unguarded, lest it be taken up by an innocent with less power than you or I.” 

“So…” Elladan gave him a sidelong glance. “You think Lusiël was victimized, as was Saeros?”

“Perhaps,” He grasped his brother’s upper arm.  “But now is not the time to reflect, Gwanunig.”

A pained look marred Elladan’s features, but after a moment, he collected himself.  “We cannot stand here and do nothing.  Ada said he will have the box sent to the Ford Road, so we either take it there, or one of us goes back and gets it.”  He turned to Elrohir and straightened.  “This is my fault; I will stay.  Go meet them, and send for Ada and Glorfindel.  Perhaps between the three of you—”

“What do you mean, the three of us?” Elrohir cried. 

“Brother, if that thing has taken hold of me while you are gone, then you must do whatever you can to stop it.  And me.”

"I am not leaving you!”

 “You must! What if someone is looking for it right now?” Elladan pleaded.  “I can at least stop them, and foil whatever plans they have made!  Go, Elrohir!”  

As they argued, the necklace pulsed to the rhythm of their hearts, growing stronger…

Overhead, tree branches crackled and jostled.  Elladan and Elrohir looked up at the dark object diving towards them.  Which turned into a large bird.  Which turned out to be—

Elladan’s mouth fell open.  “That’s Lagrôval! I thought he was with Melui and Vildan!”

The falcon charged at them, wings flapping in a fit of fury and impatience, forcing them to step back, again and again, until they were several yards from the body.

“Ai, gorgor!” Elrohir’s chest contracted in terror.  “He has been taken by the necklace!  Kill him, before he hurts himself or someone else!”

Both brothers pulled out their knives, flipped them to grab by their points and made ready to throw—

A shadow loomed overhead, turning everything to an unnatural dusk. 

"SCREEEEEEE!" Lagrôval screeched, and flew away.

Thunder shook the ground, followed by an ear-splitting crack! of white-hot lightening that struck fear into their hearts, set the surrounding trees on fire.

"Ai, puith!" Elrohir screamed, threw them both on the ground, and covered his brother's body with his own.

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Ai, Puith! - Oh, fuck!

Car sandh? – You think?

Galcúron – “Moonlight,” Elladan’s Meara mare

Gwanunig – Twin brother

Faro mhae – Good hunting

Man cerig? – What are you doing?

Prestapant – (Lit. “Full of trouble”), Elrohir’s part-Meara gelding.  The name pretty much explains why he had to be gelded in the first place, but it did little to curb his mischievous behavior.

NOTES:

[1] http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Misty_Mountains#cite_note-7

[2] J.R.R. Tolkien, Christopher Tolkien (ed.), The Silmarillion, Quenta Silmarillion: Of the Coming of the Elves and the Captivity of Melkor:

“But the mountains were the Hithaegir, the Towers of Mist upon the borders of Eradior; yet they were taller and more terrible in those days, and were reared by Melkor to hinder the riding of Oromë.

[3] J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, "Many Meetings"

[4] http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Rivendell

[5] Broken Wings, Ch. 23: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/53774125

Chapter Text

“I guess that’s just part of loving people: You have to give things up. Sometimes you even have to give them up.”

― Lauren Oliver, Delirium

City of Dale, 5^th of March 2946 T.A.

Thranduil’s heart battered his breastbone as he eyed the blood-stained hay at his feet, and the painful moans of his Guardians, who were being tended by Percy and Ivran.   Bard was at the door of Mistanâr’s stall, doing his best to settle the hysterical mare, so he could figure out how to free her.  Thangon was barking and trotting in circles between the stall and the stable door.

“Shhh, sweetheart…”  Bard’s calm, assuasive tone belied the unmitigated fury in his eyes. “Those bastards put a lock on this fucking thing!”

“Legron!” Thranduil called to the slim, dark-haired Lieutenant.  “Come help us!”

The Elf finished pulling a blanket over the Stablemaster Voron’s body and jogged over.  As Bard continued to soothe the mare in Sindarin, Thranduil held her head still, while Legron took his knife and cut her halter off. 

“Ai! Ai!”

Mistanâr exploded out of the box stall. Thranduil, ricocheting off the silver mare’s shoulder, was slammed against the wood with a force that knocked the air out of his lungs. Bard was knocked completely off his feet, and poor Legron was dragged several feet before he could free his hand from a twisted piece of leather.  He swung his leg up on her back and managed to free himself just as the mare exited through the front doors with Thangon close on her heels.

“Holy shit,” Bard said, from the ground. “She’s going after them!”

“She cannot get past the Gatekeeper; we need to hurry!” Thranduil grabbed Bard’s arm and helped him to his feet. “Are you hurt?”

“Just my dignity,” Bard brushed off his backside and sprinted to the tack room and returned with two bridles.  “You said Elven horses won’t let me fall?  Now’s a good time to test that theory!”

“Legron!  Percy! Stay with the injured until the Healers get here,” Thranduil ordered as he went to get his stallion. “Then go find Captain Tauriel and tell her what happened!  Tell her to follow us out the West Gate.  Ivran, Cwën, go get your horses.”

As they struggled to get their horses outfitted, the occupants of the other stalls kicked at their walls, demanding to be released.  Thranduil looked up and down the main aisle in shock and confusion at the rolling eyes, the pinned-back ears, and heads lifting in outraged screams.  Bard managed to get Fînlossen ready,  and sent Thranduil an inquiring look, but the Elvenking could only shake his head.

Boom, boom, boom… the wooden planks of the sliding doors were beginning to crack with each bash from their powerful haunches.  If these beasts were not released soon, they would bring the entire barn down on their heads.

“Legron!”

“Coming, My Lord!” The Lieutenant approached, warily eyeing the box next to them. in which Aegis’s strikes were so vicious, the support timbers vibrated.  “I have never…”

“Nor have I, but we will work it out later.” Thranduil fitted Naurmôr’s bit between his teeth, then said, “We have no choice but to allow them to come.  Wait five minutes after we leave, then let them loose.”

“And they will follow?”

“If I am correct, they will.  If not, we can round them up when our task is done.” 

“Yes, My Lord.”

Legron slid the stable doors open all the way, and the four riders ducked their heads and cleared the low beam of the frame.  Ivran and Cwën went ahead; shouting over and over to clear the streets and make way.

Mistanâr was rearing and knocking her front hooves against the West doors, with Thangon insinuating himself between the mare and anyone who tried to stop her.  The Gatekeeper’s face was full of relief when they approached.

“We were just about to send for you…” Mervyn said.  When the cacophony of four dozen horseshoes hitting cobblestones was followed by the rest of the residents of the stables, he gave the group an incredulous stare.  “What is going on?”

Bard gave him a brief summary, “Has anyone left these gates in the past hour?”

“Yes, My Lord.” Mervyn said.  “Those traders from down in East Bight came through with their wagons not an hour’s past.  Said they were done with their business and were headed home.” He  rubbed his neck nervously. “I checked their papers myself; all seemed to be in order.  I can go get them—”

“I’ll look at them later,” Bard said.  “Let us through, then go find Feren and tell him to lock down the city; no one enters or leaves, save Lady Tauriel.  When you see her, she’ll be running, so get the doors open and try not to slow her down.

“Sure thing.” Mervyn lifted his arm and signaled to the Elves and Men on the ramparts.  “Hurry it up, boys!”

Thranduil and Bard urged their stallions to the front of the running herd, but were only able to keep pace with Mistanâr for a few moments at a time.  Thranduil wasn’t surprised; he’d ridden the mare only once, in that frantic race to save Gildor’s children, but he never forgot the experience. [1]

As much as he sympathized with her, the silver mare mustn’t get too far ahead and try to deal with the thieves on her own.  Thranduil leaned down toward Naurmôr’s ear and whispered to him in Quenya.  The ebony stallion tossed his head, called out to the Meara mare, redoubling his efforts to reach her.  Just as he caught up with her, Mistanâr’s head lifted, ears alert nostrils sniffing the air.  When a horse’s cry sliced through air from the rear, Mistanâr answered though she kept running.

“Ada!” Tauriel called out as Lasbelin galloped past the Elvenking and caught up to his mate.  The Silver mare slowed to a canter and leaned her head against Lasbelin, who returned the affection with reassuring sounds.

Thranduil nudged Naurmôr up to Tauriel’s left.  “The thieves used wagons, so we should have no trouble catching up with them.  They are headed South on the Dale Lands Road toward East Bight.”

“How can you be certain?” She called. 

“They are acquaintances of Jack, Evan’s nephew.”

Tauriel’s jaw dropped in outrage. “He had something to do with this?”

“That is yet to be determined; our priority is to rescue your filly!”

Twenty minutes later, Tauriel’s face lit up in a mixture of relief and apprehension. “There they are!” She pointed a long, slender finger toward the dark shapes several miles ahead.   

It was pointless to do anything but drop Naurmôr’s reins and let him go.  Neither Elves nor Men had really been in charge of this rescue, anyway, and all he could do was flow along with the events as they happened.

It took less than fifteen minutes for the herd to catch up to the wagons and surround the startled men. Mistanâr charged to the back of the first wagon and called out to the terrified foal, who answered her mother in high-pitched squeals and thrashing against her restraints, accompanied by human curses.

"Why are we stopping?  And what the fuck is all that noise—OW!  You bit me, you bitch!  Ronald, where the fuck are you?  Come and help me get “ this little shit under control before I tear her head clean off!  Gustav!”

Ronald and Gustav were disinclined to answer just then, as each had a knife blade against their jugulars.  Ivran and Cwën had the two drivers pulled down off their seats and in a chokehold before they had a chance to make a sound.

Thranduil and Tauriel pushed through to the front, “You are surrounded,” the Elvenking shouted.  “Come out of the wagon with your hands in the air immediately!" 

The heavy canvas curtain was pulled aside to reveal a short, wiry dark-haired man who had one hand fisted in the nose piece of Trastapîn’s harness, and the other, dripping blood from the filly’s sharp teeth, pointing a long knife under her jaw.  “Take one step closer,” his mouth curved into an ugly, sardonic grin, “and I’ll drive this clear through to her brain, you get me?  Or maybe,” he swiftly moved it toward her face, “I’ll just make you watch me cut her eyes out, wouldn’t that be fun?”  Trastapîn thrashed against him, whimpering piteously.

Lasbelin reared on his hind legs with a roar of rage. Tauriel held on, jaw set, her hand on her sword.

“Hauta! Quildë! “Thranduil shouted, his hands raised. “Quildë!

By this time, Mistanâr was shaking with rage and terror, every muscle bunched tight and trembling, yet she softly whinnied assurance to the foal.  Thranduil’s throat and chest contracted at glinting steel blade resting against the foals shimmering head.  He stared the man down with an icy glare.  “You have no idea of the mistake you and your friends have made.  If you release her without harm, you will live.  Damage one hair on her body and I will not lift a finger to protect you from them.” He swept his arm out over the furious equine mob.  “It is your choice.”

The man surveyed the spectacle before him.  “You forget one thing, Elf,” he spat on the ground.  “I have something you want, and I will be the one setting the terms here.  Tell your men to release my friends, and back the fuck up!” the man ordered.

Lasbelin had had enough and took matters into his own hands.  He reared again and jumped forward with a scream. 

“Cabo Iellig!” Thranduil yelled in alarm.

Tauriel barely had time to jump clear as Lasbelin’s propelled himself off the ground mouth open, teeth bared.  The front of his body landed in the bed of the wagon and he had the man’s forearm in his teeth, savaging his limb until the knife dropped and he screamed in agony. Thranduil dismounted and went to help free Trastapîn, but Mistanâr had already went to her baby and chewed her rope in two by the time he reached them.  

Moving slowly and speaking in low smooth tones so as not to startle mother or child, Thranduil gently lifted the terrified foal to the ground. Tauriel grabbed hold of Lasbelin’s stirrup and reins and pulled back with all her might to persuade the enraged stallion to back off, leaving the thief alone in the wagon holding his bleeding forearm. She pulled out an extra tunic she had planned to wear at Erebor and used it to wipe off the stallion’s face. Once clean, the stallion pulled his face away and ran to his mate.

Mistanâr and Lasbelin nosed Trastapîn twenty yards away from the crowd and, much like the night she was born, snuffled and licked and examined every inch of the shimmery-white foal until they were satisfied she was whole and unharmed.

Praise to you, Queen Varda… The Elvenking turned his eyes skyward with a prayer. The other prisoners, Ronald and Gustav were tied up to one of the wagon wheels, while Cwën saw to the injured thief’s arm, under the watchful eye of her husband who glowered at him, hand never leaving the handle of his sword.

Thranduil turned around and gazed in wonder at rest of the horses, who had gathered and surrounded the reunited family. 

And that’s when it happened.  The Elvenking’s jaw went slack as he observed one of the most astounding scenes of his entire life.

In no particular order or form, each horse trotted over coming no closer than ten yards,  faced Mistanâr and/or Trastapîn, leaned on one knee, and bowed their heads.  Even Naurmôr pulled his reigns from Thranduil’s hands and went to pay his respects.  Never in all his years had he witnessed such a thing.  

What magic was this? Brief scenes flitted through Thranduil’s mind in the months that Mistanâr and Trastapîn had been among them, be it in the pastures, or the stables or even when riding.  Taken individually they were but but token moments, but blended like the stroke of a paintbrush in a white canvas, a clear picture emerged.

Mistanâr and, by extension, Trastapîn were treated with the same respect and deference as Thranduil received as King.  It was not only other horses, for was it not Thangon who alerted the Kings at the Castle?  And before the West Gate, it was Thangon who protected her from those who would detain the silver mare. 

There were several herds of Mearas in Middle Earth, and, while all are highly prized and sought after, Mistanâr was…

…their Queen?

Surely Vildan must have known something--even if he didn't Elrond would and should said something about Mistanâr’s significance!  And Bard—

Where was Bard?  Thranduil turned a complete circle for signs of him, but he and Fînlossen were absent.  As was Thangon.

Thranduil’s face tingled as the blood fled from his cheeks, were there more bandits that had waylaid them?

“Tauriel!  I need you!”

His daughter jumped out of the first wagon and ran over to him. “What is it, Ada?”

“Did you see Bard?”

“I did,” she winced in shame. “He was stopped by the road four miles from Dale but Lasbelin would not allow me to stop.  I am sorry; I should have told you, but everything happened at once.”

“I understand. Was he hurt?”

“Fînlossen was shielding him from the road, but from what I saw, he was kneeling and looking at something.  I am sorry—”

“Thangon,” Thranduil’s eyes closed. 

“Thangon?” her eyes bulged.  “Why was he not kept in Dale! He is too old to—”

“I know that!” he roared, startling her and everyone in the area.

“Gwinïg,” he gritted his teeth and forced himself to calm down.  “It is a long story which I do not have time to explain now; I must go to them.  Now!” 

He whistled for Naurmôr. “Have Cwën take the empty wagon follow me as quickly as she can.  Get those prisoners on the first wagon, gather the herd and head back to Dale but make them walk if you can; they need time to cool down.  I’ll make sure the stables are ready.” Thranduil jumped on the black stallion’s back and grabbed the reins. “Can you and Ivran handle this alone?”

“We will get it done,” Tauriel told him, her voice rough.  “Go Ada; Bard will need you.”

***************

Once they exited the West Gate, Fînlossen surged ahead with the rest of the group, and soon the white stallion’s three-beat canter shifted—Praise Ulmo, for he was getting jostled until his teeth rattled—to the four-beat cadence of a smooth full-out gallop.  The horses had kicked up a surprising amount of dust for early spring; Bard squinted his eyes and avoided breathing through his mouth though the occasional particle stung his face.   Fînlossen’s mane was abundant and wavy and beautiful, but at the moment, it was whipping in his face, so he grabbed a handful and held it down. 

He quickly glanced to his right for signs of Thangon and was relieved to see nothing.  There had been no time to order his dog to stay when the Gate opened.  Fînlossen took off like an arrow and Bard had no choice but to just hang on.

The high-pitched cry should not have been heard over the thunder of hoof prints, but, in the same way that Bard could instantly detect his own children’s voices in a crowd, so did that sound pierce through the foreground of his consciousness and disturb his thoughts.

Thangon was not barking; he was screaming.  In pain.

“Oh, shit!! Shit! Whoa, boy,” he pulled at Fînlossen’s reins.  “Damn you, horse; Stop! Daro!” he commanded.  Then with a growl of frustration, he shouted in Quenya, “Hautë, you great beast! Do you hear me? Hautë, for Ulmo’s sake, Hautë!”

The white stallion slowed then stopped, but was clearly unhappy about it.  He pawed the ground and kept his head forward as the rescue party went on.  Then he looked back at bard with a loud, angry protest, and refused to turn around.

Bard struggled to explain. “Thangondil… Dammit! How the fuck do I say this in Quenya?,” he cussed a few more words and wracked his brains.   “Thangondil  cé mala…?”  Bard groaned in frustration.  “Look,” he shook his handful of white mane, hard. “I’m doing it with our without you, but if Thangon really is hurt, I need your help!”

Whatever he said seemed to get through to the great white horse, and he turned around and trotted in the opposite direction.

Ahead, in the middle of the road, a black-and-tan figure, refusing to be left behind, limped toward them, and his agonizing cries pierced Bard’s chest like a dozen arrows.

“No, Thangon!” Bard’s dry mouth could only deliver a mangled cry.  “Thangon!  Don’t move!  Uh…” His mind drew a blank…  “Serë!  Thangon, Serë!”

The dog did stop, and with a mournful half-bark, he huffed a few labored breaths, staggered to the side of the road and slumped into the softer grass.  Fînlossen, finally understanding, needed no encouragement to race back as fast as he had raced in the opposite direction moments ago. 

“Oh Valar, please, please no…”  Bard murmured, over and over, until at last Fînlossen skidded to a halt beside the prone dog.  The bowman swung his leg over, jumped to the ground and fell to his knees.  “Oh, please be all right…” He felt the dog’s limbs and when he placed his hands over Thangon’s hip, the dog jerked and stiffened, his initial cry followed by whimpers of misery. 

“All right, all right; I won’t touch it… Shhh…” he stroked the great wrinkled head.  “Just be still: I don’t know how much I can help, but I’ll see what I can do, all right?” 

Granted, Bard skill was better suited to adding oomph to another Elf’s efforts, but he refused to just sit there and do nothing.  He gently laid his hands on either said of Thangon’s hip joint, closed his eyes and tried in his own, bumbling, human way, to reduce the inflammation.  When he opened his eyes again, Thangon was still letting out a soft moan with each breath, so Bard felt around his abdomen and ribs, not having a clue what to do. What does a normal dog look like on the inside anyway?  

“Okay, whoever is up there,” Bard lifted his eyes to the overcast sky, “if you could give me a hand, here, I’d really appreciate it.”  With a deep breath, he looked again.  As his hands moved higher, under the ribcage—

The family often spoke of Thangon’s huge heart, and even among the Elven breeders, he stood out as a perfect example of what such a dog should be.  If Thangon had not thrown himself at Bard when that stone block fell, it would have crushed his head instead of just his leg.  When the Jarod and his gang attacked Dale, killed four people and kidnapped the hostages, it was Thangon who saved Adila’s life by breaking the phony Harad king’s neck. 

But as terrifying as Thangon could be to enemies, he was gentle as a lamb with children, allowing babies to crawl all over him, poke and prod and pull to their heart’s content and he bore it all with amused patience. 

And when he wasn’t tagging along after Bain, or enjoying his nightly walks with Thranduil and Tauriel, he was always at Bard’s side as he walked the streets of Dale.  The fishmonger, the baker, and even Rod at the Tavern could be counted on to for treats, but none more than at Adila’s Coffee shop, where the grateful owner could be counted on to provide him with a ham sandwich, made just how he liked it.

But not even the devotion of all who loved him, could keep Thangon’s heart strong forever.  He had been examined by the Elven breeders every time the family took him to the palace, and whatever might ail him, including signs of aging, were addressed to the best of their ability. 

Last fall, Thranduil had brought up the subject of retiring him, and Bard couldn’t bear to consider it.[2]

“He’s fine, love,” Bard shook his head.  “He spends most of his time sleeping on one hearth or another around here.  He loves his job, and I think bringing in another dog to replace him would only hasten his….” He couldn’t even say it.  “Just, let’s wait a while, yeah?”

Thangon’s heart was big, too big.  Bard pressed his hands over his chest and saw the organ struggle to push blood through arteries that had narrowed and hardened with age.  Instead of the usual lub-dub, lub-dub, Bard heard whooshes and clicks along with labored efforts of the lungs. When he closed his eyes, he saw the muscle quiver rapidly in distress, followed by a deep rumbled groan from Thangon, as he stiffened in pain.  “No, no, no, no…” he murmured.  “Please,” he pushed onto Thangon and ordered the blood to flow.  “Move it, damn you!” he said, through gritted teeth.  “Don’t you dare stop; do you hear me?  Don’t you fucking give up, because I am not done with you, Thangon!  You’ve got to live, or what am I going to tell Bain, or the other children?  Meryl worships you; she’ll be heartbroken if you left her, and what about Beriel?  She’s supposed to be going into season in a couple of weeks; don’t you want another bunch of puppies just as goofy as you? ” His last words came out as a sob.  “Don’t leave me, Thangon; I’m not ready to say goodbye to you yet.  I’m just not ready…”

Fînlossen nickered softly, and ran his lips over the dog’s head, offering his canine friend what comfort he could, teasing and worrying at the dog’s dark ear like he was wont to do when they relaxed together in the fields.

Thangon’s fur was speckled with the small, damp spots that fell from Bard’s eyes, but he didn’t dare take even a second to wipe them.  The dog’s chest lifted and fell with breaths too shallow to give Bard much hope.  He curled his fingers into the short coarse fur, letting the tips of the hair poke under his fingernails, as he willed the pulse under his hand to grow steady and strong, but it remained erratic and thready.

Fînlossen’s head reared up with a loud neigh.

Bard tore his eyes away from his dog and nearly sobbed in relief.  Thranduil was astride Naurmôr, galloping toward them with all speed, his long, icy-blonde hair flying in the wind.  Fînlossen stomped his feet impatiently and called to his stable-mate to hurry.  Naurmôr answered with a whinny and kept up his pace.

“Bard!” Thranduil called to him as he approached, landing gracefully on the ground.  “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Bard shook his head, his chin trembling.

The Elvenking’s gaze landed on Thangon, and his eyes softened with sadness and worry.

“Can you help him?” Bard’s vision blurred.  “I tried to do something, but I just don’t know how—”

“Let me take a look, Meleth nîn.” the Elvenking murmured and gently moved Bard’s hands. “Move up to his head  and help him relax and stay calm.”

Bard swallowed several times as he cradled Thangon’s head in his lap and ran his hands over the loose skin on his muzzle and neck. “Sorry; I haven’t asked—”

“The foal is fine; the thieves have been dispatched and they are making arrangements to return.”

“Thank the stars,” he sighed, running the dog’s velvety hears through his fingers.  “I’m so sorry.”

“This is not your fault, Bard.”

“Yes it is!  I never should have allowed him through those Gates!  No matter what was happening, I should have made sure.”  He paused, afraid to ask. “He’s dying, isn’t he?” Bard dared a glance at his husband, and the sad resignation in the beautiful Elf’s features told a truth that could not be avoided. 

“His heart is just too damaged.  I am so sorry, Meleth nîn.”

“How…” his throat spasmed.  “How long?”

“A few hours.”

“I don’t want him to die here,” Bard wiped his nose on his sleeve. 

“I will do all I can to make him comfortable.” Thranduil stroked his hand along Thangon’s hip, and murmured a spell.  “He will not be able to get up again, but this will allow us to take him home, and give us a chance to say farewell.”  His voice grew rough.  “He deserves that.”

“We’ll take up upstairs and put him on his bed by the fire in our room.”

“I think he will like that very much.”

Bard mustered a watery smile.  “Would you like that? We’ll build a nice fire, and you’ll be surrounded by your family,” Then with a sigh, he added, “We can’t; all this other stuff…”

“There is nothing that cannot wait a day or two,” Thranduil said firmly.  “Feren will have secured the city, and Chief Tom will see to the prisoners.  Amrol and Haden are in excellent hands, and whatever they missed, you know Percy will take care of.  The delay is a good idea; we need time to gather evidence before the thieves are brought before your throne.”

“That’s true,” Bard said.  “Let them sweat.”

A dull rumble came from the east and both Kings raised their heads to see Feren and several troops headed their way. 

“My Lords!” the Commander saluted them, and asked sternly.  “What are you doing out here without your escort?”

"It could not be helped," the Elvenking said. “We are fine, but as you can see…” he gestured to the prone dog.  “We await one of the wagons, but you will find Tauriel and Ivran with the rest of the group ten miles south on the Dale Lands Road.  Please go assist them, and help make sure the horses keep a moderate pace; they have all had a shock.”

“Ben iest dhîn, Erain nîn,” Feren nodded and gave his sovereign a pointed glare. “But I am leaving four of the troops with you.”

In due time, Cwën arrived, and the three of them carefully lifted the Thangon into the back with Bard.  Cwën took the seat in the front, snapped the reins and clicked her teeth. Thranduil mounted his stallion, took Fînlossen’s reins and they headed for home.

***************

The afternoon’s events were the talk of the town, and by the time the wagon circled around the fountain and stopped in front of the Castle steps, everyone who lived and worked at the Castle were gathered on the dais with anxious faces.  Tilda stood between Greta and Hilda, each holding one of her hands. Percy had his arm around Bain’s shoulders with Alun, Rhys and Bowen close by. 

As soon as the wagon stopped, Percy ordered everyone stay back and went to talk to Thranduil.  “Where is Bard?” he asked, his eyes clearly worried.

“We have recovered the foal, and the thieves have been captured.  However…” The Elvenking dismounted and jerked his head toward the back of the wagon. 

Percy walked around peered into the back. “Ulmo’s balls… Bard? Are you all right?”

“Not really,” the Bowman stroked the space between Thangon’s eyes.  “We’re home, pal.  Just a little bit farther and you’ll be in your nice, soft bed, yeah?”

“Where’s Da?” Tilda let go of Greta’s hand, and started to descend the steps.

“Just wait there, Beanie,” Percy said. “I need everybody to move back and give Bard and these guys plenty of room, okay?”

A blanket was fetched, and Bard and the Elves carefully lifted the dog down to a chorus of gasps and cries of dismay. 

“What happened to him?”

“Let’s just get him upstairs, son,” Bard told Bain.  “Where is Sigrid?”

“She’s still at work.”

With a nod, Percy silently agreed to send for her.

“Did Thangon break his leg, Ada?” Tilda wrapped her arm around his waist.

“Not his leg,” Thranduil stroked her head. 

“I could get his toys,” she offered, as Bard followed the Elves upstairs.

“I think he would like that.”

“Is he hurt bad?”

 “We will tell you all about it in few minutes.  Why don’t you take Meryl up to see him?  She would want to see her friend; do you not think?”

“Okay.”

The Elvenking quietly brought Hilda and the Castle staff up to speed. “Send Rhys and Bowen up with Bain; when Sigrid comes home, let her know what is happening.  Tauriel will be along much later, but she is prepared for this possibility.”

“I’ll send up a light buffet for you all to nibble as you want,” Greta offered. “Is there anything else we can do for you?”

“Not that I can think of; I must meet briefly with Percy and Alun and then I will join my family.”

When the three of them entered his study, Thranduil didn’t bother to sit. “What is happening in Dale?”

“Chief Tom has held Evan’s nephew for questioning,” Alun said, “and we’ve got several men ready to take the others to the dungeons.”

“Good.  What about the wounded?”

“Amrol is stable,” Percy said.  “Haden’s condition is a lot more serious, but last I heard, his chances were slightly in our favor.  The stablemaster’s body is being taken care of, and Feren’s ordered the Royal Stables scrubbed clean, and some troops on standby to look after the horses.”

“Excellent.  Where is Evan and his wife?”

Alun’s face paled, “They’re at home with two guards, though Tom promises me they’re not under arrest.  My Lord, I refuse to belief Evan had anything to do with this!”

 “I’m sure you are right, Mellon, but if there are others in Dale who are working with those thieves, they might see Evan and Eryn as leverage.  Until this mystery is completely unraveled, we must trust Chief Tom’s and Feren’s judgment. ” The Elvenking gave his shoulder a squeeze.   “I must go and join the family.  Alun, if you would be so kind as to assist Percy in taking care of matters this evening I would be most grateful.  If something urgent comes up, I will be available.”

“Of course, My Lord.”

The Elvenking wearily climbed the Grand Staircase to the end of the long hall, where the double doors were opened slightly.  Bain and the boys were kneeling beside Thangon’s cushion,  recalling comical moments and adventures they had shared with him.  Meryl was in her usual place, curled up beside his head, whining softly.

“Beriel will miss you,” Bowen said, running his hand over a front paw.  “Guess there won’t be puppies this summer.  But that’s okay.  She’ll understand.”

Bard was sitting cross-legged on the hearth, with a tearful Tilda in his lap.  “It was just like when Esta died,” she sobbed. 

“I know, baby, but you know what?  Esta protected you till the very end, and today, Thangon was doing the same thing.  If it weren’t for him, we’d never have even known that someone attacked the stables, did you know that?”

“He did?” she hiccupped, roughly swiping at her eyes.

“He sure did,” Bard lifted his red-rimmed eyes to his, “right, Ada?”

“This is true, Tithen Pen.” Thranduil reached down and picked her up.  “Thangon has so much love in his heart for us, that he used it up to make sure his family and his friends were safe.  I think he would rather do all the things he loved until his body gave out, than grow so old and stiff that he’d be forced to sit and watch life go by.”

Tilda leaned her head on his shoulder.  “Maybe he will go be with Esta.”

“Would that not be a wondrous thing?  She has surely missed him, and he will have good friend to greet him when he passes,” he wiped her eyes again.  "And they will run in the cool grass and play among the trees to their heart’s content.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye.” she whispered.

“Nor do I, my little love,” Thranduil rubbed her back and glanced down at his husband, who was weeping softly. 

For it was in that moment, with a soft, peaceful sigh, Thangon, whose name meant “Great Shield,” closed his eyes forever.

IN MEMORIAM

THANGON of DALE

17th September 2935 - 4th March 2946 T.A.

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Amarth faeg… -  Evil fate…

Ben iest dhîn, Erain nîn – As you wish, my Kings

Cabo, Iellig! - Jump, my daughter!

Fînlossen! Daro! – Fînlossen!  Stop!

Hauta! Quildë! Quildë! – (Q.) Stop!  Quiet!  Quiet!

Thangondil… (Q.) Friend Thangon…

Thangondil mala cé … - Friend Thangon pain may have

NOTES:

[1] Broken Wings, Ch. 17: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/52054429

[2] SCOM, Ch. 1: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090521/chapters/63461635

Chapter Text

“Remember me and smile, for it's better to forget than to remember me and cry.”

― Dr. Seuss

Rivendell, 5^th of March 2946 T.A.

It warmed Elladan’s heart that his brother’s first instinct was to protect him from the explosion.  Elrohir had always been more inclined to react physically, while his own would be to stand there and ask why.  There was no question that, in this case, his pensive nature and his tendency to wax philosophical would have singed off  his hair, and while he was grateful for his dear brother’s quick action, that didn’t mean Elladan appreciated having his face smashed into the ground with such violence. 

He also suspected Elrohir enjoyed it, at least a little, and refused to give him the satisfaction of moaning about rock that had made contact with his nose and would surely leave a mark.

Elladan closed his eyes against the low, deep, boom that made the ground shake underneath him, and the solid wall of heat that slammed into them. 

Both dissipated almost as soon as they began, but the resulting silence was broken by another low, deep, boom.

“What in the world do you two think you’re doing?” it said—though it wasn’t an “it” at all, but the voice of an incredibly angry Wizard.

“Will you get off me?” Elladan pushed up and flung his brother from his back and sat on his heels, rubbing his sore nose. “Mithrandir?”

“What are you doing here?” Elrohir rolled over and gracefully got to his feet.

“What is wrong with the two of you?” Eyes like daggers glowered beneath low, angry brows of bushy grey.  “Do you have any idea what would have happened if I hadn’t come along when I did?”

Elladan was dumbfounded.  “We—”

“Of course, you don’t!  And you can thank him,” indicating a certain familiar falcon of their acquaintance, who was perched on a branch ten feet away, “for saving your hides!” 

“Lagrôval?  What does he have to do with any of this?” Elrohir gaped in astonishment, and turned to Elladan. “You said he was watching over the child.”

“Well, he was!” Elladan sputtered. “We both saw him!”

“Do not shout at me; I am not the one yelling at us!” Elrohir retorted, before he turned to face the wizard.  “And you should not be yelling at us, either!  Do you have any idea what has happened here today?  Lusiël used magic to overpower not only our father, but his entire household, she tried to kill my brother, she did kill three people!  And did you also know that a good friend of ours is now permanently paralyzed?”

“Of course, I do!” What was visible underneath Mithrandir’s brows and beard turned dark. “Why do you think I flew all the way here in such a rush?  I came to save you idiots!”

“And we appreciate it!” Elrohir clenched his fists and stomped his foot.  “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome!” the Wizard roared at the top of his lungs.  “It would break my heart if you were killed, though Valar knows why!”

“Then why are you shou—” Elrohir scrunched his nose and fluttered his eyelashes.  “Wait, what?”

“What, what?”

Elladan silenced his brother with a sharp jab in the ribs.  “Are you two finished?  We have more important things to do.”

“Too right we have.” The Wizard stepped over to the fire, whose flames were so bright that Elladan held up his hand to shield his eyes.  With a wave of his staff and spell, the flames leaped several times their former height,

“Get over here!” he ordered. “It’s time!”

The twins stepped closer as the wizard waved his staff and guided the smoke into a dark angry spiral cloud, which was made up of small, angry particles, still fighting for life.  The three of them sang their praises in Quenya were a strangely beautiful swarm of fireflies before dying in the heat. The fire burned naturally after that until it left nothing but a pile of black, smoking ash.

And a completely intact silver-and-emerald necklace.

“That is not a good sign,” Elladan murmured. 

“No, it isn’t,” Mithrandir said. “But I sense nothing coming from it, do you?”

The brothers dared a couple steps forward.  The creepy pulse that had sent a chill up and down Elladan’s spine was gone.  “It seems benevolent enough.”

“I agree, but we will take no chances.”  The Wizard lowered his staff, hooked the necklace on one of the crooked spines at the end and flung it into the air.  Lagrôval flew into the air, caught it in his beak and, spreading his wings took flight and disappeared.

“Where is he going with it?”

“To a safe place.  Let’s go sit down for a minute.” Mithrandir, who could be as gentle as he was acerbic guided them to a group of boulders where they took their seats. “I need a moment to collect myself.

“Mithrandir,” Elrohir rubbed his palms against his leggings, “you must tell us how you came to be here!”

“That is simple.  Elrond sent your falcon to Gondor with news, and when I asked—Lagrôval, is it?”

“Yes,” Elladan said stupidly.  “That is the name Meássë gave him.”

“Well, he may answer to that, but that is not his true name,” a smirk hinted at the corner of Mithrandir’s mouth. “At any rate, the falcon had a lot more to say about the goings on here than what was included in the letter, and it seemed prudent to ask Lord Gwaihir to carry me here with all speed.”  Mithrandir gave them a pained look.  “I came too late to prevent disaster, and for that, I am sorry.”

“I am confused,” Elladan ran his hand over his jaw.

“You look it.  You also have soot all over your chin.”  Elrohir pulled out a kerchief and handed it to him before he addressed Mithrandir.  “I share his puzzlement, Mithrandir.  When Lagrôval showed up at the Ford, we thought he was there to look after Melui.”

“He was.  He will.  As of now, he has been assigned as one of Melui’s protectors.”

“So, I was right!” Elladan nudged his brother.  “There is something special about the child, yes?”

“Well, there won’t be if you two keep blabbing all over Middle Earth about it!”

“I did not say anything!” Elrohir said, offended.

“Never mind,” Elladan rolled his eyes toward the heavens.  “How did you know to find us here?”

 “When Lagrôval  realized what the two of you were up to, he became worried and flew off to find me,” the Wizard explained. “I was almost to Rivendell when Lagrôval intercepted me two hours ago, and told me of your hair-brained scheme, and praise Varda he did; a minute or two later, and the both of you would have had more trouble than even your father could get you out of!” 

“What were we supposed to do?” Elladan’s jaw tightened as did his stomach.  "We had no idea you were on your way, and we had to retrieve Lusiël’s body one way or another!”  he glared angrily at Mithrandir.  “Our father was busy with Vildan and the child; Glorfindel was with Estel, as he should have been!  Would you have us send anyone less gifted than ourselves to make sure no instrument of…was involved?  If you have a better plan as to what we should have done, I would love to hear it!”

The wizard remained silent, his face unreadable as he studied first Elladan’s face, then his brother’s.  For a moment, Elladan feared he had said too much and was about to be turned into a tree stump or some such thing, but once the scrutiny was finished, Mithrandir seemed to be satisfied with what he found.  “At least the two of you are unscathed from this, praise Elbereth,” he said quietly.  “I have no idea how I would have explained it to your father had I found you...”

Mithrandir didn’t finish his sentence.

“Meaning," Elrohir answered in an equally subdued manner, "if you had found us thus overpowered and enthralled,”  “destroying our fleshly bodies before we could do harm would have been a kindness, and our fëas would thank you when we were reunited.”

“All true,” the wizard smiled sadly, heaving a sigh.  “But, as I said, it would have broken my heart.” 

“As it did mine,” A tendril of sorrow wound its way through Elladan’s insides and squeezed. “I had considered Lusiël a friend for all my life, yet when the river had killed her, all I could think was how glad I was that I didn’t have to do it.” 

“We can take comfort in the knowledge that Lusiël’s fëa is free, now,” Elrohir said gently. 

“Yes,” Elladan’s throat contracted painfully.  “So now you see why we would not allow others to take that risk?”

“I do,” the wizard said. “Now we just need to figure out how she was enslaved in the first place.”

“It was the necklace.” Elladan swallowed and cleared his throat. “You should know that, like Saeros’s ring, it only appeared after Lusiël was dead.” [1]

“That much I surmised, though there is something…different about it, and that worries me.”

“You should also know that it is the very same one that hung around our mother’s neck the day she left for Lothlórien to visit our grandparents.  When we found her,” his gaze fell and focused on the dead leaves at his feet, “she had lost all her jewelry.”

The Wizard eyes bulged slightly but his countenance remained calm.  “That is…unexpected news.  Do you recall if Lusiël was with your mother on that fateful trip?”

Elrohir nodded.  “She and almost all of Naneth’s handmaidens were found almost immediately, although they had been separated.”

“Almost?”

“According to reports, Lusiël was found almost four days later.  What do you think—” Elladan began, the stern shake of Mithrandir’s head silenced him.

“I have no idea,” the wizard jumped up and shook out his robes, “but I think it best this subject be confined to the safety of your father’s study.  We must make haste.  Elladan, I’m taking your horse; you can ride with your brother back to Rivendell.”

***************

City of Dale, 5^th of March 2946 T.A.

After everyone said their final farewells to Thangon, Thranduil gently ushered the others to the door of their bedchamber.  “I know you do not feel much like it, but Cook and Greta have laid out some supper in the dining room, and I would like you all to try and eat something.”

“I’m not hungry,” Tilda said, sniffling.  Sigrid put her arm around her sister’s shoulders and whispered some encouragement as they left the room. 

“I should be getting home,” Bowen said, as Tauriel herded him in the same direction along with Bain and Rhys.  “Daffyd and Anna will be worried.”

“They already know, son,” Percy said.  His arm rested on Hilda’s the small of Hilda’s back as she buried her nose in a handkerchief.  “Let me get one of the guards to walk you home.”

“Thanks,” Bowen mumbled in the direction of the carpet and shuffled out ahead of them.

“Rhys, your Da and Lord Percy will be working well into the night,” Hilda swallowed and folded her kerchief, “so we’ve arranged for a room for the both of you to stay.”

“Okay,” Rhys said.  “Where is Da now?”

“In his study, but you boys go get some food…”  The voices grew faint as the group headed down the hall. 

Thranduil shut the bedchamber doors and took his husband in his arms.  Bard buried his face in his neck, leaning heavily into him, needing the shelter and comfort the Elvenking offered.

“He was my friend.”

“He was the best of friends,” Thranduil whispered.

Bard’s chest expanded and contracted against him in a long, slow sigh.  “We can’t leave him here, especially so close to the fire.”

“No, we cannot,” Thranduil kissed his hair and rested his cheek against the Bowman’s head.  “Where would you like to bury him?”

“Out in the Castle Gardens.  We’ll bury him tonight, then maybe have a little service later.”

“He would like that, I think.” 

“Nothing fancy, mind you, but he deserves something.”

“Yes, he does.”

“We’ll figure out a good time, but it can’t be for at least a few days; I know we talked about waiting to hold court, but you know I can’t.”

“I do. Feren sent word to Mablung to inform the families, and I must escort Voron’s body back to the Palace for the funeral there.” Thranduil rubbed Bard’s back. “Legolas will be escorting Amrol and Haden’s families to Dale tomorrow.”  After a moment’s hesitation, Thranduil added.  “Daeron sent over a litter so we can get Thangon downstairs.”

“Good,”  Bard lifted his head and stepped out of Thranduil’s arms, and both turned to gaze upon Thangon. “He looks peaceful, doesn’t he?”  Without waiting for an answer, he went to the hearth and squatted down to scratch his head.  “I want his bed buried with him.”

It was the Kings who carried Thangon out to the Garden.  Although Bard insisted he wanted to do it alone, Thranduil remained with him, insisting he needed someone to hold the torch.  Bard pretended to be irritated about it, and Thranduil pretended he didn’t see the tears flowing freely from his Bowman’s eyes. 

“It is going to rain, again,” he told Bard.  “It is just as well we wait for any sort of ceremony.  Sigrid needs to arrange for the day off, and Galion and Legolas will want to be here.”

Bard wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “They would?”

He lifted a dark brow.  “Why are you surprised?”

“Well, I mean…” the Bowman struggled for words.  “Thangon wasn’t an Elf, or even a man—”

“He was a member of our family, Meleth nîn.  And you are in pain.  Families support each other, yes?” the Elvenking assured him as a smile pulled at his lips. “It was you who taught me that.”

“That’s…” In the shadow of the torch light, his Bard’s throat bobbed several times.  “That would be...good.”

“Da?”

The Kings turned to see Bain’s face emerge from the darkness, biting his lip for a moment, before straightening his shoulders and saying,  “I want to help, Da; I loved him, too.”

Thranduil tilted his head and regarded the boy who was at the cusp of his manhood, still unsure, yet the desire to serve and lead blazed in his eyes.  And, not for the first time, the Elvenking saw all the seeds they had planted in him about character, integrity and kingship had taken root, still green and new, but would not be for long.  He glanced over at his husband, who had seen it, too. 

"Of course, you can help, Ion nin.  Let your Da have a rest." Thranduil grabbed Bard’s hand, pulled him out of the still-too shallow grave, and handed him the torch.  “Take your time; I will see you inside.”

He did not follow the path to the entrance where Rôgon’s beautiful gate hung, but rather he went the opposite way around and used the back passage into the kitchens.

“Oi, My Lord!”  Lewis nearly dropped his cup on the table, where a pot of tea was sitting, steam curling out from its spout.  “You startled me!”

“My apologies,” Thranduil winced.  “I should have realized that the events of today would make everyone jumpy.  I do not mean to intrude, but I needed a few moments of quiet.”

“I don’t blame you,” the Cook sighed.  “It’s been a hard, sad day.”

“Do you know if the children ate?”

“They did, though Hilda had to nag at them, a bit.  Tauriel wanted to get back down to the stables to look after her beasts, so I sent her off with a bag of sandwiches for her and all the rest of the gang.” Lewis eye him skeptically.  “I wanted to make sure you and Lord Bard had a good supper.” He jerked his head toward a couple of covered plates on the sideboard.  “The two of you’ve got a lot to deal with the next couple of weeks, and you’ll need your strength.”

The Elvenking was touched.  “You are most kind.”

“It’s not so much kindness, really,” Cook winked.  “Since no one else wants your jobs, it makes sense to keep you on your feet.”

Thranduil chuckled softly.  “Percy says that, too.”

“Where do you think he heard it from?” Lewis set his napkin on the table and rose to get another cup.  “Will you join me, My Lord?”

Thranduil was tempted.  “The tea smells wonderful.”

“It’s a blend I’ve been working on.  Go on, sit; you look like you could use it.  They told me the young lad was headed out to the garden to join you.”

“I felt it best to let them alone.” He took a cookie from the plate Lewis pushed toward him. “Bain loved Thangon, too.”

“We all did, though Greta and her girls liked raised a fuss when he tracked mud all over their clean floors!” Lewis grinned, his eyes drifted off into memory.  “Aye but he was a character, wasn’t he?  I remember that day at the beginning of the Long Winter…  You could've heard a pin drop when Feren brought him into the Great Hall for the first time…  Scared the shit out of us, he did, he was so damned big.” Lewis shrugged with a chuckle.  “Course it only took ten minutes for us to see that he was just a dopey buffoon who wouldn’t harm a hair on our heads.”

“Well,” the Elvenking tilted his head with a small smile.  “That is not entirely true.”

“Oh, I know. He was a real hero, wasn’t he?”

“He was,” Thranduil agreed. “We could not have saved the hostages without him.”

“No, you couldn’t.  Dwalin and his boys couldn’t get over how he put the fear of Mordor into those fellas in the dungeon, and praise the Stars, you brought them all home.”

“That,” the Elvenking said quietly, “was another hard, sad day.”

“That it was.  Rod told me later that King Daín sent everyone in the Market enough coin to make sure that every time that dog trotted around we could spare a good cut of meat, or bread or any such treat.  Why do you think the girls at the fabric shop always seemed to have a plate of ham on hand?  That was his favorite.”

"He did that?" 

“Thing is,” Lewis continued, “Thangon was more of a friend to us than you know." Lewis got up again, rummaged around in the cupboard and brought out another bottle, and poured a little of it into each of their cups.  “May I tell you something in confidence?”

“Of course.”

“I started that Long Winter with nothing to live for.  My parents were dead, and my sister died in the fires, and so did the woman I loved.”

How long had Lewis lived with them, yet he knew almost nothing about him?  "My condolences."

Lewis shrugged. “A lot of people lost loved ones.   Grayce, my sweetheart, married someone else.  Not because she didn’t love me, mind you.  I had no way to support her, and this lad had money and a good position.  In Laketown, that meant he was so far up the Master’s arse that it’s a wonder that he didn’t  cough him up!

“I was the one who convinced her to marry him. Her Mam and Da died two winters before, and the Master took stole her house out from underneath her.  She needed a home, and food in her belly, and all I could afford was a spare room I rented from Mistress Bronwyn’s old uncle.  Even that was paid off mostly in trade; I kept up repairs, did most of the cooking, and kept him company.”

“Where is this uncle now?”

“Dead,” Lewis leaned back and stared at his cup, absently running his thumb along the curve of its handle.  “It was the dragon, but not by fire; his heart gave out as I was trying to get him to the boats.”

“Ai, gorgor…”  This time it was Thranduil who poured the liquor into their cups. 

“Thanks,” Lewis took a long pull of his drink.  “I remember thinking how soldiers could watch a good friend die, then leave him right there in his own blood while you get up and keep fighting.  It hurts your heart to do that, doesn't it?"

“You...” Thranduil swallowed, "are not mistaken." 

Lewis huffed a sad laugh.  “The day of the Battle, I learned that for myself, didn’t I?  Anyway, Grayce was dead, the old man was dead, almost all my friends were dead, and I had no real reason to go on, yet there I was in the Great Hall with all those other men and Elves.  ‘I’ll just work for a couple of weeks,’ I told myself.  I was going to wait until the winter was at its worst, sneak out of Great Hall at night and find someplace in the ruins to take off my clothes and wait for the cold to put me to sleep.”

“What happened?”

“Thangon happened.  I never made it out the door.  I can’t tell you how, but that dog knew, and damned if he wouldn’t stop pestering and pawing at me until I gave up.”  Lewis’s eyes grew misty. “Everybody thinks Thangon hung around me because I worked in the kitchens, that he was only interested in the food, but that wasn’t true. Well, it was partly true,” he sniffed with a laugh. “He was always there to cheer me up, until I decided to keep going and see how all this,” he waved his hand around the room, “worked out.”

“I am glad you did.”

“Oh, aye.  And look at me now!  I met and married the finest woman in the world, I have a job I love, and I work for quality people.  Greta is Bronwyn’s cousin; did you know that?  She grew up in one of those villages your people always looked after, and when Bronwyn wrote and told her Lord Bard would be needing to set up a proper household, she came.”

“I remember.”

“She’s the best wife a fella could ever wish for, and I wouldn’t have any of this if it weren’t for that dog you sent to Lord Bard.  I’ll tell you something else,” he lifted his brown eyes to meet the Elvenking’s.  “I wasn’t the only one who almost didn’t make it that winter.”

“How do you know this?”

“No one one really said so,” Lewis rubbed his chin, “but when you've been through it, you just kind of know, don't you? It’s like, you can smell that kind of pain in somebody else, you know what I mean?”

“Yes,” Thranduil said quietly, studying the contents of his cup. “I do.”

“You can just tell,” the Man nodded. “After Thangon started getting after me, I started watching him.  There were four or five others who had that same kind of despair in their eyes.  I won’t tell you names, ‘cause they all seem good now, but I watched that dog through that window in the kitchen, and damned if he didn’t sit with the those fellas at meals, and by their bunks, and pester the living daylights out of them until they felt better.” Lewis pulled his red handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. “I don’t know much about those kinds of dogs, My Lord,” he said roughly, “or how you Elves breed them back home, but Thangon was something special. He really was.”

"He was exceptional," Thranduil blinked back tears as he took a swig of his drink.  “Thank you for telling me this.”

“Thanks for listening.  Now, I’m gonna beg your pardon for my impertinence, and I know Lord Bard won’t be wanting any sort of grand fuss, but I’ll tell you straight: there’s lots of people in Dale who have stories they want to tell about that dog, and it’ll do your family a world of good to hear ‘em.”

"You have a good point," The Elvenking pushed himself up to stand.  "I thank you for all this," he picked up the tray of food and drink, "I can take this up myself," he said, over Cook's protest.  “Now please, get some rest."

"Aye, My Lord," Lewis bowed his head.  "Good night."

After appointing one of the guards to escort Cook back to his rooms behind the Great Hall, the Elvenking silently climbed the Grand Staircase.   After placing the tray in the Royal Bedchamber, he went back out and checked on the rest of the family.  Percy and Hilda’s door was closed and there was no strip of light underneath it, which was a good sign; though they loved to deny it, neither of them was young.  The Steward’s arthritis always bothered him in the damp of early spring.  Daeron had begun to check Hilda’s heart as a matter of routine whenever he came to the Castle.  Tilda's room was dark, but he crept in, made sure she was covered and, after stroking her dark hair, kissed her brow and left.

Tauriel's door was opened slightly. She was sitting by her fireplace, in her favorite ivory robe, and her thick red hair was fashioned into a braid that draped across her shoulder.  Farien was in her lap, purring, and kneading the soft fabric.

“How do you fare, Gwinïg?”

“I do not know, just yet,” she shrugged.   "Mistanâr and Trastapîn are back in the stables—thank you for the extra guards, Ada—and Lasbelin hardly lets them out of his sight.”

“How do they fare?”

Tauriel mouth formed a thin, angry line.  “The foal was not physically harmed, but as yet, she will allow no one other than her mother or father to touch her.  She used to be affectionate with me, but she shrinks away now.”

“Hopefully, that will pass, with time,” Thranduil said.  “My concern is that the Mearas cannot spend their entire lives safe in the stables; they need to be outside for grass and fresh air.”

“I doubt the other horses would allow any harm to come to them,” Tauriel met his eyes.  “I did not imagine that did I?”

“No, you did not, and that is another matter we need to investigate.  There is more to Mistanâr and her foal than meets the eye, and I will write to Elrond in the morning.” 

“If that's true, Vildan should have told me.” Her tone was sharp and bitter. “We could have taken better precautions.”

“Tauriel, you know how much he loved his horse.  I am sure if he knew anything, he would have said, especially when he discovered he had to leave.  I am also sure,” he reached forward and grasped her hand between his, "that Vildan would not want you to blame yourself.”

“Yet I do,” her chin quivered.  “Lasbelin tried to tell me, and I did not listen.  Bofur was the one who convinced me of the danger, but I am a soldier; a Guardian, and I should have been prepared!  It should have occurred to me that word of such a unique animal would spread around the area.”

“Then we are both to blame, for I did not foresee it either.”  Thranduil patted her hand.  “Yet, all we can do is learn and go on.  To that end, I plan to send for several dogs to accompany the herd while they are in the pastures, and to remain in the stables at night.  This will not happen again; I promise you.” 

He leaned down and kissed her cheek.  "Get some sleep, child.  Tomorrow is another day, and it is going to be a long one.”

6^th of March 2946 T.A.

Bard quietly entered the bedchamber in the early hours of the morning.  After turning up the lamp, Thranduil rolled over and sat up against the headboard to wait while the Bowman went to the privy and washed.  

“I thought you’d be asleep,” Bard said when he came to the bed and slid off his leggings.

“I will, after I’ve looked after you,”  he said.  “There is food.  Are you hungry?”

“I am, but not for that, just yet.”  Bard lifted the covers, slid in beside him and reached for him. “I need this more.”

Thranduil tasted the salt of tears in their kisses, which started soft and slow, but grew in urgency as Bard ran his hands over the Elvenking’s back and slid underneath his pajama bottoms.  Fingers dug into his buttocks to press his hips against Bard’s hard length, soon to be accompanied by his own arousal.  They ground together with soft moans, and open mouths breathing each other’s air until Thranduil gasped and said, “Please, Meleth nîn, I need you inside me.”

“I need to be inside you, love,”  Bard soft voice wavered.  

After another deep kiss, Thranduil shed the rest of his clothes, grabbed the oil, and straddled him.  “What do you want, Hervenn?”

“I want to watch you get yourself ready,” Bard rasped.  “Then I want to watch you ride me and chase the cold away, until I know there are real and good and warm things in this world.”

“Then that is what you shall have,” he said.  Thranduil reached over and turned up the lamp, enjoying the soft, flickering glow that reflected in Bard’s eyes, as he slicked his fingers and reached behind to slide them inside, slowly, and meticulously.  Bard’s jaw went slack, and his eyes were nearly black with desire, as he oiled himself with one hand and ran his fingers over Thranduil’s member with the other.  This only egged the Elvenking on, and he tossed his long icy hair and let out a sharp cry he found his own prostate and stroked it mercilessly.

Strong hands grabbed Thranduil’s shoulders and brought his mouth down for a deep kiss that sent shivers down his spine.  After grabbing his wrist and pulling out Thranduil’s fingers, those same hands sank into his hips, raised them up until Bard’s cock met his entrance.  When Thranduil started to sink down, Bard’s tightened his grip.

“Slowly,” Bard groaned.  “Law no lagor; aníron gi mathad bân.”

“Gi melin…” was all the Elvenking could manage to get out, as he took Bard in until at last they were one. 

Bard set the pace at first, still slow, almost hesitant, unsure.  Thranduil would have none of it. Bard did not need gentleness right now.  He needed heat and passion, a solid reminder that love and life were with them, now and always, so that, even in the darkest moments, Bard would know it, believe in it, believe in them.

“I’m gonna come,” Bard whimpered, and he threw his head back and shut his eyes.  “Oh, gods, yeah…”

Bard wasn’t ready to reveal his inner heart tonight, but the Elvenking wasn't worried; his bowman needed a little time, and he would give it.

He lifted his Bowman’s hands to his mouth, and kissed his knuckles, closed his own eyes, and reveled in the vision the bright stars that burst like colorful fireworks as they came together.

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Gi melin – I love you.

Law no lagor; aníron gi mathad bân. – Slow down; I want to feel it all.

Meleth nîn – My love

NOTES:

[1] Broken Wings, Ch. 20: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/52937821

Chapter Text

“I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocketful of mumbles
Such are promises
All lies and jest
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest..”

The Boxer, by Simon and Garfunkel

City of Dale, 6^th of March 2946 T.A.

Bard wasn’t sure whether his husband had spoken a losta-luith last night, but if Thranduil had, he was glad of it.  This was going to be an interminable day.

This morning, Bard and Thranduil said little as they washed and dressed, both understanding that talking through the heavy silence that used to be filled with the dog’s resonant snores, grunts and sighs wouldn’t do much good anyway.  It used to be that Thangon was the first to stir in the mornings, but during the past year, that had gradually changed.  For the past three months, Bard was already up and ready when he squatted down and scratched the dog’s wide head, saying,  “Wakey wakey, pal.  Time to face the day.”

It wasn’t complete silence though. The storms Thranduil had predicted swept through the area, dousing the Dale in cold, pre-spring rain, leaving a chill in its inhabitants that only a warm fire and a hot drink could remove.   

“It seems fitting,” Bard observed quietly, while Thranduil brushed his hair and pulled it back into a ponytail.  He glanced over at the window, where the ping and pong of raindrops drummed against the small, diamond-shaped panes, their rhythm rising and falling according to the wind’s instructions.  “Though I’m sorry you have to travel in this.”

“I have ridden through worse, Meleth nîn.”

At breakfast, the Kings noticed Percy had dressed in layers to combat his arthritis, and thanked Hilda for the willow-bark tea, though he refused the knitted shawl she wanted to throw over his shoulders.  Bard wouldn’t be surprised if Hilda would take it down to the Steward’s study and draped over the back of a chair.  Just in case.

The first issue to be addressed in this debacle was a visit to the Healing Hall to see the victims.  Bard refused Greta’s offer to summon a carriage, insisting a little rain wouldn’t hurt him. 

“We’ll be fine, but thank you,” he said. Then a thought occurred to him.  “Tell you what,” he told the housekeeper.  “This is a bad day for bad joints.  Send word to Daffyd and Powell to ask around and of any of the elderly need transport today, and have them bill me personally.  And see if Daeron can come and check Percy over.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Greta curtsied with a smile.

“That was kind of you,” Thranduil approved.

“My Da used to suffer from chilblains,” Bard shrugged absently.  “Even Elven healing can only do so much for old bones.”  He buttoned his coat and pulled the leather cloak over his shoulders.  “What time do you leave?”

“Not for another thirty minutes.”  Thranduil was putting on his own wraps, while their escorts, Morwë and Legron stood ready.

“We’d better hurry then.”

The smooth slate tiles of the courtyard were like grey glass, littered with  the occasional errant dead leaf from the flower beds.  The sharp tang of dampness cooled Bard’s nose and cheeks almost immediately.  Not for the first time did he give thanks for the changes his marriage had wrought; he no longer suffered from the elements like he used do, and truly pitied those who did.

While the cortege was being arranged to take Stablemaster Voron’s body back to the Palace, Thranduil accompanied Bard went to see Haden and Amrol at the Healing Hall, and were relieved to see that they were showing improvement.  Haden was still resting in a Healing Sleep, but Amrol was awake and was being interviewed by Feren and Chief Tom.  The three thieves had positively identified, but according to Amrol, there was no sign of Jack near the stable that day. 

“You’re sure?” Bard asked.

“Yes.  As I told the Commander and the Chief, Haden and I were patrolling the street and saw the wagons in front of the stables, which we thought was odd.  We entered the building and were shot.”

“They must have known you would come, and were ready for you,” Chief Tom said, grimly, as he wrote down notes in a small book.

“I agree,” Feren nodded. “I am surprised the foal made no noise.”

“I am not,” Thranduil rested his fingers against his chin.  “When we met up with them, there was a knife to Trastapîn’s throat.  Having witnessed the behavior of Mistanâr and all the horses yesterday, I am convinced her mother urged her to be silent.”

 What was this?  Discomfited, Bard’s eyes darted to his husband, his face tightening into a neutral mask.

“Ivran and Cwën told me about that,” Feren said, the awe in his voice was laced with barely-controlled annoyance.  “Had I been aware of anynsort of danger, My Lord, you must know I would have taken steps long before this.”

“Of that I am sure, and I share your frustration,” the Elvenking’s lips pursed slightly.  “I sent a bird to Elrond just this morning, and I will send a messenger from the Palace with a full account of yesterday’s events.  I am hoping to have some sort of explanation within the next few weeks.”

Bard kept his voice even as he offered Amrol an Elven salute. “You have mine and Dale’s sincerest gratitude.”

“Thank you, My Lord; I was merely doing my job.”

“You did that, and much more.”  He turned to Thranduil.  “May I speak with you a moment in private?”

“Of course.”

After a respectful nod to Feren and Tom, they found an empty room, and Bard shut the door.

“I don’t like being taken unawares like that,” he said, glowering at his husband.  “You want to fill me in here?”

Thranduil squeezed his eyes shut with a slight nod.  “Of course, you do not.  Forgive me, Meleth nîn. but there was no opportunity.  I meant to tell you when I went back for you, but Thangon was so ill and then he died, I was worried about you and the children…” his eyes fixed upon Bard’s with genuine regret. “Something…astonishing occurred out there yesterday, and I am still trying to make sense of it myself.”

Chagrined, Bard’s posture relaxed.  “No, you’re right,” he said, “I shouldn’t doubt you like that.  It’s just been a hard…” he swallowed. “Two things: do you have time to tell me now, and should I be worried?”

Thranduil opened his mouth to answer, but three sharp knocks on the door prevented him from speaking.

“Oh, shit,” Bard mumbled.  “Come!”

 Legron stuck his head in.  “I am sorry to interrupt, Aran nîn. Captain Dior asked me to tell you they are ready to leave, and cannot delay much longer.”

“Menathab, ci athae,” Thranduil told Guardian, before he turned back to Bard. “As Feren said, you needn’t worry about security; he has that all in hand.  As to what occurred, ask Tauriel, Ivran and Cwën.  They can tell you what they saw.”  Thranduil took him in his arms and kissed his temple. “I will be back as soon as I can,” he whispered into his ear.  “Will you be all right?”

“Don’t worry about me; you’ve got the harder job.” Bard hugged him tighter.  “Give Voron’s family my condolences.  I’ll be sending a formal letter and a commendation as soon as I can.”

“They will appreciate the gesture.”

“And see if you can send someone to oversee the stables.  I still think an Elf should look after them.” 

“I plan to speak to Falarion when I get there.” Thranduil kissed Bard on the cheek, squeezed his hand, and was gone.

 The King of Dale straightened his shoulders, and went out, encountering the Chief and the Commander who had just exited Amrol’s room.

“My Lord,” Tom looked up from his notes with a nod. “He is sleeping.”

“When would be a good time to meet for a progress report?”

“We’ve got several more witnesses to speak to, and I want another chance to talk to Jack.  He claims he knew nothing of this.”

“Do you believe him?”  Bard turned to Feren.

“I am not sure,” Feren said. “He appeared genuinely distressed when he was told of the events, but I sense there is something he is holding back.”

“What about Evan?”

“I doubt he had anything to do with this,” Feren said firmly.

“I agree,” Tom said.  “And begging you pardon if I’m out of line, but I’ve sent word to my wife and those in the Market to pass that word along.  There’s been some talk, and we’re not happy about it.” Tom’s eyes were uneasy.  “I sent a message to Percy and Alun right before we came here, so…”

“No, that’s fine.  You’re right,” Bard assured them both.  “I’ll meet you in my study at two this afternoon?”

“Yes, My Lord,” they said.

“If you need me, I’ll be at the Royal stables for an hour or so, then back home for the rest of the day.”

Thranduil hadn’t been exaggerating when he said they’d scrubbed down the stables.  The floors were immaculate.  Not a speck of blood could be seen, and all traces of its coppery smell was replaced with the usual smells of fresh timothy hay, and the faint musk of horse.  Voron had kept this building meticulously clean, from the wooden floors right up to the rafters which bore no spider webs or even dust.  The loft was nice and dry, and two kittens were wrestling in what hay was left after the winter.  All appeared as it should be, but for the unease of its inhabitants after their adventure yesterday. 

When Bard entered the stable and walked down the wide aisle, every horse but his own froze, some with hay still dangling from their mouths.  Fînlossen tossed his mane and stomped a greeting, but made no sound.  The King of Dale took the hint, and kept his pace slow and easy.

In the last box stall on the right, Mistanâr had crowded her foal into a corner, presenting herself as a shield between Trastapîn and the world. 

Next to them, Tauriel was in with Lasbelin, stroking his nose, and talking softly to him.  The stallion’s gaze never left that of his family’s, but he allowed the Elleth’s touch and nickered softly. 

Bard stopped halfway down the wide aisle with a soft whistle motioned to his stepdaughter.  “How are they?” he asked softly, when she left her horse and came to stand next to him.

“They will allow none but me to approach, and even then, Mistanâr will not permit me near her foal.  Trastapîn was so frightened she lost control of her bodily functions when I fed and watered them.” Tauriel rubbed her upper arms in distress.  “How could they think I would hurt them?”

“It isn’t you, love,” Bard told her gently.  “It’s part of mothering.  When Sigrid was a baby, she was colicky—”  At Tauriel’s confused look, he explained, “she cried a lot, and sometimes the only thing that would quiet her down was swaddling her up in a blanket nice and tight. Like a cocoon.  I think your wee one feels too much with the world right now, and this is her Mam’s way of making it smaller, so she can cope with it.  They trust you, I’m sure of it.”

“Their stall has to be cleaned eventually.  I am hoping to persuade Lasbelin to help them switch back and forth, but not until tomorrow.  I would like to remain here today, if that is all right with you?” she asked, green eyes were full of worry.

“That’s a good idea.  Don’t worry about the kids; they don’t have school, and they don’t feel like going anywhere. I just need to ask you something, then I’ll leave you alone.” 

“Certainly.  They’ve cleaned Voron’s office, if you need privacy.” She gestured to the door at the end, and stopped herself.

“I think we should,” he pointed to the guards at the entrances to the barn, “This all needs to be kept quiet, until we know what’s going on.”  He placed his hand on the small of her back and ushered her inside.

Bard leaned against the desk and gestured for her to take the chair.  “Your Ada tells me something unusual took place out on the road?”

“Yes, it did, though I don’t understand what it means.”

“Just start at the beginning and tell me what you saw.”

Tauriel swallowed and began to recount everything, from Lasbelin’s reluctance to leave Dale, to Bofur’s warning, and all that occurred before and after Trastapîn was rescued.  Tears of guilt and regret filled her eyes.  “I did not realize,” she murmured.  “I just…did not.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” he rubbed her back. 

“I disagree,” Tauriel nodded, her lips quivering.  “I am so sorry about Thangon, Bard.”

“Oh, that wasn’t your fault either.   And the more I think about it, the more I agree with your Ada; Thangon died the way he always lived, and would’ve been miserable had he been allowed to grow old and decrepit.”

“Perhaps,” she said, but her eyes did not agree. “I shall miss our walks in the evenings.”

“Go anyway,” he encouraged.  “Ada enjoys that time with you.  Now, tell me what else happened, love.”

As she continued the tale, of the horses paying homage to the foal, Bard’s jaw went slack with awe.  Then again, was he really all that surprised?  Even someone as unschooled as he sensed something special in Trastapîn, though until yesterday he hadn’t had the time or the inclination to think about it much. 

“I cannot help but be angry,” Tauriel was saying.  “I hate feeling like this!”

“That makes two of us, and trust me, Ada is plenty mad himself.  The thing is, I can’t see Elrond keeping something like this from us, can you?  I doubt even he could have predicted this.”  He studied his stepdaughter’s bowed head.  “Are you going to write Vildan and tell him what happened?”

“I think I have to,” she said, sadly.

“You miss him a great deal.”

“Sometimes I think it would have been easier if I had never met him,” her green eyes held the faraway look of memory.  “I was hoping it would have gotten easier with time.”  She bit her lip, and after a moment’s hesitation.  “I fear that my heartache might have distracted me from looking after Mistanâr as well as I could have.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Bard said firmly.

“No, it is true.” She admitted.  “Some days, it was just too hard to spend much time with Mistanâr, and when she gave birth, I was glad I did not have to think about riding her and such for a long while.  I told myself that she needed to be left alone to nurse and—”

“But that’s true though,” he rested a hand on her shoulder.

“It is, but it wasn’t my reason, do you not see?  I should never have taken Lasbelin away to Erebor—”

“Stop.  Stop right there, love.  You need to lay the blame—all the blame—on those bastards who did all this.  Lasbelin might not have been much help, even if he had been here,” he leaned his head down to find and meet her gaze.  “Maybe it’s selfish, but I’m glad you weren’t here, either.  You could have been killed, too, and it would have broken all our hearts.  Stars, it was bad enough to find Amrol and Haden lying there with arrows in their chests; the thought of finding you in that same condition makes me want to lose my mind! 

“And let’s think about this: Voron was the master of these stables, and no one in Dale knew Elven horses like him.  He would have made sure to talk to your Ada if he’d have sensed any danger, right?

“Sometimes things, unexpected things, just happen.  All we can do is be thankful that they’re back there,” he pointed to the stalls, “safe and sound, and that Amrol and Haden are going to be all right.  We’ll have a memorial service here for Voron, a small ceremony for Thangon, and move on, a bit wiser.”  He rubbed her upper back.

“I think you’re right to stick around here, but you skipped breakfast, didn’t you?”  At Tauriel’s sheepish nod, he smiled.  “Cook has been turning himself inside out to make sure we’re all still eating, so I can send you something from his kitchens when I get back.  Unless you’d like something from Adila’s?  The Long Lake isn’t open just yet, but I can get you a good supper from there if you like?”

 “Something from Lewis would be fine,”  a smile teased the corners of her mouth.

“If you think it would help, I’ll order the guards to keep everyone away from the building to give those poor beasts a little peace and quiet.”

“That would be best.  I can look after the other horses; it will keep me busy.  I might stay here tonight, as well.”

“However long it takes.” he leaned down and kissed the top of her head.  “I’ll send some of your things, and have a cot set up in here.”

Tauriel reached up and grasped his hand with an affectionate squeeze. “Thank you, Bard.”

The King of Dale went back to the Castle, where he met up with Ivran and Cwën, who reiterated Tauriel’s version of events, adding a few details of their own.  Still shaking his head in wonder, Bard went to the kitchens and where the housekeeper and her husband were conferring. 

“Tauriel will be staying in the stables and help them calm down.  Could you see to it she gets some hot meals?  Also, I’m thinking the guards down there are still shaken up, so maybe we could send them something sweet to snack on?  If you need to get something from the Bakery, just bill it to me.”   

“If it pleases you, My Lord,” Lewis said stiffly, “but I am perfectly capable of seeing to it meself.” 

“Oh, you!” Greta jabbed her husband.  “Pay him no mind, My Lord; he’s just mad because Byron’s beat him at cards three weeks in a row.”

“Confound you, woman!  The poor King’s got too much on his mind to worry about that!”

“So,” Bard smothered a smile, “is there a debt, or is this merely a matter of honor?”

“It had better just be honor, My Lord,” Greta gave her husband a sweet smile, “because if you boys have been gambling with real gold, Heled and I will pierce your ears and make you wear those coins as jewelry.”

Bard chuckled softly as he left the kitchen.  And in truth, he was grateful for that brief moment of levity.  It was a reminder that this chaos and uncertainly won’t last, and the sun will come out again.

After a hot lunch of soup and fresh rolls with the children, Bard and Legron ventured out into the wet again to see Evan and Eryn.

“My Lord Bard!” A panicked expression flitted across Evan’s features as he opened the front door. His eyes were red from lack of sleep and his dark hair was slightly disheveled.

“My Lord Evan,” Bard paid him courtesy.  “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, but it’s important that we talk.”

“I was awaiting your summons, but you did have to inconvenience yourself like this, especially in this weather.”

“It’s a lousy day to be out and about,” Bard said, pulling back his hood.  “May we come in?”

“Stars, where are my manners?” Evan stepped aside. “Please; come in!”

Thanks,” he said, letting Legron help him with his cloak.

The house Evan had bought for his bride was in the same neighborhood as Daeron and Rhian, and was laid out in a mirror image of their home.  Lots of room for children, when they came along, as well as formal dining room and parlor for entertaining.  The house was furnished in brighter colors, and along with portraits of family on the mantle, several childish works of art could be seen here and there from grateful students.  

“Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

 “If you’ve got the kettle on, some tea will be nice.  Where’s Eryn?”

“She’s upstairs. My mother-in-law is here; she brought something to help Eryn get a little rest,” Evan’s eyes scanned the ceiling. “I can get her if you need to—"

“No, son; let the poor girl sleep.  Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”

“We can go into my study,” Evan said with a resigned nod. 

He led Bard to a downstairs room at the end of the hall, where a fire was laid, ready to light.  “Just let me pop into the kitchen and ask Lydia to get us something.” 

While he was gone, Bard grabbed the flint and steel from the mantle and expertly lit the fire.  It was just taking hold when Evan returned.

 “Thank you, My Lord.  I was hoping I would have a chance to speak with you sometime today, but I wasn’t sure what I should do, and,” Evan’s gaze fell. “I know you’ve been…busy.”

“No, it’s better this way,” Bard stepped away from the flames and took a seat in one of the nearby chairs.  “I’ve been told there are rumors that cast your character in doubt, and having the King of Dale coming to you is the fastest way to quash that nonsense.”

“I appreciate that,” Evan took the other seat.  “I’ve worked hard make a good life and a good name for myself here.”  He leaned forward, his face earnest.  “I promise you; I’d never laid eyes Ronald, Gustav or Stan until they showed up in Dale, two weeks ago, claiming to be friends of Jack’s.  I didn’t think anything of it at the time; of course, I had no idea any of this would happen!”

“That’s what I was wondering about,” Bard smiled up at Eryn’s mother entered with a tray of tea and snacks. “Thank you, Lydia” he said, as she poured out and handed him a cup and saucer.

 “Pleasure’s mine, My Lord,” she said, exuding anger and disapproval.  She handed a cup to her son-in-law, each avoiding the other’s eyes.

Evan said nothing, but the stiffness in his shoulders and the tension in his face clearly indicated the poor man hadn’t had a pleasant time of it.

“Lydia?” Bard smiled up at her.  “While Evan and I are talking, would you mind taking my guard into the kitchen and helping him dry out our wraps?  I’m sure he’d like something hot, too.”

The woman, clearly unhappy at being dismissed, bowed her head.  “Yes, My Lord.”  But before she exited the room, she said, “I just want to say that my Eryn has done nothing wrong!  I never thought Jack should have stayed here with them, and I don’t want anyone thinking she had anything—”

“I know,” Bard set down his cup and ushered her to the door.  “Lord Thranduil and I think the world of your daughter, and our Tilda loves her.  No one is accusing Evan or Eryn of any wrongdoing; I’m just here to get some information, that’s all.  If you’d give my guard a hand, please?” he politely led her out and shut the door.

“I am so sorry!” Evan winced, and slumped against the high back of the chair.

“I don’t blame Lydia, really.  She’s just worried about her daughter, and you and I both know how much she adores you.” He settled himself back down and took a sip.  In case you're wondering, I can't see Jack until he is brought before me, and I know you’ve already spoken with Feren and Tom, but I want you to tell me anything you can think of regarding those men and Jack.”

“All I know is they asked Jack to speak for them, and he did.”

“They claimed to be from East Bight, where you grew up.  Didn’t you at least know of them?”

“I’m five years older than Jack, and we didn’t run in the same circles of friends.” Evan shrugged and spread his hands. “All I knew about their families was that they weren’t the most reliable sort of people, if you get my drift.  Then they showed up and Jack vouched for them."

“Despite the bad reputations of their families?”

“Well, to be honest, yes.  My dad taught me not to judge a man by his beginnings, but on his own merits, and since they didn’t cause any sort of trouble, I took them all at their word.” Evan huffed a wry laugh.  “And look what happened.  I was such an idiot.”

“It’s not a bad way to go, Evan.  I tell my kids the same thing. How much did Jack have to do with them once they moved here?”

“Nothing that I know of, My Lord.  I’ve told the Chief and the Commander such.”

 “Fair enough. Just call me Bard, all right?” he waved a hand absently. “We’re just two friends talking, here.”

“Thank you.  Anyway, as far as I know, Jack went to work in the brickyards every morning, came home in the evenings, and only really went out once or twice a week to the Long Lake, where he and his friends played darts.  Nothing's missing from the house, that I could see, and if there were any sort of nefarious comings or goings, Eryn and I knew nothing about it.  We had a girl come in every day to see to the house, and she said the same to Tom and Feren.”  His mouth thinned into an angry line.  “After she was questioned, she quit, thanks to all this.  Eryn burst into tears, which is when I sent for her mother.”

Bard cursed under his breath.  “Well, maybe her parents insisted on it.  Give it some time and hopefully this will straighten itself out.”  He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “According to Percy, Jack moved to Dale using you as a reference, along a letter from his mother, who is your older sister?”

“That’s true,” Evan nodded, and took out his keys and opened a drawer at his desk.  “Here’s the letter Evelyn sent when Jack came.” He handed it over. [1]

Bard took the paper and skimmed its contents.  “This is pretty much the same as we have, except for the personal family news.”  He set the page down on the desk.  “We’ll have to send someone down to East Bight and make inquiries.  Let me ask you this: Do you think it’s possible that Jack got into some trouble with those men down there, and your sister sent him here to get away from them?”

“Believe me, I’ve thought about it.” A muscle in Evan’s jaw twitched.  “If that’s the case, then Jack came here under false pretenses.” 

“If that’s the case," Bard said carefully, "and we don’t know that it is--‘false pretenses’ is the least of it, I’m afraid.  Which is another reason why I wanted to talk to you as a friend, to give you some time to prepare yourself.”  Bard set the saucer down, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and in a reluctant tone, said, “Evan, there has been a murder and two attempted murders in my Kingdom, and if it is proven that your nephew knowingly withheld information that might have prevented it, the law states he must be tried right along with those three men as an accomplice."

Evan’s his face went white, his hand slowly rose to cover his mouth.

“Before I continue," Bard kept his tone even and calm, "just keep in mind that Feren and Tom are still investigating, that we all like Jack, and that we hope there is something that will exonerate him.  No one wants to see him be tried for a crime he didn't commit."

Evan’s throat bobbed a couple of times.  “What else?”

“There will be a hearing in my court in three days’ time, where the men will be formally charged and remanded for trial.  As a member of my Council, you would normally be expected to help preside, but as a member of his family, I must demand that you recuse yourself.  Of course, you can support him, but you’ll have no authority in this matter.”

“That’s…actually a relief.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.  Not that I believe you wouldn’t be impartial, but let’s make sure this is all above board.”

“What happens after that?”

“Well, the crime took place in Dale, so the trial must be here.  However, the victims are Elves, and as their King, Thranduil has the right to be present and oversee the process.  If they are found guilty, their sentences fall under the purview of King Thranduil and his Council.  They will be transported to the Woodland Realm, their sentences will be pronounced and carried out according to the laws of their land.  I want you to know those laws were set in place since the Second Age, when Oropher was King."  Bard's voice grew gentle.  "In that Throne Room, Evan, I have no authority, not even as the King's Consort.” [2]

"And...  And that sentence would be?" Evan rasped.

Sympathy stabbed Bard's heart, but he said nothing.

"Oh, holy gods," Evan buried his face in his hands.

Bard stood and patted him on the shoulder.  “I really am sorry.” 

He saw himself out.

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Menathab, ci athae – Yes, we shall go; thank you.

NOTES:

[1] Broken Wings, Ch. 35: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/58357912

[2] What Makes a King, Ch. 22: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/26202933

Chapter Text

“This is my fight song
Take back my life song
Prove I'm alright song
My power's turned on
Starting right now I'll be strong
I'll play my fight song
And I don't really care if nobody else believes
'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me…”

Fight Song by Rachel Platten

City of Dale, 9^th of March 2946 T.A.

The King of Dale stood before the mirror, set the plain gold circlet on his head, and turned a little to make sure it was on straight.

“Here, Meleth nîn,” Thranduil appeared behind him.  “Let me. You have some stray hair here.” He picked up the brush and smoothed down a lock that had caught in the back. 

“Thanks,” Bard said, turning to eye his husband.  “Aren’t you wearing a crown?”

“Not today,” Thranduil said.  “I want an outward sign that you hold authority here.”

 “That makes sense,” Bard stepped back and smoothed down the front of his velvet tunic with gold trim.

“Are you ready?”

“Not really, but best to get it over with.”

“There is no need to be nervous.”

“I know.”

“I can understand why you are upset, Bard, but this is part of being King.”

“I know that, too.” 

“Are you worried about charging those men?”

“Those three?” Bard winced. “Maybe it bothers me that I honestly don’t care what happens to them.”

“I would be disappointed if it did not,” Thranduil stroked his cheek with his finger.  “What about Evan’s nephew?”

“That...” He pushed down the wave of anxiety. “We’re working on that; there might be a way out for him, but it’s only a chance.”

“How? Have the men confessed?”

“No,” Bard leaned against the side of the dresser, “and yes.”

“Meaning?”

“If you’re asking if the truth was beaten out of them, no; that was the Master of Laketown’s method, and I won’t allow that here.”

Thranduil’s thick brows lowered.  “I thought you said you could not speak to the prisoners until court.”

“I can’t.  I didn’t.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do, Bard?”

“Nothing outside of the law, I promise.  I only suggested something that might save Dale—and your Kingdom—a lot of time and anguish.  If it works, we could wrap this up and, and you can get those arseholes out of my city.  By nightfall, if we’re lucky.” 

The Elvenking slowly shook his head.  “You never cease to surprise me.”

“You shouldn’t be surprised at all,” Bard said. “It was your idea.”

“What?”

“You’ll see.  But don’t stop praying: it’s not over until it’s over.”

All but one member of Council of Dale was gathered at the bottom of the Grand Staircase, dressed in formal attire, along with an unexpected addition.

“Da,” Bain stepped forward his chin set.  “I want to be there.”

Bard met his son’s determined gaze, then glanced over at his husband.  “Did you know about this?”

“I did not,” Thranduil glanced between them. “The decision is yours; I will support whatever you decide.”

“But?” Bard’s eyebrow quirked expectantly.

“Our goal is to prepare him, yes?” the Elvenking shrugged slightly.  “Much of Kinging is unpleasant.”

Bard considered this for a moment. “The rest of you go on ahead,” he said.  “I’ll be right behind you.”

After they left, Bard placed his hand on his son’s upper back and urged him over toward one of the upholstered benches.

“Are you sure you want to, Bain?”

“I don’t want to, but Ada’s right.  It’s the hard things I need to be ready for, not the easy ones.”

“If you do this,” Bard told him, “you’ll be helping to sentence three men to death today.  Just because Ada is taking care of that, doesn’t mean you won’t feel the weight of it.” 

“I know.”

“And that’s not the worst of it.  If we can’t find a way to clear Jack’s name, we’ll be forced to pronounce him guilty too.” Bard held the back of Bain’s neck.  “Are you ready for that, son?” 

The boy’s throat bobbed.  “Are you?”

 Bard was taken aback. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t think anyone can be.  I just don’t want you haunted by these things before you have to be, that’s all.”

“But don’t you see, Da? I’d rather learn face this now than after I’m crowned.  Do you know what I mean?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Bard ran his hand over his face. “I’d spare you this, if I could.”

“But you can’t.”

The sudden lump in Bard’s throat prevented him from speaking.  After a quick nod and a pat on the shoulder, father and son made their way to the Throne Room.

The small group stood at attention in front of the double doors, ready to be announced.

“Take the seat to my left,” Bard whispered to Bain.  “No matter what happens, you have to remain calm; no anger, no surprise, nothing. If you can’t, no one will be angry or disappointed, but you need to quietly leave the hall, understood?”

“Yes, My Lord,” Bain whispered back. 

At Bard’s sidelong glance, his son said.  “You’re my King in there, not my Da.”

The doors opened, and, with his heart thrashing against his ribcage, the King of Dale threw back his shoulders and lead the procession, head high, his eyes straight ahead.  As he climbed the steps to the platform and turned to face his people, Bard recalled something  Thranduil told him just after the Battle, when he revealed his royal lineage to his people:

“Besides a ruler, you are a symbol. If there are men in your kingdom who lack confidence and hope, they will always look to you to assure them. Always. You are their strength and example. You must show them how to give their best. This helps them, Bard. Showing empathy and compassion is one thing, but giving even a hint that you are unsure and afraid, will only undermine their confidence, and make them feel unsafe.” [1]

At the time, Bard didn’t appreciate those words, but now, as his eyes swept over the crowd, he could see the wisdom of it, not just for others.  Thranduil’s words, instead of adding to the burden of these past days, had given Bard a path through this chaos, when the turmoil threatened to overcome him. 

After observing the Reverent Silence, the King of Dale sat on this throne and the others took their seats, Percy went to the podium picked up the top document and read: 2

“Hear ye, O hear ye, all who are assembled:  On this Tuesday, the Ninth day of the month of March in the year Twenty-Nine-Forty-Six of the Third Age, we, the citizens of Dale beg the court of Bard I, son of Brand, King of Dale and its Surrounding Lands to hear and judge the charges against three persons, all of the race of Men, who have been identified and will be referred to as the following: 

“Stan, son of Jonas, Ronald, son of Theo, Gustav II, son of Gustav I, all of East Bight who stand accused of Murder, Kidnapping, Attempted Murder and Robbery.

“We also beg His Majesty to hear and judge the charges against one Man, identified as Evan II, son of Tobias, of East Bight—who is also known as Jack,[3] who stands accused of Conspiracy in the aforementioned crimes, and of Misprision, namely, failure to report the criminal intentions of the three aforementioned Men upon their arrival in Dale.”

Percy laid the parchment on the podium and bowed before the Throne.  “What say you, My King? Will you preside over and fairly judge this matter brought before you?"

Here we go.  Bard steeled himself, took a breath and said, “If it pleases the Council and the Citizens of Dale, I vow to act in accordance with the laws of this Kingdom. Bring forth the accused!”

A low gasp went up in the audience as the four prisoners were brought in chains, led by Constable Egon and his men.  A flash of defiance crossed Stan’s face, which was quickly dropped and replaced with a wide-eyed bewilderment which fooled no one. Gustav and Ronald shuffled nervously.  Jack looked like he hadn’t slept since his arrest. His haggard eyes were fixated on the floor.

Evan went pale, and his eyes filled.  He put his arm around his wife, who quietly started to cry.  Rhian grabbed Eryn’s other hand and held it tight, while Daeron murmured something to Evan over their wives’ bowed heads.  Hannah sat on the other side of Evan and rubbed his upper arm. Lydia was not present, but Eryn’s Uncle Rowen was, and whether the fury on his face was on behalf or because of Jack, Bard couldn’t tell. 

Stan, his arm swathed in bandages, Gustav and Ronald were taken to the left side the dais and made to sit, a guard behind each chair, making sure to keep the aisle clear to admit witnesses.   To Bard’s right, Jack wearily sat, shoulders slumped his gaze down.

Bain made a small sound, but didn’t move.  Bard fought of the wave of anxiety using a trick Thranduil had taught him shortly after he was made King.  He slowly curled his toes inside his boots, then released.

 Curl. Release.  Curl release.

“Let us begin,” Bard commanded. “Let the Chief of Dale’s Constabulary come forth and present his findings.”

Tom, rose from his Council seat with his scroll, and bowed before Bard.  “My King. If it pleases this court, and in the interests of clarity, I request we address the charges against the first three prisoners, then after, we can speak to the charges against Jack.”

“Your request is granted, My Lord.” Bard bowed his head briefly. “You may proceed,”

Tom cleared his throat, went to the podium opened his scroll and read:

“King Bard, learned Council, and all citizens of Dale:

“Be it known that, on Friday last, the 5^th day of March 2946 of the Third Age, three men called Stan, Ronald, and Gustav, respectively, did, according to witnesses, enter the Royal Stables of Dale with the intention to kidnap a valuable foal, the property of Lady Tauriel of Dale.  The filly named Trastapîn, aged four and one-half months, bred out of Lasbelin and Mistanâr, was housed in a box stall with her mother, when these men attacked and murdered Voron, son of Vernor, Elf and citizen of the Woodland Realm. 

Also according to eyewitnesses, these same Men shot with intent to kill, Haden, son of Arminas, and Amrol, son of Ilinsor, both Elves of the Woodland Realm, and left them for dead.  After they loaded the foal onto one of their wagons, they proceeded to the West Gate, where they presented falsified papers to Mervyn the Keeper, and exited the City.

“Once the authorities were alerted, these same three men, and their two wagons were captured ten miles southwest on the Dale lands road, where the foal named Trastapîn was recovered, as well as another wagon full of stolen goods from the homes of several of Dale’s elderly citizens.  They were then arrested by members of the Guardians of the Woodland Realm, acting under the full authority of the King of Dale and brought to the dungeons of the Northeast Tower where they remain until summoned before this court.”

Curl.  Release.  Behind his mask of neutrality, the King of Dale eyed three men. “What is your response to these charges?”

Stan, the spokesman and the apparent brains if this outfit stood and took a step forward.  “We must protest our innocence, Milord.”

 No surprise there.  “I understand you have been made aware of these charges and were given an opportunity to prepare a statement?”

 “We have.” 

“Go on then.”

“Well, first I want to say those goods were sold to us fair and square, and if those folks can’t remember that right, then it’s not their fault.  They’re old, you see, and sometimes they get all mixed up about things, so we’re willing to let bygones be bygones.  If you’ll drop those charges, we’ll return all that stuff and just to show we don’t want to hold a grudge, they can keep the money we paid them.  Back home, we were raised to respect our elders, and that’s a fact.

“When we left on Friday, did your guards see any animals on our wagons?  No! That’s because there wasn’t one!  Your gatekeeper allowed us to leave, and if he neglected his duty to check, then that’s something you’ll have to take up with him, and I don’t see how we should be punished for it.”

Stan paused, looking for a reaction from Bard, as an angry murmur rose from the spectators.

Bard raised his hand and ordered silence, never averting his gaze from the accused.  “Go on,” he said calmly.

“Now as to that little white horse you found in our wagon, we were only showing it a kindness!   We found that poor baby five miles south on the Dale Road, lost and wandering in the plains, crying out for her mother. What were we supposed to do, Milord?  I tell you true; it broke our hearts, and we knew if we left her, she’d die, so you could say we saved her life!”

“I see,” Bard nodded.  “Let me clarify a few things about your testimony.  Do you swear before me and this court that you’ve never seen that foal before last Friday, nor did you even know of her existence?”

“You have our solemn oath, Milord.” 

“What about you?” Bard pointed to Gustav and Ronald, who both affirmed Stan’s claim.

“So, it didn’t occur to you to turn around and see if the foal came from Dale?”

“Now, we wanted to, but our business is on a tight schedule, you see, and we had to keep going in order to get to Dorwinian in time for their Markets to open.  If we missed it, that’s half our earnings for the year!  The kindest thing we could think to do was to take her along with us, then maybe send word back to you.  If she belonged to one of your people, why then, we’d have taken good care of her until you could come and get her.  Why is that a terrible thing?”

“When that blond Elf and his cronies came upon us with all those horses, it frightened us half to death!  For all we knew, they came from those cursed woods over yonder.  I’ve heard stories about the Elf King!  All my life, my dad and mother used to tell me stories of his cruelty and wickedness!”

Bard fought down the urge to get up and break the man’s jaw.  Curl.  Release.  Next to him, Bain stiffened and grabbed the arms of his chair.  Bard cleared his throat softly, waited for his son’s fingers to relax, then asked Stan in a sympathetic voice, “I want to be sure I understand exactly what you are saying; you believed those Elves came to rob and murder you?”

“Yes, Milord!” Stan said, his face as earnest as a small child's. “This has all been a huge misunderstanding.”

Oh, this bastard was every bit as slippery and cloying as Alfrid used to be.  No, he was worse; his handsome features all but paved the way for his life of crime, and he was sure it spared him jail time, and maybe even a death sentence two.  It wasn’t hard to imagine him with the old folk here; many of them are lonely and with a lifetime of stories they want to tell.  All it would take is someone like those three to pretend to listen, and they'd have their chairs charmed right out from underneath them.  That was a problem, and Bard made a mental note to deal with it, soon.

Stan’s windy diatribe was far from over. “I tell you true, I was frightened for my very life, when they came upon us,  swords waving, looking like there were going to kill us!  The only thing I could think of to keep that blonde Elf away was to threaten to hurt that poor little creature—though I swear on my father’s grave I’d never do such a thing—just to keep him from chopping my head clean off!  Then,” Stan lifted his bandaged arm, “that red-headed bitch and her brown beast attacked me!  That horse nearly bit my arm off!”

“You must have known those Elves were going to bring you back here,” Bard said.

“How could we know they didn’t come from that cursed forest?” 

“That’s certainly something to consider,” Bard crossed his legs.  “Do you have anything else you want to say in your defense?”

Stan was saving the best of his performance for last.  “Milord, I’m telling you the absolute truth, and I can only beg your mercy for myself and my friends.” His lips quivered, his voice cracked, and his chains rattled as he raised his hands to wipe imaginary tears from clear, dry eyes.  “We are innocent.” 

Once again, the crowd grew animated, and a few people hissed.

“I will have silence!” Bard shouted sternly.  “The laws of this land state that everyone—without exception—who stands accused in this court must be given the right to a fair defense!  In criminal cases, the burden of proof rests upon the government, not the accused.”

“This is your last chance,” the King of Dale addressed Gustav and Ronald. “If you have anything you wish to add or detract from your friend’s testimony, speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

After a pregnant pause, the two men shook their heads.

“Very well.  This court will now present its case against the defendants. My Lord Tom, call the first witness, please!”

“Yes, Sire,” Tom nodded.  “We call forth Master Gloín, son of Oin, Treasure Keeper of the King Under the Mountain!”

The guards dashed forward to admit Gloin, who marched in looking as businesslike as he always did, though there was a grey hair or two in his thick red braids.  He was accompanied by his son Gimli, a skilled soldier in his own right, and there was talk that he would eventually take Dwalin’s place as General of King Daín’s Armies.  Feren said Gimli was as honest and loyal as his predecessor, and, while he was friendlier than Dwalin, he was just as fierce in combat. 

The Dwarves came before Bard, bowed low as is the custom of their people.  “King Bard, it is an honor.”

“The honor is mine,” Bard nodded.  “My Chief Constable has several questions he’d like to ask, if you don’t mind?”

“Sure thing,” Gloin bowed again, and turned to Tom. “What’s up?”

Several in the crowd chuckled softly, and Bard decided to let it go.  Curl.  Release. 

“Master Gloin,” Tom began, “is it your testimony before the members of this court, that you were recently in Dorwinian?”

“Aye, it’s true enough,” Gloin said.  “Lord Brandir asked for some blacksmiths, and I was along to broker the deal.”

“And is it your testimony that during your stay, you had occasion to visit some of the taverns there?”

“Oh, aye.  There are several fine ones there.”

“I am sure there are.  During one of those visits, did you hear talk of a,” Tom pulled a small piece of paper out of his pocket, “a, to use your language… Ghîvashel?”

“We certainly did,” Gloin nodded vigorously.

“Would you tell the court exactly what that word means?”

“In Westron, it means a ‘jewel among jewels,’ something that’s highly prized.”

“And when you overheard this talk, what did you hear?”

“Well, they were talking about the magic horses in King Bard’s pastures.  A mother and a baby, one silver, one that shimmered like the inside of a shell, and when the light hits the wee one’s coat just right, you can see bits of different colors.”

“Did you know to whom they were referring?”

“I sure did.  Those horses belong to the Lady Tauriel, Friend to Dwarves, heir to Lady Dís, Ruler of the Blue Mountains, and intended of the late Prince Kili--may Durin rest his soul.”

Stan and his companions looked uneasy.   Bain leaned forward slightly, and Bard curled his toes again. 

Tom’s eyes were almost gleeful. “Master Gloin, are the men whose conversation referred to the foal named Trastapîn here today?”

“Aye,” Gloin lifted his hand and extended his thick, stubby forefinger and pointed it directly at Stan, Gustav and Ronald.  “It was those three, My Lord, sure as the beads in my beard.  It was them.”

This time, Bard had to quiet down the crowd with a wave.  “If that is all Master Gloin, you are dismissed with our thanks.”

“My pleasure, Lord Bard.”  And with another low bow, the Dwarves departed.

Next to be called was Mervyn, Keeper of the West gate, then Ivran and Cwën whose testimonies reaffirmed that day’s events.

“Next we call forth the Honorable Lady Tauriel, Captain of Royal Guard of Dale, and beloved adopted daughter of the King of Dale and the King of the Woodland Realm.

When the red-haired Elf strode up the aisle, Ronald’s eyes widened, Gustav slunk down in his chair as if he were hoping to disappear, yet Stan still seemed confident he could talk his way out of this.

The next witness finally wiped that arrogant smile off Stan’s face.

“We call forth his Royal Highness Thranduil, son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realm!”

Once again, double doors were opened, and in walked the only Elvenking in Middle Earth, looking as proud and powerful as Bard had ever seen him.  

Stan’s jaw went slack, and two splotches of red emerged on his cheeks. 

“Oh, shit,” Gustav murmured, "That guy's the Elf King?” 

Under Tom’s questioning, Thranduil gave his account with precision and authority.  By the time he was finished and took his place to the King of Dale’s right, the anguish on Stan’s face was no longer fake.  

Bard gave his husband a nod, then said, “Chief Constable, is there any other evidence you need to present before this court?”

“I do, Sire.”

“Which is?”

“Their confessions.”

“What?” Stan said, his voice unnaturally high.

This time it was Percy who told the crowd to shut up.  Using those exact words.  A snort escaped Bain, Thranduil’s mouth twitched, and Bard raised his fingers to his lips to hid a smile.

 “If you would proceed, Tom?”

“With pleasure, My Lord: I have several eyewitnesses who say that these three Men not only admitted their crimes, but discussed them at length after the fact.  If it pleases My King, I’d like to—”

“What evidence?” Stan blurted and was on his feet before Egon could stop him.  “What are you talking about?”  He pointed a shaking finger in Jack’s direction. “You lying bastard, this was all your idea!” He turned to Bard.  “Whatever Jack said to you, it was a lie!  He wrote to us and told us to come!” Egon slammed Stan back into his chair with a scowl but it didn’t stop him.  “He planned the whole thing, My Lord!  He’s the real leader in all of this, we were only…”

Hands in the air, Stan froze as he realized his mistake. 

“You were saying?” Bard quirked an eyebrow.  When Stan didn’t answer, the King ordered that that he, Gustav and Ronald be brought before the dais.

“In light of the admission by this man before everyone in this hall,” pointing to Gustav and Ronald, “who by your agreement was authorized to speak for you, I hereby declare your earlier pleas of innocence to be null and void.  I find you guilty on all charges, and release you into the custody of King Thranduil, whose people suffered grievous harm under your hands.  You will immediately be transported to the Woodland Realm, where you will stand before the Elvenking's throne and be sentenced.  May the Valar have mercy on your souls.  Take them away!”

With great relish, Egon and his men dragged the prisoners out the side door, where the Feren and five of his troops were waiting with a wagon.

But the court wasn’t done yet, and Percy cheerfully repeated his admonitions. “Hey!  We’re not done here!”

“Thank you Lord Percy,” Bard fought the urge to roll his eyes.  “Jack, son of Tobias, how to you plead to the charges made against you?”

Jack rose from his chair swiping his eyes.  “I plead innocence, Sire,” he rasped.

“Very well, let the plea be entered into record.  Tom?”

“Well,” the Chief shrugged, “we don’t need the Elven guards’ testimony against those other men, but we do need proof of Jack’s guilt or innocence.”

“And do you believe you have this?”

“I do, My King.” Tom said solemnly.  “We call forth Judd, son of Jarvis, to testify before this court!” [4]

The crowd murmured as they craned their heads toward the entrance.  Bard could feel Thranduil’s questioning gaze, but he kept his eyes forward as the man approached. In his peripheral vision, Bain squirmed a bit in his chair, but his demeanor remained calm.

Jack’s mouth dropped open as his eyes followed Judd up the aisle until he stopped before the throne.  “But that’s Carl…” he murmured.

“My Lord Bard,” Judd, son of Jarvis paid courtesy.

“Judd,” Bard bowed his head.  “Is it true that you were contacted by the Chief Constable of Dale and Feren, Commander of the Woodland Army, and asked to spend a few days in the dungeons under the guise as Carl, a man charged with…” he quirked an eyebrow, “what was your ‘crime’ again?’”

“I believe the story was that I was a Peeping Tom, My Lord.” Judd smirked.

A titter went up in the audience.

“Ah. I hope your wife didn’t take that too seriously,” Bard winced.  “And I believe you were put into a cell with Jack, over there?”

“I was, My Lord.”

“Are you prepared to testify today as to what you witnessed?”

“I am, and glad to do it.”

Bard presented his hand, palm up. “Go ahead.”

Judd bowed to him, to the Council and began: “I overheard the other three men admit to their plan to come to Dale and swindle as much as they could from our elderly because—as Stan put it—‘They are always an easy mark.’  Apparently they’ve been at it for several years, and they spoke at length about their operation in Dorwinian, which they visited several times a year.”

“How does Jack fit into all this?” Tom asked.  “Is it true what Stan was claiming, that this was all Jack’s idea?”

“Not at all.  Jack knew the men back in East Bight years ago, and they all got into some trouble, but no more than youthful pranks.  When they showed up in Dale and asked Jack for a reference, he hadn’t seen them in seven years.” 

“And this is what Jack told you while you shared a cell?” Bard asked.

“Yes, Sire.”

”Lord Percy?”

”Yes, My Lord?”

”When Jack was asked to speak for the defendants, what was his sworn statement?”

“Pretty much the same thing he told Judd,” Percy confirmed. “Since he outgrew all that mischief, he had no reason to think those three didn’t.”

“Thank you, Percy.”  Bard went back to Judd. “While you were posing as Carl, can you tell us what other prisoners revealed?”

“They overheard us talking, and whether they intended to or not, they confirmed Jack’s version.  Jack accused them of setting him up, and they threatened to lay the blame at his feet.”

“And can you confirm for this court that, until three days ago, you had never met Jack?”

“That’s true, My Lord.  We live outside of the city, and grow most of our own food. If there’s something we need from the Marketplace, my wife and my mother usually make the trip.  I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Jack’s uncle Evan and his lovely wife, but I hadn’t been introduced to the nephew yet.”

“Thank you, Judd, you can take your seat.”   Bard turned to his left and right. “Does my Council wish to confer, or are we in agreement?”

Nods all around, and Bain was beaming.

“Very well.” Bard rose from his throne, walked off the platform and helped the young man to stand.  “Jack,” he said quietly, “on behalf of myself and my Council, I humbly offer our apology.  I hope you will still consider Dale your home, and,” he leaned in closer, “if anyone gives you trouble, just let me know, all right?”

“Thank you, My Lord,” Jack burst into tears. 

Bard lifted his head and shouted, “I hereby declare this man innocent of any crime. Take off these shackles and release him to his family.”

A loud cheer went up. Evan burst from his seat and ran to his nephew, and as soon as the chains dropped, swept Jack up into a long, hard hug.

Bard turned back to the dais where everyone was on their feet, joining in the applause.  Thranduil gave him a small wink, and Bain grin was full of pride.

The feeling was mutual.

NOTES:

[1] What Makes a King, Ch: 9: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/24824964

[2] And Winter Came…, Ch. 41: In May 2942 T.A. King Bard had decreed that all public events would begin with a moment of silence to honor those who died in the Fires and in the BOTFA. https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/32411847

[3] Broken Wings, Ch. 35:  Evan Jr. was named after his uncle, but everyone calls him Jack. https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/58357912

[4] An Invincible Summer, Ch. 37:    https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/37243763

Chapter Text

“We keep moving forward,

 opening new doors and doing new things,

 because we're curious,

 and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths.”
― Walt Disney

Rivendell, 5^th of March 2946 T.A.

During the ride back to Imladris, Elladan tried to keep his squirming to a minimum, but the saddle of his brother’s horse just wasn’t made for two.  He could only perch behind the leather and wood cantle, his legs dangling directly over the horse’s hip bones and bounce on its rump.  If he were honest with himself, the rougher ride, and the extra effort to remain astride, kept the surreal events of this day from sinking in, at least for a while.  He was weary with sorrow, as if one of the stones from the Bruinen River sat on his chest, weighing down his lungs, and he know he should inhale the fresh air but he wasn’t sure he saw the point of it.

Maybe he didn’t want to face his own guilt for being so taken in by Lusiël; if only he’d bothered to look past that demure mask of shyness, all the events of the past year might have been prevented.  Melui would still have parents, Vildan might still have Mistanâr, as well as Tauriel’s love, perhaps her hand in marriage.

He still couldn’t believe it was his own mother’s necklace which had damned Lusiël to an existence he was sure she hadn’t been born to.  If what the Wizard said was true, she was as much a victim as everyone else in Imladris.   

Elladan had always been attracted to her, but kept it in the recesses of his mind—he and Elrohir had work to finish in Middle Earth before either of them could entertain the idea of marriage and family.  Since the day they returned their broken mother to Rivendell and, later, escorted her to the Havens, the sons of Elrond vowed to rid Eregion of Orcs and every other evil that had threatened their people.  [i] [ii]

But that wasn’t the only reason.

The children of Elrond and Celebrian were well-versed in Elven history, and the twins had long ago suspected their father possessed something that could barely be thought of, let alone mentioned aloud.  On the day their mother’s ship sailed out of sight into the Gulf of Lhûn, and their Adar’s tears making silver tracks down his face, Elladan and Elrohir’s eyes met.   Without a word passing between them, in that unique bond between twins, their mission was clear:  Protect their home.  Protect their father, but at all costs, protect that which he possesses, for if such a trinket were to be lost to the enemy, it would destroy whatever hope remained for peace in Middle Earth.

Such an undertaking leaves little room for affairs of the heart.

Elladan shook himself out of his morbid reverie and tightened his arms around Elrohir’s waist as  Prestapant jumped over a large puddle.  His rump slammed down against the horse’s rump so hard that the leather squeaked, like Estel’s pencil would against his slate when he didn’t want to do his lessons.  The impact made his teeth rattle and he barely escaped biting his own tongue, but at least it distracted him from the indignities inflicted upon his poor genitals.  He’d never heard of a Gwîb actually breaking, but he had no desire to test that theory.

“Naeg!” Elladan whined in a voice higher than he liked.  “Could your horse’s nulav be any bonier?  I would like to father children one day!”

“Do not,” Elrohir turned his head and squinted over his shoulder at him, “insult my horse.  You may insult me—”

“Hah,” he scoffed.  “If I want to get punched—”

“You may insult my choice of clothing—”

“That is a lie!  Do you remember when I told you that brown was a terrible color on you?  You grabbed my nose and twisted it so hard—”

“You may even insult my skill with a sword—”

“Well, that would only be telling the truth—”

“But if you ever, ever insult my horse again,” Elrohir growled.  “I will shave off your hair in your sleep.”

The steed in question punctuated that last sentence by  throwing out both hind legs into a high kick.  Elladan howled in pain when he landed, and this time his teeth sank into the tip of his tongue.

The North Gate of Imladris was closed tight, and the bodies of Aldon and Naeven had been taken away, replaced with four of Lord Elrond’s Vanguard, their faces grim and pale.   Their eyes rounded in surprise at seeing Mithrandir, but they refused to raise the bar until the riders used the password.  Elladan winced, expecting the Wizard him to bluster and wave his staff, but when Mithrandir responded with patience, it exacerbated the tragedies of this terrible day.

Elrohir urged his horse forward, recited gave the proper password for the day, and the gears ground their teeth against each other to lift the bar and allow the gates to swing open.

“I think you are through the worst of the trouble,” Mithrandir advised the worried guards, “but best to stay alert and allow no one to enter or leave without Lord Elrond’s consent.”

“Ben iest dhîn, Mithrandir,” they saluted and stepped aside.

Not surprisingly, the streets of Rivendell were deserted and silent.  Most of the rain flowed into grates along the sides of the streets through underground clay pipes and saved to irrigate the fields when the weather turned dry.   The cobblestones and walkways were still damp around the edges where the stone met the soil, filling the air with a musky scent that had always delighted Elladan, but today, no amount of rain could wash away the heavy haze of anguish that lingered.

If the extra guards at the main doors of the Homely House, were surprised to see the Grey Wizard among them, they gave no sign of it.

“Lord Elrond has been eager for your return,” the captain bowed his head and saluted.  “He awaits you in the infirmary.”

“Thank you,” Mithrandir said, studying the Ellon’s face carefully.  “Are you well?”

“I am, thank you,” he said.  “Others were not so fortunate, but they are being tended to.”

The halls of his father’s house were also filled with a palpable hush, though no one could say it was calm or peaceful; rather it was a taciturn shield.  The older residents were reliving the horrors of the last siege of Imladris, when only with the help of the forces of Lothlórien did they overcome their enemy. [iii]   The younger Elves were fighting against this new, yet not new, truth: nowhere in Middle Earth was completely safe, and their belief in the impenetrable force surrounding their home in the Valley was just an illusion to help them sleep at night.

They passed the Council Chamber which still bore the scars of the chaos that took place there: overturned chairs, papers scattered on the floor, and a plate-sized stain in the center of the room where Laniër was murdered before them, blood seeping from every orifice in her head.   A ball of pain suddenly appeared in Elladan’s throat, and for a half-second, he feared it was another wave of witchcraft, a remnant of evil that might have remained.  A hand on his upper arm brought him to his senses, as did his brother’s encouraging nod. 

“They will clean it up,” Elrohir murmured.

“I know.”

“The survivors must always take precedence.”

Mithrandir eyes closed in consternation.  “I should have seen it coming,” he shook his head slowly.  “We should have discussed this possibility at last year’s Council.”

When the trio turned the corner to the hall that led to the Rivendell’s infirmary, Elladan was startled to see dozens of Elves lying in cots along the walls, attended by assistant healers and relatives.

“What is going on here?” Mithrandir asked a passing servant who was holding a large pitcher.  “Has some other calamity taken place?”

“No, praise the stars,” the young Elleth curtsied.  “Lord Elrond has ordered everyone who suffered at the hands of…” her mouth grew hard, “to be closely observed for at least a day.  These are the lighter cases and only need rest.  The worst of the attack took place within the Council Chambers this morning, and those members are inside.”

“Is Elrond with them?”

The blonde Elleth shook her head.  “He attends Lieutenant Vildan in Lady Arwen’s former rooms. Her eyes fell.  “It was thought he would do better away from the activity here.”

“And the child?”  Elladan asked.  “Where is Melui?”

“She is in Lord Elrond’s study with Estel while Lord Glorfindel leads the door-to-door search of the city for victims.    Please excuse me,” she curtsied again and bustled off.

“I need to go to her.”  Elladan started to turn away, but the Wizard grasped his shoulder. 

“Not now,” he said gently.  “We have work to do yet.”

“She was nearly killed today!” Elrohir’s lips pursed.

“There is no safer place for her.  If there is any lingering dark magic, it cannot reach them there.”

“May I ask why you appointed Lagrôval to protect Melui?” Elrohir’s head tilted slightly.

“That’s just it; I didn’t.” The wizard face echoed their confusion but also their relief.  “I’m just glad he will.”

“Do you know who did?”

“I have no idea yet, but someone one on high thinks that child is significant.”

The twins exchanged looks as they walked to the entrance of the Infirmary.

Every bed was full, and the room was crowded with attendants and concerned family members. Many of the members of Elrond’s Council had physical bruises, some with emotional wounds, some with both, as their spouses or others gently sponged their faces with Athelas and murmured prayers.  

Lindir and Erestor was in the bed nearest to the door, looking tired and pale. 

“I am fine,” Erestor said before he began a coughing fit.  Elladan rushed over to him and helped him sit up.  When things died down, he poured a glass of water from the tray between their beds and urged Erestor to sip. 

“My husband was here for a time, but…,” Erestor rasped. 

“I know where Glorfindel is,” Mithrandir assured him.  “I am sure he’d want you to stop talking and get well.”  After patting the Archivist on the leg, the Wizard turned to Lindir’s bed.  “And you?  I see you still have bruises.”

The slim, dark-haired Aide grabbed a pad of paper from the table between their beds and wrote: My lungs fine—my voice box crushed—Elrond dulled the pain—says I will make a full recovery. 

“Excellent,” Elladan smiled. 

Across the aisle, the twins observed Eílíent fussing over her husband Thenin, over his feigned protests. [iv]

“You look much better,” Elladan crossed his arms.

“I am much better,” Thenin said, impatient.  “I do not need to be here when others could use the bed!”

“Stop,” Eílíent scowled at her husband.  “He is not wrong, but he cannot be released until they have examined him,” she shrugged with sympathy at the frantic bustle of the Assistant Healers.

“Perhaps I can do that,” Elladan stepped forward and carefully checked his eyes, and other vital signs.  “Do you have a headache?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Eílíent sent her spouse a dirty look.

Elladan covered both of Thenin’s eyes then quickly removed his hands, observing the reaction time.  “One of your pupils is a bit larger than the other.  What did my father do for you?”

“Nothing yet,” Eílíent said, regretfully.  “Not that anyone blames him; he has been with Vildan since they returned.”

“I understand.” He called over to his brother who was still with Erestor.  “Elrohir?  Could you help me for a moment?”

Once his twin verified his suspicions, both sons of Elrond placed hands on Thenin’s skull and sang down the bruising on the Guardian’s brain. 

“You are right about needing the bed,” Elrohir said, “but that does not mean I want you up and around.  Eílíent, take him straight to your rooms and keep him in bed for at least a day.  Do I need to make this an order?”

“No, My Lord,” Eílíent stood and helped her husband to his feet.  “He will obey if I have to tie him down.”

Thenin’s mouth curled up in a What can you do? expression, as his wife led him away.

With a frustrated sigh, Elladan’s eyes swept the rest of the large room.  “I know they need help, but—”

“Go to Vildan, ” Elrohir squeezed his shoulder.  “I will stay and do what I can.”

“Mithrandir?” he asked hesitantly. “Could you come?”

The Wizard looked up from Lindir’s latest note and gave him a compassionate nod.

“Exactly how bad is it?” Mithrandir asked as they walked through the corridors.

“Ada said his spine has been torn in two,” Elladan ignored the twist of foreboding in his stomach.  “He could feel nothing below the waist when we pulled him out of the river.”

 “He doesn’t know yet.”

“Not at that time,” Elladan shook his head. “He was so happy to see Melui back to herself, it seemed cruel to say anything just then.” [v]

The air in Vildan’s apartment was fragrant with calming herbs and Athelas that steamed from a low, shallow bowl on the round dining table.  Elladan couldn’t resist padding over leaning his hands on either side and drinking in the sweet, energizing fumes.  Just enough to keep him going.  There would be a time to contemplate and mourn, but not yet.

Not yet.

“Elladan?”  Elrond poked his head out of the doorway to Vildan’s bedchamber.  “I have been waiting for you.  Where is your brother?”

“He is tending to the patients in your stead.  Mithrandir is with me.”

Elrond stepped out into the Sitting room and gazed upon the Wizard with a blend of surprise and relief.  “Even better,” he said, fatigue etching his face.  “Come; we have much to accomplish.”

Time lost all meaning, only the muscles and tendons and bones and nerves mattered.  Elladan and Elrohir were adept at healing wounds, both separately and together, but whenever he helped his father, the “sight” of the injury, the silent cries of the muscles, bones, tendons, and nerves were so strong, so intense, it nearly always made Elladan weep from the sorrow of it.  Even worse, only that which was above Vildan’s waist cried out; below was eerily quiet, as if their very will to exist was slowly draining away.

Daeron told him once how, when he worked with Ada to heal Turamarth, that all he could do was try and keep up with the song; he could barely believe the strength and precision of Elrond’s powers. [vi]  Elladan was well-acquainted with that phenomenon, and while he never truly got used to it, he always congratulated himself for managing to keep up.

But this.  Tonight, he was little more than a bystander to the magic in the room, and he dared not move or look away.  The Elven body is a wondrous thing, almost identical to the anatomy of a Man, though that ethereal, undefinable, immortal  phenomenon  that seeped from every particle of the Firstborn was something only Eru could fully comprehend. 

The first sight of Vildan’s broken spine nearly made Elladan withdraw in astonishment.  This was so much worse than what Elrohir and Ada had told him at the river.  Sharp edges of bones had slashed through everything in its path without care or mercy.  Yet while Elladan and his brother were busy tracking down Lusiël, Lord Elrond had not been idle: Tissue that had been grossly swollen from trauma had been calmed, and tendons that had been torn were now supporting the muscles that were regenerating at an accelerated rate.  Most important, the veins and vessels that had been sliced through were repaired just in time, sending life-giving blood to Vildan’s lower extremities.

The deep gash on his leg was healed, the broken eye socket was repaired, as was the concussion on the side of his skull.  A ligament was torn in his elbow, which was easily remedied, and three of his fingers had been dislocated in his efforts to fend off anything that might harm Melui as they crashed down the Bruinen. The broken foot was only partially mended; the rest could heal naturally, it could be splinted by an assistant, along with his fingers.

“Would it be better if we could roll him on his belly?”  Elladan wondered.

“It would, but cannot risk it.  There are too many small pieces of bone sitting against his spinal cord.”

“Then we will do what we can,” the Wizard said. 

“The main problem is the bone splinters. Each one must be found and put into its proper place like a puzzle.  If we leave even one sliver in the cord, he will never walk again.  And the bone pieces must be completely healed, which is going to take a considerable amount of energy, but only then do we regenerate the tissue of the spinal cord.”

“Can we rest in between these procedures?”

“No, the nerve endings will begin to die soon, and we cannot wait.”

“Well, then,” the Wizard took out a flask from inside his robes, and passed it around.  He rubbed his hands together and said, “Let us begin, and may Eru favor our efforts.” 

They bowed their heads and lifted their palms to the air while Mithrandir asked the Valar for their blessings.  Then they got to work.

A few hours later, after painstakingly restoring bones, sinew and reattaching every tiny nerve ending they could find, at last Elrond opened his eyes.  “There is no more we can do."

“Is he whole?” Elladan asked.

“Only time will tell, Ion nîn.” Elrond ran his hands over his face. “The rest is up to  the Valar, the Ilúvatar, and Vildan’s own body.”

“We cannot give up, Ada,” he pleaded. 

“Not at all.  The spinal cord is not like bones and other tissue;  ‘spark’ that brings nerves to life is beyond even my capabilities.”  He rested his hands on Elladan’s shoulders. “But take heart; before you were born, I did as much for Lord Thranduil when he was nearly destoyed by the dragon in the War.  Granted, his injuries were much more involved, but he remained in a Healing sleep for nearly six months.  I think we must do the same for Vildan.”

“I agree,” Mithrandir nodded his head.

“Are you certain?” Elladan’s eyes bulged. 

“I am not sure of anything at this point,” Elrond sighed.  “But he absolutely must remain still, to allow his body to finish what we have begun.  Even the slightest movement could reinjure him.”

“How long, do you think?”

“As long as it takes.”

“But what about Melui?”

“She will stay with Estel and his caretaker tonight, but after that, you will be her guardian.”

“I will say here tonight.”

“Of course you will.  But I will send someone else to sit with Vildan.  Take Melui’s bed; there is much to do tomorrow, and we all need some sleep.”

  Now, get some rest.”

Elladan pulled his father into an embrace.  “Ci athae, Ada,” he murmured, “Ci athae, Ada.”

“And I love you, my son.”

 After they left, Elladan went to Vildan’s closet and grabbed one of his friend’s sleeping shirts and a robe.  Vildan’s build was slighter than his, and a few inches shorter, but the garments weren’t too tight across the shoulders, they would do.

There had been no time to change out of the filthy clothing from their trek in the forest, and when Elladan peeled them off at last, the musty smell of moss, decomposing leaves, and river-water filled his nostrils.  He opened the nearest window and threw them out into the night, never wishing to see or think about them again.

After his bath, he took one of the damp towels and made a few feeble attempts to wipe the worst of the caked-on mud off of his boots, before tossing them out of sight into the corner of Melui’s bedroom.

Elladan fell asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow, but he awoke a few hours later, his mind reeling.  After tossing and turning for several minutes, he gave up and decided to check on Vildan.

Instead, he found himself standing in Laniër’s empty room, blinking around at the neatly-made bed, the comb-and-brush set on the dresser, and his own reflection in the looking glass.  Something stirred deep in his chest, working itself upward and erupted out of his mouth as a strangled roar.  His arm swept across the dresser, sending its contents flying.  He balled his hand into a tight fist and shattered the mirror, slamming his knuckles into the hard plaster of the wall. 

A startled cry came from the doorway and in Elladan’s peripheral vision, the Elleth attending Vildan stood in the doorway, her jaw slack with shock and fear, then turned and ran to summon a guard.  Let her go get someone to stop him, to arrest him, to bind his arms and legs.  It didn’t matter.  He screamed as he ripped the covers from the bed, tore the sheets to ribbons, and upended the mattress so that it leaned up against the wall, the goose-down feathers collapsing and settling into an awkward lump.

Strong hands grabbed Elladan’s upper arms.  He jerked himself free, his vision red with rage and tears.  They grabbed him again and again until they latched so tight they were sure to leave bruises.  Still, he struggled and yelled until his legs gave out and he slumped to the floor.  The cries turned to gut-wrenching sobs. The hands turned into arms that enveloped him into hard hug. 

“Go ahead,” Captain Rahlen murmured, stroking his head. “Let it out, Mellon nîn.”

***************

6^th of March 2946 T.A.

It was the in the early hours of the morning by the time Elrohir went back to his rooms.  Every patient was sleeping comfortably, the bodies of the dead had been prepared for burial.  He took care of Laniër’s body himself, placed her remains in an out-of-the-way room, with a guard in attendance.  It wasn’t likely that anyone would attempt retribution against Lusiël’s cousin, but it was kinder to the bereaved to keep her out of sight.

He had just reached the hall leading to his rooms when he encountered Rahlen hurrying in the opposite direction, followed by an anxious-looking private.  The captain was still in his stockings, had just finished pulling on a tunic and was settling it down past his waist.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

Rahlen stopped and adjusted his sleeves.  “Your brother is…distraught.”

“Ai, gorgor; I knew he would take this hard.”  He turned around to go back, but Rahlen grabbed his sleeve.

 “Let me handle this.”

“I do not understand.”

“Yes, you do.” Rahlen’s mouth curved into a grim smile.  ““Right now, he needs someone he doesn’t have to be strong for.” He lowered his voice. “You and I both know this isn’t just about Vildan.  He cared for Lusiël.”

Elrohir’s head jerked back, not in denial, but in surprise that Rahlen would know something so private.  “He would never speak of it, not even to me.”

“Nor to me,”  the captain’s eyes filled with compassion.  “If you came, he’d worry about upsetting you, which is what you would think if you were in his place.  You look terrible; go get some sleep.”

When Elrohir finally reached his room, he shucked his clothes and flopped face-down on the mattress and fell asleep, not caring about getting the sheets dirty.

The next morning, he opted not to have food sent to his room, but went to the Dining Hall to assess the mood of the House.  After eating a large bowl of porridge and fruit, Elrohir spent a few moments walking among the tables, offering what reassurance he could, before he went to find Glorfindel.

The Elf-Lord was in his office in the barracks, looking at reports from yesterday’s search.

“Suil aur,” he said as he knocked on the door frame.  “Did you discover Lusiël’s accomplice?”

“Not as yet,” Glorfindel said.  “Tell me what happened and about the necklace you discovered.”

“Have you spoken to Mithrandir about it, yet?”

“I have, but now I’m asking you.  Go over it again.”

Elrohir recounted their hunt for Lusiël and Mithrandir’s unexpected appearance, and the necklace that appeared when he removed it from her body.[vii]  After asking about several details, the Elf-Lord seemed satisfied.

“This time, we are fortunate that Mithrandir appeared when he did, but how can we prevent something like this from happening again?” Elrohir asked.  “What if there is some other object that is lying around, waiting to be used?”

Glorfindel rested his fingers against his mouth, worry lines etched in his brow.  “I had greatly feared this when Thranduil had his trouble in the North.  It was clever of Sauron; creating enemies from within, rather than without, that not only destroys lives, but the morale of our people, as well.”

“I could see that this morning at breakfast,” Elrohir agreed, his heart heavy.

“We could destroy every item of jewelry in my father’s kingdom, but it would do no good.  Experience tells us such things cannot be detected until its owner is dead.”

“Your father has called a meeting in his study later this morning, to compare notes,” Glorfindel told him. “One of the things we need to discuss is the deaths at the North Gate.”

“Lusiël killed them to enable her escape.”

“True, but if that were entirely the case, I would have expected the bars and locks to bear some sign of forced exit.  But it all looks perfectly normal.”

“She had help?”

“Not necessarily.  She could have somehow used her powers to open it.”

“I am not sure of that,” Elrohir mused.  “We know she can control people, but objects?”

“At this point, I will not discount anything.” The Elf-Lord rose from his chair, placed the stack of reports in the large box and recited the spell to lock it.  “I am going to visit the families of the guards killed there.  You will accompany me.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“We appreciate you taking the time to visit,” Aldon’s father said, his arm around his weeping wife.

“Aldon was well-respected among the Vanguard,” Glorfindel said, a cup of tea balanced in its saucer on one of his knees.  “He was a credit to you, to our military and to our people, and he will be sorely missed.”

“My father will come to see you as soon as he is able,” Elrohir added. “But in the meantime, allow me to say how truly sorry I am for your loss.”

“He always wanted to be a soldier,” Aldon’s mother said as she wiped her eyes.  “He knew it would break my heart when he enlisted, but nothing could stop him.”  Her mouth pursed in bitterness.  “How could your father allow this to happen?” she said angrily.  “A…sorceress, right in our midst murdered my son like it was nothing!  Why could you not stop her?”  Her face crumpled and she buried her face into her husband’s shoulder.

“Shhh…”  her husband pulled her against him.  “Please excuse my wife; it is the shock.”

“We are all shocked,” Glorfindel said kindly.  After meeting Elrohir’s eyes, the Commander nodded slightly, and they both rose.  “Please; do not get up.  We can see ourselves out.”

“It never gets easier,” Glorfindel murmured, after they left the house.  and walked to the stables.

“But you have been to the Halls of Mandos,” Elrohir reminded him. [viii]  “Surely that memory offers you some comfort when you lose a brother in arms.”

“Does it?”  Glorfindel’s head whipped around in fury.  “What good does it do me, when I see families who must face centuries before they might see their loved one again, if ever?  All these people know is the void in their hearts and lives, and to try and offer any sort of trite words to lessen their grief is insulting.  Remember that, son of Elrond.  Our job is not to fix what cannot be changed.  Our job is to be present, to let them know you see their pain.”

“But is it enough?”

“No,” Glorfindel admitted.  “But platitudes and oversimplistic solutions, no  matter how well-meant, only serve to make things worse.”

Naeven’s family were farmers living three miles outside the city gates, their large stone house stood in contrast to the wooden barns on either side.  The family had successfully worked their land for centuries, providing a variety of goods for Imladris and the other outlying villages in the area.  Novon, Naeven’s father, had been asked several times to join Lord Elrond’s Council, but though he was greatly honored, he always politely refused. 

It wasn’t surprising that Elrohir and Glorfindel were shown to the farmhouse’s kitchen rather than their parlor.  The long oak table was the heart of this house, where the entire extended family gathered to accept their condolences. 

“Please accept my apologies for not bringing the news to you myself,” Glorfindel bowed his head and saluted.

Novon’s face was almost grey with grief, his eyes riveted on a small knot in the wood of the polished table as his wife poured out the tea. “We heard that Lusiël and her cousin were also killed.” 

Elrohir could feel the sudden tension in Glorfindel’s posture. “I am afraid that is true.”

“Can you tell us what happened?”

“Not at the moment; we are still investigating,” the Elf-Lord rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward slightly. “Were you acquainted with the Ellyth?”

“Not so much with Laniër, though she was a lovely Elf, but Lusiël spent a great deal of time with us.  Naeven had been courting her for over a year, and just last week he said he was planning to ask her to marry him.  He wanted to use our silver betrothal rings for the ceremony.”

At this, Novon’s wife burst into tears.  Elrohir quickly rose and helped her into his chair, then raised his gaze to meet Glorfindel’s eyes.

“That is indeed a tragedy,” the Elf-Lord kept his voice carefully casual.  “May I ask if your son was abroad for a time last summer?”

Elrohir froze, taking a careful breath.

“Of course, he did,” Novon’s left eyebrow dipped quizzically.  “He accompanied Lord Gildor and his party to the Tower Hills.  You should have that in your records, My Lord.”

“Forgive me, I must have forgotten.” Glorfindel sat back with a rueful smile.  “It has been a stressful couple of days.”  With a quick nod to Elrohir, he got to his feet.  “Díheno men, but ach boe annim mened.” He said, as he kissed the hand of Naeven’s mother and saluted his father.  “Hiro hîdh neñ gurth Naeven.”

It wasn’t until they were almost to the main gates of the city that Elrohir dared speak.  “Naeven was not officially assigned to go with Gildor was he?”

“No,” Glorfindel said, his mouth drawn into a furious line. 

“He was Lusiël’s accomplice…”  Elrohir could hardly believe his own words. “He must have opened the North Gate for her.”

“Yes.  Then he either killed Aldon, or she killed them both to keep them quiet.”  The Elf-Lord’s lips turned downward.  "How do I tell Naeven's parents?"

Elrohir heart seized.  "How do I tell Elladan?"

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Ben iest dhîn, Mithrandir – As you wish, Mithrandir

Ci athae, Ada – Thanks, Dad

Díheno men, but ach boe annim mened – Forgive us, but we must go

Gwanunig – Twin brother

Hiro hîdh neñ gurth Naeven – May Naevan find peace in death.

Suil aur – Good morning (lit. “morning greetings”)

Siniath faeg– This evil fate cannot be

NOTES:

[i]  “In T.A. 2509, on a trip to Lórien to visit her parents, she was waylaid by Orcs of the Misty Mountains in the Redhorn Pass. She was captured and tormented, receiving a poisoned wound. Her sons rescued her and she was physically healed by Elrond, but she never fully recovered in mind or spirit, and no longer wished to stay in Middle-earth. She left for the Grey Havens and passed over the Great Sea the following year.”   

http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Celebrian

[ii] After [their mother’s] loss, Elladan and Elrohir were filled with hatred of the orcs, often riding against them with the Northern Dúnedain.  http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Elladan

[iii] The Second Siege of Imladris took place sometime between T.A. 1356 and 1409 of the Third Age in the War between Arnor and Angmar. At some point the siege was broken, and Lord Elrond was able to help subdue the forces of Angmar for a time by bringing reinforcements from Lothlórien.

http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Second_Siege_of_Imladris

[iv] SCOM, Ch. 7:  Thenin and Eílíent are Guardians who, after spending their exchange year in Rivendell, asked to stay.  https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090521/chapters/72741651

[v] SCOM, Ch. 14: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090521/chapters/77483909

[vi] Legolas, Ion nîn, Ch. 25: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/44623087

[vii] SCOM, Ch. 17: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090521/chapters/79447126

[viii]  “Glorfindel's spirit passed to the Halls of Waiting, where he waited with the spirits of the other Noldor who had died during their war against Morgoth. But because of Glorfindel's noble actions in life, his reluctance at the Exile, and his furthering of the purposes of the Valar by saving Tuor and Idril, Manwë allowed his re-embodiment after only a short time ...  Eventually, Manwë sent him across the sea to Middle-earth during the Second Age.” 

http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Glorfindel

Chapter Text

“Tears shed for another person are not a sign of weakness. They are a sign of a pure heart.”

― José N. Harris, MI VIDA: A Story of Faith, Hope and Love

Halls of Mandos, (I have no idea how they measure time there, so I’d better not  try…)

Námo folded his arms across his chest as the scenes from Rivendell played through again.  With an impatient huff, he left his study and went to go see find his wife.  Vairë the Weaver wasn’t at her loom, but sitting with Námo’s sister Nienna in her private gazebo, as lovely scenery played on each wall.

“There you are, Melmenya,” he bent to kiss Vairë’s cheek. 

“Please, sit, brother,” Nienna elegant hand gestured to the lounger opposite her. 

 “I would love to, but at the moment I am in the midst of a dilemma and require your thoughts.”

“Whose thoughts?” Nienna asked, a mischievous smile curved one side of her mouth.

“Either one of you. Both if I can get them.”

You come to ask about our new arrivals,” Vairë said.

“Yes.  They come as a result of a situation similar to what we encountered in the recent past, but I find this to be complicated.”

“Of course, Vennya,”  Vairë gathered her skirts and made to stand. 

“What is the dilemma?” Nienna asked. “Perhaps I can help.”

“I would appreciate it, sister, but I will not spoil this atmosphere by speaking of it here.  We will go to my study.”

“I see,” Vairë said, after her husband replayed the scenes in Halls of Elrond and the Bruinen River.  “This I did not foresee, which is unusual.  Let me go to my loom and take a closer look at the tapestry.” With an elegant swirl of her crimson velvet gown, the Weaver of Time exited her husband’s study.

“What do you think, nésnya?” Námo turned to his sister. 

“This is similar, yes, but unlike Saeros, Lusiël is no innocent,” A silver tear gathered in one of Nienna’s eyes, slid down her cheeks.  The small diamond that fell from her chin made a tiny clinking sound on the smooth stone floor.

“I was hoping I was wrong,” Námo’s face fell.  “I do not want to make the same mistake again.  I was but a moment away from cursing Saeros to the void, and if it hadn’t been for you and Vairë’s interference—”

“Worry not, hánonya méla,” Nienna reached up and cupped Námo’s cheek.  “We have discussed this, yes?  Now we know to look for such things.”

Vairë entered the room with a pained look in her eyes, a long length of wool. 

“What did you discover, my love?”

“It is as you feared.  In some ways worse.”

“The Elf Lusiël?” Námo lifted one eyebrow quizzically. 

Vairë laid out a long strand of black wool on the desk. “Do you see here?  At the beginning, there were many bright threads interwoven in the yarn, when there was love and beauty.  All free beings are born with darkness in them, yet Lusiël’s was born with a gift: the Ilúvatar had great things in mind for her.”  She pointed to a spot one-third away from the end which was completely black.  “This,” she said, “was her Moment of Choice—to choose good or to choose evil, to remain in the Light or join the Darkness.”

“She chose it freely,” Námo said.

“Those poor victims,” Nienna sobbed. “Where are her parents?”

“In Valinor, which was why we never met them personally,” Námo turned back to his wall and waved his hand.  Scenes from Lusiël’s family life were played out, which seemed normal.  Then a dark mist hovered over her parents, withering their fëas and exhausting them.

“She wanted to be rid of them,” Vairë noted. 

“But she did not kill them!”  Nienna pointed out.

“This is true,” Námo agreed, “but it hardly makes up for the harm she caused to Elrond and his people, not to mention the murder of her own kind and the attempted murder of a child.” 

“What about that necklace?”  Vairë raised her hand to the wall and an image of Lusiël froze.  A silver chain bearing an emerald hung about her neck.  “We know that came from Pallando.  Did it truly belong to the Lady Celebrian, as Olórin feared?” [1]  

“I believe so.”

“He sent the falcon to give it to the Lord of the Eagles; why could they not destroy it, as they did with Saeros’s ring?” 

“That is one of the reasons why I am unsure as to what to do with Lusiël,” Námo said.  “We need to closely examine her life.”  Námo stepped back, waved both arms, murmured a spell.

 The picture blurred into waves to reveal a young Elleth, unhappy and wandering in the woods north of Imladris at the foot of the Misty Mountains. 

“She burns with an unnatural desire for her first cousin,” Nienna whispered. 

“Yet it is not a sexual love.” Vairë said. “She wants the power to…possess her, to control her,”  “We have seen this kind of behavior before.” She turned to her husband.  “Do you remember?”

“Eöl, the Dark Elf,”  Námo’s lips pursed into a thin line. 

“He is not willing to face the shame of his actions,” Nienna sighed.  “I have tried to counsel him, but he will not listen.”

“He may yet, sister,” Vienna patted her hand.  “Soon, many of our residents will have a chance to redeem themselves.”

“Speak not of that,” Námo’s warned.  “Not until the Ilúvatar gives us leave.”

“My apologies,” Vairë bowed her head.  “Now, with regard to Lusiël, may we see how she acquired the necklace?”

The wall blurred again to reveal the dark-haired Elleth, now older, once again in the forest, using the magic the Ilúvatar had given her to set small fires at the base of trees, causing them to cry out in pain.  She pointed her finger upward and a bird fell to the ground, dead.  Animals scurried away in terror. 

With a satisfied smile, she turned for home, waving her hand in front of her face, masking the truth of her power. 

“That is why Elrond could not see,”  Nienna cried out in dismay.  “Instead of using her powers to bring joy, she brought sorrow.”

“She chose freely, before she received that necklace,” Námo shook his head.  “Look.”

Pallando, in his true form approached and spoke with Lusiël, tempting her.   She shook her head eagerly, then answered the Blue Wizard’s questions, then curtsied and ran back to the city with an eager smile.  The next scene involved the Lady Celebrian riding with her escort to the foot of the Redhorn Pass, where the party was attacked by a band of Orcs lying in wait.   The guards were killed, the handmaidens scattered, while four Orcs rolled Celebrian into a rug and carried her off.   Lusiël arms were grabbed, and she was dragged into the woods, but as soon as they were out of sight of the rest of the party, Pallando appeared, ordering her to be set free.  Lusiël waved her hands angrily and the Orcs fell to the ground with unseeing eyes.

“She helped the Blue Wizard arrange the attack,” Vairë’s eyes blazed. 

“I am afraid so,” Námo agreed. 

Pallando held out his hand with a smile, and the emerald pendant swung from its silver chain.  Lusiël eagerly grabbed it and put it around her neck, tucking it under the bodice of her dress. 

“That was the moment she lost all hope of redemption,” Námo said then he stepped closer to the wall and narrowed his eyes.  “That necklace did not belong to the Lady Celebrian.  Pallando had it with him before the attack.”

“Who made it?  And where is the original?”

Námo examined the picture a few more minutes.  “Probably taken by the Orcs, but it holds no power.  This one was made by Sauron himself for Lusiël, to enhance her powers to a degree far above what the Father of All intended  That trinket would share this power equally.”

“So that, if she was killed, someone else could have picked it up and become just as dangerous as Lusiël was, perhaps more.”

“Where is this necklace now?”

“Let us see,”  Námo twisted his hand and carefully waved his fingers. 

Mithrandir was astride Lord Gwaihir who landed in a small clearing.  The Wizard jumped off and ran into the thicket waving at the shrubbery to part and allow him to pass unimpeded.  In the distance was the sound of hammering and the twin sons of Elrond bickering.

“Tir-Limbë!” he cried to the falcon hovering above him.   “Get them away from that body!  Do not let them touch it!  Hurry!”

“Can you imagine if the sons of Elrond had taken that pendant back to Imladris and put it in their father’s hands?” Vairë gasped. “The Peredhel would have become even more powerful than Galadriel and Pallando combined. And no force on Middle Earth could have stopped him!”

“Because of the Ring he bears?  The one called Vilya?”

“Yes,”  Námo closed his eyes.  “Praise the Grey Wizard for arriving on time, or all our hopes would have been lost!”

Nienna’s hands flew to her mouth with a strangled cry.  Vairë put her arm around the Vala’s shoulders and helped her to sit.  “Be well, dear sister.  These things did not happen, praise our Father, and we mustn’t grieve losses that never came to pass, yes?”  She turned a worried gaze to her husband.

The bird rushed ahead, fluttering his wings at the Elves until they backed way in puzzlement.  Mithrandir, still running, held out his raised his staff, muttered some words and the empty shell that was once Lusiël, was surrounded by a blinding flash. [2]

With a wave of his staff and a command, the falcon swooped down, grabbed the necklace in his teeth and flew out of the woods to where the Lord of the Eagles was waiting.  Gwaihir clasped it in his claws and took flight, across the land, across the Sundering Sea to the very top of Mount Taniquetil, to the Halls of Manwë. [3]  He landed in the Courtyard and with a reverent bow, laid the small item on the stones.   The King of the Valar himself came forth and with a prayer, he raised his foot and stomped on it, smashing it into dust.   A swirling wind carried the particles in every conceivable direction, and its evil magic was no more.

“We can be thankful for that, at least,” Nienna’s shoulders rounded in relief.

“I fear we will see more of this,” Námo’s brow furrowed. “It will not stop until the servant of the Dark One is destroyed.”  He turned to face his wife and sister.   “No one must know of this.  Sauron does not know we have discovered his trickery and their uses, and we must keep it that way.”

“Why?” Nienna rose from her chair. 

“Because now we have an advantage.  Should he find out that we know, he will use different tactics.”

“This is true,” Vairë clasped her hands together.  “Has Lusiël’s fëa been stripped of all her powers?”

“As much as I was able.  The rest must be done by another, before I pass my Judgement.”

“You have decided, then?” Nienna’s face was stricken.

“I am afraid I have, Nésnya.”  Námo gently wiped a tear from her face.  “But you must save your energies for those who need you.   If it helps, know that I grieve this, as well, but such is the way of things until the Dagor Dagorath.” [4]

***************

Naeven had been sitting and praying in his small, windowless room ever since he arrived, but where was he?

If he no longer possessed a corporeal body, how could his mouth be dry like it was full of sand?  How could his heart beat so hard it bruised in the inside of his ribcage?  Yet he did feel pain as his chest and stomach caved into itself.

His last living memory of life was Lusiël, his Lusiël, looking at him with eyes that seared into his soul, then he was standing in a vast grey desert, with nothing to light his way but the stars above. 

Then a tall doorway appeared, opened only enough to admit him into black halls and the golden glow of hundreds of lamps that reflected off smooth mirrored stone. 

He had been led to this room and told to wait.

The door to his cell didn’t open; it evaporated.  A servant, who looked much too ethereal to be a true Elf, approached.  She was beautiful, dressed in dark robes with silver threads, her feet sandaled in gems, came forth and said.  “It is time, child.”

Naeven rose and was met by two guards with grim faces who walked beside him as the servant led the way.   He was taken to a vast hall whose size and power rendered him not only speechless, but helpless as an insect, ready to be trampled upon.  At the far end were wide steps leading up to a tall dais that bore three thrones, the one in the middle was carved in obsidian. 

“You will stay here.” She said, and left him standing. 

Horns sounded, announcing the entrance of three ancient, statuesque beings: Námo, Lord of the Halls of Mandos, Vairë the Weaver, and Nienna, Lady of Pity and Mourning.  All bore stars on their brow, their grey eyes enormous and all-seeing, with features beautiful beyond description, yet terrible in their wrath, should one incur it.  As they took their seats, the Lord of Mandos opened his mouth to speak. 

“Naeven, son of Novon, you will come forth.”

The guards helped him to stand and supported him as he approached the first landing, where a chair materialized for him to sit, which he would not use.  Instead, he fell to his knees again.   “I am at your disposal, My Lord.  I do not deserve such comforts after the unforgivable things I have done.  I know my fate.  Please, all I ask is that you sentence me to the Nothing without delay, so that I may repent until the end of time.”

The goddess on the right began to silently weep, and small jewels fell into her lap.  She looked upon him with such compassion, such pity that it eased the pain in his middle and replaced it with peace and perspective.  Yes.  He would gladly pay for his sins.

“You wish to be sentenced to the Fate of Morgoth?”  Námo asked him.

“Yes, and gladly so.  I love my family.  I wanted to be Vanguard to protect them and all of our people from,” his voice cracked, “from the very fate that I inflicted upon Narseg and his wife.”  He was really crying now.  “They were my friends.  They were good Elves and I killed them.  I did not want to; I swear I did not, but I did and now…”  He had to stop and catch his breath. 

The three Valar sat in silence and waited for him to compose himself.  When he could speak again, he said, “I have scourged my family’s reputation and my father’s good name.  Forever will they be known as the family of the Kinslayer.  Please!” he begged the Lord and Ladies, “let my punishment be so severe that their faith will be restored to them.  Not their faith in me, because I do not deserve it, but do not let them be the victims of my evil deeds!  Please!”

“You will take a seat,” Námo commanded, and with a small nod to the guards, they grabbed Naeven and took him to the chair.  Once he was settled, Námo glanced to his left and waved his hand.  The Lady of Mourning rose from her throne, went to him and offered her hand.  He grasped it and kissed it several times, wanted to hang on to this last vestige of kindness before the Black consumed him.

“Son of Novon,” Lord Námo spoke. “I have questions, and you will answer.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“We have seen your actions in the forest of the Tower Hills.  You did indeed murder Narseg and Meássë, and I am glad you freely admitted that crime.  But can you tell me why you did it?”

“I just…had to.   It was something that needed be done.”

“What happened?”

“I followed their party at a distance.  My uniform convinced the watchers along the road that I was with Lord Gildor’s party, though I am not sure why they did not stop to question me.  I wondered about it at the time, but I had to keep going.”

“I believe we have discovered the reason for that.”

“Can you tell me what it is?”

The Vala sat forward in his seat, eyes boring into Naeven’s as if he already knew the truth of whatever he wanted to know, though Naeven knew not the questions.  “Think carefully, son of Novon: Did you truly wish to murder your friends?”

“I…   All I remember was that I had to.  I do not know why, nor was I able to think about it.  I just… did.”

Silence reigned in the Hall for several minutes.  A small thought was growing in Naeven’s mind and fëa: a truth, or at least the beginning of a truth.  A truth so terrible he physically shook his head to fend off the pain of it.  His hand, still clasped in Nienna’s was squeezed again, but he didn’t dare look into her eyes, lest this kernel of understanding become real, lest the pain of it become too great.

“Now tell me,” Lord Námo’s voice gentled a bit.  “You are acquainted with the Lady Lusiël of Rivendell?”

“I am,” he blinked. “I loved her.”  And to his own surprise, he added,  “I think.”

“You are no longer sure?” Lady Vairë’s head tilted slightly.  “How do you feel about her, at this precise moment, child?”

“I…” he lowered his gaze and searched his feelings.  “I do not know.  I should know.  I had spoken to my parents of marriage to her.”

“You no longer think of her as your bond-mate?”

“I… am not sure.  Is it because I am here, and she is still alive?”  This time he dared a look into Lord Námo’s eyes.  “I suppose that is a kindness, though I do not deserve it.”

“Why would you think Lusiël lives still?”

Naeven’s brows scrunched together.  “I assumed.”

“That is a fair answer.  Do you love her?”

“I…”

“It is the simplest of questions, child.  You either do or you don’t.  Search your heart; what is there?”

“I want to tell you,” Naeven swallowed hard.  “Forgive me, but I have no answer, My Lord.”

“Why is that, do you think?”

Naeven opened his mouth to speak, but no words came to him.  He could only shake his head and lift his shoulders in a shrug. 

“Nésnya,” Lord Námo lifted his hand and gestured to Nienna.  “I think this would be better coming from you.”

“What do you mean?” Naeven asked, his gaze moving from the Valar on the dais to the Vala beside him.  “I do not understand.”

“Oh, my dear,” Nienna knelt by his chair and caressed his cheek.  “You did not murder Narseg and Meássë of your own free will.  You were forced to do it.”

Naeven’s eyes bulged, and his mouth dropped.   He shook his head slowly from side-to-side.  “No,” he whispered, his voice thin with shock.  “I killed them.  I despise my existence for it, but it was me, and I will pay—”

“Naeven,” the beautiful Vala’s eyes sparkled, and jewels fell once again.  “You were bewitched.  You were forced to do those terrible things, and for that I grieve; you are a good and brave Ellon who did nothing but want a life of honor.”

“W… Who?” he mouthed; his throat closed so tight no sound could escape.

Another tear fell, as Nienna lifted her other hand and held his face.  “You know who did these terrible things.  You do not have to say her name aloud, but you must face this truth in your heart, my dearest one.”

The pain.  The pain of the reality sliced into him like a dull sword, like a baker cutting a loaf of bread.  To ribbons.  To whole cloth that was once so white and strong it seemed nothing could tear it, yet here it was, now in dirty, shredded rags that smelled of death, of decay.  And it was no longer good for anything but to be thrown away or burned.  That was what Naeven was now.  Nothing but trash to be done away with and forgotten about.

And he’d not chosen any of it.  He was Vanguard, yet his life, every dream he’d cherished and worked for had been stolen from him. 

A sound, starting low in his belly, increased in volume until his shriek of torment filled the air and bounced off the Halls of Waiting, down its vast corridors until nearly every head turned, their hearts heavy with sympathy.

Nienna rubbed his back and tucked Naeven’s head under her chin as she let him cry it out, shedding tears to match his own.

“My Lord?”

An Elven voice, with a Northern accent, reached Naeven’s ears.[5]  He lifted his head from Nienna’s breast and wiped his eyes.

“It was not I who summoned you, Saeros,” Námo said, his mouth curving up slightly.  “I believe that was my sister.”

The Elf entered the Throne Room from the door behind the dais.   He was clearly a Silvan; tall with deep red hair and clothed in a simple green gown with jewels on the collar.  He bowed before the thrones and turned to Nienna. “You wished to see me, My Lady?”

“I do not understand,” Naeven struggled to get his breathing under control. 

“You will in a minute.  First I must pronounce your fate.” Námo threw his shoulders back and deepened his voice. “Naeven, son of Novon, child of Rivendell—”

“That’s what they call it in the Common Tongue, dearest,” Vairë corrected him.  “The Elves call it Imladris.  You always forget.”

“My apologies,” the Lord of the Dead replied.  “Perhaps you might want to remind me in private?  It is unseemly for a Vala to be reprimanded thus.”

Vairë rolled her eyes.  Saeros smothered a smile.  The guards cleared their throats. The servant of Nienna giggled before she could stop herself.

“They do this all the time,” Nienna whispered to him. 

“May I continue, please?” Námo asked, quirking an eyebrow.  “Naeven, son of Novon, we have searched your life and your soul and decree that you are an honorable Elf.  Had you had any sort of choice, you would never have undertaken the tasks forced upon you.  Therefore, punishment will be given to the person responsible for these evil and destructive deeds.  All punishment, save one, I am afraid, for not even I can break the laws of Eru Ilúvatar. 

“Whether or not you willed it, Narseg and Meássë died at your hand, and for that reason, the White Shores of Aman will forever be closed to you.  However, because you were not responsible, I offer you a comfortable existence in my Halls.”

“I… will not be cast out into the…?”

“You will not,” he said.  “I am glad the Lady Nienna thought to have Saeros come, for he, too, was captured by the same wickedness and all that he might have been was stolen from him.”

Naeven’s eyes whipped up to meet Saeros’s green ones.  “Is this true?”

“It is,” Saeros held up one of his arms, and there was a hand missing.  “My hand bore a ring that was given me as a child.  Yet I do not miss it; and for the first time since I can remember, I know what it is to have love in my heart.  I am happy, Mellon nîn.  I would choose no other existence.”

“But would you not miss the chance to be in Valinor?”

“In this I am fortunate, for my parents, out of love for me, chose also to stay here.  Whatever joy I might have found there, is nothing if I could not be with them.”  Saeros rested his other hand on Naeven’s shoulder. 

“I will never see mine,” tears stung Naeven’s eyes. “I am alone.”

“Not alone,” the red-haired Elf said softly.  “Let us be your family now.”

Now Naeven’s tears were from relief.  Nienna, of course, joined in and, this time, the jewels that fell from her eyes were all the colors of the rainbow.  Once again, the dark-haired servant gathered them up and carefully placed them in the velvet, draw-stringed bag, then handed it to Naeven.

"What is this?" he asked, puzzled.

"Take that to the seamstresses here," Saeros leaned in and whispered.  "They will use them for your new garments."

"Th... Thank you," he said, his jaw slack.  

Saeros gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. “May I take him to his rooms to get settled, My Lord?”

“Not just yet.  There is One he must face, so doubt that lingers in this Ellon’s heart will be destroyed.  One cannot truly be light until they have faced the darkness and walked through it.  Nienna, Saeros, I ask that you remain with your new friend, while we see to this regretful business.”

The Vala and the red-haired Elf bowed their heads and they all waited. 

A few moments later, the giant doors opened and an entire company of the Soldiers of Mandos entered, with a petite, raven-haired Elleth amidst them, bound in chains.

“Lusiël,” Naeven gasped.  Without realizing it, he leaned forward to stand, but the firm hands on each shoulder kept him down. 

Once again, Nienna took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “This will be difficult,” she whispered softly, “but do not be afraid.   Now that you are free, this is your chance to show her the Vanguard you are, yes?”

Naeven licked his lips and nodded. 

“Bring her before my Throne,”  the Lord of the Dead’s voice boomed and vibrated through everyone present.  The Vala was no longer benevolent; his beauty was terrifying and even Saeros’s hand on his shoulder trembled.

Lusiël’s gaze fell, eyes wide with bewilderment and humility.  Her eyes quickly darted in Naeven’s direction, and he felt an old familiar pull as if she had tugged on an invisible string. 

“Help me,” she pleaded quietly.  “I do not know why they are treating me this way.  Tell them, Meleth nîn; tell them how much I love you!”  She moved her head and met his eyes fully, and his mind became cloudy with a beautiful green mist and for a moment, he thought the meaning of his very existence, his entire life was made for her, to give her everything her heart desired.  And she wanted—she desired to be free of those chains, so they could live as she had always promised.

All he had to do was open his mouth and speak.  To tell Námo that he was wrong, that Lusiël loved him and together they would keep all their loved ones from harm.  His parent’s farm would always prosper, his Lord and his home need never fear the coming War. They would be together; they would marry and his fëa and hers would join and become something so miraculous, surely even the Valar would see it and understand. 

Naeven rose from his chair.  Saeros tried to stop him, but Nienna grabbed his wrist.  “No,” she murmured.  “He must do this alone, or she will always haunt him.”

But Naeven didn’t hear that.

All he heard was his own heart, thrumming in his chest, the blood pounding in his ears.  Lusiel held his gaze, the glow in her eyes growing brighter with every step he took until he was before her.  The guards stepped out of his way. 

It was right there.  All he’d been striving for.  She was so beautiful, so powerful, that she could be anything, and because he would be with her, he would be everything.

All he had to do was open his mouth—

Then an image, a small, split-second memory came to him.  Barely a moment, really.  But it was one of the most important moments, because it was his last living memory of his life in Middle Earth.

Of him at the North Gates of Imladris, with Aldon.  Of Lusiël on the steed he had readied to help her escape.   Of her riding through the streets at top speed and with a wave of her hand, the North Gates opened.  Aldon had no time to react, but he had opened his mouth to protest.  Lusiël shouted out a curse and his colleague fell to the ground.  Then she turned to him with a smile.

But a child was with her.  The child of Narseg and Meássë, whose parents he had killed for the Elleth he loved.  This child was an orphan because of him, and though Lusiël’s smile was wide, Meássë’s child pleaded to him with eyes full of fear. 

Fear for her life.  And that was not right.  Neither was the green mist that filled his last living thought.

“Naeven?” Lusiël sobbed.  “Tell them it is not true!  Please!”

 He did open his mouth, then.

But it was not to say Yes.

“No,” he spat, his lips curling in contempt.  “Never again.”

He held Lusiël’s gaze, summoning all his will.  The love in her eyes was replaced with anger, and for a time, she tried to conquer him through force, but he stood alone before her and thought of the friends she had made him betray, the Lord he had disappointed, and the family—Ai, Naergon!  His mother and father, who had been so proud of him…

Red-hot rage surged within him, and for a time it threatened to burn him inside out.  But Naeven held fast to the values he’d been taught, to the code of honor that all Vanguard held dear.   And gradually that hate faded away to…nothing.  No love, no hate; nothing…

…and he was truly free of her.

“I pity you, Lusiël.  You brought your doom upon yourself, and where you are going, none can save you,” he said, breathing free air at last.  “After this day, I will not waste another thought on you.”

This time, all pretenses fell from Lusiël’s countenance, and she screamed in outrage. Námo and Vairë descended their thrones as she called them filthy names until all three Valar stood behind Naeven.  With a casual wave, Námo silenced her forever.  Lusiël’s eyes dulled into a muddy grey, and her lips faded to match her colorless cheeks.  She feebly struggled against her guards, mouth opening and closing, until at last she realized her predicament.

“You were given a rare gift, Lusiël, daughter of Lucian.  Of your own free will did you offer it to the Dark Lord for his purposes.  Of your own free will did you cause the capture and torture of the Lady Celebrain, granddaughter of the High King of the Noldor.  Of your own free will did you ensnare your people and cause the unnatural deaths of four of your kind, including your own cousin!”

A dastardly wind lifted Naeven’s hair.  Námo eyes blazed lightning, and his voice, that only a moments ago was bickering fondly with his wife and sister was unrecognizable.

“I hereby banish thee.  I banish thee from all that is good in Arda. [6]  I banish thee from all that is good in Eä. [7]  I banish thee into the Void, to the end of all days. [8]  There you will be with the gods you worship and learn for yourself how little they know of mercy.”

The golden lamps trembled, the shiny pillars threated to fall over, sending the ceiling crashing down upon them. The ground shook with a force that nearly knocked Naeven and Saeros off their feet.  Nienna grabbed onto him, while Vairë took hold of Saeros and they held on tight.

“LET THE VOID TAKE YOU! BEGONE!”

Lusiël slowly faded before him, her eyes wide with terror, her mouth open in a silent scream. She disappeared, her chains crashing to the floor with a racket.

And all was quiet again, as if it had never happened. 

“Elo…” Naeven murmured. 

“Iston,” Saeros agreed.

Námo turned to face them, shook out his robes and gave them a smile.  “Are you not glad I am on your side?”

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Ai, Naergon! – Oh, what sorrow

Elo… - Wow…

Hánonya méla – (Q.) my dear brother

Iston – I know

Melmenya – (Q.) My love

Naw! – It is so!

Nésnya – (Q.) My sister

Tir-Limbë – (Q.) “Swift-guard.”  Lagrôval’s true name.

Vennya – (Q.) My husband

NOTES:

[1] Olórin – Gandalf/Mithrandir’s name as a Maia

[2] SCOM, Ch. 17: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090521/chapters/79447126

[3] http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Taniquetil

[4] The Final Battle, where Morgoth will be defeated by Túrin Turambar: http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Final_Battle

[5] SCOM, Ch. 23: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/53774125

[6] The World; http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/World

[7] The Universe; http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Ea

[8] The Void is beyond Time and Space, where Morgoth is bound. http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Void

Chapter Text

“The line that ran through my life wasn’t an elegant, silken thread.  Mine had become an inextricably tangled, balled up mess, yet the line remained unbroken; it still ran end to end.”

― Amie Gabriel, KINTSUKUROI HEART: More Beautiful For Having Been Broken

Rivendell, 11^th of March 2946 T.A.

Elrohir went to the door of Vildan’s apartment and knocked.  “Elladan?  Are you ready?”

His brother opened the door with Melui on his hip.   “We are just finishing breakfast.  Could you braid her hair while I look for her shoes?”

Elrohir tickled the baby under her chin.  “Are you well, today sweetling?” He reached out his arms and took her from Elladan.

The child nodded with an eager smile, her long blonde waves moving and settling around her face.  “We ate in Vida’s room.  Then I told him a story.”

“That was nice of you.”  Elrohir sat down on the sofa and picked up the brush from the side table and started at the ends of Melui’s long locks, working upwards.  “Lord Elrond says it is good to talk to him, yes?”

 “El’dan says it will give him good dreams.”

“I am sure of it,” he smiled.  “Would you like all your hair in a braid or a small one in the back here?” he touched the top of her head.  “Then we can leave half of it down.”

“A small one, please.” She stood between his knees.  “Can you put flowers in it?”

Elrohir’s eyes swept the room.  “I do not see any here.  Perhaps when we are finished, we could find some.”

Elladan came out of her room with a triumphant smile.  “Found them!” he took in the sight of Melui standing calmly for his brother.  “How did you do that?” he frowned.  “She hates having her hair brushed!”

“So, you thought to curse me with the task?” Elrohir rolled his eyes.  “Melui?  Why are you behaving for me and not for Elladan?”

“You asked me nice,” the child shrugged.

“But I am nice,” Elladan protested.

“I think she means I asked her how she wanted her hair done.”  Elrohir’s brow quirked with a grin.   “Does my brother pick out your clothes and shoes?”

She nodded with a stubborn frown.

“Hold still while I fasten this, tithen pen.”  He picked up the small leather string and fastened it around the end of the braid.  “Is that why you hid those boots?  You do not like them?”  At her giggled affirmation, Elrohir grinned.   “Arwen was like this at her age, do you remember?  She liked to pick out her own things to wear.”

“Do you remember that Arwen insisted upon wearing the same dress every day for weeks on end?” Elladan grimaced.  “Ada and Naneth were beside themselves!”

“Melui,” Elrohir turned her around to face him.  “Shall we strike a bargain?”

“What?”

“You may wear whatever clothing you like, provided they are warm enough,” he counted his fingers, “and they are clean.  And,” he held up a third finger, “you will not protest when they need to be taken for a wash.  Do we have a deal?”   The Elf held out his hand, which the child shook.

“What is a ‘deal?’”

“It means the same thing as a bargain,”  Elladan smiled down at her.  “They say that in the North.  Mostly by a Man named Lord Percy.”

“All right,” she set her jaw and asked.  “I would like my blue dress and my brown boots.”

“But you are already wearing…”  Elladan closed his eyes and took a cleansing breath.  “Very well, then.  Let us get you changed.” 

Before Elladan took her back into her room, she turned to Elrohir with a cheeky grin, which he returned with a wink.

“Good morning,” Elrond smiled at Melui, when they finally made it to his study. “How are you, my dear?”

“Mae govannen,” she curtsied.  “Ni bain.”

“Our apologies for our tardiness,” Elrohir spoke for them.  “Elladan is discovering the joys of child care.”

“You will get the gist of that, soon,” Elrond said.  “Just be grateful there is only one of her.”

“Ai,” Glorfindel shook his head ruefully.  “I still have nightmares of the two of you at her age.”  With a mischievous smile, he addressed Melui.  “Later, I will tell you some stories of their adventures; would you like that?”

Elladan covered her ears.  “Do not give her any ideas!”

At this, Elrond laughed.  “It would be no more than you deserved for turning Imladris upside down on for nearly seventy years!”

At the west window of Elrond’s study, the sound of fluttering feathers and a sharp “Kak-kak-kak-kak,” announced the arrival of Lagrôval the falcon, who settled himself on the open sill and began to groom his feathers.

Mithrandir’s fingers rested on his mouth to hide a pleased smile.

“That is another mystery that needs to be solved,” Glorfindel said. 

“There is no mystery,” Elrohir said.  “Melui has been with these birds since she was an infant; they know her and see her as one of their own.”

“But there is more to it, I think,” Elrond gave the Wizard a sidelong glance.

“See for yourself.”  Mithrandir extended a fist to Melui.  When she tapped on his fingers, they opened to reveal a lovely butterfly that flew into small circles above their heads. The child squealed with delight, before it flew out the window.

“Very good!” the Wizard clapped his hands with a laugh.  “Here, Mail nîn,” he smiled and with a twist of his wrist, produced a cookie from thin air. “This is your reward.” 

“Hannon le,” she grinned, exposing her perfect little teeth, and took a bite. 

“That was Melui?” Elladan’s eyes were like saucers.  “I did not know she could do that.”

“She can, now,” Mithrandir’s blue eyes danced under his bushy grey brows.  “Which is why I asked for her to be brought here for a few minutes.” 

Elrond patted the baby’s head.  “Melui, Lindir would like you to keep him company at his desk for a while.  Would you please go with him, now?” 

The Aide appeared and extended his hand with a smile. “I have some drawing pencils and paper all ready.  Perhaps you might want to make some pictures for your friends here?  Elladan will come get you when we are done talking.”

“Athon!”  Melui grinned, and, after waving to the others, grasped Lindir’s fingers and left.

Elrond called the meeting to order by saying.  “There are many things we need to discuss this morning, but let me begin by saying I have received a message from King Thranduil concerning recent events in the North.”  He reached into his drawer and pulled out a sheet of thin paper.  “He writes that there was an attack on Dale involving the kidnapping of Vildan’s mare and her foal.  Though they recovered both safely, one of his people were killed and two others seriously injured.  He is quite angry, and to be frank, I cannot say I blame him.” [1]

“Why would he blame you for this?” Elrohir’s ire rose.  “You are not responsible for what goes on in their Kingdoms!”

“True, but I failed to inform him of the prophecy concerning Mistanâr and her descendants, Ion nîn.  He believes, and rightly so, that had he known, he would have assigned the horses better security.”

“To be fair,” Elrohir replied, “we had no idea the foal—Trastapîn?—was significant.  After all, she mated with an ordinary stallion, did she not?”

“Do not be so quick to demean the horses from Lord Thranduil’s stables,” Mithrandir warned.  “They may not have Meara blood, but they are by no means lowly.”

Elrohir agreed.  “I remember Tauriel’s horse.  He is a credit to his line; the Elvenking would not allow his child to have any less than the best.”

“I am at fault as well,” Glorfindel shook his head ruefully. “I had assumed that the mare fulfilled her destiny by staying east of the Misty Mountains, and thought no more of it.”

“Let us not waste time on blame; ourselves or otherwise,” Elrond decreed.  “I am drafting a long missive explaining Mistanâr’s prophesies at her birth, along with an account of the recent calamity here.  My question to you is this:  what do we say about Vildan and his condition?  And if we reveal it to Thranduil, should we ask him not to tell his daughter?”

The twins exchanged glances, and his brother’s answer didn’t surprise Elrohir in the slightest.  “Vildan and Tauriel do not correspond, to spare each other reminders of what they believe cannot be.  It might be different if Tauriel wrote to him—she would be concerned and angry if he did not respond.”

“I agree it would be unnecessarily cruel,” Elrohir said.  “What purpose would it serve?  We do not know what Vildan’s outcome will be, yet.  She would want to come here, of that I am sure, but not only is she committed to serving as protector of King Bard’s children, she is banned from traveling through her father’s kingdom for at least six more years.”

“But the biggest reason we should keep this to ourselves,” Elladan continued, “is that I believe Vildan might not only be furious if Tauriel discovered this, but he would also be humiliated.  Ada, this is something we must wait and ask Vildan himself.”

“They are right, Mellon nîn,” Mithrandir said.  “Not even I can say what will happen, and believe me, I have looked.  I know Thranduil is a friend, as well as a distant relation, Elrond.  Would it be kind to put him in a position where he has to lie to his own daughter?”

“Perhaps not.”  Elrond nodded his head decisively.  “Very well. Melui and her welfare is our next item to settle today.”  He sat back against the tall, padded back of his chair and rested his hands in his lap.  “Since the events of this past week, there have been some new revelations concerning her welfare.”  He extended his hand toward the Grey Wizard.  “Mithrandir?”

 After  a respectful nod, the Wizard began. “The Lord of the Eagles rarely shares his insights with anyone, but in this case, he has made an exception.  He confirmed that Lagrôval has indeed been appointed Melui’s protector.”

“He told you the reasons she still needs protection?” Elladan’s brow wrinkled. 

“Some of them, yes.  Though we are sure that Meássë’s wishes are part of the reason, there is more to it, and due to some recent events in the Halls of Mandos, Melui has become increasingly important to the Valar.”

This piqued everyone’s interest.  “Go on,” Elrond’s brow rose quizzically.  

“I must backtrack a bit to explain fully,” Mithrandir shifted in his seat and crossed his legs. “And I must also impart some disturbing news,   Glorfindel was correct in thinking that Naeven killed Meássë and Narseg, though he did so under Lusiël’s power.”

Elrohir winced, and waited for the inevitable questions from his twin.

“Are you certain?” Elladan’s face grew pallid, and two angry splotches appeared on each cheek.

“We are,” Glorfindel’s voice was gentle.  “Naeven’s family know nothing about it.  They believed he and Lusiël were in love and would eventually marry.” 2

Elladan’s eyes filled with fury.  “Why did you not tell me?” he demanded of Elrohir.

“Forgive my cowardice, Gwanunig,” he whispered.  “I did not know how to tell you.  You have been worried about Vildan and Melui and…”

“Don’t blame your brother,” the Wizard said, patting Elladan on the shoulder.  “He only meant to be kind.” He glanced at Elrond.  “How many people know the truth about this?”

“Only the people in this room,” the Elf-Lord said.

 “Good.  I am told Lord Námo and Lady Nienna have extended what mercy they can to Naeven, and I see no need to burden his family with the entire story,” Mithrandir said firmly.  “What do you think?”

“I agree,” Glorfindel steepled his fingers.  “In all other ways, he was an honorable Elf; he was a victim, too.”  He gave Elladan a compassionate look.  “Do not be angry at Elrohir.  He was devastated on your behalf.”

“I would have liked to have been told,” Elladan’s mouth pressed into an angry line.

“Where?” Glorfindel waved his hand.  “Such things can only be discussed safely in this room! Better to hear this here, where our words are protected from outsiders, and where no one will see your sorrow but those who love you the most.”

Elladan’s gaze dropped to the floor, and after quickly wiping his eyes, he nodded.  “I am sorry.”

Mithrandir leaned forward and lifted his chin.  “Do not be.  Just be grateful, as we are.  Do you understand what didn’t happen?  You could have been one of Lusiël’s victims! I think it was your affection for her that saved you and your brother. Didn’t I tell you that day in the woods how much the Dark Lord desires such prizes?  Between her own inherent powers and that necklace, Lusiël could have easily done it, and not even I could have stopped it.”

“Necklace?” Elrond sat up straighter.

“Ada,” Elrohir cleared his throat.  “When we recovered Lusiël’s body, she had been wearing one of  Nana’s pendants—the emerald one.”

Elrond’s face went ghost-white.  “What?” he asked in a thin voice.

“Elrond, my dear friend,” Mithrandir took a deep breath. “I am afraid Lusiël’s machinations went far beyond using Naeven as her pawn.  When your sons recovered Lusiël’s body, they found what they believed to be your wife’s necklace which had been enchanted.  I have since learned it was a replica of Celebrian’s emerald pendant, but, I am assured, is not the original.  Pallando wanted Lusiël to think it was her former Lady’s, but this was created and cursed long before Celebrian’s capture.”

“Pallando was involved in…”

“Her capture, yes,” the Wizard said sadly.  “I am sure this possibility has occurred to you.”

“Lusiël herself was not just pawn of Pallando?”

Mithrandir pursed his lips in a pause before he said, “No.  And yes.”

Elrond’s gaze grew intense.  “What do you mean?”

“Long before she encountered the Blue Wizard, her heart had been dark.  He did not give her the power she was born with, though he and Sauron enhanced it and used it to the Dark Lord’s purposes.”  He let out a deep sigh and looked upon Elrond with compassion.  “It pains me to tell you this, but Lusiël gave Pallando the information that resulted in the Lady Celebrian’s attack.  She coveted power and control, and played right into the Dark Lord’s hands.”

The stunned silence in the study hung heavy in the air.  Elrohir rose from his chair, stood beside his father and rested his hand upon Elrond’s shoulder.  “We are all here for you, Ada.”

 But the Elf-Lord didn’t seem to notice.  He stared off into space, his eyes blank with shock and grief.  Elladan buried his face in his hands with a groan, his shoulders beginning to shake with silent sobs.  Glorfindel leaned over and put his arm around Elladan’s shoulders. 

“The fault is not yours,” he said.  “She had us all fooled.”

“I am truly sorry,” Mithrandir whispered.  “But it is better to learn this in private from a friend.  All we can do is learn from this and take steps to prevent it from happening again.  Lusiël hid her true self behind a mask of shyness,” his gaze swept the room as his tone grew determined, “but we need to come up with a plan to discover if there are any more minions or objects of the Dark Lord among you.  With your permission, Elrond, I would like to stay for a few months work with Glorfindel on this.”

“You have it, with my thanks,” the Elf-Lord said absently, still struggling to recover.

“I also want to spend time with little Melui,” Mithrandir said.  “It might be wise to discover the depths of her talents and help her manage them.  Which brings me to probably the most important piece of news I have today.

“I am told that before Lusiël was cast into the Void, Námo, stripped her of the powers she’d been born with.”  Mithrandir’s gaze swept the room and landed on the eldest son of Elrond, whose eyes filled with  a growing horror. “He and the rest of the Valar have decided to bless Melui with all the potential that had been given to Lusiël.”

“Melui is just a baby!” Elladan cried.  “What if she becomes a monster like Lusiël?”

“She will not for several reasons:  Unlike Lusiël, we know about her gifts at the outset, which will help us guide her.”

“Such blessings can often become a curse, Mithrandir.”  Elrond said warily. “If the safety of my people are at risk, I cannot—"  

“I completely understand,” Mithrandir lifted his hand. “Great blessings come with great responsibility. None of the Valar wish to see the same mistake repeated.  Therefore, Lagrôval is to receive orders from Lord Gwaihir, who answers to King Manwë Súlimo himself.” [3]

“The High King of the Valar?” Elladan squeaked.

“There is more.  As of now, Melui, daughter of Narseg and Meássë, foster-daughter of Vildan, his under the personal protection of  Lady Vairë herself.”

Once again, the room was full of dropped jaws and shocked silence. 

“Elo,” Elrohir murmured after a few moments.  “When you say you have news, you were not jesting!”

***************

City of Dale,  10^th of March 2946 T.A.

The day after the trial, the Royal Family of Dale gathered in the Castle Gardens around the fresh mound of Thangon’s grave, and set flowers and greenery next to the large soup bone and piece of thick, knotted rope that Lewis and Greta had placed earlier.

While the Elves sang, Bard closed his eyes and let his mind wander.

Only now did Bard understand how much he had come to depend upon Thangon’s quiet, steady presence in his life.  Countless times had he wanted to tear his hair out from the endless minutiae of running a kingdom, only to glance over and see the dog do something ridiculous.  And Bard would laugh, the knots in his shoulders would ease, and his day was made bearable.

A thousand small moments combined to form one constant image: Thangon, tongue lolling from his mouth, his tail thumping on whatever cushion he happened to be on, wanting nothing but to be with him. 

While Thranduil and Tauriel enjoyed their time in the evening to walk the dogs and relax, it was part of Bard’s routine take Thangon out for his morning ablutions, and walk quietly on the Castle grounds or through the early morning streets, when most people were still abed.  A King’s day—his life—was almost never his own, but Thangon’s natural exuberance and his wonder at the smallest things, reminded Bard not to get so swallowed up in the problems of his kingdom and his people that he lost his own joy.

That was the best word to describe the giant dog that had left such a hole in his heart:  Joyful.

Once Thranduil had finished leading the Elves in song.  Bard stepped forward, raised his hands over the mound and said a quick blessing, and the Kings gathered the family and took them upstairs for some quiet time.

“He was Meryl’s best friend,” Tilda said, crawling into Bard’s lap.  “I remember when Daeron took us to meet dogs like him at the palace and I was scared of them. ^[4]  But he helped rescue us, when those bad men took us, didn’t he?” ^[5]

“He sure did, sweetheart,” Bard rubbed her upper back. 

“Thangon was very brave,” Thranduil smiled down at her. 

Meryl jumped onto the couch and curled up next to Bard’s hip, laying her head between her paws with a soft whine.

“She was never scared of him, even when she was a tiny puppy.” Tilda stroked the little dog’s wrinkled face. 

“Did you know your Ada drew a picture of the first time Meryl and Thangon met?” Bard kissed Tilda’s temple.

“Could you show it to me?” Tilda gazed up at the Elvenking. 

“It is in one of my books, but I think I will make a copy for our mantle.”

“I’d like that,” Bard’s eyes stung.  “Stars, I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on him.  Did I ever tell you kids that story?”

The children, as well as Legolas shook their heads.  Tauriel smothered a smile.

“It was hilarious,” Percy huffed a laugh.  “Feren had brought him to the Great Hall a few days earlier. And half those men were quaking in their boots!”

“Really?” From his place on the floor, Bain’s back straightened.

“Oh, aye.  When your Da returned from Dale after taking you kids to the Palace, I hid the beast in your Da’s room.  He nearly had a heart attack the first time he laid eyes on him!” Percy’s belly jiggled in laughter. “I’ll never forget how big his eyes got!” he guffawed. “Now that’s something you need to draw, Thranduil!” [6]

Soon one story was followed by another, and the melancholy gathering turned into a merry celebration of the huge dog’s life. 

Which is how Thangon would want to be remembered--with smiles and laughter.

**************

City of Dale, 11^th of March 2946 T.A.

The people of Dale gathered that evening for a memorial reception in honor of the Elf Voron, who had been popular and well-respected during his tenure in Dale.  His father, mother, and brother came to accept their sincere condolences, as well as share their memories of him. Percy and Constable Tom sat at their table, all laughing at some anecdote or another.  Thranduil was delighted to see the smiles on Voron’s father’s face. 

The Potluck dinner was also meant as an apology to Jack, who had recently been proven innocent, as well as to Evan and Eryn, for doubting any of them.  Eryn’s mother, who had been rather vocal of her disapproval a few days ago, had changed her tune, and was currently hovering over the young man, making sure he had plenty to eat. Judd, the son of Farmer Jarvis who had helped to clear his name was also there, and from the looks of their animated conversation, the two of them were becoming good friends.

As he sat next to Bard at the Royal Family’s table, Thranduil, not for the first time, marveled at his husband’s people.  Their tempers could be short, but quickly turned to joy, and—speaking for the Dale folk, at least—willing to admit their wrongs and make reparations.  This is certainly something Elves could learn, he thought, as he took a sip of his favorite wine. 

Since he moved to Dale to be with his new family, the Elvenking couldn’t begin to list all the other blessings that came from it.  Of course, he always enjoyed visiting Old Dale under the rule of Bard’s ancestors, but it wasn’t until Smaug destroyed the city, that he understood Dale’s importance. He and Daín may have played a part in shaping the Northern Kingdoms as it is now, but it was Bard and the good people of Laketown who fully restored this city into a center for culture and art and variety.  

It was a good night, and a good way to keep his mind off things.  Tomorrow, he would be heading to the Palace for some gruesome business.   With a small shudder, he lifted the glass to his lips and emptied it.  Not now, he told himself. 

“Here you go, My Lord,” Roderic came up to their table and handed Bard a large mug of ale.  “Your favorite brew.”

“Thanks,”  the King of Dale took it gratefully.  Bain came up to stand beside Rod, with a purposeful smile.

“I haven’t had a chance to say, but we’re sure sorry to lose Thangon,” Rod told him.  “He was a grand lad.”

“He was.” 

“In fact,” Rod exchanged glances with Bain.  “We’ve been asked to come get you; there’s a group of folks here who want to pay their respects.”

“Would you come talk to them?” Bain asked.  “I guess a lot of people loved him, too; not just us.”

Bard rose and grabbed his mug.  “Sounds good,” he said, though his eagerness didn’t meet his eyes.  “Are you coming, love?”

“Not just now,” Thranduil squeezed his hand.  “You and Bain go and enjoy yourselves.”

As he watched his husband and son walk toward the other tables, he recalled Lewis the Cook’s words to him the other night. [7]  There were stories that needed to be told, that Bard needed to hear.  It might help him sleep without a losta-luith for the first time nearly a week.

Thranduil needed the rest, too, but hesitated to ask Daeron to come.  He wanted at least one of them to be alert in case something should happen, and… maybe he didn’t want to sleep because he feared what dreams might come before tomorrow. 

“Were you and Bain arguing just now?” he asked Bard that night as they crawled into bed.  “I heard loud voices from his room.”

“He wants to go with you tomorrow, to be present when you execute the prisoners,” Bard rubbed his jaw.  “And he wasn’t pleased when I said no.”

“Of course, he was not,” the Elvenking settled with his head on his husband’s shoulder.  “One has to admire his eagerness to learn the burdens of Kingship.”

“That’s just it,” Bard said grimly.  “Is ‘Kinging’ what this is really about?  Or is it morbid curiosity?  All boys his age think of those things as an adventure, like the stories in the books you give him to read.”

“I do not agree, Meleth nîn.  Bain fought valiantly in the Battle, and those Orcs were certainly real enough.”  Thranduil sat up and looked into his Bowman’s eyes.  “He stood with you in that bell tower when you killed Smaug; you doubt that the Dragon’s hot breath against the back of his neck was real?   He had nightmares for months that first winter.” [8]  He gently ran his finger down the side of Bard’s cheek.  “You want to protect him, and I admire you for that, but again, would it not be better to face it when we can still guide him?”

“Not that.”  Bard looked off to the side with irritation.  “I don’t want him to think that stuff comes easy.  In fact, I’m not sure I will allow the death penalty here.”

“You changed your mind?”

Bard turned back to him; brows furrowed.   “What do you mean?”

“When we were taking the women and children to the Palace for the Long Winter, Daeron told you about the man who murdered his wife and unborn child, yes?  You agreed at the time that King Girion was right to execute him.  In fact, your exact words were, ‘I plan on doing the same thing, should it ever occur in my Kingdom.’” [9] 

“It seemed a lot easier when I wasn’t condemning anyone myself.” Bard swore under his breath and sat up against the headboard.  Besides, if you start thinking in terms of ‘a life for a life,’ where will it end?  It easy enough for someone like you…”  Bard paused, and closed his eyes.  “I’m sorry; that didn’t come out right.   I only meant—"

“What do you mean?” Thranduil’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think it is easy for me, just because I have had to do it numerous times over the course of my reign?” he couldn’t stop the edge in his voice.   “I promise you, Bard, it is not!   ‘A life for a life?’ What foolish notion is that?   I do it because the safety of the people in my kingdom, as well as those human villages under my protection must always come first!  If you think I relish such actions then you are gravely mistaken!”  he pulled away from Bard angrily.

 “Those laws were written long before I was born, and I do not carry out the sentence myself because I think it is easy; I do that because I love my people too much to let them be burdened with the guilt that comes with it!”

“I only meant—"

“I know what you meant!” Thranduil got up from the bed and grabbed his robe.  “I told you that I would respect your decisions about the death penalty for certain crimes; am I not entitled to the same consideration?  Who are you to judge me or my people!”

“Where are you going?” Bard said, throwing his own covers off and getting out of bed.  “Look, don’t—"

“No, Bard!” he held up his hand. “I agree that Bain shouldn’t be there; only because he is too young for such a horrible thing.  You have been busy, and I understand that, but I have had a hard enough time anticipating this, and you are not making it any easier!” And with that, he stormed out of the room.

Thranduil was sitting at the long, rough table in the kitchen drinking his third cup of tea when soft slippers scuffed along the stone tiles.  Bard appeared in his green robe and slippers. 

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “I really am.  All this week, you’ve been nothing but supportive.  You looked after everything when we had to bring Thangon back, even though you lost Voron and were worried sick about Amrol and Haden.  Even before the trial, you took the time to make sure I wasn’t nervous.”  Bard sat down on the bench beside him, his eyes wet with tears.  “I should have thought more about what this was like for you.  I’m a thoughtless, selfish arsehole, and I don’t blame you for getting mad at me.”  He laid his head on Thranduil’s shoulder.  “I didn’t mean to sound like I judged you, love.  It’s just that all this reminds me of how little I really know about Kinging compared to you, and it’s hard to keep my head above water some days.

“But that’s no excuse. Since the day you rode into Dale, you’ve never wavered in your love or support, and one of the few times you really need me…”  Bard swallowed hard, his voice cracked.  “It kills me that I ended up hurting you more.”

Thranduil stared down at his cup as a tear fell from his eye.  Salt mixed with herbs and sugar.  The sweet and the bitter seemed fitting.  “Just because I have more experience, does not mean I do not struggle, Bard.  I do not want to…” his voice seized up and he couldn’t talk.

“I realize that, now.  Forgive me for taking you for granted.”  Warm lips brushed against his temple and his cheek.  “I love you, Thranduil.  And there is no being on Middle Earth that I respect more.  You are a good King, love.  I was just tired and sick of this whole mess.”

Thranduil reached up and grasped the hand sitting on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.  “Those men deserve to die, and I will not apologize for that.”

“Nor should you.  And you’re right; if anyone were to come here and hurt one of our kids, I’d kill them.   Why should I be less protective of one of my people?”

The Elvenking said nothing, but leaned his head against Bard’s. 

“Come on, love,” Bard rose from the bench and grabbed Thranduil’s cup.  “I have a new plan; we will go upstairs, get a good night’s sleep, then I’m coming with you in the morning.”

“Bard, I do not—”

“Thranduil,” Bard pulled his husband to stand and handed him his tea, “I’m going to stand with you, and after, I’m going to take you to our rooms and hold you,” he kissed him, “and hold you,” he kissed him again, “and hold you, until it stops hurting.”

Two days later, Bard stood tall in the Throne room, as the King of the Woodland realm, looking strong and resplendent in his official crown, slowly descended his high throne with his father’s sword.  After a deep breath and a silent prayer, he executed the three prisoners, then ordered that their bodies be taken south to be fodder for the creatures of the forest and what spiders remained there.  And Bard pried his fingers off the the handle of his father's sword and handed away to Feren who gave the Bowman a nod of approval and saw to the disposal of the bodies and ordered the clean up.   Bard took his hands and drew him away from the Throne Room before anyone could see how badly Thranduil was shaking.

Speaking gently, Bard led him back to the Royal apartments and bathed him, carefully washing his hands and kissing each finger.  Bard took him into their bed and slowly made love to him, telling him softly that he wasn’t alone, that he was so loved.  As Thranduil came with a hard sob, Bard looked deep into his fëa, saw his fear and pain and cried with him.

Only then did the horrors of the day begin to fade, and he could feel clean again.

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Athon! – I am willing!

Elo - Wow

Gwanunig – Twin brother

Hannon le, hír nîn – Thank you, My Lord

Mae govannen; Ni bain – Greetings; I am good

Mail nîn – My dear

NOTES:

[1] SCOM, Ch. 8: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090521/chapters/73036815   

[2] SCOM, Ch. 21: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090521/chapters/81717646

[3] http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Manwe

[4] And Winter Came…, Ch. 4: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/27534306

[5] An Invincible Summer, Ch. 38: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/37370825

[6] What Makes a King, Ch. 32: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/27221007

[7] SCOM, Ch. 17: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090521/chapters/79447126

[8] And Winter Came; Ch. 8: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/27998778

[9] What Makes a King, Ch. 28:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/26829726

Chapter Text

City of Dale, 27^th of March 2946 T.A.

The spring rains in the North had finally started to let up, and the flowers of May were peeking through the soil in window boxes all over city.  Snapdragons, tulips and daffodils had been cheerily greeting the Dale folk for over a week now, while the rose buds were eager to greet the sun.

Birds were gathering supplies and preparing nests high in the pine trees, and, once done, the females, protected by their earth-toned feathers, snuggled down patiently as their mates went off in search of food and used their flamboyant colors to distract predators.   

The gardens in public parks boasted lovely blooms along their walkways. Even the weeds, courageously climbed up between the cobble stones, just as eager to see the warmer weather.  In the Castle Gardens, Rhian carefully monitored the spring bulbs and nurtured the small plants that struggled to grow among the bigger, healthier ones.   Cook and Greta had already put in Lewis’s herb garden, and spent each morning wandering through the rows, carrying their morning cups of tea.

When Bard took his early morning walks, he sat on the bench by hyacinths planted near Thangon’s grave and let their sweet fragrance fill his lungs and thought about his friend.  Last week, Tauriel had surprised them with a gravestone from Erebor with a stunning etching of the great dog himself highlighted in grey and polished smooth as glass.  The entire household was deeply moved at her thoughtfulness.  Bard could only hug his stepdaughter tight, and after drying her tears, told her once again that it wasn’t her fault and made her promise to stop blaming herself.   

Then he locked himself in his study for an hour, and when he came out again, his eyes were red and puffy.

Mistanâr and Trastapîn had physically recovered from their abduction, but while the mare suffered the touch of only a few, the filly wouldn’t allow anyone near her, no matter how patiently Tauriel or Cirion, the new stablemaster, tried to calm them.  They were kept in the stables weeks after the others were let out into the pasture, but Trastapîn needed fresh air and sweet grass to remain healthy. 

As promised, three new dogs had been installed to protect the beasts in the Royal Stables and watch over them in the pastures, though they were not of the same breed as normally used by the Woodland Elves.  Shortly after the Kings returned from the executions at the Palace, Thranduil rode out to see Farmer Jarvis and purchased three of his huge, white livestock dogs. 

“Why not Elven dogs?” Bard asked Thranduil, when they leaned against the fence and observed the scene.  “Wouldn’t they be more apt to spot danger?” He absently ran his hand back and forth along the rough wood, flinching when a splinter wedge itself in one of his fingers.  “Ow!”

“Here; let me see,”  Thranduil took his hand and after close inspection, removed the offending piece of wood and told Bard to suck on it, to stop the bleeding.   “To answer your question, let me remind you that Thangon was not magic, though we loved to think he was. These dogs are better suited to this type of work.”

The Elvenking’s hand snaked around Bard’s waist and pulled him close. “I also thought it would be easier on you, Meleth nîn.”

Bard stiffened, though he didn’t pull away.  “You shouldn’t have to worry about me like that; just do what’s best for them, yeah?”

“I am,” Thranduil said.  “Jarvis purchased his dogs from somewhere near Rohan, and I thought I might breed them and send them around to my villages to guard sheep and livestock.  Fahrui like Thangon and Beriel are best used for hunting and guarding, while these Famárë excel at guarding herds and taking them to safety.” 

“What do the children think of them?” Bard asked.  “I’m surprised Tilda didn’t ask for one.”

“Oh, she did,” Thranduil hugged him against his side.  “But Jarvis assures me these dogs, while friendly and patient with children, do not make good pets.  They dislike indoors, and prefer to sleep in barns or out in the open.”

“Greta and her staff will be thrilled; no more muddy footprints on their floors.” A slow, mournful breath escaped Bard as he studied the grass.  “I don’t know why I can’t get past it, love, but...” he rubbed his chest. 

“There is no need to explain,” warm lips kissed his cheek. 

“But you’re going to get me another dog, whether I like it or not.”

“When the time is right,” the Elvenking smiled.

“Not now, please?”

“Not now, Meleth nîn.” The Elvenking jerked his chin toward the white dogs. “I think they are making progress.”

Frey, a male, was the biggest of the three, and was clearly the leader of this pack, while he and Dag, another male and Frey’s pup, patrolled the perimeter of the herd constantly. Gerda, a female, positioned herself within five feet of Trastapîn and followed her wherever she went. 

This afternoon, she was lounging in the sun, her thick coat easily warding off the cool breeze, but as soon as Mistanâr and Trastapîn moved away to graze, the dog rose and settled next to her.   The foal turned back and took three tentative steps toward the dog.  Slowly, slowly, Trastapîn lowered her head, nostrils flaring, and stretched her neck until her nose was inches away from Gerda’s muzzle.   The dog became a statue, making no overture, though the tip of her bushy tail flapped against the ground.

Bard and Thranduil were also motionless, silent observers of what could be a sign that this beautiful, rare creature might trust her world again.  Mistanâr lifted her head from the grass and turned to watch her daughter, hope in her eyes as well. 

A full minute passed, and Bard had to remind himself to breathe.  Thranduil tightened his grip, and grabbed Bard’s other hand.

A small step forward.  Gerda cautiously stretched her muzzle until it was barely an inch from Trastapîn.   The foal closed the distance, and after a thorough sniff, the big dog licked the velvet nose with a soft whine.

“I think she made a new friend,” Bard whispered.

The Elvenking’s response was a beautiful, wide smile that filled his heart to bursting. 

The Bowman turned, held Thranduil’s face and kissed him.

“I love you so much,” he said. 

16^th of April 2946 T.A.

At the beginning of April, a messenger from Gondor arrived bearing a letter from Ecthelion II, heir of Steward Turgon.  He and his family were pleased at the invitation to visit the Kings of the North, thank you very much, and plan to arrive toward the second week of June and stay for a month, if that would be suitable. [1]  

“That would be perfect,” Bard handed his husband the letter.  “We’ll be leaving for Lothlórien at the beginning of August, so it gives us plenty of time.”

The family was thrilled.  Hilda wrung her hands. “Gondor!” she kept saying. “I can’t believe the Steward’s family will be coming here!  To see us!”

Galion tried to calm her down.  “They will love you, Brennil vuin; and I will make sure you know all the protocols by rote.  It will be fine.”  He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring smile. 

“Hil, these people put their pants on one leg at a time, just like the rest of us,” Percy added.  “Rôg, have you been to Gondor?”

“I regret to say I have not,” Rôgon got up to stand on the other side of Hilda.  “But Percy is right; your people have much to be proud of, and they cannot help but be impressed with all you have accomplished here.”

Thinking to be of help, Thranduil had gotten out several of his books and showed them pictures of the White City, explaining its history and significance during the second and third ages.  Bard and the children loved it, but when he was finished, Hilda’s eyes were like saucers.

And since then, she and Greta had been downright frightening; they planned to scrub not only the Castle from top to bottom, but the Great Hall, and the entire city.

Two weeks later, another messenger came from Rivendell, bearing a box containing a long letter from Lord Elrond.  After sending the Vanguard off for a good meal and a rest, Thranduil rushed into Bard’s study with Galion and quickly recited the opening spell.  He pulled out the sheaf of parchment and sat down to read.

“Does he apologize for keeping you in the dark about Vildan’s horses?” Bard gave him a wry smile,

But Thranduil didn’t answer. “Ai, siniath faeg,” he murmured, the color draining from his face.

“What terrible news?”  Bard’s stomach stirred and he placed his palms on his desk as if to push off.  “What happened?”

“Elrond apologizes for his neglect, and does offer an account of the Meara and her foal, but there is more,” the Elvenking’s voice was as pale as his face.  “Forgive me; I cannot bear to read it aloud.”  He handed the letter over to Bard and covered his eyes.

“What happened?” Percy pulled in a chair from his office and sat.  He gave Galion a worried look before his grey eyes fell upon Bard again.

Bard’s lips moved silently as he read the report.  “Oh, shit…” he murmured.  “Apparently—do you remember Saeros and that ring he had?”

“Oh, you’re kidding,” Percy’s mouth thinned into a straight line.  “Was it that bad?”

“It was a lot worse.  I never thought I’d say this, but we might have gotten off lucky.  Listen to this:

“’Many have been badly hurt, and a several have lost their lives, including the one who possessed a necklace we believe was cursed by the Dark Lord.  She had somehow managed to conceal  extraordinary black magic under the guise of extreme shyness. Myself, my Council and several members of my household were simultaneously incapacitated and nearly suffocated.  In the end, she lost her life falling from a cliff into the Bruinen, which had been dangerously rapid with the rains.   I

I never thought I would be glad for the death of one of our people, Thranduil, but this Elleth was responsible for the murder of Vildan’s sister and her husband.  She also killed two of my guards and her own cousin, Laniër. 

But as it transpires, Lusiël’s treachery goes back even further under what we assume to be Pallando’s tutelage.  You see, Lusiël, daughter of Lucian had served as a handmaiden to my dearest wife.  In her desire for power, Lusiël betrayed Celebrian by arranging her capture by Orcs, whose torture forced her to leave these shores.”

“Ai gorgor!” Galion clasped his throat, his eyes filled with tears. 

Bard lowered the paper and ran his thumbs under his eyes.  “I can’t begin to think how painful that must be.”

“The poor lad,” Percy shook his head.  “I hope that bitch is rotting wherever she is.”           

“She is,” Thranduil said with a heavy sigh.  “Can you read the rest, please?”

“’We were fortunate at the unexpected arrival of Mithrandir, who saved the lives of my beloved sons, and assists us with the aftermath of this calamity.  He tells me that the Valar have been merciful to all the victims, but as for Lusiël herself, the Lord of Mandos has declared her soul to be beyond redemption, and she was Cast Out.”

Galion covered his mouth to stifle the horrified cry that escaped his lips. 

Bard looked up from the page.  “I don’t know what that means.  Cast out where?”

“Into the Void,” Thranduil swallowed hard,  “where she will spend eternity with Melkor himself.  You may rest assured that whatever poor Celebrian endured, this Lusiël is receiving tenfold.”

“Ulmo’s balls,” Percy’s jaw went slack. “And Elrond had no idea that necklace was in Rivendell?”

“Nor did I, when Saeros carried his ring right under our very noses. ” Thranduil’s hands shook slightly as his eyes met Galion’s.  “How can such a thing remain hidden from Elrond?  If even he can be deceived…”  [2]

Bard’s brows lowered. “What does that mean?”

But Thranduil gave no answer, only gestured toward the letter.  “Read on; there is more.”

Once again, my dear friend, I ask for your apology regarding the lack of information about the Meara mare, and I hope you will forgive me.  Enclosed is a copy of Glorfindel’s prophecy made on the day of Mistanâr’s birth:  

‘Not since Eorl the Young rode Felaróf  to the aide of Gondor has this world seen the like.  Verily, there are also shadows of Nahar, the mighty steed of Oromë, from whom all the Meara have descended.

‘Great she may be, yet there will be two born from her line, one greater than any born in Aman. ‘The Lord of All Horses,’ he will be called, and will suffer none to ride him but those whom he deems worthy, and the fate of nations will rise or fall by the swiftness of his feet. The other shall be the bane of his Master, yet through him, One who cannot be felled by any man, will meet his doom.’ 

We did not inform Vildan of our observations at the mare’s birth, thinking it might adversely affect the Lieutenant’s relationship with her.   And indeed, we believe her presence east of the Misty Mountains is part of her destiny, though we cannot foresee much more than that.  We had no way of knowing Mistanâr would bear such a astonishing  foal, and I can only share in your relief that they are well and safe once again.

With my best regards, I am your servant,

Elrond, Lord of Imladris

P.S. Enclosed you will also find a short message from our friend Mithrandir.

Bard opened the box again. “Ah.  Here it is.”  He took out a small letter, broke the seal and read:

“’Bard and Thranduil—I will meet you in Lothlórien in August for the wedding, and speak with you then.—Gandalf the Grey.’”

“Short and to the point,” Percy shrugged.  “Why would he need to be there?”

But again, Thranduil’s eyes were closed as he slumped back in his chair in relief.

“De athae i Belain,” Galion said softly.

28^th of April 2946 T.A.

“Hi Da!  I’m home!”

The King of Dale was so focused on the crop projections for this year that he didn’t look up when Tilda stuck her head into the door of his study. “Hey there Beanie!” he waved absently. “How was school today?”

“Pretty good,” she said, pulled the strap of her satchel off her shoulders.  “Is it okay if I do my homework later?  I’m want to go ride for a with Ruvyn.”

“Mmm Hmm.”  His finger followed the column of numbers.

“Thanks.  See ya!”

“Mmm Hmm…”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” she popped her head back in.  “I’m supposed to tell you Radagast will be here in two weeks!”

“Mmm Hmm.  Have fun, sweetie.”

It took a full minute before his daughter’s words sank in.  “Tilda!” he called.  “Tilda!”

“She is upstairs changing, My Lord,” Ruvyn appeared in his doorway. 

“Did we get a message from the Palace?”

“Not that I am aware.”

Bard finally set the troubling paper down and peeked into Percy’s office.  “Did we get a bird, Pers?”

“Nope,” Percy shook his head, not looking up from the document he was writing.  He dipped his feathered quill into the ink and scratched out the next sentence.  “Maybe it just got here.”  

“Did you see anything?” Bard asked Ruvyn.

“I have been with Lady Tilda at school,” the Elf shrugged.  “I could ask the guards at the doors.”

“Do that, would you?”

“Maybe she was joking,” Percy said. 

 “Probably.” 

A few minutes later, the guard reappeared. “They saw no message, My Lord.”

 “Are you taking her down to Hope Field to meet Thranduil and Tauriel?”

“Yes.  Tilda wanted to meet them and escort them home.”  Ruvyn’s brow wrinkled.  “Unless you do not wish it?”

“No; it’s fine,” he said.  “Make sure she bundles up, or Thranduil will never let you hear the end of it.”

“Of course, My Lord.”  With a small smile, the Elf saluted and left.

Bard tried to put it out of his mind.

But still…

Two hours later, Bard had just finished locking up his study for the day when the main doors opened to admit his husband and two of their daughters.  Tilda was giggling about something, and Thranduil pulled on her braids to tease her before he helped her out of her coat and hat.  Tauriel was taking off her cloak and throwing it over her arm when she caught Bard’s eye as he came to meet them.

“Suil, Bard!” she kissed his cheek.

“Suil, yourself; how was your trip?”

“I enjoyed it,” she said.  “Mostly because I was not stuck in meetings for two days, like Ada.”