The Song Of Sunset
Part 15 - Shadowed Hearts
Posted: November 14, 2008
*****
“You come here often?” Elrond asked Thranduil as he watched the clear sky. Thranduil had led him to a rocky pool. The water was still except for the songs of the birds there was silence. The Prince was poring over what seemed like official documents, his forehead crinkled slightly in concentration. Elrond was lying on his back lazily beside the Prince, who sat cross-legged, his head bent.
“Often”, Thranduil said quietly, “Whenever I feel out of sorts.”
“What happened?” Elrond asked concernedly, “Have you had no news from Anoriel?”
“No, I have not yet”, Thranduil said, “Nor had I expected it, she cannot openly disobey her father, her king.”
“Then?” Elrond queried.
Thranduil shrugged, “I must say that I have unease on my mind. Though I have reasons, I fear they may not be all.”
Elrond was about to haul himself into a sitting position when an arrow whizzed past Thranduil’s head missing narrowly. They leapt onto their feet and made for their weapons, but more arrows flew through the air, two grazing Elrond’s left arm. He fell back onto his knees numbly as something tampered with his warrior instincts. He watched groggily as Thranduil landed on the ground with a heavy thud beside him, the royal parchments he had been reading fluttering about in the wind. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was a group of swarthy men arrive in the glen, smug expressions on their ugly faces.
“Elrond”, a hand shook him roughly, “Elrond, wake up, please!”
“Thranduil”, Elrond muttered as he opened his eyes blearily, they were in a dark cave, their legs bound by strong iron chains. Their capturers were sitting in a circle around a large fire, laughing and eating. They paid no attention to their prisoners. But Elrond knew that the men were not as gullible as they seemed.
“Glad to know you remember my name”, Thranduil said dryly, “I had despaired of waking you.”
“Sedated arrows”, Elrond explained to a dubious looking Prince.
“Beyond the point”, Thranduil cut in changing to the forbidden tongue of Quenya, “We need to escape! Those are slavers.”
“Being enslaved would be an enlightening experience what with our long lives”, Elrond offered in the same tongue. The words sounded clipped and unnatural from his mouth though they seemed natural and pleasing from Thranduil.
“Curse me for bedding a Peredhel, a Noldo Peredhel at that!” Thranduil said, “I meant, you dull-wit, that if we are sold to the enemy, our lives and our hides would not be worth even a Noldor song!”
Elrond sobered and asked worriedly, “What do we do?”
Thranduil muttered something in dwarvish best left untransalated.
Four men from the circle by the fire approached them and dragged them to the centre of the circle, Elrond felt the hairs on his spine raise as more than sixty pairs of eyes appraised him.
There was a swarthy man, darker than the rest, seated in what evidently seemed to be the place of honour, for his neighbours had maintained a respectful distance. The man raised his right hand and flicked his fingers once. The men who had dragged Elrond and Thranduil approached them again and without further ado, ripped apart their clothing with their crude knives. Elrond felt the cold wind penetrate his very soul as he shivered naked, surrounded by the slavers, whose eyes devoured his body greedily, calculating the obvious profit they would make.
“You treat your hosts with remarkable crudeness”, Thranduil said clearly, his eyes on the chieftain.
The man laughed saying as his eyes roved over the Prince’s graceful form, “This one is young, not yet ripe. The best age to break them in.”
“We are not horses to be broken in”, Thranduil said coldly, “Cease this folly and release us. If you leave immediately, then you may not come to harm.”
All the men jeered and the chieftain asked guffawing, “And who may be you to say thus?”
“Thranduil Oropherion, Crown Prince Of Green Wood the Great”, was the quiet reply.
There was a collective gasp and silence for a few moments before the chieftain leered, “Ah! The famed jewel of the lovesick Elf King’s hoard! Then you shall certainly be worth much if we hand you over to the Lord Of Mordor.”
Thranduil crossed his arms over his chest proudly saying, “We shall, if you can take us there.”
The men laughed at his words. The chieftain walked to the Prince and kept his hand on Thranduil’s cheek humiliatingly. But the Prince continued staring at him coldly.
As the man’s hands slowly crept down Thranduil’s front body towards his chest, Thranduil whispered in Quenya, “None who hurt the royal blood of Greenwood shall draw breath again.”
The man grunted in surprise, clutched his chest, pain convulsing his pain and fell to the ground slowly, his hands trailing numbly down Thranduil’s thighs and legs before the man fell dead at the Prince’s feet. The slavers got to their feet screaming, but they were frightened to approach the two elves, they fled haphazardly, their confused, frightened voices resounding in the forest even after they had disappeared. Thranduil closed his eyes tiredly, Elrond approached him awkwardly hampered by the chains on his legs and they hugged each other relieved at the end of their ordeal.
A muffled sobbing from the back of the cave, Thranduil muttered, “Yet one of those cowards”, he took up on of the slaver’s abandoned swords and swung it forcefully at Elrond’s chains.
Elrond staggered as the chain split, and then massaged his cramped legs wearily. Then he took the sword from the Prince and broke the chains on his feet. Thranduil held onto his shoulder to support himself as the blood reached his numbed legs.
The moaning began again. Elrond said uncertainly, “It doesn’t sound like the human tongue, come, shall we see?”
Thranduil said grimly, “Take a sword and arm yourself, we cannot take any more follies.”
Elrond obeyed and they went to the back of the dark cave. Thranduil waved a burning log he had taken from the fire to lighten the corners. A shivering slender form lay huddled together in a dark corner emitting soft sounds of pain and helplessness.
Elrond advanced, his healer’s instincts taking over, he knelt down beside the form and lay his hand on the shuddering shoulder.
“Elven”, he murmured with disgust and compassion as he noted the pointed ears and the white hair of the sufferer.
He gently helped the elf to sit up and Thranduil cursed, “Look at his face, and his wounds! Elrond, he is fading!”
Elrond said reprovingly as his patient began sobbing anew, his head bent, “Ernil-nin, just break the manacles and help me carry him to the fireside. He is cold. We can then treat his wounds.”
Thranduil muttered something darkly, but complied and then helped Elrond carry the still half-delirious from to the fireside. The Prince then gathered the abandoned blankets, handed one to Elrond, wrapped another over his naked form and then spread the rest over the ground. Elrond laid the elf on the blankets. They tore a blanket into small pieces, dipped them into the water pots in the cave and then bathed the elf gently.
Thranduil dabbed the elf’s dirty face remarking, “he is pleasant enough to look upon without the grime. Noldor, I guess.”
Elrond pointed to the white hair and said smirking, “No Noldor has had white hair. Telerin, like the Lord Celeborn.”
Thranduil shrugged, “He is gaining consciousness. I will search for herbs and food in these bags left behind by those fools. You keep him company.”
As Thranduil messed about the bags, Elrond watched the elf awake. His mind filled with pity at the haggard, bruised features of the elf’s face. The eyes opened slowly, they were light green, unlike Thranduil’s deep green ones.
“Green eyes, mellon-nin”, Elrond remarked to Thranduil, “Definitely Sindarin.”
The rescued elf frowned in confusion and fear on seeing Elrond.
“You are safe, mellon-nin”, Elrond said reassuringly, “In elven hands.”
“In half-elven hands”, Thranduil offered sarcastically.
The elf whispered hoarsely, “They sold me?”
“No”, Elrond smiled kindly and raise the scared elf’s head a bit to help him drink water, “we were also caught and managed to escape. We are safe”, he assured the frightened elf again, “safe”, he emphasized.
“This is healing?” Thranduil drawled, “Seems like hypnotizing to me.”
Elrond ignored him and asked the elf he was tending to, “What is your name?”
Thranduil joined him curiously. He wanted to know how the elf had become captured.
The elf looked at the Prince and said wonderingly, “Vanyarin?”
Elrond raised an eyebrow as Thranduil said laughing, “See, Elrond, I bear much likeness to-”
Elrond cut in disgruntled, “No, mellon-nin. ‘Tis but a simple wood-elf”, who can slay men with his words, he reminded himself, never had he seen such power in any elf. Thranduil commanded a power so magnetic and mysterious that even Galadriel dared not cross him.
But now, the said simple wood elf huffed at Elrond’s words and pouted. The other elf smiled weakly at the Prince’s displeasure and said softly, “Lindir, I once served the house of Finarfin.”
Thranduil directed a smug look of victory at Elrond and mouthed, “Noldorin, I told you.”
Elrond set his mouth into a thin line to control his much tried temper and said kindly, “Lindir, I am Elrond, and this is Prince Thranduil, of this realm. You need not fear us.”
“It is the first time in centuries that I have not feared”, Lindir’s admission sent shivers down Elrond’s spine.
“You mean?” Thranduil asked softly, “Were you held for all those years?”
“I was captured by Morgoth’s scouts during the long siege”, Lindor said quietly, his fear and torment clouding his eyes, “And held there until the hosts of the West arrived. Then I was given into the service of the Southrons. They were more vindictive after their defeat. I…I think I have been more dead than alive all these years. Sometimes Morgoth himself was kinder than these men.”
Elrond shuddered as images of torment and despair filled his mind. Thranduil said firmly, “It is over, Lindir, you have survived and escaped. Now you are in the free air again. We will take you to safety. For now, rest and trust us.”
Lindir shivered as he said hesitantly, “I have too vivid memories of abuses physical and mental. I dare not trust even my own shadow.”
Thranduil exchanged a glance with Elrond who said in an assuring voice, “the Prince shall gift us a song. I will guard your dreams, mellon-nin.”
Lindir still hesitated and then Thranduil placed a sword in his limp hands saying merrily, “Feel free to slay Elrond if either of us betray your trust.”
Lindir smiled and relaxed slightly. His features softened as he finally felt into a troubled rest lulled by Thranduil’s song, which, to Elrond’s utter mortification, was a bawdy, yet melodious composition that described Elrond’s body in accurate detail. The only saving grace was that it was in the language of the Silvan Folk.
“You deserve to have you tongue chopped off!” he hissed after making sure that Lindir was asleep.
Thranduil shrugged, “What else can you expect a simple wood-elf to sing of?”
*****
Erestor sighed tiredly as he finally finished his work for the day. It was near midnight. He walked silently through the woods towards the river musing on the work done and the work yet to be done. He had begun the construction of a more permanent settlement for the refugees. He spent hours every day to design the lay of various buildings. And he listened to the grievances of a folk whose Lord had perished and whose kin in Lindon had abandoned them. He stripped his clothes quickly and dove into the Bruinen, unmindful of the cold water. Then he began cursing loudly, venting his pent-up frustration. It was his way after a very tense day, it always helped him refocus.
“Bad day?” a voice asked him amusedly, Erestor looked to see Gildor standing nearly concealed by a large tree.
“Not much worse than usual”, Erestor conceded fairly, “What are you doing here at midnight?”
Gildor approached him slowly, a trace of uncertainty on his face. He sat down by the shore and trailed his fingers through the water. Erestor waited curiously.
“Doing my duty”, Gildor said finally.
Erestor frowned, “What duty, My Lord?”
“I have a vow to protect the rightful heir to the throne of Finwe”, Gildor murmured.
Erestor swam closer to the bank and tilted his head in bewilderment, “Gil-Galad asked you to protect me?”
“You do not understand”, Gildor sighed, “The only heir that Finwe acknowledged was Feanor, son of Miriel. Only one of Feanor’s line can lead the Noldor without death. Finwe named Feanor his heir before the Valar themselves. It is the reason why Fingolfin, Fingon, Turgon, Orodeth and Finrod all fell, My Lord. They carried not Feanor’s blood in their veins.”
Erestor climbed out of the water and wrapped his robe about his slender form before giving a hand to help Gildor up. They walked together silently through the woods. The scream of an elfling broke the quiet. They ran towards the sound, their swords drawn.
And simultaneously stopped in their tracks, for before them in the mud lay a little elf boy, his clothes torn, hair matted, body emaciated. The boy screamed again as a rabbit poked its nose out of its burrow curiously.
Erestor smiled and bending down gracefully, picked up the dirty elfling, who snivelled and burrowed his face deep into Erestor’s light robe.
“What is your name, pen-neth?” Gildor inspected the burns and the bruises on the elfling’s body with increasing alarm, “And where is your family?”
“Mel, Naneth called me”, was the muffled reply, “she left me, adar too. Mel all alone now. Scared.”
“Now, pen-neth”, Erestor said softly, “where are you from? It is not wise to walk in the middle of the night.”
“Mel doesn’t know”, came the pitiful reply.
Erestor stroked the elfling’s back reassuringly and said to Gildor, “We will enquire in the morning, mellon-nin. For now, I need my rest. As do you. We are not made of stone.”
“Well”, Gildor said laughing, “As long as I do not have to share my mattress with the little one for he stinks!”
The next morning when Erestor was carrying the elfling to the woman folk to enquire, several guards gave the boy looks of recognition. After settling the elfling with a young maid, Erestor called a guard and waited expectantly.
“He is the son of one of those guards who died at Celebrimbor’s city, My Lord. His naneth was fading even as we retreated. Then you had not yet joined us. Lord Elrond was dead worried for you and occupied with the retreat. So none of us noticed that the boy and his naneth was missing till it was too late”, the guard said regretfully.
“But he has reached here”, Erestor said crisply, “Followed the retreat.”
“Yes, My Lord”, the guard bowed, “There are many who have lost their children in the battle. They will care for him.”
Erestor nodded before saying nonchalantly, “If he does not take to any of them, then tell me”, he paused, “Now, we have to discuss the border patrols, I believe.”
Gildor remarked as they shared lunch that day, “The elves are fussing over the little one who seems quite hale after his ordeal.”
Erestor nodded, his dark eyes misted by memory, “That is good, for else I had planned to foster him. I would not have anyone grow up deprived of parental love.”
“But”, Gildor said softly, “Most of us have grown up thus. Now I have a letter from the king informing us of the herald’s engagement. He has asked us not to travel to Lindon saying that the marriage will arrive soon.”
Elrond read with increasing dismay the letter demanding him to come to Lindon.
“It is our duty to our realm”, Thranduil said firmly, as he looked over at Elrond from behind his desk, where he was going over something that looked like an inventory list.
“I do not even know her, Thranduil”, Elrond whined, “And Galadriel, I hate her.”
“You are getting engaged to Galadriel’s daughter, Elrond, not to Galadriel herself”, Thranduil reminded him reasonably, “And there is a long way between a betrothal and a marriage. You can always stop it by mutual consent.”
Elrond made a face saying, “It is not you who is getting betrothed to Galadriel’s daughter! So you talk.”
Thranduil laughed, “Think of poor Celeborn then, mellon-nin. Now come”, he focussed back on his list, “Let me finish this and then give you a royal farewell in my room.”
“You will not come to Lindon”, Elrond begged, “I need someone to go through with this.”
“I have not even been invited by your King, Elrond. He is keen on having a low profile ceremony. I would come, but Ada-nin would kill me if I attended a Noldor betrothal without a state invitation”, Thranduil said chuckling.
“Well then”, Elrond sighed, “Promise me you will take care of Lindir.” Oropher had assured him saying that he would shelter Lindir until the elf wished to leave.
“Yes, yes, I will not bed him if that is your next question”, Thranduil smirked, “Bedding the Noldor is not good for my mental faculties.”
Glorfindel watched Gil-Galad hurry over to him, a sombre expression on his face.
“Erestor?” he asked breathlessly as the King stopped before him, pale and frightened. Gil-Galad took a crumpled letter from within his tunic and gave it to Glorfindel. The reborn elf opened the letter with increasing panic. It was a woman’s hand, one he did not recognize.
“To The Lord Glorfindel,
I regret to inform you that my husband, the King Of Numenor, has passed away beyond the circles of Middle Earth after falling bravely to a rogue band of Haradhrim. I knew of your friendship and share your sorrow. But, My Lord, human lives are short, like candlewax, we burn and melt. Yours is an eternal life. Seek your own path to happiness away from mortal flames.
The Queen Mother Of Numenor.”
Gil-Galad supported Glorfindel’s limp form and helped him to his chambers. Elven grief shone from the Balrog Slayer’s eyes as he read the letter over and over again. Gil-Galad held him until he had cried himself to sleep.
Elrond waited dully in his cousin’s familiar study. How he hated Lindon with all the memories..of Gil proposing to Erestor, of their wedding, each place seemed to have an imprint of their love.
“Cousin Elrond”, Gil-Galad hugged him, “You seem better than I would have expected you to be after a stint at Oropher’s court.”
Elrond hugged his cousin dutifully and then asked worriedly, “How fare you, Gil?” for there was dark circles under Gil-Galad’s eyes.
“Not too well”, Gil-Galad sighed, “Elrond, Erestor is in that valley with the refugees. He went there after a near argument with me regarding their plight. Gildor was supposed to have returned, but he joined Erestor. Glorfindel’s human King, your kin, is dead. Melorian and Galdor are visiting Cirdan at the Havens. So I have been stuck with the administration. And predictably, I am in unfamiliar waters.”
“I will take over the administration, Gil”, Elrond offered charitably. He was already thinking why Gildor Inglorien had felt compelled to accompany Erestor.
“No, Elrond”, Gil-Galad sighed, “You are getting betrothed tomorrow. Now, you will go and take Celebrian for a walk. It is the manner in which these things must be done.”
Celebrian waited coldly as Elrond spoke with Celeborn. She examined her would-be husband and curled her lips at the human traits she so despised. Elrond was darker than most Noldor, with fine hair on his arms. So unlike her father’s beautiful people. She turned to spare her mother a withering glance. For Galadriel stood behind her serenely as if she was perfectly satisfied.
“My Lady”, Elrond bowed, “Would you grace me with a walk?”
Celebrian nodded stiffly and gave him her hand. He led her out into the gardens. Once they were out of sight of everyone, she yanked her arm back abruptly.
“My Lady”, Elrond asked surprised, “How have I offended you?”
“By wishing to marry me, Peredhil!” she exclaimed furiously.
Elrond ran a hand distractedly over his hair as he cursed Galadriel. Then he faced Celebrian with a calmness he did not feel and said, “My Lady, I am no more a willing participant to this farce than you are. I obey my King as you obey your Naneth. It is merely for our lines to unite, as they have commanded. If you see a way out of this, I shall aid you.”
“I am not a mare to be bred from”, Celebrian said angrily.
Elrond said sadly, “No more than I make a foundation sire. Yet that is the part we have been given.”
“You cannot be sad”, Celebrian said vindictively, “After all, you marry the daughter of Celeborn the Wise and Galadriel the Witch. High achievement for a half-breed indeed. You cannot have chosen a better partner.”
“Actually, my heart has chosen, as your mother would tell you if you bother to question her”, Elrond retorted, though he was trying hard to restrain his strained temper, it was a temptation to let go.
“Then have your way with your chosen one and leave me in peace”, Celebrian said furiously, “I cannot contemplate eternity with you.”
“Well”, Elrond remarked wryly, “there are always wars. You can send a petition to the orcs to dispose of me to regain your freedom, my Lady. I see no other way.”
“I will not disgrace my realm”, Celebrian said quietly, “Peredhil, I shall take my vows, but know that I despise you.”
“My name is Elrond”, he said helpfully, “though the word ‘Peredhil’ is pleasing enough from your melodious lips, I do not like it very much. It reminds me too much of your lady mother.”
She left disdainfully.
Erestor raised his eyebrows at the letter the messengers from Greenwood had brought along with supplies. He had been on the verge of asking Lindon for supplies, but Oropher had saved him the humiliation of begging Gil-Galad after leaving him in a huff of righteous anger.
He smirked at the letter,
Dear 'Tor,
Know you must be starving there, so thought I might send you this. Along with the Noldor kinslayer I saved from the slavers. Do with them what you wish. Knowing that your pride will not allow you to ask Lindon for supplies,
Your favourite prince.
“Bring him in”, he asked the Greenwood emissaries.
A slim, reedy figure shorter than the warriors entered, his eyes fixed on the ground. Erestor frowned, yet one more broken soul he had to contend with. He shrugged despairingly. What was Thranduil thinking?
“Welcome, Lindir”, Erestor bowed and continued informally, “My name is Erestor. I am the chief advisor to the High King. But in a bizarre set of events, I find myself digging trenches in this valley to accommodate these people.”
“I cannot be of any use to you, My Lord”, Lindir said softly.
“Oh yes, you can!” Erestor said indignantly, “What are you interested in doing?”
“Gardening and maybe cooking. Anything without swords”, Lindir said shamefacedly, “I had enough of that for a lifetime.”
“I understand”, Erestor said reassuringly, “I will appoint you the chief gardener with immediate effect, Lindir. Go out and do what you will with the land unbound by my chalk lines. And draft anyone idle to your command.”
“My Lord!” Lindir asked stunned, “You are mad!” he closed his hand over his mouth as horror dawned on his features. He had just called the chief counsellor to the high king himself mad.
“Yes, yes”, Erestor said nonchalantly, and then lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Never mind. I do have Feanor’s rather mad blood in my veins, you know”, Lindir smiled helplessly.
Erestor nodded, he had accomplished making the other elf relax with him, “Go now and see to the gardens, mellon-nin.”
Amroth glanced up lazily from his position on the sofa as his father moved to stand at the balcony of the talan. Amdir’s shoulders were tensed and his features were spoilt by a perfect scowl.
“What is it?” Amroth asked lightly, “The soldiers finally took the cane to Haldir?”
“No”, Amdir said angrily, “That advisor of Gil-Galad’s is in the valley with his beloved refugees.”
“The valley is not in our realm”, Amroth said surprised, “Why do you think of that?”
“He is cunning, pen-neth”, Amdir said, “The valley is strategic. He knows he can control the passes from there. And Oropher has sent him aid, I hear. Why my kin loves a Feanorian, I do not know!”
“Lord Erestor is wiser than the rest in that mad town of Lindon”, Amroth said confidently, “Both Anoriel and I have found his company intellectually pleasing. He wears his emotions less visibly, yet his sincerity rings true.”
“Galadriel fears him”, Amdir remarked as he paced the floor of the talan.
“Well, then, you should assure yourself that he can be trusted. Anoriel is right. Whomever the lady of the light doubts, we can trust their goodness. Does the lady not doubt Lord Elrond too? Does she not fear the prince too?” Amroth observed calmly.
Elrond and Celebrian were betrothed before Gil-Galad the next day, their hands entwined, and they pressed a chaste kiss on each other’s lips. But only Galadriel could read their thoughts as they exchanged betrothal rings.
In the East, a shadow rose powerfully, summoning all evil to it. Before the black gates, in the city of Gondor, a widowed queen wept for her husband. He had been a good king, though his rule was short. In Lindon, an elf with golden hair saddled his horse and rode to a valley to seek comfort from his dearest friend.
The world was changing.
*****
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