In which our quartet of travelers decide Esgaroth is a big no-go, Thranduil continues to be creepy (and Legolas is very worried), and Bard finds himself saddled with four houseguests and potentially a major problem.
It took less than a day for Lorna to decide that Esgaroth was not a place she wanted to live, for a number of reasons.
Oh, it looked good enough – hell, it was downright picturesque. Esgaroth 2.0 was less than five years old, and in places still smelled like new lumber. There was also a hefty amount of mildew, but having lived half her life in a city quite near the Atlantic, she was well used to that. No, the biggest problem – the one not related to her curse, anyway – was the fact that the town's water supply and sewage system was the same thing.
The realization horrified her. How in hell had the old town not all died of dysentery ages ago? Oh, the lake was more than big enough to dilute it, but still. Sewage had a tendency to…linger. It meant that, as much as she'd like to try some home-brewed beer, she didn't dare.
Her three friends seemed just as uncomfortable as she was, so they didn't linger long. The prospect of a warm bed wasn't enough to tempt any of the, and Lorna had to get away from that packed crowd before her head split.
And yet, weirdly, the impact of so many people and their unguarded thoughts wasn't nearly as severe as it ought to be. Was her curse still malfunctioning? Christ, wouldn't that be a blessing. Maybe the humans here were different enough from those on Earth to water it down somewhat.
Or maybe it was Thranduil, she thought, as they trudged through the snow. She shuddered, and not from the chill of the icy wind that blasted off the lake. To her own annoyance, each passing day made her irrationally more afraid of him.
Thranduil was not that nameless doctor. He had not caused her pain, or damage in any way she could detect. He had not been cruel or brutal about it at all – but the fact remained that he could have been. He could have torn her mind apart, and there would have been nothing she could have done about it. That scared her, and she didn't think it an irrational fear at all.
She couldn't voice that fear to the Elves, all of whom looked troubled enough already. Lorna felt like absolute shit or dragging them on her so-called adventure. Oh, she hadn't dragged them anywhere, but she was pretty sure Faelon and Menelwen were only here because they were afraid to go home. Arandur had left with her of his own will, but she doubted he'd realized just what he was getting himself into. If she'd had any consideration at all for them, she would have done back when Faelon and Menelwen found her, but she just…couldn't. However much it infuriated her to admit, even to herself, she was too afraid.
Had the lot of them been human, she wouldn't have been scared. If Thranduil had been a normal man, she would have kicked the shit out of him, and put up with the fact that he'd kick back harder. The problem was that they weren't human – he probably could have broken her neck if he felt like it. When it came to fighting, she doubted she'd stand a chance against any of them, and that pissed her off, too. She wouldn't live long enough to even begin to learn enough of what it would take to bring down an Elf, let alone their goddamn king.
She shivered again, and this time it was from cold. Her Elven cloak was warmer than it looked, but she was a tiny human with a lot of muscle and little in the way of body fat for insulation. At least if she was moving, she wouldn't freeze to death, although stopping to pee was even less fun than the first day. She just prayed her period would hold off until they reached Dale.
Darkness was descending fast, so they took what shelter they could find in a copse of half-burned fir trees. The damage the dragon had done was still evident in many places, even under all the snow, and the sight of it floored her, because, well, dragon. She'd got used to the idea of Elves after living with them for so long, but seeing with her own eyes the aftermath of the actual attack of an actual dragon was still difficult to believe.
Menelwen was the only one who managed to coax any fire from the damp wood – thank God for Elves and their voodoo – and then Lorna wound up practically sitting in it to try to stay warm. She was so damn cold she could barely eat some break, though the hot, tea-like liquid Faelon brewed went over much better.
"How far are we from Dale?" she asked, once her teeth had stopped chattering.
Faelon looked at Menelwen. They seemed to have their own private language, comprised entirely of glances. "Three days, at the rate we are going," she said. "Less, if you would swallow your pride and let one of us carry you."
The thought was appalling. Lorna was not a child, for all she wasn't much bigger than one, and she was also not a bloody invalid. She could handle another three days of this if she had to, dammit.
On the other hand, her friends would also be stuck in this misery with her, and while cold clearly didn't affect Elves like it did humans, they were just as clearly not having any fun. Plus, she didn't relish the idea of taking a crap in the snow.
"I'm heavier than I look," she warned.
"And we are stronger than we look," Faelon said, his relief obvious.
"Don't I know it," Lorna muttered. Thranduil had hauled her over the table as though she weighed no more than a cat.
Faelon and Menelwen looked puzzled, but Arandur was suddenly visibly uncomfortable.
"Tá sé fíneáil, Arandur," she said. I am fine. She hoped the others hadn't picked up enough Irish to understand her. Honestly, that poor kid had looked even more freaked out than she'd felt, and that was really saying something. She supposed he didn't have anything like her well of rage to sustain him.
It was still there, simmering at the back of her mind, but she kept a lid on it for the sake of her companions, distracting herself was much as she could with their surroundings – the good and the bad. It would blow sooner or later – it always did – but hopefully it could wait until they weren't out in the middle of bloody nowhere.
"Get some sleep," he said. "You are safe here."
By now, Tauriel had to face the fact that something was wrong.
Faelon and Menelwen should have been back days ago, either with their charges or – Eru forbid – word of their deaths. She found it hard to believe that some ill had befallen all four of them, but she didn't know what else to think.
On top of that, the King was acting…odd, even for him. He had spent much time sequestered in his rooms, rarely allowing even Galion to see him. The butler refused to speak of what he witnessed, but he was obviously troubled.
"You need to speak with your father, Legolas," she said, when he had returned from patrol. "I do not know what is wrong with him, but I fear it. Something happened three days ago, something that drove Lorna and Arandur out into the forest, and I believe he was involved. Now he will see none but Galion, who looks each day as though he has peered into the Void."
"What?" Legolas asked.
"Galasríniel knows, I think," Tauriel said, "but she will say nothing. You at least have the authority to order her to."
"Where is my father?" he asked grimly.
"In his rooms. I believe he did something before Lorna and Arandur left, something terrible, but now I wonder if something was done to him as well. I can explain it no more clearly than that. I sent Faelon and Menelwen to find them, but none of them have returned."
"Elladan and Elrohir have come with me," he said. "Tomorrow, I will send them out looking. If anyone can find out what happened to those four, it is them."
Tauriel could only pray he was right. She could not imagine what might have driven Lorna and Arandur out into a Mirkwood winter by themselves, but it must have been drastic. Lorna could not have known just what she would face out there, but Arandur would, and yet he had gone anyway.
"I will speak to my father," Legolas said. "Go tell Galasríniel that I require her presence in the lesser guard room, and clear everyone else away."
Tauriel went, and hoped her King was not losing his mind.
Such a mysterious mess was the last thing Legolas wanted to deal with on his first evening home.
His initial suspicion was that Lorna and Arandur had been banished, but if that was the case, Faelon and Menelwen would not have been sent to retrieve them. That made it sound worryingly like escape.
Galion, who did indeed appear as though he had peered into the Void, hesitated before allowing him in. "Your father is…troubled. He may not look it at first glance, but something is gravely amiss with him."
"So I have been warned. I will find out why, one way or another." He entered the chambers with no small amount of trepidation, though he hid it well.
The first thing he noticed was that it was warm – very warm. The fire had been built up until it was roaring on the grate, yet his father still wore his full regalia, lacking only the crown. He stood at the vast table near the left wall, which was spread with maps and parchment, and littered with empty ink-pots and used quills. From the look of it, he had been doing a great deal of drawing – most of the pages were covered with strange images the like of which Legolas had never seen.
"You have been busy, Adar," Legolas said, trying to keep his tone light.
"I have learned much," his father said, touching one of the drawings. "Lorna's world is fascinating."
Since when had he spoken to Lorna? Their two brief meetings – that Legolas knew of, anyway – had both ended in disaster. "Oh?" he prompted, uncertain of what else he might say.
His father looked up, and Legolas froze, suddenly understanding what Galion had meant. There was a strange, almost fey light in the King's eyes, such as Legolas had never seen – not just in his father, but in anyone. "Adar, what have you done?"
"Something I should not have," he admitted, "but what I – what we – have gained from it cannot be measured. If only she knew more about how these things functioned."
A formless dread gripped Legolas's heart. "Adar," he said again, more forcefully, "what have you done?"
"I looked into Lorna's mind," his father said serenely. "Her world is so very unlike ours. Far worse in some ways, but far better in others."
"She allowed you to do that?" Legolas asked, surprised. According to the guards, she considered their King 'a right creepy bastard'. Much must have changed, while he was away.
"No," his father admitted, sounding rather less serene, "she did not."
Legolas stared at him, horrified. To violate the sanctity of another's mind…his father must have considered her a very great threat, but what sort danger could one small Edain pose to the Woodland Realm? "Why?"
"I needed answers, and it was the only way I could be certain she would tell me the truth."
Well, that made sense, but it made the act itself no less horrible. "Is that why she left?"
"Yes," his father snapped, suddenly irritated. "I need her back, ionneg. I need to know what else lies in her mind."
"She would never allow that, Adar," Legolas said, his unease growing.
The look his father gave him chilled him to the core. "I do not care what she would allow," he said. "She could not stop me. Find her."
"Yes, Adar." It was only years of training that kept him from fleeing. When he reached the antechamber, Galion gave him a look of sympathy.
"Now do you see?" he asked.
"I do," Legolas said grimly. He knew what he had to do as well: there were only two Elves still in Middle-Earth who could heal whatever sickness of the mind had befallen his father, and he had to see if one of them would come to his aid.
Elladan and Elrohir were, unsurprisingly, drinking with the other guards. They looked so very alike that even yet he sometimes had difficultly telling them apart, but their jovial expressions faded into identical masks of worry when they saw his face.
He beckoned them out into the corridor, and when he spoke, his voice was low and urgent. "There was an Edain woman living here for several months. She left with one of our scholars three days past, and now possibly has two of our guards with her. You must find her, and on no account bring her anywhere near these halls. I know you cannot reach your father's home until the passes have opened come spring, but once they do, you must take her there."
"Where are you going?" Elladan asked.
"To see your grandmother, if I can make it through the snow. I badly need her aid."
Riding piggyback like a child was so undignified that Lorna was glad nobody outside their group could see her. Not that she had a great deal of dignity to begin with, but she had some, dammit.
She couldn't deny that they made far better time this way, though. How the three of them could still walk on top of the snow while taking turns carrying her, she had no idea, but they did, and as a result they reached Dale in little over a day.
It was, she had to admit, pretty damn impressive, with its high stone walls and domed roofs. She just hoped it stayed that way once they were inside, and didn't turn out to be some kind of cesspit of rotten food and shit, like something out of Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
The gate-guard openly boggled at them, but she really couldn't blame him: you had three Elves, who, like cats, somehow always managed to look clean, and one human, who…didn't. She didn't want to imagine what she must smell like to people who hadn't been around her for the last four days; if it was at all possible, she wanted a bath. Her friends would probably thank her for it, too.
Only now, however, did she realize something – something that ought to have occurred to her days ago. She had no money whatsoever; hell, she didn't even know what Dale used for money. If they were like a real medieval society, maybe she could barter, but she had few skills that would be of any use here. At least she could shovel snow (or shit).
Mercifully, Arandur seemed to have more common sense than she did. He'd brought what looked like actual pieces of gold with him, passing some to the guard and speaking rapidly in what she assumed was Westron. Thought of having to learn another language when she was already still learning one made her head spin.
That wasn't the only reason it spun, either. She could feel the press of what had to be hundreds of minds, but at least at a distance, it wasn't like a solid invading force. If she found a way to settle near the outer wall, she might not go mad from the onslaught of alien thoughts within a week.
She drew a deep breath, peering around Arandur's elbow. While the streets had their share of horse shit, they were well cleared of snow, and there was no visible garbage anywhere. A sniff of the frigid air brought wood smoke, far too many cooking smells, the aroma of what was probably horses (and their by-products), and, oh wonder of wonders, tobacco. While Lorna doubted cigarettes existed here, if she could find a pipe and something to smoke in it, it might just make this entire damn trek worth it.
Arandur finished speaking with the guard, and led them all inside. She noted that while most of the windows had glass, a few had shutters that were securely barred against the cold. Nothing like streetlights, of course, but she doubted gas was a thing here, and most sensible people were probably home by dark on a night like this.
It was a relief to be able to walk without struggling, though the streets were still treacherous with ice, and dodging the road-apples was a bit of work. She didn't want to have to scrape horse crap off her shoes before she could go inside anywhere.
"Where we going?" she asked, struggling to keep up with Arandur's long strides and not fall on her arse at the same time.
"Bard," he said. "Lord of Dale."
Lorna stumbled. Bard? The Bard? Bard the Dragonslayer? She remembered him, all right; she'd spent most of her ninth year wishing she could be him. She'd love to kill a dragon (after, of course, it ate her da). "Why?" she asked. They were three Elves and a human – which sounded like either a great band name, or a really cheesy movie. Why would the Lord of bloody Dale need to see them?
"Because we may need his help," Arandur said, unusually grim. "Technically, we are all fugitives from King Thranduil, and he needs to know that."
Well, fuck. "What we do if we are turn away?"
He paused long enough to look at her, and give her an extremely crooked smile. "We go to King Dain. Bard might fear King Thranduil's wrath, but Dain would welcome it. He has little enough love for Elves in general, but he has far less for King Thranduil – Dain would shelter us, if only to spite him."
That was a relief. Not that she could see Thranduil giving much of a shit about them now, since they were well away. He wasn't likely to want to expend a lot of manpower – Elf-power – to bring four strays back through three feet of snow just so he could either imprison them, or kick them out all over again.
Bard's house, they found, was quite grand – and was also well up a steep hill. The sandstone-colored bricks it was built of were so smooth that they could have been made by a modern factory on Earth, and were shiny with ice. The shutters on most of the windows were closed, but the two that flanked the door were open, and warm firelight shone through them to cast bright squares on the snow. She couldn't remember if Bard was married in the book, but it sounded like he had a family – the laughter of multiple people could be heard even outside.
Arandur knocked, and when the door opened, Lorna froze.
This man, whether he was Bard or some other family member, looked so goddamn much like Liam that it was actually painful. It wasn't the dark hair and brown eyes – loads of people had that combo – but the very structure of his face. He was somewhat paler than Liam, and taller, but oh Christ, she did not need that reminder right now.
She shoved it ruthlessly away, trying to figure out what Arandur was saying to him. He looked at her, then at Faelon and Menelwen, his expression tightening – clearly, he did not like what he was hearing. Dammit.
In the end, though, he waved them all inside, and Lorna didn't bother concealing her sigh of relief. It was toasty warm, still smelling of what had probably been stew for dinner.
The room was large, and the plain furniture – a dinner-table, kitchen chairs, and several armchairs – were at odds with the obviously expensive architecture. Bard must not be comfortable living in such a fancy house, even after five years.
Two young women – one couldn't be any more than fifteen, if that – sat on a rug in front of the fireplace, playing what looked for all the world like tiddlywinks. They looked up when the group entered, eyes widening. Lorna was acutely conscious of the fact that her companions all looked like they'd stepped out of a magazine, making her the odd, normal one out.
The man – who had to be Bard – said something, and the eldest left the room. The younger started clearing away the game, and now Lorna felt bad for interrupting their evening. Though she supposed having Elves for guests was more interesting than any game.
Bard spoke to Arandur, who spoke to Menelwen, who said to Lorna, "Come. Bard's daughter is drawing baths."
If Mirkwood was hell, this had to be heaven.
Bard was immensely troubled.
He had not looked to see any Elves before spring, as they rarely left the forest in winter. He certainly hadn't expected to hear such a tale as this Arandur told him. Never had he heard of an Elf lying, but if this story was true, it was deeply worrying.
King Thranduil was a powerful ally, but if he should choose to pursue his wayward subjects and the woman, he could be an equally powerful enemy. Nobody would be doing anything until spring, however, and by then this whole business could be cleared up.
"You may stay," he said. "But if you are discovered and if you are requested to return, I cannot shelter you. I will help you escape south, but I will not risk the full might of your king's wrath."
"Nor would we ask you to," Arandur said. "In all likelihood he has, as Lorna would say, written us off, but after witnessing what he did, I find I can no longer be sure of anything. I wish we had a way to get word to Mithrandir."
"From what I have seen of Mithrandir, he tends to turn up where he is needed," Bard said, a little dryly. The wizard seemed to have no qualms about interfering – whether his interference was wanted or not.
"I hope you are right," Arandur sighed. "This mess is beyond any of us."
"Where will you go, if King Thranduil seeks you?"
"Imladris, and the house of Lord Elrond. There are often other Edain – Men – there, so the three of us would not be the only ones with kindred."
"Well, I do not know how often Elves need rest, but there are more rooms here than my family needs, especially now that Bain has gone to train in Erebor. I can offer you hot baths as well as food."
"We will find some way to repay you," Arandur promised. "There is much we can do for you, throughout the winter."
"I am sure of it," Bard said, "but for now you are my guests. Let me heat you some stew."
The tub wasn't very big, but neither was Lorna, so it worked out just find. The hot water was a blessing, especially beside the fire, and she lingered.
Washing her hair in a bucket was another story. It was so long that by the time she was through rinsing it, the water had gone cold, and without the Elven conditioner, combing was going to take ages. Her clothes weren't exactly dirty after only four days' worth of travel – especially since it had been far too cold for her to sweat – so she didn't feel gross putting them back on.
So this was Bard's house. Christ, but she'd had a turn when she saw him. She'd had enough time now to get over Liam's death, or seeing him might have crippled her.
She hadn't known he had daughters. The girls looked so very alike, but they must take after their mother. Both had fallen over themselves to be helpful – especially the younger, who had almost seemed entranced by Menelwen. Lorna had been around Elves so long that she supposed she'd just got used to the fact that they all put supermodels to shame.
She was still wrestling with her hair when the younger girl knocked, and entered with Menelwen in tow. She asked a question, very shyly, and Menelwen translated it with a smile.
"She wants to know if she can comb your hair," she said.
Lorna's eyebrows climbed up to her hairline. The kid looked so earnest, and hell, she was sick of dealing with it. "Of course," she said, holding out the comb.
The girl took it, and came to sit behind her. She teased at the snarls with practiced ease, humming to herself.
Memory slammed into Lorna like a freight train. When she was a little girl, her mother had always combed her hair after a bath, singing all the while. Mam had had a voice like an angel – her own couldn't compare – and they were some of the few positive memories she had of her childhood. She shut her eyes, savoring the reminder, listening to the unfamiliar tune. The soft brush of the kid's thoughts was soothing, too – just a touch, not a punch to the brain.
The girl said something, and Menelwen said, "She says you have beautiful hair. Black and silver, like the city guards."
Lorna barely suppressed a snort, not wanting to hurt the kid's feelings. She didn't think anyone had ever called the grey 'silver' before. It had started coming in when she was fifteen, and she had no idea why; so far as she knew, no one else in her family had gone grey so young.
Silver. Huh. She'd have to remember that.
Arandur was extremely grateful to be inside, even if the home was strange to him. He had not slept in days, which was not unusual for the Eldar, but he would be glad of a soft bed tonight.
Faelon and Menelwen had seen many Edain, but he had rarely been away from the halls. Dale was already fascinating to him, and he had seen very little of it. Come morning, he would explore.
The others had already long gone to bed, even Bard, but tired though he was, Arandur was too excited to sleep yet. Fresh snow was falling outside the window, and he was pleased to watch it – there were, after all, no windows in the caves. He did not know what Faelon and Menelwen thought of it all, but he was glad to have ventured out into the wide world. He would not even mind being forced to move to Imladris.
But for now he really needed to go to sleep. He would need all the energy he could muster tomorrow, to see the city.
So, a running theme in Lorna's canon is that telepathy can be dangerously addictive, especially if misused. Obviously this is not the case with Elves, but Thranduil, in touching Lorna's mind the way he did, touched her curse. He doesn't realize it yet, but he's infected. And he's only going to get worse before he gets better.
Also, I just realized that Thranduil is a little bit like Ariel: fascinated by the human world, and wanting more. Unlike Ariel, however, he's willing to mind-rape someone to get it.
Title means "Changes" in Irish.
