SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.
Anardil watched his daughter as she lay sleeping, the bruises on her face faded and almost completely gone now. Elrond had removed the stitches from the cut extending a few inches from the corner of her left eye a few days ago, and a fairly dark red scar remained at this time, along with the remnants of a yellow-black bruise. Jeren was beginning to resemble the girl she once had been, but Anardil knew that that girl was gone forever—and it was his fault she was no longer here.
It seemed he had been concentrating on her too intently, and the force of it touched her and had awakened her. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she recognized her father. She idolized the man—something he did not understand—and she smiled at him as she woke.
"Hello, Papa," Jeren said sleepily. "I hope you are not still angry with me."
"No, Jeren," he said solemnly. "I am not angry with you. I was not angry with you before. I spend most of my time angry with myself, and for some reason unknown to me, I take it out on you. I have for many years now. I am sorry for that."
There. He had never been able to admit it to anyone other than himself before, but there were many times in Jeren's life when he had been much too hard on her. Perhaps this was a step in the right direction.
Too hard? No. Cruel was more like it.
He told himself at the time that he only had her best interests at heart, but when he was alone on patrol or on watch on a cold night, with naught but a lit bowl of pipeweed and his horse for company, the truth would come screaming straight at him and stare him right in the face. He hurt so badly inside sometimes, he simply wanted someone to be hurting with him.
How was that for being a fine father?
"Papa," Jeren said with determination in her voice, "I would speak with you about something."
"What would be on your mind today, young Jeren?" he asked. Yes, he had made mistakes with his daughter in the past. However, it seems that by some miracle, he was getting another chance with her. She was nearly taken from him almost three weeks ago, and he would not waste another moment of his time treating her with anything but the dignity and kindness a daughter of his deserved.
"I wonder what is to become of me, Papa," she said. "I always believed I would be married someday and have a family. But no man will want me now. I am ruined and unfit for a decent man, Papa. What does a woman who does not marry become, Papa? Thinking of this makes me afraid."
"Be not afraid, Jeren," her father soothed. "You've many years before this becomes an issue; do not dwell on this now. For now, you must concentrate on healing—both your body and your mind." Anardil wondered where these pearls of wisdom were coming from, but he felt he was giving his daughter good counsel; things important for her to hear and take heed of. "I have been thinking of your dear mother quite a bit of late—in fact, I believe tis she who is guiding my words that I speak to you now. You are sixteen. One month shy of seventeen, is that not right?"
At Jeren's nod, Anardil continued. "For a Dunedain woman, that is still very young. You recall our talks of our ancestors, do you not? How it is not unusual for one of our people to live to be well over one hundred fifty? You see how seventeen is still so far from majority yet?"
"Yes, Papa," Jeren replied, relief slowly seeping into her expression.
"You still have so much of life ahead of you," Anardil said. "The Dunedain live very hard lives. Raids by Orcs are not uncommon on the homesteads, Jeren, and neither is rape by them a stranger to our women, unfortunately. However, few of their victims usually live, so you are a rarity, my sweetness, in that respect. I would venture to say, that when the time comes for you to find a man to spend your life with, you will have no trouble finding one of the Dunedain rangers to snap you up willingly, no matter what you have been through. I cannot promise this, but knowing the men of the rangers like I do, I could almost swear it to you. You believe me in this, do you not?"
Jeren smiled. "I do, Papa," she said, "I really do. Thank you for speaking with me. You have made me feel better."
Anardil smiled, glad that for once in his life as a father, he had put a true smile on the face of his daughter. A smile he had really earned for a change.
"Now, I have something that may take the smile from your face, unfortunately," Anardil said with remorse. "I so liked the fact that I was able to place a smile there for once, and it looks as if I will take it away once more."
Jeren's brows knit together with trepidation, wondering just what her father could be referring to.
"I will be leaving at first light, to resume duty," he said.
"That does not make me frown," Jeren said quickly. "That makes me smile, for that piece of news obviously makes you a happy man again."
"You did not let me finish," Anardil continued. "I will be going to deliver a summons to Council for the Dunedain Chieftain. Lord Elrond wishes to hold a council in regards to where you will be going once you are well enough to leave Imladris."
"What has the Chieftain to do with it?" Jeren asked, puzzled. "Why can you not just decide?"
"What would you have me decide, Jeren? Anardil asked. "What are my options? Have you thought about where you would go, when you can leave Rivendell?"
Jeren frowned, for the truth was, she had not thought about it until now. Where would she go? This was a much more pressing problem than whether or not she would find a man to marry her! She definitely would never go back to the house in the Angle! There were too many horrible memories there for her. What was she going to do?
"Papa!" Jeren whispered. "Where am I going to go?"
"That is what I need to speak with Aragorn about," Anardil answered. "I have thought long on the options, Jeren. You could go back to the house in the Angle—which I am completely against! We could go back to the house in the Angle, which would mean I would retire from rangering, and stay at the homestead with you. Or, you could be placed with a Dunedain family, to live with them as one of their own. I would visit whenever I could—much the same as I did before, only it would not be our own house. That would be the ideal solution—at least from my point of view."
"What if I stayed here—in Imladris?" Jeren asked directly. "Is that not an option?"
"I am afraid it is not," Anardil replied resolutely.
"May I ask why it is not?" Jeren asked fearlessly.
"No," the ranger said sternly with fatherly authority. "You may not. It is not, because I say it is not. That is why."
Jeren looked at her father with accusing eyes, wondering where the newfound father of moments ago had gone suddenly. He was certainly welcome while he remained.
"Very well," Jeren said, dropping her eyes. "Have a safe journey, Papa."
"You are dismissing me?" Anardil asked incredulously.
Jeren paled, surprised by her cheek. She was still convalescing; she supposed she should not fear corporal punishment from her father at this point in time.
"Forgive me, Father," Jeren said, her head bowed. "I am simply surprised by all this sudden news you have imparted to me, and my head is in tumult. I knew not what I was saying or to whom I was speaking."
"Tis all right, Jeren," Anardil said, shame creeping into his voice and the kind father returning. "You have every right to be upset. I understand that. It is simply that the Elves have done so much for us as it is. I can hardly ask them for the charity of taking you in. Can you not see that?"
Jeren looked up at her father once more, glad to see him soften again.
"I can understand it, Papa," she replied. "But that does not make it any easier to accept living with strangers I know nothing about."
"You knew nothing of the Elves before they found you, Jeren," Anardil countered. "At least give Aragorn a chance, by talking to him."
"Of course I will do that, Papa," Jeren said. "You know that I will do anything you ask of me. You know that I will."
"All that I ask, Jeren," Anardil said with sincerity, "is that you at least listen. You have gone beyond the call of duty this time. I can no longer expect your blind devotion. It is not fair of me. I have been unfair to you too many times in your young lifetime, even though you do not see it that way. I know it seems as if I am apt to slip back into my old ways without so much as a moment's notice. Do know that I am trying to turn over a new leaf where parenting you is concerned." At her frown and her mouth about to open in protest, Anardil lifted his hand to halt her before she could speak. "I know what you would say, just do not say it. Trust your Papa in this, daughter. I do know best in this, it is true. I have been a tyrant to you. I want that to be no more." Jeren dropped her eyes once again, as if to agree in a way, though she never would voice to her Papa those words he had just said.
"I will go to find the Chieftain, we will listen to what he counsels, and probably take his advice even though it would not be popular with you. When you reach your majority, you may go whichever way your road may take you. If it leads you back here to Imladris that will be between you and Lord Elrond to decide. For now, while you are still my child to see after, I must do as I see is best. You see that, do you not daughter? Say that you do."
"Be not angry with me, Papa," Jeren said, her voice quiet but strong, "but I do not see it. I am happy here. I do not understand why I may not stay here, if Lord Elrond would permit it."
"I cannot continue to leech off of the Elves, Jeren," Anardil said earnestly.
"I see not the difference, Papa," Jeren replied. "Is charity not charity, whether given from the Elves or the Dunedain?"
"The difference is that the Dunedain are our people. Our people, Jeren," Anardil emphasized. "They are family. They are our own, and we do for each other."
"Are you saying then Papa, that if Elladan or Elrohir or Lord Elrond were hurt, and needed our help for a time, we would expect them to look elsewhere because they were not family?" Jeren pleaded.
"Jeren—" Anardil tried to reason with her.
"Papa, I mean it!" she insisted. "Answer the question! Would you turn them away? Would you give a second thought to giving them aid—for years if need be?"
Anardil's fist hit the bedside table with such force that the bottoms of the cup and the glass that rested there rattled against the wooden surface, and Jeren jumped at the suddenness of the noise.
However, instead of a raised voice from Anardil, his daughter could almost not hear his words.
"Of course I would not turn them away," he said. His voice was unsteady as he continued. "Jeren, think you that any of this is easy for me? Do you think I enjoy hurting you—making your life misery? I do not, you know. I am your father. I love you with all of my heart, and the knife that was plunged into it when your mother died, gets plunged just a bit deeper with every hurt that gets inflicted upon you, whether it is done by Orcs or by me." By now, Anardil's tears could not be stopped, and they were running freely down his face. "I am sorry for all that has befallen you. If I could have had any of it befall me instead, I would have had it done to me gladly. And now you are confronted with this. I truly know not what else to do. I'll not leave you alone ever again. I want not to accept the charity of the Elves. There are fine and generous family members who will be glad to take you in, will you but give them the chance—"
Anardil stood abruptly, clearing his throat and scrubbing at his face with one hand. He turned away from her for a few moments, trying to collect himself once again. When he again had his emotions under control, he moved to face her.
"I am sorry, Jeren," he said, his voice no longer weak or unsteady. "A daughter needs her father to be strong for her, and I have failed you yet again. I will be going now, and will probably not be seeing you before I leave on the morrow. You be good for Lord Elrond, and continue to feel better all right? I love you, my daughter. Whatever happens, always remember that, will you do that for me?"
The ranger did not even wait for an answer from his daughter, he simply walked away. Jeren had started crying when her father had, and her tears had only increased as he prepared to leave. When Anardil reached the door, he turned one last time to gaze upon his daughter. He looked at her sadly for a few moments, then he slipped quietly from the room.
As soon as Elrond opened the door to enter Jeren's room, he wondered if Anardil had been 'at it' again. The girl was in tears. He steered Elladan and Elrohir toward the door of the Healing Halls, wanting to speak to Jeren alone. He quietly approached her bed, not meaning to startle her, but doing so, just the same.
"Jeren—" he said quietly.
The girl jumped at the suddenness of his voice, and grimaced from the pain it brought. Elrond went to the cupboard by the door, and retrieved a few clean cloths, then returned to Jeren, sitting beside her on the bed. He smoothed the hair away from her face, and dried her eyes with one of the cloths he'd just obtained. It seemed a fruitless gesture, for her tears continued to fall.
"Would you care to speak about it?" the Elf lord inquired.
"It will change nothing," Jeren replied brokenly.
"That matters not," he said. "Tears are tears—they care not about change. They care only for venting rage and sorrow."
"Papa is going to send me away," Jeren said sadly, just above a whisper.
"Perhaps not," Elrond said lovingly. "One never knows how these things may turn out. I happen to know the Chieftain of the Dunedain rather personally, you know."
"You know of Papa's plans?" Jeren asked, brightening somewhat.
"Know of them?" Elrond said sneakily. "I made them myself."
Jeren's eyes narrowed. "So it is your idea to get rid of me?" she asked in disbelief.
Elrond's eyebrows scowled in anger.
"Of course I had no such idea!" he replied testily. "It is my plan to get the Dunedain Chieftain here, so that he may see you thriving so well, he will not have the heart to take you away." By the end of his sentence, his eyebrows were no longer scowling, they were raised, and his mouth was smiling in a rather conspiratorial way.
Jeren started to smile, then her countenance fell once again. "Papa will never allow it, you know."
"And why would you say such a thing?" Elrond inquired.
"I should not say," Jeren admitted, somewhat abashed that she had even said such a thing at all.
"No, Jeren, you must say now," Elrond demanded. "I insist."
"He says that for me to remain here would be charity," Jeren said shyly. "And he is right. I should go. I detest taking advantage like I am doing. I just love you all so much, I do not want to leave, that is all."
Elrond smoothed Jeren's covers around her gently, reminded of how it felt to be a parent to a child again, even if she technically was not his to parent. He already felt as if he could not love her more had she not been the fruit of his own body. How did he let these things happen?
"You, young lady, are still in recovery," he said kindly, "and as your healer, I am telling you that you are not to worry about anything, least of all this. In the first place, the council—whether they find Estel sooner or not—is not set until two weeks from now, and will not be held a moment sooner than that, so you will be worrying very prematurely at any rate, if you continue to do so."
He ceased his fussing with her covers, and simply sat beside her as he continued to reassure her.
"In the second place," he said sweetly, "I want you to not go. It is very selfish of me, but I have grown accustomed to your beautiful face and charming voice, and it would grieve me to be deprived of it. So any charity to be granted would be granted to me, were you to agree to stay."
Jeren's face began to beam, but at the same time, her eyes filled with tears.
"Are you speaking truthfully?" she gasped, unable to believe the Elf lord may have such feeling for a lowly human such as herself.
Elrond pulled his spine up very straight, as if offended, and his eyes flashed in feigned outrage.
"Would you dare to doubt me—Elrond, Lord of Imladris?" he asked in his most formidable of voices.
Jeren laughed and then groaned, and then laughed again, knowing he was teasing her.
"I love it when you are smiling, Jeren," he said. "You should never weep—only smile at all times."
She chuckled again, holding her arms around her waist, trying to stop the pain in her ribs. Truthfully, the pain was not as bad as it had been at first, but it did still hurt to laugh.
"Whatever happens, Lord Elrond," Jeren said in a much happier mood, "I will always be glad to have met you, and to have become friends with you. I hope we are always friends. Forever."
"We shall always be friends, Jeren," Elrond said with conviction. "Have no doubt of that. No matter how this turns out with Estel, in the future, you will always have a place here in my house. Always."
"Thank you, my lord," Jeren said, smiling. Then her eyebrows came together in a frown as she considered something that confused her. "You keep mentioning someone named 'Estel'. Who do you speak of? You speak of them as if I should know who you mean."
"You do know who I am speaking of," Elrond replied, "you simply know him by another name. I speak of the Dunedain Chieftain, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. His father, you may or may not know, was slain when he was but a very small child, and his mother and he were brought here to Imladris, where he was raised. To keep his identity secret from those who had no business knowing it, I gave to him an Elvish name—Estel, by which he was known when he resided here. It means 'hope' in our language."
"Tis a beautiful name," Jeren observed. "He was given sanctuary here? He was not fostered among our people?"
"No, but there was a very good reason for that," Elrond explained. "One that I am still not at liberty to discuss, I am afraid."
"The Chieftain is a very mysterious man, is he not?" Jeren asked.
"That he is," Elrond replied. "That he is. Now, my fine young patient. Are you ready to perhaps be fitted with that brace I was speaking to you of earlier?"
"Whatever the healer wishes, I will comply with," Jeren said amiably.
"Good," Elrond said, and he rose and began rolling up his sleeves. He gathered the strips of cloth and other supplies he would need, and sat in the chair next to her bed and began to assemble her new 'harness'. It wasn't long before he had the contraption completed, and he held it up with a flourish. Jeren could not imagine what he was so proud of—it looked like a primitive torture device to her—or some sort of prank Elrohir may devise with which to tease her.
"Now, my dear," Elrond said gently, "I will remove this bandaging and place this brace on your shoulders. If you can withstand the pressure needed to keep the clavicle stable, the need to tie your arms down will be no more."
"I will be able to withstand the pressure," Jeren said positively. "Perhaps with the aid of your healing sleep?" she added with his look of extreme skepticism.
He looked kindly at his charge and said, "Jeren, as much as I would like to take all your pain away with healing sleep, it is not in your best interest to do so. You need your natural sleep to heal you, as well."
"I do?" she asked. "I supposed my sleep was inferior to your healing sleep; after all, it is produced by a mere mortal."
The girl had said this with such disdain for herself it made Elrond cringe. Elves had a tendency to flaunt their superiority under humans' noses, and he supposed it could color a human's perspective—especially one as young as Jeren was—resulting in them disdaining themselves in this way. However, humans also reacted in another way. It was not uncommon for humans and other mortals to show great disdain for the Firstborn, and this was one of the major reasons why: Elves had an attitude—an always not so wonderful attitude—of superiority, when it came to other races. No matter that it was correct, Elves should not lord it over their lesser brothers. That bred discontent.
"Jeren, love," Elrond said, trying to explain so that she understood, "your human sleep is terribly important. You did hear what I called it, did you not? Human sleep. Your body and your mind depend on it to heal and refresh your body—your human body. Jeren, be not ashamed of what you are! All the races were created for their own purpose here on Middle Earth. I can fulfill your purpose no better than you can fulfill mine."
"Forgive me, my lord," Jeren said, "I meant no offense."
Elrond grew exasperated with the girl.
"Jeren!" he said. "An apology was not what I was wanting!"
Jeren's face took on a frown, for she was definitely confused as to what the Elf lord was fishing for.
"Then what is it you want, Lord Elrond?" she asked plaintively.
"To tickle you!" he said, placing his knee on the bed and attacking her gently, collapsing her back while holding her softly, so that she was laying on the mattress once more. He only touched his fingers against her sides for an instant, for making her laugh was a mean thing to do. Her ribs were healing, but would be painful for a few more weeks. And truthfully, it was not only her ribs that made laughing difficult; it was also the broken clavicle. She just simply wasn't aware of it.
"I could not resist, Jeren," he said, laughing. "And now seeing how I will probably torture you, should you be allowed to stay in Imladris, you will probably go gladly once Estel speaks with you."
"My mother used to do that, when I was smaller," Jeren said, beaming from ear to ear. "But I am much older now, sir, and I find ways of retaliation. It may not seem proper, you being who you are and all, but being a woman of the Dunedain, I cannot let a slight such as that go unavenged, do you not agree?"
Elrond straightened up, but still kept one knee on the bed. He regarded her with narrowed eyes, and when he finally decided to speak, one eyebrow rose.
"Retaliation, my dear Jeren?" he said. "Were I you, I would speak to my sons of the penalties regarding seeking retaliation against a father figure. They may have a thing or two to tell you of this particular error you have mentioned committing. However, you had best hurry. They leave at first light with your father."
Jeren placed a like expression on her face, one of calculated consideration. After a few moments thought, she likewise replied.
"In that case," she said, "you had better truss me up one way or another. Either place that torture device upon my shoulders, or tie me up unfairly. But either way, I ask your leave to wander the halls in search of your sons. It seems I have some plotting to do, and not near enough time in which to do it!"
