Chapter 14
"It's been nine months, dear. Any day now," Mum sighed, rubbing her back as she straightened. I looked at my mother, whose face had not much aged during the past few months of pregnancy. She was just days away from the expected due date, and her swollen stomach was a clear indicator of the fact. I was guessing that her and my father's Dunedaín heritage would let them live far past the War of the Ring, provided that they survived the war itself. I refused to think of their mortality.
"Yes, Mum," I replied softly from where I sat in the Forges. Of course, I had an office of my own, but being in it for too long brought up unwanted memories from the one I'd had in Angband. I'd rather not think of it. Besides, the Forge was comfortable and well-accessible to the others who might want to see me.
On the other hand, Mum was right. It had been seven months since I had gone to see the young Aragorn, and I knew that he'd have passed the one-year mark now. According to my calculations, though, in another year I would have to go see to his safety after his father's death. If, on the off chance, Arathorn survived, then all the better. Eru only knew how much I'd inadvertently messed things up.
Which also led me to the fact that I had no idea what to do. I still hadn't seen hair or staff of that meddling grey wizard, and a suspicion as to why had been lingering in my mind for a while now. Perhaps I needed to make a decision first as to what I would be willing to do for the wizard's pending quest to reclaim Erebor, which would happen about nine years from now. I still hadn't made a decision about that yet, though it was on my long list of things to settle.
I hadn't had much time to sit down and work it out due to making sure the Fortress and its occupants were getting settled in properly and in working order. We may not be in war times, but that didn't mean we weren't gearing up for it. Morgoth would not find Hunter's Heath unprepared when he launched his assault on Middle Earth. That also led me into the realization that I still hadn't been able to find time to spar with the Faithful that I'd love to have an opportunity to go toe-to-toe with. Of course, Thurwething and I had been making ourselves respectable again, and had so far been pretty successful, though we knew we wouldn't really reach the same height we'd been at during the War of Wrath until open battle broke out. Not that we really wanted it to. I had made my list pretty big, though, starring Sauron (who would nonetheless beat me but he was so good for improving one's skills that it was irresistible), Dimaethor, and Dad. Which, of course, led me back to Mum.
"You seem excited," she said wryly, and I turned from my desk with a faint smile at her.
"Never doubt it, Mum," I laughed slightly. "But I feel nervous and I'm not even the one having the baby."
She laughed back at me. "I handled you; I'm pretty sure I can handle another," she grinned.
I rolled my eyes. "Who says it'll be a girl?" I replied in a miffed tone.
"Good chance it might be," Mum raised her eyebrows at me while I shrugged.
"Eh. Who knows but Eru," I said cheerfully, then tossed down my quill carelessly. "Ada!" I called to Sauron, who was drowning in papers across the Forge. "We should totally take the rest of the day off and have a sparring match! I need to assess myself," I said lazily, and another head poked around the corner.
"Did someone say spar?" Gwes asked excitedly. "I wanna watch!"
Mum looked somewhat confused. "I know what sparring is, dear, but watch?" she asked.
I stood and went over to kiss her cheek and pat her stomach gently. "A spar between proficient warriors is a popular spectator's sport to watch among a militant group like ours, Mum," I explained. "It is not only entertainment, but also a chance to prove and test prowess in combat; and most importantly, matching a more proficient warrior against a lesser one gives the lesser a chance to learn from a better," I said, and she nodded more understandingly.
"Ah. I see," she sounded somewhat nervous though. "Do you use... live steel?" she asked. I didn't get a chance to answer, as Sauron came up behind Mum.
"Trainees would use wooden or blunted blades, but warriors of our caliber would use live steel in a match," he replied confidently, then raised an eyebrow at the excited Gwes. "You may watch. Go tell the others to meet at the Wereplain," he said wryly, and Gwestiel cheered before sprinting away at an inhuman speed.
"But couldn't you get hurt?" Mum queried anxiously as she accepted my arm to escort her out. Sauron followed us after picking up his chosen weapons.
"Of course, Mum. But since it's a spar, we don't fight to the death. The more proficient the warrior, the better he will be able to turn aside the blade to keep from seriously injuring the opponent. Injuries are unavoidable, but they are not serious unless it is an untrained person," I soothed. "As you know, though, our group is more than amateur," I patted her arm comfortingly. Mum just let out a troubled sigh.
"Well, I hope you know what you're doing..." she replied. Her reaction only cemented my decision that Mum would never see a battle as far as I could help it. She loved to remind us that she had grown up in the middle of a war, but Mum had never seen actual battle. She didn't know the fear it produced, or the horror of blood and the carnage. I never wanted to know. I never wanted her to know. I never wanted my sibling to know.
"We do," Sauron supplied for me. By then, we had reached the Wereplain where the Balrogs were already gathered, as well as several dragons. Braigon was there with Esgalnoron, while Gwes came up a moment later. "They're coming!" she chirped. "Should I set the boundaries?"
"Please," I nodded at her.
"Twice the size of a normal sparring ring," Sauron added, and she nodded before going to enlist Kalarion's help in digging a trench to mark the sides of the ring. The others slowly gathered, and I made sure I had all my weapons as Dad came up to me. Esgalnoron had volunteered to be Mum's chair, which she had graciously accepted. Ancalagon chose to be her umbrella. Over the past months, Mum had grown to appreciate Ancalagon, and was even beginning to like him. Our love was no hidden thing among the rest, and Mum saw that from the get-go. Over time, we knew that she would fully accept the dragon. Although, it did help that Ancalagon chose to use all his charm with her. Mum knew that good and well, but she wasn't above accepting some of his niceties, to everyone's amusement. Dad's especially.
"So, sparring?" he asked me with a faint smile. Our relationship had bettered as well. He still hadn't fully accepted Gwestiel's purpose here, though he did treat her like another daughter, and subsequently acted as a father to her. Gwes didn't mind, even if she was older than him. He and I had settled on a more respectful father-daughter relationship, alternating between that and pure professionalism. It worked well enough.
"Thought it might be a good way to blow off steam and see where we all are," I replied with a similar smile and shrug.
"Can't say I won't enjoy it," he chuckled, loosing his sword by his side. "Dimaethor has proven to be a worthy opponent."
"I have yet to see the both of you in action," I replied dryly. "Time to rectify that."
"From my side too," he pointed out, and we shared a laugh.
"Caladiel! Who shall be judge?" Dimaethor called, trotting up.
"Get one of the Balrogs to do it," I advised. "They're good at that, having overseen it before. Try Nor."
He nodded before going to Norgaladir, who agreed readily. Then Norgaladir asked for participants, and received hands everywhere. He then proceeded to match them up for the first round, making sure the opponents had equal skill. The next round would be more unevenly matched, while the third round would be blatant learning/teaching matches, sometimes called experience matches. They were called that because it gave the person a chance to go against someone more skilled and see how well they would do. For the first match, I'd been paired with Thurwething, while Dad had been paired with Dimaethor. Maeglin was paired with Duvainor, and Sauron was paired with Phanairushir. That one was still a slightly uneven match, but Phanairushir could still most likely hold his own for a considerable while against Sauron compared to the rest of us. I could easily match a troll, but just barely a dragon in humanoid form and certainly not a Balrog or Sauron. I managed snakes, after all.
The first match was between Dad and Dimaethor, which I sat next to Mum to watch. She leaned forwards slightly, eager to see. "Relax, Mum," I chuckled slightly. "They'll be fine."
"I know," she replied absently. "Caracil is here." Her trust in the two healers was unshakable.
"Commence!" Nor roared, and everyone stood or sat in interested silence as the two gauged each other. Dad was the first to go on offensive, using a series of almost blinding attacks that had Dimaethor on guard though not pressed. Dimaethor had a natural advantage being an elf, but had Dad been able to match him in speed and reflexes he would have bested Dimaethor any day. I had a feeling it was also due to not only Dad's Numenorian heritage but also his fighting in future wars. He thought out of the box of normal soldiers in both cases, and proved to be a match for Dimaethor in tactic if not brute strength.
Mum watched almost breathlessly as the match dragged on into the minutes range. Obviously, they were more evenly matched than we thought. Dad's style the way I observed it was less fluid but drawing more on basic martial art styles, using his entire body to defend and attack. His movements weren't choppy, but more smooth in a wave-like fashion of crescendo and rapid fall. It was a style that was all his own. After a good ten minutes though, Nor called time and a draw. Dad and Dimaethor clasped wrists in the Warrior's gesture amidst clapping from the other Faithful. Dad came to join Mum and I a few moments later after he'd been checked over by Caracil.
"Are you alright?" Mum immediately asked, and received a fond kiss.
"I'm fine, darling," he replied with a smile. "Just a little scratch on the arm, that's it."
"Nice style, Dad. Noticed some basic judo and karate in there," I said, impressed. He smiled back.
"Thanks. Dimaethor's been helping me more with it," he answered. We all turned to watch while Maeglin and Duvainor went at it. Their attacks were so fast that had Mum and Dad not been Dunedaín, I knew that they wouldn't have been able to keep track of individual movement. The duel was fast-paced and skilled, but the more experienced was obvious. Duvainor had years and a sharp mind, but Maeglin was hardened by forge work and even more physically skilled than Duvainor due to sheer experience from the war and heavy fighting. Duvainor was almost on-par though, and it was a surprise that he lasted a full five minutes until Maeglin disarmed him with a swift move and held his sword calmly at Duvainor, who conceded calmly.
"A good match, young one. Caladiel has right to be proud," he remarked, and Maeglin bowed to both him and me, while I smiled.
"I may have raised him, sir, but I'm not the one who taught him to fight," I laughed lightly.
"You're not?" Dad sounded surprised.
"No, Dad. Maeglin has the style of an Elven warrior, not of an assassin. His father Eöl taught him, and other prominent warriors of Gondolin polished his training. I could not reveal my own skills at the time, and neither would I willingly teach Maeglin the more... dishonorable method of combat," I answered with a shrug, then stood up.
"Be careful dear," Mum said worriedly as I smiled.
"I will, Mum," I reassured.
"Shall I give you a token of favor?" Ancalagon smirked from high above.
"Oh hush yourself, Ancala," I snorted, rolling my eyes as I headed towards Thurwething and the ring.
"Knock yourself out," Esgalnoron advised while I sighed.
"Don't jinx it, Esgalnoron," I grumbled as he bark-laughed.
"I should've done that," Dad remarked.
"Well I don't have one to give you," I heard Mum reply.
"Well Thurwething, looks like we get to prove ourselves eh?" I asked cheerily. She smirked back.
"I am confident that we can make another stalemate," she replied confidently, and I grinned.
"That's the spirit!" I cheered, and then we stood a good yard apart while waiting for Nor's signal.
"Commence," he declared, bringing down a flaming hand like a red flag, and Thurwething and I just stood there. For a few precious moments, I tried to discern what strategy she would take. The tricky thing about fighting another assassin was the fact that it was just as much a mental match as it was a physical match. We had to keep one step ahead of each other at all times. I had trained her well, though. There was absolutely no sign in her eyes or stance of what she would do. Before anyone could comment on our standoff, though, she moved. It was just a minuscule, tiny shift, but in a matter of seconds both she and I had drawn simple daggers and had leaped forwards. Assassins didn't defend much. We were not for open combat, but our strange circumstances during the War of Wrath had forced us to accommodate. Still though, our movements were more offensive than defensive. In any other case, it would've been unwise because during prolonged battle it would wear energy down, but she and I didn't exactly have human stamina, or even Elven.
Our blades clashed neatly, perfectly off-setting each other. A moment later though, I had to swiftly block another dagger coming up towards my stomach from underneath. That was another thing. Thurwething and I couldn't be paired with anyone else besides bigger or better opponents because we fought dirty, plainly speaking. Neither of us saw the use of chivalry because we hadn't fought anything other than Morgoth's minions, who certainly wouldn't play fair any more than we did. It was just common sense.
The minutes ticked by as we dodged, kicked, ducked, swiftly struck, and parried. I got in a few slight nicks, as did she. By the time Nor called a draw, both of us were slightly bleeding from superficial cuts. We'd heal fast, though, so we hugged and laughed lightly, barely breathless.
"Now that's what I call a spar," I said in satisfaction, feeling relaxed.
"I think we are doing better than before," Thurwething agreed, and we bowed to each other and the applauding others before submitting ourselves to Duvainor and Caracil. They briefly cleaned our thin wounds and applied some salve before sending us off. I went back to Mum and Dad to find that Ancalagon had morphed while Esgalnoron had taken over being shade. Mum greeted me by pulling me down and looking over my mild wounds.
"I'm fine, Mum," I said once she was done. "Satisfied?" I asked with a patient smile.
She let go with a huff. "Well excuse me for caring."
I just cracked a smile at Dad, who inclined his head in acknowledgement. Ancalagon lazily wrapped an arm around my waist. "You're going to need to move faster if you're going against Sauron," he murmured, and I simply nodded.
"I know," I replied. "I will try, but I know that I will never truly match him," I said with a self-deprecating laugh. "Ada is far above me..."
The next rounds went fairly well. I sat out on the second round, then joined for the third. Dad had been paired with Maeglin, who was teaching Dad how to better fight against physically stronger opponents. I joined Sauron over to the side, away from Maeglin and Dad.
"First let me see where you are," Sauron gestured to me with his mace. At least, at the moment. I took in a deep breath. Sparring with Ada always pushed me to my utmost limit. During my peak in the War of Wrath, I probably could have just barely kept up with him for a max of thirty minutes before getting utterly smashed. Now though, I knew that I wouldn't last half that long. Even without his magic, Ada was more than just a proficient fighter.
"Go easy on the first few, Ada," I grinned sheepishly. "The bout with Thurwething wasn't quite enough to get my brain really into battle mode."
Sauron swung the mace easily, raising an eyebrow. "I thought it had not been as long for you," he remarked.
"That doesn't mean I managed to practice," I retorted, then without further ado made a swift lunge for his throat. Of course, I never made it. My daggers clashed with his mace, and another second found me fighting at a speed that I knew Mum and Dad's eyes wouldn't be able to catch. In the time it took to blink, the mace became a sword and Sauron was lunging at me with a speed and precision that I remembered from so long ago. I had long since switched from normal daggers to a specific pair of knives that were forged of a Mithril and steel alloy that Sauron had made for me during the First Age and hadn't been buried with my body. They would be the only thing that could counter his own weapon, which also held a lot of his magic.
Said magic was suddenly utilized as the sword burst into flames, which I just barely managed to avoid being distracted by and instead concentrated on its movements. Normally, I would be calculating the opponent's eyes and stance, but I knew already that that was impossible with Sauron. He could look like one thing and then do the exact opposite. It was foolish to try to read his stances, and I had learned that from him as well. The flaming sword changed into a flaming staff this time, and Sauron launched a double-sided offense that I actually managed better. It wasn't because his skill was any less - if anything, his use of the quarterstaff was almost impossible to follow with the eyes - but rather because I had good hand-eye coordination and could deflect both sides of the staff with my blades better than just one.
Satisfied that I could handle all three weapons, Sauron then chose his personal favorite - a huge sword that I doubt many could have even lifted - and charged at me. I felt like I was fighting for my life, and suddenly found that Sauron was pushing me in more than one way. He knew just as well as I did that once I knew I was fighting for my life, the instincts that had been beaten into me for so many years would immediately come out to the forefront. It would no longer become a spar, but a true life or death situation. Apparently, Sauron thought I needed to be goaded into one. He was more than capable of handling me.
"Ada, no!" I yelled nonetheless. He didn't pause, relentlessly increasing his attack.
"Yes," he snarled back, and I lost control.
I didn't have to think. I don't know how long I was concentrated on the sword and the adrenaline rushing through me, sounds and sights and smells automatically processed and addressed or discarded. All I knew was that at some point, I found myself flat on my back and weapons tossed out of my hands. Normally I wouldn't even hesitate to recover myself, but awareness trickled into my mind of my true surroundings as Sauron leaned over me, staring into my eyes.
I shook my head as he stood back up straight, letting him know that I was fully in control of myself again. I didn't get up. My lungs were straining, aching for breath, but it was a familiar pain. One that I could handle. My body's aches were not enough to make me pay much attention to them either. I just closed my eyes, and breathed. There was a silence on the field.
"You shouldn't have," I finally said, my own voice making me realize for the first time that I was in my darker form. Curling my lip, I let the Flame out again.
"You were tested. You responded," Sauron said curtly. "You were made to be a weapon." He looked at me blankly, though his eyes held anger. Not at me, but another.
I sat up slowly, absently noting that there was a nice slash across my forearms. Duvainor came to wordlessly bind them. "You shouldn't have pushed me that far," I snarled back, supremely unhappy.
"How else was I to know if the Caladiel we need for the coming War is still with us?" he barked back, swinging his mace over his shoulder. "You need to be in shape."
I nodded in thanks to Duvainor before standing. "Sauron, we were not alone," I hissed. "My mother is here. Gwestiel is here. This was not the place to make me lose control."
He strode up to me, grabbing my hand. I groaned as heat flooded my senses again. "You lose the heat you need to survive every time you fight," he said sternly. "You needed to see your weakness and acknowledge it so it could be fixed. You know that I am more than capable of keeping you down should the need arise."
I felt dizzied by the heat and pulled myself away, stumbling a half step. "Ada... I cannot," I finally rasped, trying to breathe. "I can't... I can't lose-" A sudden convulsion of pain ripped through my body, and the breath was robbed from my lungs.
Esgalnoron was by my side in a flash, and brought his fist down hard on my back. I arched, yelling slightly. Then he hit my back again, and I felt my heart jolt back into motion. Groaning, I bent over to regain breath. "Thanks," I croaked, and Esgalnoron nodded tersely.
"And that too," Sauron mentioned, handing me a small flask. "What do you plan to do when you are in battle and forget this?" he made me take a sip.
I laughed bitterly. "Die, of course," I shrugged. "What else can I do?"
Mum chose to hustle up right then, cradling my head in her hands. "Celine!?"
I sighed and grasped her hands. "I'm fine, Mum," I murmured.
"Not buying that lie this time," she snapped.
"Mum!" I looked into her eyes. "Relax. I will be just fine. I told you seizures happen sometimes. Ada made me a potion to take when it happens. It'll be fine," I said slowly and firmly, and she closed her eyes with a pinched expression as Dad came up to wrap a steadying arm around her.
"What happened?" Mum finally asked quietly.
"Heart attack," I explained shortly. Dad gave me a look, and I gave him a tight-lipped smile in reply. He blanched and looked to Mum.
"What?" Mum asked.
"I told you about Beleg and how I have to have heat to supplement now," I reminded her. "If I get too cold, I go into cardiac arrest." It was not a lie. But that was only half the reason I had suffered from a heart attack. The other was one of those that Mum would never know.
Since my time in Angband, Morgoth had done extensive research on me to study the Flame in any way he could. The downside for him was that he couldn't separate it from me or me from it. It was an inherent part of me. The downside for me was the fact that it meant getting picked at, prodded, and pulled apart. That was putting it mildly. It would be more accurate to say that I had been subjected to experiments as a lab rat. As a result, my internal organs weren't exactly in mint condition. I used to be able to heal better, but after giving up my life-force for Beleg, the Flame could only do so much when it was all that was keeping my body relatively functional and moving. So, my heart sometimes gave out from abuse and overuse alike.
Sauron had made a special potion for me to carry around in a small vial since the incident. It would kick-start my heart without anyone else needing to be there. If I couldn't swallow it because I couldn't breathe, then I'd have to inject it into my bloodstream directly through the hollow, needle-like point at the top of the vial. However, that was usually used in the middle of a battle when Esgalnoron wasn't around to jar my heart back into work.
Dad's look had been a discreet query if it was a result of that, and my smile had been answer enough. Any fear I might have had of Mum pressing for details though was suddenly put to rest as she let out a sudden gasp and clung to Dad. A wet patch began to seep through her dress.
"I think my water broke," she squeaked, and Esgalnoron immediately took her and flew towards the Fortress. Caracil and Duvainor swiftly followed, while the rest milled about in concern for Mum.
"Go, Dad," I urged softly, and he looked at me hesitantly. "I promise you, I'll be fine. Reassure Mum of that, please. She needs you," I pushed him gently, and he pressed a kiss to my brow before leaving.
Sauron pressed a hand to my forehead. "You will do fine," he looked at me piercingly. "You should not hide yourself from them."
"Mother will never know," I replied wearily, but my eyes were determined. He just nodded in resignation.
"I know. You are still weak. That was ten minutes," he said, and I snorted.
"I'd never beat you anyway."
Ancalagon came up to make sure I was well while the others gathered around.
"I'm fine, guys. Thanks," I grinned at them exhaustedly. "It'll take some getting used to again."
"Is Lady Alassiel okay?" Gwes asked a little anxiously. I smiled.
"She'll be fine, Gwes. Mum is very strong and she's got Caracil and Duvainor. Besides, where do you think I came from?" I laughed slightly, earning some chuckles. Of course, I felt a little anxious, but not too much. Mum would be fine, I knew that. However, I was still having second thoughts as to her staying here during the war. She'd be safe in either Lóthlorien or Doriath, and she would be welcome in both. I hoped to send her to Doriath once actual war broke out. Dad would assuredly back me up. The only problem was Mum herself: she could be very stubborn sometimes...
We all made our way back into the fortress to quietly wait for news of Mum. Thurwething, I, and the others who had sparred treated our wounds with salve and rewrapped them, while others just sat in the Forge either doing some small work or talking softly to one another. Esgalnoron came back to lie beside me. I knew it might be hours before we heard anything, so I sat down to paperwork after a few prayers to Eru for the safety of Mum, the baby, and Dad. Who knows what my Mum would threaten poor Dad with.
It was a good two hours later before a scream sounded faintly through the hallways. Several spooked, hearing it better with their naturally good ears, and almost all looked to me. I just smiled reassuringly and calmly went back to paperwork. There was no panic in the scream, so everything was fine. They had just begun to marginally relax when another cry echoed down the stone. Several shifted uncomfortably, while Braigon's ears flattened.
"Are you sure everything is well?" Kalarion remarked uncomfortably.
I grinned slightly. "Well guys, as long as there's no panic in the screams, everything is fine. Having a baby hurts y'know," I informed them, and went back to work.
Marcaril suddenly bustled in with a stack of paperwork. He had been compiling accounts of the First Age so that he could finally get to work writing it out, and had also been going around and asking everyone who had lived through the First Age questions about certain events and whatnot. Most everyone in the fortress found his work intriguing, and I, too, had learned things I didn't know before. Gwes had been helping him as well, her handwriting proving to be legible for Marcaril, to his relief and delight.
"Caladiel, I need your help again," he said, sounding harried. Glad for an excuse, I swept the current paperwork aside and took the stack of papers, dropping them on the desktop.
"What do you need?" I asked, and Gwes came as well.
"Congratulations, by the way," Marcaril mentioned, and I chuckled.
"We're not out of the woods yet, but thank you," I replied. He nodded.
"These accounts that I copied from Rivendell and Doriath's libraries are all similar, yet I know they cannot all be accurate. Several of them have conflicting details. Perhaps you could help?" he sounded frustrated, and I sympathized. Going over reports with Sauron during the First Age had been similar, and even worse for me because then I'd have to go make sure they were right.
"Certainly, if I can," I said, and began ruffling through the papers with him and Gwes. It was an hour before we straightened the accounts out with help from a few others, and in the meantime the periodic screaming had been increasing until it was every minute or less. By that time I was feeling sorry for Mum, who had begun to sound exhausted, but I also knew that it was near the end.
Marcaril thanked us and with Gwestiel's help bustled off again, just as the screaming died down. The others looked at me in hope, and I gave them a wide grin. "Give it twenty minutes and we should be hearing news." I didn't have the heart to laugh at their clear relief.
It was thirty minutes later until Caracil came in, looking a bit tired and worn. He smiled though, even if others still looked with horror at the blood on his sleeves and front of his tunic.
"What happened!?" Dimaethor exclaimed. Caracil looked at me and Esgalnoron, and we started snickering.
"You poor, innocent babes," I laughed, feeling more relaxed. Caracil's face had set to rest my worries.
"She is fine. The blood is natural. It was a painful birth, and we had a little panic at the beginning, but she and the babe are well. She's asking for you, Caladiel," Caracil chuckled, and I went to hug him.
"Thank you, Caracil," I said softly, and he patted my back gingerly.
"It was an honor, Caladiel. Fret not," he answered with a smile in his voice. I nodded and gathered up my sleeves, walking as calmly as I could towards the hospital wing of the fortress.
When I got there, it was to hear a few gentle voices. Poked my head in, I grinned. "Is the coast clear to enter, milady?" I teased, and earned chuckling.
"Oh, hush you, and come see your baby brother," Mum said as I approached, and it took my entire willpower not to react to the news. Instead I looked down at the baby who was suckling on his thumb contentedly, eyes closed and fists clenched. Soft, downy brown hair covered the little head, and his skin was pale and fair. Mum held him out to me, smiling wearily but happily as her dark hair stuck to her skin and pooled on the pillow like a halo. I hesitated, sitting down next to Dad.
"I-I'm not used to holding..."
"Take him," Mum insisted, and I gingerly allowed her to settle him in the crook of my arm. He was so light in my arms that for a moment I worried that he was unhealthy. But that was banished when I noticed his ruddy skin. Dad smiled down at him and me proudly. Just then, he decided to open his eyes, and I received a surprise.
"Blue?" I asked, startled. I knew my Dad had had blue eyes when he was younger, which had turned into grey, but my mother did not have blue eyes. It was a rare show of non-dominant genes being displayed.
"It's a surprise to us, too," Dad admitted. The babe burbled, letting out a slightly milky hiccup. I smiled crookedly down at him, feeling clumsy and inexperienced. Would those blue eyes ever have to see war? Would he learn how to wield a weapon? Would he be there for the War of the Ring? If he survived, then he would have at least seventy years to grow up before the War. He would have to learn to fight. My heart sank at the thought. Where would he learn? Here? In Doriath? From who? Would I lose him in battle one day? My baby brother? My eyes misted for a moment, but I blinked them away.
"What is he named?" I asked quietly, dragging a finger down the creamy cheek. A toothless grin followed, and I smiled faintly in amusement as a hand grabbed my finger.
"His name is Conor," Dad was the one who answered.
"You're strong, Conor," I informed the gurgling baby, who was strangling my finger. "I promise, you'll have a better life..." I whispered, sighing. Conor just smiled dumbly. "I'm happy for you, Mum, Dad," I said with a smile.
"He's your brother," Mum said softly, and I handed him back to her.
"Yes. In name," I replied as gently as I could, looking at Mum compassionately. "But I cannot forget, even now in this happy moment, that I am nowhere near to him in heart or mind. He is my brother, and he will be protected. I will try to make sure that he will have a bright future, and that the name he shall inherit one day will be one that he can bear proudly. He is of noble lineage, a child of the line of Isildur and Eärendil, the ones whose lines I serve." I looked at her gravely. "One day, he will inherit Dad's position, and as a minor sister of his household, it will be my duty to protect him and make sure that my actions do not cause him embarrassment. This is my duty, and the highest honor I can confer to him," my eyes softened at her stricken look.
"Mum, I wish we were a closer family. Life, however, has not decided to allow me that. I have always been a servant," I looked down at my hands clasped in front of me. "I am a lowly assassin, the least servant of Melkor, brother of Manwë," I said quietly, my hair covering my eyes. "Conor Ciaranson is not just my brother - he will one day have legitimate claim to me and my services. In the meantime, it is my duty to make sure that his future will be as unshadowed as I can. My work has just begun, to trailblaze a path in the world for my brother."
There was a silence as I stood there, hands clenched tightly. "Your name has already been shadowed by my reputation. From now on, I must make sure that my actions do not marr my family's name any longer. Forgive me," I bowed to both of them deeply. "As a daughter, I should be better."
"Celine..." Mum's hand reached out to me.
"So, this is the reason you have been reserved around me," Dad said softly.
Tears sprang to my eyes and hovered there, while I was unsure whether to let them fall or not. "I have wronged you," I said, guilt eating at me. I hadn't wanted this path, but I was put on it anyway. As always, there were so many stipulations to it, so many boundaries I had tripped over. I had been trained to get back up, but I had not been trained to treat my wounds. As a measly assassin, no matter how skilled or valued, I was still nothing more than a tool. I had known that my position in Angband was tentative, and there would be no special exceptions made for me. I was free to do what was necessary, but if I proved to be pushing the envelope too far, I was punished for my impudence. Thus, it did not matter how many times I fell or got injured. I was expected to bear the pain without a word and go on. Was it a wonder that I did not know how to patch anything within myself? Was it a wonder that I had scarred so much and so deeply? And yet, pain had become a normal thing for me... How was I supposed to learn to not expect it, anticipate it even?
"How could you have? You are the leader of the Faithful - or at least, you once were. What better honor is there than that?" Mum demanded. This time, slight annoyance bubbled up in me, though I was sure not to let it show.
"Culture here is different," was all I said. "The heirs of Isildur should not be honored to have an assassin among their ranks. It is not a profession for the Dunedaín to condone or boast. The fact that I am one of the Faithful is a thin veneer that offers me acceptance among the Dunedaín, but even Lord Arathorn does not openly accept me as one of them. He told me personally that I am not counted as one of them. I am an elf, not a human." My bangs were still covering my eyes, and though I was no longer bowing, my head was tilted down.
"Nonsense," Mum said sharply. "It's not like you had a choice."
"Alassiel, darling, I don't think you understand," Dad said, and I was so grateful for him. He, like me, understood both cultures and where I was coming from. "She's right. Her position among the Dunedaín is only that of an ally, and that is because she is one of the Faithful. You and I are used to such things as the CIA, but the truth is that here, that is looked upon as being cowardly. To be in league with an assassin is shameful, because their profession is not honest combat. They detest back-stabbing, though they expect it because of the way of the world," Dad tried to explain. "Their culture is that of honor and nobility. The Rangers may be under cover, but they fight fairly, not like an assassin."
"I suppose I can understand that," Mum agreed, "but what does it matter? Celine should be who she is."
Dad and I exchanged a look. "Honey, she's an ambassador. She represents to the rest of the Free People who the Faithful are. It is politics, a mire that must be trod carefully. Sauron is the true leader, but she is the emblem of the Faithful. It is on her shoulders that the burden of appearance rests, and not everyone will trust her, who was once an assassin deep within the enemy's counsel," Dad held her hand. "She feels trapped, because she feels that as family she is failing us, but on the other hand on the political front, she cannot afford to forget the fact that Conor is technically of nobility as first cousin of Lord Aragorn's new son. One day, he may well be called to be a noble of young Lord Aragorn's court, and when that time comes, his reputation with the people will be important," Dad took a deep breath, so I jumped in.
"Also according to culture, I am Conor's sister, and that gives me a small amount of status that Arathorn cannot deny me, though he knows that I take no interest in assuming any of the rights or little power that comes with that position. At the same time, though, I cannot remain separate from Conor. Our relationship will be known sooner or later, and until that time comes when he is ready to take on his duties as a noble, then I must make sure that no act of mine will give people an excuse to sully his name. Already the fact that I am an assassin will cause suspicion that I may train him in my own skill set, and rumors will never truly die down. This is my predicament. On one side, my family calls me to love; but I am blocked because right now, to truly love him means to keep my distance as a protector and a defender of his name." I didn't falter, though my shoulders hunched slightly.
Mum was quiet again, looking down at Conor's face. "I'm sorry," she finally whispered. "I did not know that... that having another child would burden-"
"He is a blessing," I cut her off immediately, knowing that I could not allow her to go there. "It is my duty and my honor to look after the name of this family," my voice was hard. "I am a servant, and I am an assassin. I am not ashamed of who I am. But neither can I allow myself to forget my position in the sight of others, and act accordingly. I will stumble and fall, but your safety and your happiness has always been my ultimate goal. Why do you think I am motivated to serve this world with my last breath? Because it's just my duty? No, it's because the better the world is, the happier my family and others that I care for will be." I looked away. "And because as a servant of Melkor, my duty is to keep balance in the world," my hand crept to the necklace at my throat. Then I sighed and looked towards my new baby brother and my parents.
I walked forward, and kissed Mum's cheek reverently, then Conor's hand, then bowed to Dad. "I love you," I looked at them with a pained smile. "But I must do this for you. I'm sorry, but my hands are tied. I am willing to do this, because of my love for you." Then bowing once more, I left. Throwing my hood over my head, I began to walk towards the main gate.
One the way, Esgalnoron came up to me. "Where are you going?"
"For a walk," I snarled, and he nodded calmly.
"I'll come with you," he replied steadily, as I knew he would. He knew my moods better than anyone else. Everyone else who passed us in the hall didn't say anything, not foolish enough to ignore the clear warning signs around me. Hey, it wasn't my fault that I was used to projecting a miasma of deadliness around me!
I broke into a run across the Wereplain, Esgalnoron loping beside me in wolf form. We entered the trees and I kept running, even leaping up into the trees to leap from branch to branch and head somewhere, anywhere. Just away from the pain that threatened to swallow me alive, practically drooling. Physical pain I could handle, but emotional pain? I was already a wreck. Could I really afford to add another issue on top of all that?
Thankfully, Esgalnoron had Faelon, so I ran and ran until my legs gave out - which was a ways - then stopped in a tree to catch my breath. Esgalnoron sat, barely panting. Faelon squeaked.
"We should go to Lóthlorien," Esgalnoron said, suddenly morphing into a dragon.
"What for?" I asked, sounding calmer. The restlessness was still there, though, gnawing at me until I felt like shaking despite my deeply ingrained habit to stay inhumanly still.
"Just to. Sauron owes you a break anyway," he said, and made a connection to the Maia, who just shrugged and told us to be back before a week. Esgalnoron tossed me Faelon, who I caught and petted absently as he purred happily.
"Why there?"
"Cause you need some heat and the right company," Esgalnoron then proceeded to scoop me up and fly off. I sighed, knowing that even if I disagreed Esgalnoron would ignore me anyway. I just held on to Faelon, resigning myself.
When we finally arrived at Lóthlorien, I pocketed Esgalnoron and Faelon alike while heading to the main talan. It was Amarië who greeted me with surprise as I bowed deeply. "My Queen," I said.
"Rise, Caladiel. What brings you to Lóthlorien so unexpectedly?" she asked, holding out a hand to me.
"Not entirely unexpected," Galadriel's voice said, and I smirked somewhat bitterly. Of course she would know.
"Did the mirror give you a reason as well, lady Galadriel?" I asked, though politely.
Her amusement was in her small smile. "Training," she said simply, and I chuckled darkly.
"I take your permission gladly," I said with a rather fanged smile.
"Findaráto will no doubt be waiting when he gets back and finds out that you have come," was her only reply before drifting away. "Haldir is expecting you."
I bowed before heading towards the training grounds, managing to not lose myself thanks to my training. Haldir was at the sparring ring when I arrived, sitting in the branch of a tree. He and quite a few other guards were doing their exercises, and two Galadhrim were sparring under his watchful eye. Not too far away was an archery turf where other Galadhrim were training. I watched the sparring, noting strengths and weaknesses. Tilting my head, I watched even more closely as Haldir himself began to instruct the two. He suddenly conducted a move to demonstrate, and my eyes narrowed immediately. That was a dangerous stance to -
The warrior's blade suddenly slipped from his grasp, flying towards the unprepared spectators. A moment later, it was cut in half by a single Mithril blade, while a startled silence fell. I picked up the pieces of the broken sword, looking at it.
"That is a dangerous stance to take when trying to recreate that particular stroke," I observed mildly, fitting the pieces of the blades together. My fingers began to glow blue, and the iron slowly turned red. I welded the blade together, smoothing away the cracks as it cooled slowly. Then I swung it, heading into the ring.
"This is a good sword," I handed it back to the stunned and pale warrior. "Your balance must be similar to me." I bowed to Haldir. "Captain."
Haldir bowed back. "Thanks and welcome," he replied, recovering himself rapidly.
"Lady Galadriel has mentioned you expected me," I said, raising an eyebrow.
"The lady mentioned that you had come to help us," he replied diplomatically, and I smiled slightly.
"Indeed? Well then, shall we start?" I asked, ignoring the looks that the other Galadhrim sent my way.
"As you wish," Haldir assented somewhat stiffly from decorum. I didn't say anything, knowing that it wasn't my place to cajole him out of his defensive shell.
The heat, as Esgalnoron had said, was allowing my mind to clear, and I was eager to work out the tension I felt in my neck. By the time I dismissed the warriors and joined Findaráto and the others for dinner, I was feeling much better. The life ahead was certainly going to be interesting.