A/N: Hi everyone, here's chapter 17! Sorry it took so long, but a Chinese fantasy drama I've been waiting for two years for has finally started and I got wrapped up in it. It's 56 episodes long, 45 minutes each, and I eagerly watch every single one of them. So I guess you could say I get very distracted by them. But here is chapter 17 for your enjoyment and I hope to see you again next time. Chapter 18 is done and will be posted as soon as possible.
Until then, please read, review, and enjoy!
Eafled swallowed hard, then said something that chilled them all to the bone: "Those are the men that left me to the orcs and the cold."
Eafled's words were met with stunned silence for only a moment, then Laeron was carefully looking at the men without seeming to be. They were dressed for cold weather travel and were from the south if he were to guess by their features. Where in the south he had no idea.
It did not matter.
If Eafled said these men had abandoned her to orcs, then they did. Laeron knew she did not lie. He glanced at Cendar and Arahad, silently communicating with them. Arahad nodded imperceptibly before saying, "Perhaps Veryafion will let you ride her, Eafled. Why don't you and your brother go in and introduce yourselves further?"
Veryafion, understanding the fear in Eafled and the anger in Laeron, nodded her head and moved away from the stall door. Eafled and Tordag entered her stall, and immediately she put herself between them and the door. She would not move until Laeron said the danger was past.
As this happened Laeron had begun walking over to the patrol that had escorted the two men. Not trusting the men, especially if they may be able to understand Sindarin, he signed with his hands: "Enemies...Danger...Hunters."
The patrol leader immediately understood, as did his lieutenant, and they silently passed along the warning to the rest of the patrol. None of the patrol reacted but they all prepared themselves.
They would take these men alive.
The patrol had already surrounded the men to escort them to the valley, so it was only a matter of taking them. It would have been simple, if one of the men had not looked up from his saddlebag and spotted Cendar, surprise in his eyes briefly.
Cendar, the experienced warrior that he was, was not looking at the hunters at all. He was speaking quietly to Arahad, of what the hunter could not see or hear. But it made him glance around at the elves gathered around. A few had inched closer to him and his companion, and he immediately knew that they had been discovered. He glanced at the other hunter, saw that he had made the same conclusion, and looked up, right into Laeron's eyes.
The stablemaster had been pretending to look over all the horses but had truly been watching the men closely. He was more than surprised to see the man's gaze on him and had no time to react when the man said, "It was worth the attempt," grabbing a hidden dagger from his belt and stabbing himself in the heart. He collapsed and died, leaving only his companion, who was not the least bit surprised.
His companion only said, "The poison is oleander, you can only save one today," he grabbed two daggers. He stabbed himself with one, but not before throwing the second at Laeron. Because of how Laeron was standing there was nowhere for him to go or move, and he fell to the ground with a cry, the dagger deeply embedded below his right collarbone. Several horses whinnied and snorted when they saw the stablemaster fall, all of them fond of him. Already the poison began to take effect, as did the pain and blood loss. Laeron passed out and then there was an explosion of chaos as the patrol checked the men and the grooms ran to Laeron.
Up until then everyone had been too shocked to react to what was happening, some unable to understand what they had just seen. Even hearing from Glorfindel that the hunters would rather die than talk had not prepared them for this.
As the patrol healer began attending to Laeron before they brought him to the healing wing, Nortaro took control of the situation with a sharp whistle. Everyone immediately calmed and turned to him for directions: "Get those bodies to the healing wing, the healers will know what to do. Grooms, take care of the horses. Lord Arahad?" he turned to the man, "Would you be so kind and take Cendar, Tordag, and Eafled back to the House? Lord Glorfindel will wish to know about this."
"Of course," Arahad said, Cendar and Tordag immediately following him and the rest of the Dúnedain there. A few got behind them, becoming a barrier of sorts between Tordag, who carried Eafled, and the dead men. They left by the back way out of the stables that came out closer to the kitchens and were soon out of sight.
A few minutes after they disappeared from sight the patrol healer said Laeron was fit to move and he was brought to the healing wing. The dagger was removed then and the healers began purging the poison from his blood after stitching and binding the stab wound.
As this happened Glorfindel heard the full tale from Cendar and Tordag and Arahad. The patrol leader also told his story about finding the two men and asking them where they were going and if they needed help. The two men had agreed to stay a few days in Rivendell before continuing on in their travels. Once they were finished they left and Glorfindel waited for only a few minutes before the twins, Thranduil, Gandalf, and Celeborn arrived. Galadriel and Círdan were with Elrond for a little while and would be told the full story later.
Once all were there Glorfindel jumped straight into the story: "Two hunters were able to infiltrate the valley. Before they could be captured they killed themselves in the stables, but not before stabbing Laeron with a poisoned knife. I have been assured he will be fine, but it still leaves us at a disadvantage regarding those men. Eafled recognized them, and they saw that they would not be able to get into the valley. What do we do? We cannot close the borders; that is not the purpose of the Last Homely House."
Everyone was silent for a few minutes, processing what he had just said, then Gandalf said, "Narya is still protecting the valley. I can use her to sense the intentions of all who attempt to enter the valley. That will help, I think, even though I do not think it will happen as winter lays itself more heavily over the land."
"And the guards will be extra vigilant now," Elrohir murmured before saying more loudly, "They will not want to be fooled again, especially when it comes to these men. They will not be so quick to trust now."
Glorfindel nodded, while Thranduil said what they were all thinking: "This woman, wherever and whoever she is, grows bolder and more arrogant by the day. She will make a mistake, one day."
"Let us hope it is not a costly one, gwanur," Celeborn said, his words hanging in the air ominously.
That woman was a true danger to all that was right and just with the world, and they all knew they had to stop her.
Before it was too late.
The woman had known that the two men she had sent into the valley would be discovered almost immediately. She had known they would kill themselves instantly. Death was preferable to failure in this business.
That had been done purposefully.
While the elves were distracted by them dying, another could sneak in undetected, waiting for the right moment to strike. He would bide his time, waiting for a chance to remind Elrond Half-elven the hunt was not over yet.
And this one would succeed where the others had failed. He was an expert at being invisible.
Which meant days later, when Maeassil left the kitchens to retrieve some honey cakes she had left out to cool, she only smiled and shook her head when she saw a few missing.
She could only assume a few children had sneaked past the watchful eyes of a cook and made off with some, as children were wont to do, and thought nothing of it. She had no way of knowing about the severe threat hidden deep in the valley.
So deep that none looked for it, as none knew it was there. The man would strike when the moment was right, and not before.
In his chambers, Elrond's eyelids fluttered a moment before stilling; too weak to understand the warnings Vilya was trying to send as her strength slowly returned.
Two days of almost continuous running had Avorneth near the Anduin and trying to find a suitable place to cross. It was difficult, the river ran fast and deep and she had not found any ferries or travelers that could help her.
That first night she and the mare had galloped as fast as they could, putting as much distance between them and the fortress as possible. Once free of the choking despair of the black mountains Avorneth had breathed easier, her body and mind calming and finding peace with the trees and life around her. She had not felt that connection in so long; it was almost foreign to her.
As night yielded to day, the mare had increased her speed for a time and Avorneth was able to feel the true freedom of the wind as it blew her hair back and she felt it blowing past her cheeks. The mare had seemed to enjoy it as well, and Avorneth had decided to name her Nightwind then. The mare was as free as she was in spirit, and was not meant for life in a stable.
Avorneth said as much to her: "As soon as I can, I will set you free, wild heart. You are not meant to be tamed."
Nightwind had only snorted and raced on, following the directions of her rider faithfully.
Now on the third day, Avorneth was uncertain. Crossing the Anduin was always dangerous, but now it was even more so. They had never crossed the Anduin the few times her lady had brought her to Minas Tirith. They had always crossed at the Onodló before it split into four separate rivers and joined the Anduin proper. She did not know how to cross such a wide river.
She sighed, turning to Nightwind, "I need your help, my friend. Is there a safe place to cross you know of?"
The mare, though not elven, understood what her rider was asking. And thankfully for them both, she knew where the ford was. She turned right along the river and trotted along for several miles before suddenly charging into the water. Avorneth could only hold tightly to the mare and regret the fact she had no shoes, as the water was bitterly cold. But the mare was a fast swimmer, and soon they were making their way up the embankment. Once on level ground, they stopped, Avorneth letting Nightwind catch her breath as she massaged her feet to get some feeling back in them. Once done she leaned forward and embraced the mare, saying, "You have a brave heart, my friend. Thank you."
Nightwind only snorted and pawed the ground, eager to run and warm up. Avorneth smiled and gave her her head, heading towards Rohan and Aldburg. She had decided to head there as she thought it would be a quicker journey. Hopefully, she would find one of the Éothéod as well on her way.
That would not be the case.
Only a few hours after crossing the Anduin Nightwind's ears began to flick behind her as she listened to something. Avorneth, knowing to always trust her mount, looked behind them as well and saw something that filled her with dread.
They had to be hunters, she realized. They were pushing their horses hard to catch up with her and the one leading them was massive.
'Goliath!' she realized in terror, 'Mariam must not have known he had returned!'
That realization brought fear, but also determination. She would not let them take her without a chase and a fight.
"Run, Nightwind, run!" she cried, "Show them your speed!"
The mare whinnied and immediately charged forward faster. She outpaced the other horses, drawing many lengths ahead of them. She sprinted across the plains, never slowing or tiring. Risking a glance behind her, Avorneth could see that the hunters were beginning to fall behind. Mariam had chosen her mount well, it seemed.
Looking in front of her Avorneth could just make out the White Mountains to her left and a breakaway of the Onodló to her right. She was in Rohan now, this she knew for certain. Aldburg was not far, she could make it today if Nightwind did not tire.
Of a sudden, the hunters were much closer. They had fallen back briefly, but now they were pushing their horses again. And they had blow darts at the ready. They aimed for Nightwind, landing two darts, one in her haunches and the other in her neck. She immediately began to slow as the drugs took effect, and no urging from Avorneth could get her to move faster. She slowed and finally stopped, falling to her knees. Avorneth quickly dismounted to keep from being crushed by her weight and immediately went to her head as she collapsed onto her side.
Nightwind looked at her sadly and drowsily, seeming to say, "I'm sorry, I tried."
Avorneth only patted her neck before looking up. The hunters were dismounting, but now Avorneth was in her element. There was not a tree in sight and she was not confined by them. Now she could run, and run much faster than before when she had been captured in the woods of Lothlórien.
She looked at the hunters and saw they were taking their time. Clearly, they did not think she was going anywhere or leaving the mare. Normally they would be right, but Avorneth was well aware that all the prisoners in that fortress were counting on her to get help, and that Nightwind had done everything she could to help her. She would have to leave Nightwind and hope for the best. Hopefully, the mare would not be punished.
She waited for them to be distracted a moment, then immediately took off running. There were cries of surprise behind her from the hunters, but she ignored them. She had hit her stride and was running faster than a deer. Thankfully, as an elf, she had not needed to continually condition herself. She was as fit as ever.
She ran fast, feet barely hitting the ground, and behind her the hunters mounted up, realizing that there was no way to catch her on foot, a few staying behind to collect Nightwind and give her something to reverse the drugs.
Avorneth only ran hard and fast, running faster still when she heard the hooves behind her. On the wind she could hear a voice she had not heard since she had been young and raced her first deer: "Race the wind, child of the hart, and revel in the beauty of the deer. Faster than them you run, freer than the wind you are, and never will you be broken. Run with the grace and blessing of the Valar," with those words Nessa's voice faded away on the wind, and Avorneth felt energy fill her.
Energy and strength came to her, power and speed entered her burning muscles, and her breathing eased and settled. She was ready now and added more speed.
She was a child of Nessa, she would never be cowed by these men. She would never fear them!
The men had other ideas though and sent the one rider with the fastest horse after her. This horse had been stolen from Rohan and was of the blood of Felaróf and elven horses from long ago. He had been beaten into submission and was now used to run people down.
His rider was skilled too, easily catching up with the running she-elf. He drew level with her, admired her determination and speed, and reached down. He grabbed her by the nape of her dress, hauling her up onto his horse and ignoring her struggles and cries and curses. He arched an eyebrow, he had never heard a lady say such foul things in his life.
And considering he was from the East, that said a lot.
He turned his stallion and went back to the hunters. Once there he stopped his stallion, two hunters coming over and dragging the she-elf down to the ground. She fought them as they bound her hands and arms, but stilled when Goliath approached. Undoubtedly she had been told by Mariam what his orders were.
She stared at him defiantly, silently saying, "I will never be broken. Not by you!"
Goliath nodded inwardly to himself and turned away, nodding at another hunter who blindfolded and gagged the she-elf, she fighting him all the way.
The woman might have ordered one thing, but his lord had ordered another. He would obey his lord and play this game with the woman a while longer.
None questioned him, as he knew they would, and soon they were on their way to the stronghold, the she-elf on the mare she had ridden so well. Behind them, they left no sign, except one: a broken horseshoe, engraved with the Rohirric letter for "S" half-covered in the dirt.
Hopefully, his lord remembered the agreed-upon sign, Goliath thought, bringing up the rear of the group as they once more disappeared into the dust.
Once they were out of sight, the young Éothéod scout came to where they had been. He had seen the capture of the she-elf and knew she could only be one person. His king had instructed them all to look for her and send word if they saw any sign of her.
He must report this right away.
There was another reason for his excitement: that had been his father leading the group. He knew it!
His father had disappeared on a special assignment for the king years ago, but he knew that was him. His mother would be so relieved when she received the news. She had been fearing for him for years.
Such was his excitement that he nearly neglected to investigate the ground for clues or signs. He found one almost immediately and grinned. His father had definitely left this for his king. The scout stowed it immediately in his saddlebag and raced away to Aldburg. He had to inform his king of this immediately.
A few days after Avorneth's near escape and recapture, her sister was preparing to do something so strange she had almost asked a healer to examine her head.
Almost, but not quite. Doing so would also imply the Lord and Lady were crazy as well, and she knew for a fact they were not.
They were just as worried about Veryafion as she was. But the solution to ending her depression was rather strange, Edhelvain was willing to admit. Veryafion had taken to climbing stairs rather well, leading Edhelvain to believe she already knew how, but it was clear she did not understand why she was doing it. Edhelvain thought she would surprise the mare and therefore get a little revenge for that terrifying ride all those months ago. Veryafion's intentions had been good, but she had still scared Edhelvain half to death.
Especially when she thought about the fact that those humans had been the hunters holding her sister captive.
Just who did that woman think she was!
Edhelvain shook her head, deciding not to focus on that right now. She needed to get Veryafion and meet up with Lord Celeborn and Lord Círdan. They were going to help her with Veryafion. They had decided to do this at night just so no one would ask why there was a horse in the House.
No need to convince their guests that they were all crazy.
Edhelvain had reached Veryafion's stall by now and looked in on the dozing mare. She rested with a hoof cocked, like most horses, but she also slept with her head as close to the ground as possible. Edhelvain smiled to herself; Veryafion was truly a unique horse, and she would not find another anywhere near like her no matter how long she lived.
At least, not on this side of the sea.
Edhelvain shook her head before saying quietly, "Veryafion, wake up," when the mare gave no indication she heard, Edhelvain said, "I have a surprise for you."
That got her attention, and she raised her head and looked at Edhelvain, ears forward. She snorted quietly and walked over, nuzzling Edhelvain's outstretched hand gently. Edhelvain smiled, reaching up to stroke Veryafion's neck, "It's a bit of a walk to my surprise, but I think you will like it when you get there."
Veryafion shook her head, skepticism in her eyes but she allowed Edhelvain to place her halter on her head. She followed along willingly enough, only stopped for a moment when Lord Círdan appeared at the bottom of the stairs leading into the House. She nickered a greeting to him which he returned with, "Hello, royal lady, are you ready for your surprise?"
Veryafion nodded her head before gently mouthing his beard. He only smiled and pulled away gently, saying, "You never did learn that my beard was not for eating, wild heart. Let's go," turning and beginning to climb the stairs.
Veryafion and Edhelvain followed, the mare going slowly so that Edhelvain could keep up. At the top of the stairs, Veryafion snorted slightly and looked at the elves. Neither said a word and continued on their way down the hallway, taking ways that were empty this time of night.
Eventually, they arrived at Elrond's chamber and led Veryafion inside. Once there she froze, every muscle quivering, her legs braced apart and her weight on her haunches as if she were about to bolt. Her head was up and her ears were forward, her eyes wide and nostrils flared. Edhelvain turned to Círdan in confusion, and he said, "She can smell his scent," watching as the mare looked around with wide eyes for her rider.
He was not there, but two white cats came over from the couch to say hello when they saw the mare. Veryafion broke off her search of the room to lower her head and greet both of them, although they would sometimes slip down to the stables to see her. The grooms had learned to watch out then because the cats loved trying to trip them, especially when their arms were full.
Edhelvain looked up in surprise at the sight of Veryafion being so gentle with the cats to meet Lord Círdan's calm gaze. He only said, "It is amazing, is it not, that she is a fierce warhorse, but also very gentle when she wants to be? She is much like Elrond in that regard."
At the mention of her rider's name, Veryafion looked up from where she had been nuzzling the cats and raised her head. She still did not understand why she was in the House, but she knew her rider lived in this chamber. She could smell him everywhere. Círdan smiled at her, "You are too intelligent, Veryafion. Come this way," turning and opening the door he had been standing in front of. The cats immediately raced inside, eager to be with Elrond and tired of being shooed out by the healers all the time.
They did not get underfoot that much, in their opinion.
Edhelvain walked with Veryafion to the door Círdan had disappeared through and led her inside. The mare immediately looked around once inside, knowing her rider was there. Edhelvain smiled gently and led her to the bed, where Elrond lay, the cats curled up with him; Lavaneth at his head and Levenil on his left side.
Veryafion did not care. All she cared about was that her rider was there, and alive. That was all that mattered to her. She immediately pulled away from Edhelvain, which the she-elf allowed, moving away to stand next to Círdan and Mistaro. Lord Celeborn was out on the balcony, watching the stars for a time. The guard out there only smiled slightly at the sound of a horse in the bedchamber but said nothing. He would never violate his lord's privacy in such a way.
Inside the chamber Veryafion gently nudged her rider, taking in his scent for several long minutes before nuzzling his neck gently. He groaned slightly in pain, and Veryafion froze. She then pulled away enough to see the bandage over the brand on his neck. All his wounds were healing steadily, but the one on his neck was so deep it would take a long time to mend.
Veryafion, understanding her rider's neck hurt, only snorted quietly and began nuzzling his face. She licked his hair a little but stopped when Lavaneth pulled back her ears and hissed. Veryafion only looked at the cat in mild amusement, gently picked her up by the scruff of her neck, and dropped her on the ground, turned back to Elrond immediately afterward.
Lavaneth got up slowly, clearly surprised, and looked at the elves for help. Edhelvain was too surprised to say anything, while Mistaro laughed slightly. Círdan said, "Don't look at us Lavaneth, it is your own fault. Don't pick a fight you can't win," nodding at Veryafion. Lavaneth only stalked away and settled into a nearby chair, watching and waiting to get back into the bed with Elrond.
The mare was ignoring them again, her attention completely on Elrond. He was asleep, she could tell, and reaching out with the Song she could see he was badly hurt, but mending slowly. He would be riding her soon enough; that was all she needed to know to feel content.
As long as her rider recovered she would be fine.
She almost turned away, ready to go back to the stables, but then her rider shifted slightly as he woke up. She turned back to him quickly, ears forward to catch his whisper: "Very'ion?"
The mare bobbed her head excitedly and nuzzled his neck gently, nickering all the while. Elrond tried to smile but failed, and Veryafion's spirits were lifted even more. Her rider was still there and fighting, that was all that mattered.
"Missed you," came his whisper again, and Veryafion gently lipped his nose and licked his cheek. She had missed him too. Movement caught her eye, and she looked to see that Mistaro was approaching with a cup of something that smelled terrible. Veryafion pulled her ears back, she did not like where this was going.
Neither did her rider. He tried to pull away as Mistaro gently lifted him upright, but was too weak to fight. He only whispered, "No, not again," too softly even for elves to hear, but Veryafion heard it easily. She nudged Mistaro and shook her head, trying to make him understand.
Mistaro only said, "He has been without sleep for almost two years, Veryafion. This helps him sleep and heal. As soon as his body is rested enough we will stop drugging him, you have my word."
"He doesn't need that!" her eyes seemed to say, but Mistaro realized that even if Veryafion was right, he still needed to give Elrond the sedative until they were convinced the sleep deprivation would not kill him. It was still a very real possibility.
Elrond trying to pull away from him brought him back to the present, and he looked at his lord. The deep bags under his eyes were lessening somewhat, and his skin wasn't as pale as before. It did not distract from the fact that Elrond still needed a lot of rest. Even if Veryafion was right, they could not take the risk that Elrond would not sleep because he did not want to be haunted by nightmares. And the tea also had painkillers in it, something Elrond desperately needed right now.
Mistaro looked at Veryafion then, "I am sorry, Veryafion. I know you are likely right, but I need to do what I think is best as his healer, not his friend. I am sorry."
Veryafion regarded him deeply for several long moments with her intense blue eyes before snorting and nodding. His intentions were honorable and his regret sincere. He truly wished there was another way, and Veryafion could live with him doing what he thought was best for a patient, not a friend.
She watched as Mistaro coaxed the tea into her rider's mouth, Elrond too weak to fight him off or pull away. Once finished Mistaro lay him back onto the pillows gently and said quietly, "It will only be a few minutes now," getting up and walking away to stand near Círdan and Edhelvain. Neither had interfered when Veryafion confronted Mistaro, knowing they could not help him. He needed to make his case to her alone.
Veryafion still ignored them, her attention on her rider. He was already falling asleep, even though he fought it with all his failing strength. His eyelashes were fluttering and his muscles were relaxing against his will. His breathing was also slowing as he succumbed to the powerful herbs. Veryafion shook her head again, nuzzling her rider quietly, silently telling him to sleep.
"You will heal faster, my friend. And I will be waiting for you to race my sister when you are ready. Maybe we will win this time too," she said through the Song, and finally, Elrond yielded to sleep. His eyes stayed closed and his breathing deepened and slowed, and Veryafion could sense his mind retreat to dreams of happier times when he was a child.
Once certain he would not wake, Veryafion lay her head on his chest gently, simply inhaling his scent for several long minutes. When she looked up afterward Edhelvain could understand the look she gave them, "I am ready to go."
Edhelvain nodded and stepped forward, taking the rope and leading Veryafion out of Elrond's chambers and back to the stables. Once there she whispered, "I hope you liked seeing him Veryafion. I know you do not like what Mistaro did, but he would never intentionally hurt Lord Elrond. You know that, right?"
Veryafion nodded and nuzzled her before turning away. She was suddenly hungry and her hay was smelling very good right now, especially now that she knew her rider was healing and would be seeing her soon.
She knew it.
Back in Elrond's chambers Mistaro, Círdan, and Celeborn looked down at the sleeping half-elf.
"Soon he will be strong enough to fight us off when we sedate him," Mistaro said with a slight smile, "When that happens we will stop drugging him. There will be no need, as his body will let him know when it is time to rest. When he is more lucid he will obey it. That is why we drug him now. He is so exhausted his body doesn't know that it needs to sleep. We are simply giving it a nudge to let it know it is time to rest," walking away after saying his peace.
Círdan and Celeborn remained, watching the half-elf sleep, well aware that soon they would have to confront the mental and emotional wounds left by the hunters. They had no way of knowing what had been done to him over these last years, and they knew they would have to cajole and almost nag the information out of him.
Assuming Elrond would let them in. If not, they were not sure what to do. Elrond was sometimes a little too private, and it made it impossible for him to heal sometimes. They could only hope this time would be different.
Looking at the sleeping half-elf, Círdan somehow doubted it. Elrond could be impossibly stubborn when he wanted to be and thought he was right.
The next day saw Elrohir looking at the Shards of Narsil for a few minutes before going to his father's chambers. The broken blade would have no answers for him today, nor would it give him any peace of mind. It was as broken as his family was right now: split into fragments and desperately needing mending.
And Elrohir knew that the kind of mending that was needed could only be done when their father could join the conversation. So far he had given no indication that he knew his children were even there, and it hurt. Hearing that he had woken and knew Glorfindel, Círdan, and even Veryafion seemed to drive the knife in deeper. How could their father not know his own children were there? Why did he not know?
Did he just not care?
That last question hurt more than any other questions currently haunting Elrohir's mind, and he quickened his pace slightly towards his father's chambers. He needed to find answers to these questions, if only for his own peace of mind.
When he arrived at his father's bedchambers he was surprised to see that Cendar was there, seated next to his father's bed. The man, over the past week, had been regaining his strength and was already beginning to spar with the Dúnedain. His skills were extremely rusty but improving daily as muscle memory was triggered again. Even Tordag was starting to show some skill, but it was clear his heart was not in it. He would be a reluctant warrior, that much was clear.
Cendar looked up when Elrohir entered the room and almost stood up. There were no healers in the room, but Elrohir was certain there was one lurking nearby in case anything happened or they were needed to drug his father again. He was starting to resist them a bit more now, and his strength was clearly returning.
"Please, sit," Elrohir said quietly, "I did not mean to interrupt."
"I believe it is I who is interrupting, my lord," Cendar said, "While it was not ordered that I stay away, it was heavily implied that I am not allowed in here. Your father's rooms are his sanctuary; I should not be here."
"Then why are you here, captain?" Elrohir asked as he sat in the chair next to Cendar's.
Cendar shrugged, "I wanted to see for myself how Lord Elrond was healing. I am no healer, but I know some of what he experienced. I am also aware that he likely should not be alive right now," Elrohir tensed slightly at that, and Cendar knew he had hit upon the truth, "But I consider your father a friend; I could not stay away. Tordag will likely pay a visit as well; right now he is trying to get his mare to cooperate for the grooms," smiling slightly as he said this, which Elrohir returned faintly, "Your father may have intimidated him when they first met, but your father looked out for Tordag as best he could. Even if he doesn't know Tordag is here, it will give Tordag some peace of mind."
Elrohir looked at him sharply before asking a question that had an edge of despair in it, "Do you think he knows you are here, right now?"
Cendar glanced at him, "Of course not. I have seen men so badly wounded they can't even remember their own names, but they know their mother's voice and her presence. I have not known your father long enough for him to recognize my voice or even my presence in his condition, but I know I can still talk to him. I tell him about my home and my family, the daughter I have never met and what she may be like, the men and soldiers I have lost. Even if he doesn't remember me, he hears my voice and my stories, and they help him heal," he looked at Elrohir carefully, seeing the shock in his eyes when he heard that Cendar had never met his daughter.
Cendar continued then, "No disrespect, my lord, but you have never been so exhausted that you can't see straight, or have any idea which way up or down is. You don't know what it is like to be driven day and night, towards certain death. Your father's body was not the only thing the hunters broke, they broke his mind through sheer exhaustion. That is why he is not coherent when he is awake. He needs to put his mind back together, and only when that is done will he remember you. Until then, he can only recognize those he has known, with every fiber of his being, for longer than you have been alive. Do not take it personally. Be glad instead, that his mind can still mend. Be grateful he is coming back to you, slowly."
Elrohir was silent for several long moments as he stared at his father's sleeping face. Cendar made a good argument, but it did not distract from the despair he felt about his father never waking when his children were there. They all needed that assurance, that physical proof, that was there to know that he would be well.
But Cendar's words had wisdom in them, and so Elrohir would listen to them, for there was much truth in them as well.
"Thank you, captain," Elrohir said finally, "I will think about what you have said."
Cendar smiled slightly and then stood up, even daring to put a hand on Elrohir's shoulder. When the elf looked up he said, "Talk to him, my lord. Tell him about what is happening and what he has missed. Even if he doesn't remember later he will hear it now and his memories will have an easier time sorting themselves into where they belong. And it will help you today. It is rather amazing how much a one-sided conversation can help someone, even if it feels like you are talking to yourself. Just talk to him, my lord, no one will think it strange," with that the man bowed his head and left, leaving Elrohir alone with his thoughts and his father.
And his thoughts were somehow clearer now, like Cendar's words had helped clear away the confusion. He was not sure if he could fully understand his emotions and his thoughts, but he was still grateful Cendar had helped him. He had given Elrohir some clarity and had proven the wisdom of his race. What had his father told him once?
"The younger races can be wiser than the Eldar, my son, because they have the wisdom of short lives and little time. While we can take hundreds of years to try and understand a painful thing, they do not have that luxury, therefore; they learn to understand it much more quickly. They learn to move past it more quickly. We would all do well to learn from them at times, my son."
His father and Cendar were right, he realized. He needed to stop hoping his father would eventually remember him and start actively helping him remember. His brother and sister could do so as well. They were all aware of the goings-on of the valley, but they were all tied into different aspects of the valley. They all had different stories to tell.
And there were many to tell.
With a smile on his face Elrohir leaned closer to his father and began his first story, "So, ada, I don't know if you this, but Belegon and Heledhon had another "disagreement." I'm sure you know what I'm talking about, you have had to mediate quite a few of them over the yén. But what made this one different was..."
Outside the guard smiled slightly, listening as father and son shared a story together, unaware of the unfriendly eyes watching him and waiting for a moment to strike.
As Elrohir told his father about the latest happenings he knew about around the valley, Arwen was helping Edhelvain with her wedding dress. Her wedding would not be until they found her sister, but Edhelvain's friends and Arwen had decided to start on the dress because it would take the longest to make.
It had to be perfect, after all.
"I think that this will be perfect," Arwen said, holding up a bolt of shimmering blue and silver silk. It was as blue as the sky and the silver was a beautiful accent that was only noticed when the sun or the moon hit it just right.
"So do I," Faneth agreed, "It accents your hair and eyes, too," turning to Edhelvain. The three of them, as well as Merilinel and Quildolorë, were in the fabric maker's shop to look at what was available. The fabric maker, a she-elf named Echedril, had been weaving, dying and creating fabric and dresses before any of them had been born. She was an elf of Doriath who had survived the Kinslaying and eventually brought her knowledge and skill to Rivendell. She had taken it upon herself to weave a thick blanket for Elrond to keep him warm, and none had the heart to tell her about the blanket woven by Elwing. Arwen would take it with her when they were finished and give it to her father when he was awake, knowing he would appreciate any gift that was given to him.
Echedril came over just then from where she had been instructing an apprentice. Her shop was large, her and her brother's living quarters on the third floor, a spinning room for thread and wool and also dying it on the second floor, and the store on the first floor with many different-sized looms against the walls. Apprentices and Echedril made cloth and clothing for all in the valley and beyond and were constantly busy. People paid in gold or trade, and Echedril was known as a shrewd negotiator. The person buying always paid more than they thought they would.
Echedril now looked at the cloth and then Edhelvain, taking in her auburn hair and robin-egg blue eyes, before saying, "You have an excellent eye, my lady, but I would suggest something without silver in it, unless the marriage is at night. If during the day, the gold tint from the sun will clash with her eyes."
Arwen looked more carefully at the cloth before sighing, "As always, you are right, Lady Echedril. we will have to look elsewhere, it seems."
"Might I suggest asking the bride-to-be what she would like?" Echedril asked mildly.
Four sets of eyes, as well as Echedril's, turned to Edhelvain, who smiled sadly and said, "I honestly am not sure what I want. I keep thinking about helping my sister the last time she was here pick out the fabric for her dress. She had finally settled on a yellow when you said green would work better for her, Lady Echedril, and she was overjoyed at the idea. Now I do not know what to do; I was expecting her to help me when it was my turn to get married," looking outside as she said those last words. Firith was fully upon them now and the trees were dropping their leaves as the animals prepared for winter. Soon there would be snow on the ground once more, and Avorneth would miss her favorite time of the year again.
The other she-elves had fallen silent at those words, knowing that Edhelvain could not focus on choosing a fabric when she was focused on the despair of possibly never seeing her sister again, but Lady Echedril could not bear to see Edhelvain so sad. Her story might not make things better, but it was still a story the young she-elf needed to hear.
"Edhelvain," she said softly, and when she looked at her Echedril continued, "I understand your pain, believe me, I do. My own sisters were captured by Morgoth ages ago. They were turned into orcs by him, and my father was the one who killed them during the Nírnaeth Arnoediad. He could not even recognize his own daughters, such was the harm done to them. My brother was taken as well, but he was found when the pits of Angband were laid bare. He was more orc than elf at that point, but after much love and healing, he became who he had been before. Now he helps me here, weaving and dying thread and wool, and has sworn to never touch a weapon again," nodding at an elf in the corner missing a leg, but with a crutch propped up nearby. He still worked the shuttle and loom with ease, weaving a beautiful tapestry of the Two Trees.
Echedril turned back to Edhelvain, who was staring at her in surprise. Not many knew Echedril's past, and it was difficult to get her to speak about it at times, "The Avari do not forget so easily," Echedril continued, "but we still have faith things will be right in the world, one day. We were here long before you and will be here long after you are gone, but we still remember and remain. We remember it all and we do not forget. Do not grieve for what was lost, hope for what will be found. Only then can you live every day to the fullest."
Edhelvain stared at her for many long minutes, slowly beginning to understand what she was saying. She nodded after and said, "I will think on your words, Lady Echedril, thank you."
"That is all I ask," Echedril said, then her usual brisk manner returned, "Now, shall we see what we can find that is right for you? Something that will make Lieutenant Idhrenor's heart give out when he sees you?"
Edhelvain nodded, while Faneth said jokingly, "Hopefully it will not give out, Lady Echedril. We want them to be married for many long years."
"We shall see," Echedril said in reply and led them deeper into her store, Arwen and Edhelvain trailing behind them. As they walked Edhelvain asked softly, "I hate to ask this my lady, and please don't think me selfish, but how is your father? I was told nothing when I brought Veryafion to see him, and I am no healer."
Arwen smiled, "It is not selfish to want a family member home, Edhelvain. I understand that feeling all too well," she paused a moment before saying, "He is getting better and the healers say they will stop drugging him so deeply soon. Right now he barely remembers what his name is when he is awake. He still has much healing to do, but the healers think he will be well by spring if he keeps healing as he is," she looked at Edhelvain then, determination in her eyes, "He will lead us right to her as soon as he can, Edhelvain, I know it."
"As do I, my lady, as do I," Edhelvain said simply, then hurried to follow Echedril and the others as they went to some of the rarer colors of silk that Echedril had dyed herself.
Hopefully one of them would be suitable, and hopefully, it would not cost them an arm and a leg each.
Echedril could be a very shrewd negotiator, and always got what she wanted.
As the ladies were exploring the fabric shop, Elros and Feren and their hunters were exploring the forest around Rivendell. They were searching for a sign, a clue, anything, to tell them where the human hunters were.
The elves that followed Elros and Feren were elves so stealthy they were invisible in the forest. Many had Avari blood, making their connection with the trees very deep. They communed with the trees so deeply that they became lost in the Song and had to be called back by their friends.
Thankfully, that was a rare occurrence.
These elves, while moving invisibly through the forest, could also search for others that hid themselves. So far they had had no luck, but that would not stop them.
They would not fail their king, or Lord Elrond. He may not be their lord or king, but they all respected the fact that he was the heir of Elu Thingol. Every one of them knew he could have been their king if he had desired to, and none would have questioned it.
He was a greater leader to them for stepping away and letting Thranduil stay their king, as Thranduil had almost abdicated so that Elrond could take his rightful place as king of the Sindar and Silvan.
The group pressed on, bound and determined to find these hunters.
They refused to be bested at their own game.
It would be an insult to professional pride above all else if humans were able to get past them.
Two days later, in Gondor, the Steward was finishing his preparations. He had just finished finding all those associated with the hunt and arrested them.
The ones that were still alive, anyways.
The rest had committed suicide almost simultaneously, and Cirion was almost impressed by the fear that the woman seemed to inspire in men.
Almost, but not quite.
He was mostly disgusted that anyone would sink as low as an orc and hunt their own kind. It was barbaric and cruel and not what he expected from the Race of Men.
Maybe his expectations had been too high.
Realizing that train of thought was not getting him anywhere, Cirion shook his head and focused on the tasks at hand. Ever since Gandalf's most recent message regarding the hunters, he had sent out his most trusted men to search the kingdom of Gondor and Ithilien for hunters and the assassins that were meant to kill them. They had been successful, rounding up over a hundred hunters throughout the kingdom and Cirion knew that Eorl the Young had had similar success in the border towns surrounding his kingdom.
Both lands were free of the hunters and there had even been success at the Falls of Rauros. Cirion had placed men there, and when the hunters attempted to start another hunt they had been stopped and arrested. All were waiting in the dungeons for trials.
The one slated to be hunted had been one of the Rangers captured over a year ago, and even though he could not say where the stronghold was he had been able to confirm Lady Galadriel's handmaid was still alive and had even attempted to escape with help from the inside. She had failed, but at least Cirion knew she was still fighting and determined to be free.
And another of the hunted had been found: Famir. They had found him quite by accident, but Cirion was glad they had found him. He had been half-dead and starved, but careful tending by the healers had revived him and he was himself once again.
He, also, did not know where the stronghold was, but it did not matter to his family, especially his brothers and mother. They were all glad he was home and safe, and that was what mattered. Cirion was glad for him but it did not distract from the fact that they needed to find the stronghold and end this. Famir had said there could easily be over forty prisoners there, and all deserved to have their freedom restored to them.
And Cirion had every intention of making it so. Which was how he found himself preparing for a journey, along with a hundred soldiers and Famir. They were going to Rivendell, even though it was almost winter. Gandalf's letter had said Lord Elrond had been found but was badly wounded, but also Cendar had been found, along with the boy Tordag from Rohan. All three were slowly healing and recovering, and Cirion was glad to hear it. Famir wanted to go and see them again, and see how they were doing.
Gandalf had also written that the elves were preparing to assail the stronghold, as apparently, Lord Elrond knew where it was. As soon as he was strong enough to tell them they would go after those that had done this.
And Cirion felt it was his responsibility to see this through to the end. These men had been operating under his nose for decades, and he had not seen it!
How many lives could have been spared if he had only noticed it sooner?
Cirion shook his head, now was not the time to dwell on the past. He had to prepare for the journey ahead. It would not just be him and his men going; as soon as Hithaer had heard that her husband Cendar was alive still but now free she had wasted no time in convincing Cirion to let her and her daughter accompany them to Rivendell.
Not even the fact winter was coming had stopped her arguments or convinced her to stay behind. And her daughter had been even harder to refuse. In the end, Cirion had agreed, reluctantly, to let them go to Rivendell with them. Hithaer was already finished packing and impatiently waiting for them to be on their way.
Cirion smiled and sighed; his kinswoman was very determined, and he could not blame her. He was looking forward to seeing Cendar again as well.
It had been much too long.
Cirion continued down the hall in the Citadel, going to make sure the last of the preparations was complete. They were leaving in three days and it would be a long journey, but it would be worth it if the hunt ended for good.
As the Steward prepared to leave, Eorl the Young stared at the broken horseshoe in his hand. He understood what it meant, but he could not believe it was real.
Several years ago, before the Steward had officially given the Men of the Mark the land of Calenardhon, he had sent one of his trusted captains, Sewine, to investigate some men along the border, and he had never returned. Eorl had instructed him to infiltrate the men and see what they were about, but he had not heard so much as a whisper since. A broken horseshoe with the Rohirric "S" carved in it was the agreed-upon sign that all was well and that he did not need help.
Eorl was confused; had Sewine left other clues over the years that had been missed or gotten lost? Where those men back then hunters, and had Sewine decided to stay with them because he wanted to try and stop them from the inside?
Or was the money so good he decided to join them, and this horseshoe was just to confuse him and throw him off the trail and off-balance?
Eorl looked up then, glad he sent the scout on his way. The scout, Ordstan, was Sewine's son and he clearly worshiped his father. He was already impatient to tell his mother what he had seen, and Eorl decided he would not spoil the boy's enthusiasm with his suspicions until he knew more.
He could wait until there were more facts.
A few days after the horseshoe was in Eorl's hand and he was trying to decide if a friend had betrayed him, Thranduil stopped to pay a visit to Elrond.
He had not had a chance recently and was eager to see how he was healing. Hearing through gossip and the healers were not enough for him.
When he arrived Elrond was alone, for the most part. The guards were still on the balconies, but the healers were not in sight. Thranduil could only assume that Elrond was now well enough to be left alone every once and a while, but there was likely a healer close by in case he needed anything.
Thranduil went over to the bed, prepared to greet his friend, but decided against anything of that nature when he saw his friend was awake and very tense. It was not the kind of tension from when he had been found and his internal organs were diseased and dying, it was tension of another kind.
"Elrond?" Thranduil asked quietly, leaning over, "Is all well?"
Elrond was actually able to shake his head slightly, asking, "Th'uil?" his voice still dry but starting to sound less raspy.
Thranduil smiled at the barely recognizable version of his name, "Yes, mellon nín, it is I. You gave everyone a bit of a scare, but you are healing well. Now...can you tell me what is wrong? The healers will drug you into next week if they come and find you not resting," Even though they would even if he was, Thranduil added silently and sourly. He did not agree with the healer's decision to drug Elrond all the time. He did not see what it could possibly accomplish other than the healers not having to deal with a delirious half-elf.
Elrond shifting uncomfortably caught his attention, and he cocked his head to better hear his whispered response: "...go..."
Thranduil cocked an eyebrow, "Go where? Outside? You are not well enough for that yet, and it is getting cold."
Elrond twitched his head weakly and licked his dry lips. Throughout this entire conversation his eyes had been closed, a testament to how weak he was. His eyelashes fluttered weakly now and he tried to swallow, only to let out a dry, hacking cough. Thranduil was quick to give him some water. After a few sips, Elrond was finally able to say quietly but clearly: "Need...to...go..." looking still tense.
"Ohhh..." was all Thranduil said, then smiled slightly, "Why didn't you say so?" teasing in his voice. Elrond's lips twitched into a weak smile, recognizing the joke, but it did not negate his need.
If anything, it made it worse.
Thranduil saw this and looked around for a healer. There still was no one there, and he knew he would have to help Elrond himself and hope he did not tear any of the stitches. He turned back to Elrond, who had bitten his lip gently, trying to hold it. He smiled sadly and gently picked the half-elf up, keeping a blanket wrapped around him for warmth. He took the half-elf into the bathing chamber, and when he came out he saw that Merilinel had changed the sheets and blankets for warmed ones and that Hadlathon was waiting. When he saw Thranduil carrying Elrond he smiled slightly and walked over to help.
Between the two of them, they got Elrond settled and comfortable, with Hadlathon saying, "I went to find Merilinel for new sheets. When I left Elrond was asleep, he must have woken while I was gone. I am glad you were there to help, my lord," looking down at the sleeping half-elf. All the activity had worn Elrond out and he had fallen asleep as soon as he was back in bed and warmed.
"I am glad I decided to check on him today," Thranduil said, watching as Hadlathon picked up a cup of something bitter smelling, "Is that really necessary?"
Hadlathon turned to him, "Unfortunately, it is. We cannot trust him to sleep when his body signals him while his mind is still repairing itself. Another month or so, and we will not have to drug him. As soon as he is completely cognizant and lucid, we will stop. The painkillers and antibiotics to keep infection away will continue for a long time after though, as well as herbs to strengthen his kidney, liver, and intestines. We are also giving him herbs to ease his breathing and help him heal from the pneumonia," he turned back to Elrond, "Believe me, my lord, I cannot wait to stop drugging him, I miss his conversation," leaning over and quickly giving Elrond the contents of the cup. The half-elf settled after that, sliding into a deeper sleep.
Once certain he was deeply asleep Hadlathon said, "I need to tend his wrists and ankles," he turned to Thranduil, "You may want to leave," Thranduil shook his head and Hadlathon sighed, "Very well, you can assist me," going into the healing closet for a moment before coming back with fresh bandages and the poultice they had been packing the wounds with.
He walked over to the bed and instructed Thranduil to hold Elrond's right wrist carefully as he cut the bandages away. Thranduil was very gently and mindful of the broken bones in Elrond's arm. The bandages fell away, revealing an area packed with gauze. Hadlathon removed the gauze gently, revealing the green-colored poultice. He washed that away gently, making sure he left none of the old behind before he applied the new.
Thranduil was sickened by what he saw, having not seen what the bandages had hidden.
"Is that bone?" he asked, nodding at a raised part of the flesh that was pink and healing.
Hadlathon nodded, "Yes, that is the bone underneath the flesh, but luckily the flesh is coming back rather quickly. It should heal without too much difficulty, and he should be able to wield quill and blade again fairly quickly. The nerves are intact as well, thankfully," inspecting both sides of Elrond's wrist before packing the poultice in and re-bandaging Elrond's wrist and arm. Both healer and king shared a glance at the sight of Vilya still visible, but said nothing as Hadlathon hid her under bandages, not that there was any medical need to bandage Elrond's fingers. The broken bones had healed, but Hadlathon did not want any knowing about Vilya.
Too many knew in his opinion.
As for Vilya, she had been regaining her strength rather slowly but was helping Elrond as much as she could. She had decided, now that Elrond's life did not need to be sustained by her or any other Ring, to focus on helping him heal. She had decided to focus on his wrists and ankles, knowing that not being able to walk or write would hurt more than anything else.
Once she was certain they would heal completely and wholly would she stop and rest completely, becoming her old self again and protecting her Bearer's home. She was almost ready to re-establish the bond with her sisters as well.
Thranduil and Hadlathon knew none of this. All they knew was that Elrond was slowly healing, and would soon be leading the valley again. That was all that mattered to his friends and family: that he be healthy and strong again.
They moved on to his ankles after his wrists, impressed with how everything was healing. Once finished Thranduil left, content that Elrond was mending and everything was slowly going back to normal.
He was almost looking forward to the first argument he and Elrond would have.
Behind him, Hadlathon settled into a chair with a book, ready and waiting for anything his lord might need, as well as waiting for Maeassil to bring something for Elrond to eat that would help his eyesight and his hunger. A good thing for Elrond was that he had an appetite, and was always ready to eat whatever Maeassil brought.
Even if it had a lot of carrots or sweet potatoes he would eat it, and Hadlathon was glad they did not have to force him. Perhaps once he was well enough to resist and turn away they would have to get inventive, but for now, it seemed they would not have to worry about it just yet.
Hadlathon was almost looking forward to Elrond fighting him; that would mean he was slowly gaining his strength and was willing to cause problems and headaches, just as he always did when he was healing from a severe wound.
Hadlathon was looking forward to things getting back to normal, unaware of the danger lurking nearby.
Avorneth's failed escape had not broken her or convinced her that she should stop hoping.
If anything, being able to feel the wind in her hair and on her face, and being able to run again, had revitalized her and given her the determination to continue on. That brief moment of freedom had helped her, but she was concerned now.
Not for herself; she was worried about Mariam and Conner. Had they been found out and punished? And what about Nightwind? Would the mare be punished for helping her?
Another thing that had confused her was the actions of Goliath. When they had returned to the keep and she had been put back into the cell with the Rangers, all of whom were dismayed she had been captured but relieved she was unharmed, Goliath had had the other hunters leave until he was completely alone with her and the Rangers.
After making sure they were alone he had shut the door and turned back to them, and Avorneth had asked, "Is it time to break me? Am I nothing more than a horse to you?"
Goliath had raised an eyebrow, then spoke for the first time she had ever heard or seen; his voice carrying the lilt and accent of Rohan: "Why would I want to break you?"
All there had been surprised to hear that accent, but Avorneth had not let her surprise keep her silent for very long, "Because your lady ordered I be broken."
Goliath smiled slightly in amusement, "She may have ordered me to do one thing, but my lord ordered something very different."
"And who do you serve more loyally now?" Avorneth asked.
Goliath turned back towards the door, "I will leave you to figure that out," opening the door and leaving, locking it behind him. Once he was gone the she-elf and the Rangers exchanged glances, not understanding the man and what game he could possibly be playing.
They argued about it for several hours but found no answer to Goliath's cryptic comments. In the end, they just decided to be careful with Goliath until they figured out what his intentions were.
A few days after Goliath's strange behavior the hunters came again, taking one of the Rangers on a hunt. Every Ranger there, even Avorneth, was held back by a knife to the throat and could do nothing as their friend and companion was taken away.
All they could do was hope and pray the Valar would protect him, not aware that the hunt had not even started for that Ranger when he was rescued. None knew this, or that Famir had also been found alive and was in Minas Tirith at that moment preparing to ride to Rivendell, or that Lord Elrond, Cendar, and Tordag had been found and were recovering in Rivendell.
Those in the cell had no way to know the hunt was slowly coming to an end, and that the woman was slowly being trapped in a net of her own design and obsession.
Translations:
gwanur – cousin/kinsman. This was the closest I could get to nephew, as Thranduil is a distant nephew of Celeborn
adar/ada – father/daddy
yén – a period of 144 years
Firith – Fading, time of year between winter and autumn, from September 21st to November 13th
mellon nín – my friend