Chapter Twenty-Three

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SUMMARY: The Kings hold a meeting to compare notes, when a message arrives with disappointing news.

Thanks to the intervention of Friends in High Places, the fate of one of the Elves is decided forever in an unexpected way.

Oh; and for those who haven't guessed it yet, our villain is positively ID'd.

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But I believe in Love

And I know that you do, too

And I believe in some kind of path

That we can walk down, me and you

So, keep your candles burning

Make her journey bright and pure

That she'll keep returning

Always and evermore

Into my arms, oh Lord

Into my arms, oh Lord

Into my arms, oh Lord

Into my arms…"

by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

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The Woodland Realm, 9th of December 2944 T.A.

The day after the horrific events at the cave, the Kings met with the Healers and some others to discuss the progress and treatment of their patients.

"We see no physical injuries on Gildor's children whatsoever, besides some bruises. Dylan's eye is back to normal, but for a bit of redness, but that will dissipate in a few days. Rowena had some bruising on her arms, but nothing was torn or bleeding."

"And they are settled down?" Bard asked Hilda.

"As much as they can be," she told the group. "They'll be spending a few days at home with their Mam and Da, then everybody needs to get back to their regular routine. It's really the best thing, I think."

"I agree," Ivárë said. "It would be different if they had been awake in the cave, but I do not see real damage in their eyes or in their hearts."

"That's really great news," Bard sat back with satisfaction. "Do you think you need to stay, Hil?"

"No," her lips moved in a smile. "I'm delighted to say they don't need me, so I'll head back to Dale with Rahlen and his boys."

"The Healing House is short-staffed at the moment, so it'll be good if the twins can go."

"I am afraid Elrohir must stay, Bard," Thranduil corrected.

The Bowman's head whipped around to face the sons of Elrond. "Really?"

"At least long enough to know when or if Mithrandir can come. He will want to speak to Elrohir."

"What about that thing on Saeros's hand?"

"Most of that discussion must wait, for now," Thranduil said. "Be assured; the ring is well-insulated and away from the rest of the population of the Palace, and under heavy guard."

"Excellent," Bard blew out a breath of relief. "Elrohir, do you have a sense that you were affected by that ring?"

"I can answer that," his twin said. "The short answer is yes, but not a great deal, as he did not come into physical contact with it."

"But you are better?"

"I am." For a split second, Elrohir's face hardened, then he blinked and relaxed his features.

Daeron leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "Aran nîn, I cannot remain away from my cousin and Evvy for too long, and Ivárë needs to get back to Lidros. Would it be possible to bring up their treatment options?"

"Of course," Thranduil nodded. "Please; what is their current condition?"

Ivárë and Daeron exchanged glances and he began: "My cousin is in a deep Healing Sleep, and I am not sure if it would be wise to awaken him, just yet. He still suffers the effects of his torture at the hands of Pallando, and I fear that whatever might have influenced Saeros to commit such evil deed might cause him a serious setback."

"You are wise to be concerned," Elrohir said. "I am healthy, and my blood has been blessed by the Maia. 1 However, Vildan states that before the ice fell, Turamarth and Saeros were engaged in a wrestling match to gain control of a knife his attacker possessed. There is little doubt he touched it."

"Oh, shit…" Bard murmured under his breath.

"Would that we had known of this," Thranduil said, a thoughtful frown drawing his eyebrows together, as he ran his fingers over his brow. "I could have ordered Tur to stay."

"Yet that would have also done injury to his Fëa, My Lord," Daeron said. "Though much has happened to come between them, Tur is in love with Evvy; of that I am positive. He would rather perish in his efforts to save her, for the anguish of being left behind would also harm him."

"I must confirm my nephew's thoughts," Ómar told them. "In any case, it is too late for such sentiments. We must focus on what we can do now to help my son, and decide what to do about Evvy."

"For now, Tur will sleep, and my family is constantly with him, to keep him connected to those who love him best," Daeron said. "As for Evranin," he sighed, "I know my decision to revive her heart after such a long time was met with some resistance—"

"Not without sympathy and respect, Mellon nîn," Elrohir bowed his head.

"It is well," Daeron returned the gesture. "You were not wrong to speak your mind. Yet, every instinct I possess tells me that we must continue the heroic efforts to keep her alive."

"I had wondered if my brother's encounter with that ring might have clouded his judgement," Elladan said. "I did not find any trace of her Fëa, either."

"But it's not necessarily hopeless," Bard interjected.

"How can you say this?" Elrohir's eyes held a flash of shock. "Evvy is no longer there!"

"Because we've been through this before." He inclined his dark head toward the Commander, "do you remember what happened when I smashed my leg and Thranduil nearly died to keep me alive?"

"I do," Feren said quietly. "For five days, Thranduil's life hung in the balance while we took shifts to keep you both alive. We did not sense Thranduil's spirit at all." 2

"What?" Legolas gasped. "Lord Elrond told me some, but I did not know this!"

"Ermon said it was as if my Fëa had left my body, and I was an empty shell. Yet, here I am," Thranduil spread his hands as if to prove his point. "However small, Daeron and I agree that Evvy must have this chance."

"I agree, as well," Ivárë said. "We will keep to our original plan: keep her alive and wait for her family. If there is no change, they will be presented with their options."

"Should the family decide to take her to the Havens," the Elvenking started, "I will fund the trip and make sure their safety is guaranteed."

Bard turned back to his Elf. "But there is more to your story than just keeping your heart beating, Thranduil. It was Mírelen who helped you come back." His eyes swept around the table. "And I was with Gandalf. I remember that as clear as if it was yesterday." The King of Dale's gaze swept around the table. "Our point is, there is more to these things than what we see and hear. Maybe Lady Galadriel will find a way to help her, like she helped our youngest daughter. For all we know, they're gathered around her Mirror while we're even talking now!"

"That is entirely possible, My Lord," Daeron affirmed. "I helped her with that procedure; she provided the power and strength, and I provided my knowledge and experience, and between us, Princess Tilda's heart lungs and the brain were completely restored."

The sons of Elrond were flabbergasted. "Our grandmother said nothing about this…"

"We were off with the Dúnedain, remember?" Legolas reminded them.

"True…" Elrohir rubbed his chin. "Tilda's health is perfect."

There was a knock at the door. It was one of Adamar's guards. "Please excuse the interruption, My Lord Thranduil," he saluted, "but you did say you wanted to be given any message that comes."

"I did," Thranduil held out his hand to receive the small piece of paper. "Did it come by bird?"

"A trio of doves, to be exact. They arrived just a few minutes ago."

"Already?" Bard was surprised. "You just sent word to Celeborn yesterday!"

"It is from Celeborn, yes," Thranduil skimmed the note. "But our messages have crossed paths. It says:

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Thranduil - Saw Evranin's accident via Mirror. Bringing Óhtar & Orlin; should arrive within a fortnight—"

"Please tell me Galadriel's coming!" Hilda asked hopefully.

The Elvenking sighed and shook his head.

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Regret to say Lady must remain; still recovering from attack in June. We must place our hope in others this time, Ettā. -Celeborn

Thranduil put down the message ran his hand over his face. "I was hoping," he whispered.

"Oh, no…" Hilda winced.

"Now let's not be quick to panic," Bard held up his hands. "Celeborn's right; after all, Galadriel had nothing to do with our recovery, did she? No! Who's to say the Valar doesn't have someone else lined up to help?"

"But who is to say they do?" Ómar asked. "What if they do not?"

"Then," Bard placed his hand on Thranduil's forearm, "we will do what we planned in the first place; give her good supportive care and let the family decide."

"As soon I hear from Mithrandir, we will meet again and dissect this incident in greater detail. In the meantime, try to get some rest and recover. That is all, everyone. Thank you."

The Elvenking rose and everyone got to their feet and left the Council room, with one exception.

The Bowman knew his Elf needed a minute, so he followed the crowd to the door, closed it behind them, then slowly approached his husband.

Thranduil braced his hands on the table and hung his head in sorrow. "All this time…" he murmured, "all this time, I had someone in my Palace who possessed such a thing…. How could I not know, Bard? How could I not sense it? I am Sindar, for Valar's sake! I am King and the safety of my people is my responsibility!"

"Thranduil—" Bard put his hand on the Elf's shoulder.

"That Elf lived in my Palace for decades, Bard! Maybe if I hadn't been so…closed off, so wrapped up in my own misery, Seldion and Heril would be alive today… My people…" Thranduil's face contorted with guilt and shame. "Ai gorgor, Bard… your women and children were here that first winter—"

"You had no way of—"

"Tur is not the only one who came into contact with that ring! Just before the ice fell, Saeros had his hands around Evvy's neck!"

A sense of dread rolled through the pit of Bard's stomach. "Oh, bloody fuck…"

"That innocent young Elleth, was touched by that evil, and it is my fault!" He pounded the table with both fists and when that didn't help, he grabbed the tray with pitchers and glasses and threw it across the room.

"Wait, wait, wait; stop this! Stop this right now!" Bard turned Thranduil around to face him and shook him hard. "You can't control the lives of every person in your Kingdom any more than I can! You can't control what's in their hearts or minds, either. Neither one of us wants to be that kind of ruler, do we?

"Think about it, love; even if what you said was true, don't you think Adamar or Feren would have noticed something? Any one of the guards at the Palace could have seen or heard something and reported, but they didn't. And then there's Legolas; he has powerful Sindar blood, but he's also part Noldor, isn't he? Do you think if your son sensed something that he wouldn't rest until he got to the bottom of it?

"Yes," the Elvenking said quietly. "That is true, but—"

"So why does all this have to be your fault? By your standard I was to blame for Jarod and Tim and all his cronies. 4 They had good references and it was my choice to grant their stay; and when I blamed myself for the attack, what did you tell me?"

"But she was under my protection, and I did not do enough."

"Look, you know Adamar and Ómar were watching out for her, as well as their wives, and don't forget Airen and Elion; what could you have done?"

"I could have looked into this situation sooner, Bard! I should have brought her to Dale, or sent Saeros away; but now she is lying in that bed…"

"Listen to me!" Bard shook him again. "Suppose what you say is true; would anything change about her treatment? Could they do anything that they're not already doing?"

"No," he admitted. Thranduil closed his eyes and sighed, as Bard pulled him into his arms. "I feel so badly about this."

"If you didn't, you wouldn't be a worthy King. But you are, love; you're just exhausted. Now, follow your own orders, and let me take you back to our rooms, so you can get try to get a little rest. I know you tossed and turned all last night." Bard hugged him again, rubbed his Elf's back, then took him by the hand. "Come on. I'll have them bring us something to eat and we can relax in our chambers."

"We could do that, but…"

"You want to stop and check on Tur and Evvy, first?"

Thranduil leaned his head on Bard's shoulder. "Please."

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Later, after a good meal (which Bard had to almost force his husband to eat), the Kings relaxed with some tea in front of the fire. Bard's eyes drifted to the merry collection of pictures on the mantel. The children were there, of course, but in recent months, Thranduil had added more: Tauriel with Bain, as she instructs him in using fighting knives; Legolas laughing with Tilda over some secret joke; Rôgon with his arm around Galion's shoulder as they gaze into each other's eyes, and even Thangon, touching noses with Meryl, when she was a tiny puppy.

"It's getting crowded up there," he put his arm around Thranduil and drew him close. "But I like it."

"When I am alone here in the evenings, I like to sit and draw," the Elvenking snuggled into him. "It makes me happy."

"I'm sorry you have to be gone from us so often, love," Bard kisses his temple.

"So am I, but I do not dislike the solitude here, Bard. Our life together has been such a whirlwind, full of activity and noise and highs and lows…" his chest lifted and sagged in a sigh, "Elves are a contemplative race, Meleth nîn, so I use my time here to walk under the stars and let them bring me strength and peace."

"I suppose I do the same thing, when I grab my bow and go shooting for a few hours," Bard toyed with a lock of Thranduil's hair. "It helps me get back to myself, when I feel pulled in twenty different directions."

"We should always make time for such things,"

They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, as they watched the flames dance in the fireplace, but Bard's thoughts traveled back to the patients lying in the infirmary.

"Do you really think Evvy will come back?"

"I wish I knew. Her spirit is wandering, and if Námo summons her to his Halls there is little we can do. Such things are beyond us, though I wish it were not."

"It's a beautiful place," Bard rested his cheek on his Elf's head. "What I saw of it anyway. But let's hope she has someone to help her, like Mírelen and Gandalf helped us. If she does…"

"Then she will come back to us?"

He shrugged slightly. "You never know, love."

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Vairë the Weaver sat before her Tapestry of the Story of the World. Her hair was pulled back, as was her custom while she worked, and her deep red dress contrasted with the shining, silver locks that hung past her waist. The rubies in her crown matched the ones that were pinned into the long thick braid, and she hummed as her fingers flew across the piece with a speed and accuracy that came from the skill she practiced since before the Middle Earth was created.

But even an expert such as Vairë can occasionally have difficulty, as was the case with the wool in her hands. It began bright and strong, but most of it was a dull, sickly grey color, and she managed to work some of it into the tapestry when it suddenly snapped, and the ragged portion was dangling from her needle.

The Vala of Fate blinked a few times in confusion, as she stepped away from her loom. There was no doubt about it; something was not right.

Sighing in frustration, she reached into the pocket of her apron and grabbed her small, curved scissors. With lips pursed in concentration, she painstakingly picked out the last several stitches, removed the first part of the thread and carried the two pieces to show her husband.

"Melmenya?" She entered Námo's study where he was studying some images on the wall. "I need your help."

"Hello, my dear," he kissed her cheek. "What is the problem?"

"This." She grabbed his hand and placed the shredded pieces in his palm.

Námo manipulated them for a few moments, rubbing them between his fingers. "This one was in the tapestry, yes?"

"It was, although I do not like its color."

"My wife, we cannot choose the nature of the souls we encounter," he reminded her gently.

"Sadly, that is true, though the majority are pleasant to work with. Still, at some point it changes, but still goes on… but this broke of its own accord! Who is he?"

Námo held up the first thread again with narrowed eyes. "Just a minute… I believe I know what this is about," he said, before turning his attention back to his black marble wall. With a swipe of his hand, the images disappeared, then he turned his palm over with an upward motion. The faces of an Ellon and Elleth appeared.

"Who are they?"

"Seldion and Heril, Silk Weavers from the Woodland Realm. They are here, at present, but will be leaving for Valinor fairly soon."

"What happened to them?"

"They were murdered," he said, "by their son." The Vala gracefully moved his fingers up, to reveal a picture of Saeros.

Vairë's eyes lit up with indignation. "Surely not! Were they unkind to him?"

"Not at all," he pointed to the smiling faces of the Elves, "Seldion and Heril were good and generous. They did not deserve such violence. And just recently," he moved his fingers, and a beautiful young Elleth with doe-eyes of deep brown and a sprinkle of freckles across her nose appeared, "he caused the death of Evranin, daughter of Ohtar and Vériel – whose rooms are being prepared as we speak. As soon as I am finished here, I will summon her."

"That is terrible!"

"And there is more," Námo shook his head sadly. "Lidros, Keeper of Letters at the King Thranduil's Palace has been badly injured. His rooms are ready; I am only waiting for his Fëa to be released from his body."

"I thought we were finished with Kinslayings in the First Age!"

"So did I, my wife," Námo fingered the shredded piece of wool. "To kill another Elf is a terrible thing, but to slay one's own parents…" He held up the shredded piece.

"What will you do?"

"I do not wish to keep the souls who callously murder innocents. Perhaps he should be cast into the Void."

"You cannot mean that, Venno! What will happen to his fëa? Fëanor and all his sons are here, yet they committed heinous acts against their own kin!"

"And if it were up to me, they would not be!" Námo snapped, then he sighed and reached out and rubbed her shoulders. "Forgive me; the pain of the First Age weighs heavily, sometimes. Several of them regretted their Oath and have spent their time in repentance and prayer. Though they cannot go to Valinor, Eru will give them opportunities for atonement."

"And Fëanor?"

"Fëanor, must wait until after the Dagor Dagorath to fulfill his ultimate destiny, though I am not convinced he admits his mistakes. But what if this broken thread, with its odd color is sign from Eru—"

"Larta-mecin, háno!" Another graceful figure entered the room. Nienna, the sister of Mandos and Irmo, and was acquainted with grief and sorrow but also of pity and courage. She was dressed in deep black, the color of mourning, with white gems adorning her high neckline and in her flowing blonde hair.

"What can I do for you, my sister?"

"You cannot condemn this Elf to such a fate without hearing the rest of the story, my brother."

"The Ellon murdered his parents," he said, not without sorrow, "I do not see where I have much of a choice."

"I will explain." She stepped up beside her brother and sister-in-law and placed her hand on the wall. Instantly, the strange Ellon appeared.

"I do not know of this Elf," Námo studied the figure before them.

"Nor do I," Vairë's brow pulled together in a frown.

"Because he is not an Elf," Nienna told them sadly.

Námo thoughtfully narrowed his eyes. "You are correct; how could I have missed this?"

"It is not your fault," Nienna said softly, and patted his shoulder. "This almost never happens, and since you must keep track of so many souls in these halls, most of the time you only need to rely on first appearances."

"But who is he?"

"Before I tell you who and what he is, I want you to witness an encounter between Saeros, of Seldion, and the Elf who called himself Istimor."

Vairë and Námo exchanged curious glances as his sister swept her hand in a circle to reveal two young Elves, arguing:

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The taller Ellon with mahogany-colored hair was taunting and teasing the shorter, slighter Elfling with bright-red hair, as the child's fists clenched with fury and humiliation. He bit his lower lip, then yelled at the bigger Elf, until someone else, a relative of the bully came and dragged him away.

"That is Saeros?"

"It is. And the other Elf is Turamarth son of Ómar, Captain of the Guard in all areas surrounding King Thranduil's Palace. This event took place over nineteen hundred years ago, when Saeros and Turamarth were only twenty-five years of age."

"All children misbehave," Námo said.

"Wait, and you will see why this is important," Nienna nodded.

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The red-haired Elfling, blinded by tears, ran through the trees until he reached a lovely Hickory tree. He put up his arms and leaned into it, as he buried his face and sobbed, then turned and slid down as his body shook.

"Naire…" Vairë fought to keep her voice steady. "The poor child..." She held up the wool taken from the tapestry and showed her sister-in-law the small portion containing colors.

"Yes," Nienna's eyes filled with tears, "before this, he was a sweet Elf, who had yet to understand his true promise in the world." Her voice broke, and a tear fell from her light grey eyes. "It is a tragedy."

"Nésa," Námo's face was grim, "are you saying this incident caused the Elf to grow up into a murderer? The misbehavior of children?"

"No, my dear Brother," Nienna said, softly. "This was."

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They watched with interest as the strange Elf approached the child and after speaking to him, handed him a small object, with a reassuring smile. Saeros turned the ring over in his fingers and asked a few questions. Then he held up his hand and put it on, admiring how the black metal shone in the light.

Istimor gave Saeros an indulgent smile, then got to his feet and disappeared into the forest from whence he came.

"Was that what I think it is?"5

"As we know Sauron dwelled for many years in Dol Guldur, and his servants harassed the Wood Elves for centuries. That innocent Elfling was given one of several lesser rings made by Sauron, Námo. He is just as much a victim as his parents and the others! You cannot cast him away; he was a child!"

"No," Námo sighed, deeply saddened, "I cannot. I have witnessed many despicable acts since the beginning of time, but this..." he turned and met his sister's moist eyes. "How did you come to know this?"

"I have spent a great deal of time counseling Seldion and Heril, and since they arrived, they maintained that something happened to darken their son's heart. To my own shame, I did not heed their words, but since their time here has come to an end, I decided to investigate. Praise Eru I did; if not for the fervent and consistent petitions of a mother and father who never stopped loving their son, we would be damning this soul to an endless, merciless existence!"

"Praise Ilúvitar you came to us in time," Vairë's shoulders dropped in relief.

"What is to be done with this 'Istimor?'"

"It has already been done, Háno." Once again, Nienna pointed to the wall where the scene was continuing to unfold.

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Istimor walked into the forest, as he took another ring out of his own pocket and placed it on his finger, Saeros's jaw dropped as the tall, strange Elf vanished in his eyes.

But the three who observed all this were Valar, and no ring could hide the truth. The tall Elf morphed into an ancient figure with a long, white beard, wearing a cloak of sea-blue. He leaned on a staff of dark blue as he threw back his head and laughed.

"Pallando!" Vairë cried in horror. "He was the author of these evil deeds? For what purpose? It did nothing to change the fate of the North, nor did it increase Sauron's reach in any way!"

"No; this was an act of cruelty, for its own sake," Námo shook his head in anger. "He did this purely for his own entertainment. The worst kind of evil."

"He is beyond any of us now," Vairë reminded them. "Pallando has been cast into Nothingness by the Bearers of the Three; we will never be subjected to him again."

At Nienna's stricken expression, Námo said, "Pity him not my sister, for he chose his path, and no one could stop him." The Lord of Mandos took her hands in his and kissed her cheek. "Thank you. Do Saeros's parents know any of this?"

"No; I thought it wise to settle matters with you, first."

"Say nothing to them, but bring them before me, and," he smiled, "we will bring this long, sad tale to an end, yes?"

"I would be delighted to," Nienna's smile brightened the entire room, as she inclined her head and left.

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He found himself alone in a strange place, with no trees, no plants, just sand beneath his feet in a color he'd never seen before. The land was barren, but for the stars that glittered in the sky, and wind blew around him, billowing his hair.

What is this place?

He looked down at himself. He was wearing familiar clothing, the same leggings, tunic, and boots, and he tried to check his head—

Saeros slowly lifted his right arm, and his eyes bulged at the sight. His hand was missing. It had been chopped clean off at the wrist, yet it did not bleed, nor did it even hurt.

Up ahead, some sort of tall, narrow structure suddenly appeared. Not knowing what else to do, he set off in that direction only to see it was not really a tower at all.

The heavy doors stood tall in the starlight, yet there was no house, no wall, no fence. Saeros walked to the side and looked beyond them, but there was nothing but the same barren landscape under the stars.

Confused, he walked back to the center, tilted his head up. "Suil?" he called out. "Is anyone there?"

The doors slowly opened inward into blackness; his shadow grew long against the light from outside. No one was there.

He swallowed nervously and entered, his footsteps making eerie echoes throughout large dark hall. The walls were shiny black marble, and the pillars were made of highly polished Obsidian. Saeros couldn't see any ceiling, but dozens upon dozens of ornate lamps hung in the air, and their bright light bounced off the walls and columns, making this place oddly comforting.

"Hello?" he said, his voice echoing into the emptiness, as his head bobbed back and forth taking in his surroundings.

Two guards dressed in armor the same color as the walls appeared at either side of him and took hold of his arms.

"You will come with us," the one on his left told him, in a deep voice.

Out of the side of his vision, Saeros noticed their faces were covered with a fine mesh, concealing their features. "Where are you taking me?"

"You are in the Halls of Mandos, where you will be brought before King Námo to be judged and have your doom appointed."

As the words sunk in, the memory of recent events came back to him, and his knees buckled in anguish. The guards half-dragged him across the long Hall, and through an elaborately curved archway to stand before two powerful figures high on their thrones, then left him to stand alone.

King Námo, and Queen Vairë, rulers of the Underworld. They were of a shape like him, yet they were more; otherworldly, and unimaginable power emanated from each of them.

"Come forth, Saeros, son of Seldion."

He took a few tentative steps and climbed on the dais to face them directly. "My Lord," his voice shook, "My Lady… I will not ask, nor do I deserve any kind of mercy for my deeds during my life. I am ready to accept any punishment you deem fit."

The Elf kneeled before the Lord and Lady, bowed his head, and waited.

"I see you have lost a hand, Saeros," a deep, booming voice filled the air, yet the tone was not unkind.

"I have, My Lord, yet I do not mourn its loss. It held a curse, though I have never understood it." His voice broke, "Would that I had the courage to chop it off myself in life! I could have spared my family, my comrades and my King much heartache…" a sob escaped him, and his eyes remained on the ground as tears fell. "I can only give praise and gratitude to the son of Elrond who at least lifted my burden in death."

"My intention was to send you into the Void for your crimes, Son of Seldion," Námo said.

"Then I will go willingly and thank you, My Lord," he closed his eyes.

"As I said, that was my intention, but no longer."

Saeros looked up, his brows drawn together in puzzlement. "Excuse me?"

Amusement glinted in Lord Námo's eyes as they came to rest upon his sister. "Nienna?"

A beautiful figure entered and came to stand to his left, her dress and hair shimmered with small diamonds, and her eyes full of compassion and understanding. "Saeros," she said gently, her voice sounding like clear water in a mountain stream.

"I… I do not understand, My Lady," he said, tears pouring down his face. "I do not… I am not worthy of any sort of kindness."

"Fear not, child." The Vala took a silver silken handkerchief from her pocket and smiled as she gently wiped his face.

"Saeros," Lord Námo said, "it is time to pronounce your sentence."

He straightened his shoulders, as Nienna's hand slipped into his. "I am ready."

"The true nature of that which you were forced to bear has recently come to light, thanks to the efforts of my beloved sister and those who advocated for you. It is through their determined efforts, that we have discovered the truth of what happened to you that day in the forest when you encountered a being called Istimor."

"The one who gave me…" he held up his stump.

"The same. But he was no Elf at all; he was a Maia who allowed himself to become a servant of the Dark Lord. Saeros; you were a needless pawn in a cruel game, but rest assured, your attacker has been destroyed, and will no longer trouble anyone." The Vala leaned forward in his throne, and said, "your life, and all its possibilities, was stolen from you through no fault of your own, and I mourn your loss.

"However, though most of your actions were not of your own will, an Elf who causes the death of an innocent cannot enter the Undying Lands. For you, Saeros, the way will be forever closed. This is a law I cannot disregard, as it was decreed by Eru Ilúvitar, Father of All. You must remain here, in the Halls of Mandos for the remainder of your existence."

Saeros nodded. "I understand. Yet even that sentence brings me joy. I do not care where I live so long as my soul is free."

"That is well," the Lord's mouth curved slightly upwards. "I have prepared a set of rooms for you, and I think you will find them comfortable, yet you need not remain alone."

"My Lord?"

Queen Vairë covered her mouth to hide a smile, and Nienna squeezed Saeros's hand.

"Shortly before your arrival, I had deemed your parents ready to enter the Blessed Lands, yet they have asked me if they could remain here with you; with your permission, of course?"

Saeros swayed from the shock. "But… I do not think I should—"

"My child," Nienna said beside him. "They never stopped believing in you, and it was they who advocated and compelled me to find the evidence of your innocence. Will you give them this chance to love their son like they always wanted? And will you give yourself this chance to accept this love?"

His mouth opened as he glanced between the three Vala with wide, disbelieving eyes. "I cannot let you... I am not worthy of any of this!" he pleaded. "Please do not keep them from the bliss of the White Shores, where their painful memories of me will fade. They should forget they ever had me, and find some peace."

"Your sentiment does you credit," Námo told him. "But let us ask them, shall we?"

A door opened behind the Lord and Lady's thrones, and an Elven couple slowly entered.

"Nana?" Saeros heart and voice belonged to the child he had been before he was lost. "Ada?"

"Ion nîn..." Heril smiled and opened her arms, and the look of love and hope on their faces told him it would be all right.

Saeros wanted to go to them, but his feet wouldn't move. He cried out and fell to his knees, as his father rushed forward and engulfed him into his arms.

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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Ego, ihûg pen-ind! – Fuck off, you spineless worm!

Huil pen-channas – Stupid bitch

Larta-mecin, háno! – (Q.) Please wait, brother

Melmenya – (Q.) My love

NAEG! – OUCH!

Naire – (Q.) Lament

Venno – (Q.) Husband

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NOTES:

[1] Queen Melian was Elrohir's 2nd Great-grandmother. /wiki/Melian

[2] And Winter Came…; Ch. 34: /works/12026709/chapters/31479384

[3] Broken Wings, Ch. 3: /works/20519588/chapters/48867101

[4] An Invincible Summer, Ch. 37: /works/14127870/chapters/37370825

[5] From the Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter Two, (Shadows of the Past): "In Eregion long ago many Elven-rings were made, magic rings as you call them, and they were, of course, of various kinds: some more potent and some less. The lesser rings were only essays in the craft before it was full-grown, and to the Elven-smiths they were but trifles - yet to my mind dangerous for mortals. But the Great Rings, the Rings of Power, they were perilous."

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