By: Lady of the Rings
Rating: PG-13 for some tense moments and poisons.
Disclaimer:
The lyrics in this chapter, namely those from Only Time in the CD A Day Without Rain, are not mine and I do not claim them so do not sue me. They belong to their respective copyright. The only characters in this story that are mine are Celebmîr, Nionë, and Annos. All else belongs to Tolkien and I in no way claim his creation as my own, I am not making money off this, and this story was written for pure enjoyment only.
Spoilers: None
Feedback: LadyoftheRings35@hotmail.com
Summary:
This is placed in a tiny pocket of time when Gil-galad and Elrond brought their army to Rivendell in the Second Age to meet with Elendil. Elendil's niece, Nionë is being poisoned—but why, and by whom? And when the attacker goes after Elrond, things take a deadly turn…
Series:
None yet!
Additional disclaimers:
Within this text there are likely to be quite a few errors, and while I have gone over it numerous times with a fine-toothed comb, there are likely to still be errors. Please forgive any that you find. I am not a Tolkien expert and do not claim to be. I will to my best to keep everything looking spick-and-span, but even writers make mistakes on their manuscripts. I know that things would have been really grim in the time that I am writing about, but such stories depress me. Just think of this as a little alternate reality story with Tolkien characters in a Tolkien world, and that it actually might have happened. Thank you for being so understanding. Also, a '*' means there is a translation or a note at the end of the story. I put this next to all of the elvish.
Author's note: TMOS—Thank you for pointing that out! *smacks head* I completely forgot that mîr in elvish means "jewel" while sîr means "river." I had meant Celebmîr's name to mean Silver river, but silver jewel actually sounds better. Just clarifying that.
Also, if you're looking for an ironic laugh, go back to chapter one and carefully reread the first sentence of "additional disclaimers." I corrected it in this chapter, but I think you'll get a kick out of it anyway.
I know, it was an evil cliff hanger. *grin* It's not so evil this time, though.
Chapter Two
Who can say where the road goes
Where the day flows
Only time
And who can say if your love grows
As your heart choose
Only time
-Only Time, sung by Enya
Elrond ruefully rubbed the lump forming on the back of his head, trying to ignore the sharp, throbbing pain in his temples. He sat in Elendil's personal quarters with Gil-galad, Elendil, Nionë, and Nionë's sharp-eyed and surly father, Annos. Nionë's face had gone white with fear; she twisted the folds of her dress between her hands. Elendil sat next to her, one hand laid comfortingly over hers.
"You are sure, Master Elrond?" Elendil's face was intense in the firelight. "There can be no mistake that my niece has been poisoned?"
"I have examined her myself, my lord. All the symptoms are correct. I cannot see what else it would be that ails her."
"Who—" Nionë cleared her throat and continued. "Who would wish me harm? And why would they attack you, Lord Elrond?"
"A jealous suitor?" Elendil suggested. "One of those young men who think, 'if I can't have her, no one can'?"
Annos could contain himself no longer. "And what of the elves?" he snarled, pointing an accusing finger at Gil-galad and Elrond. "I hear no one accusing them of poisoning my child. Why is it always men who are the evil ones?"
"Father…"
"Be still, Nionë."
"But—"
"I said be still!"
Nionë's eyes blazed suddenly. "You're only blaming them because of my mother."
Annos looked at his daughter with thinly veiled disgust and fury. "This is neither the time nor the place, Nionë."
"No. It's never the right time for you, father." She stood suddenly, and it was then Elrond realized she was taller than her father by nearly half a foot. Gathering her robes in her hands, she left the room, her face pinched with anger. Annos turned to storm after her.
"Forgive me my lords. I must speak to my daughter."
Elendil winced as the door was slammed closed behind them.
Both elves could hear the fight clearly from the next room, though they obviously did not want to. Elendil noticed their expressions and suggested they retire to the balcony.
Elrond's head hurt. Whoever had hit him from behind obviously did not know elven autonomy—that, or Elrond had been very, very lucky. His attacker had hit on one of the hardest parts of the skull. The blow was enough to stun him, but if his attacker had struck just a finger's breadth to the left, he or she would have killed him.
But Elbereth did his head hurt.
He begged weariness from the two lords and made his way down to his rooms. The room seemed a little hazy—maybe he'd been hit harder than he had thought. Guards were posted outside of his quarters—which he shared with Gil-galad until the army left, seeing as they needed every room they could spare—and also Nionë's. He staggered past his lord's bed towards the smaller room that connected to Gil-galad's through a short hallway. He undressed and pulled on his sleeping robes, and then he lie down on the wonderfully soft bed and fell fast asleep.
* * * *
"Lord Elrond! Lord Gil-galad! Wake up, please, wake up!"
Gil-galad and Elrond collided in the darkness, still blinded by dream-rest, and only just managed to keep from stabbing each other with hastily drawn swords. In the darkened rooms Elrond raced to the door and flung it open, expecting an attack. The pain in his head was less—bless the gods that elves healed quickly—but the noise was beginning to give him a headache again.
Nionë stood before him, her face pale, clutching a candle in the darkness. Her hands shook. "It's my father," she whispered.
She led Elrond down the hall, her bare feet slapping the cold floors. Dressed only in a light shift she must have been freezing, but she did not show it. As they drew closer to her father's quarters, Elrond could hear a commotion going on.
Nionë rounded the corner at a run and collided with Erestor. Both staggered back, but Nionë pushed by, hurrying to her father.
Elrond plucked Erestor's sleeve. "What happened here, my friend?"
Erestor looked sad and grave. "The Lord Annos was found poisoned in his bed, my lord."
Elrond paled visibly and moved to follow Nionë.
He pushed his way through the crowd and found her weeping at Annos' bedside. On a table next to the bed sat a half-finished glass of wine.
"Nionë?"
"I'm here, father," she whispered. She leaned over him and took his hand.
"I can't see you, Nionë."
"You'll be fine, father."
"I feel so ill, my daughter…"
"You'll be fine." Her voce broke as she finished speaking. She looked up at Elrond, her eyes begging him to do something.
He sniffed the wine carefully, and lightly touched the tip of his tongue to the liquid. He frowned and dipped one edge of his sleeve in the drink. Then he drew his knife.
"Elrond?"
Elendil entered, his face gray with concern; Isildur, his son, turned and began pushing people out of the room, giving Elrond more room to work. Isildur glanced at the bed, shook his head and sighed, then left the room and closed the door firmly behind him. Elrond shook his head at Elendil, warning him to be silent.
"Nionë, cut my palm."
"W-what?"
"Take this knife and cut my palm. Quickly, do as I say!"
Shakily she took the knife from him and made a thin incision a crossed his palm. Elrond barely flinched; he pressed his wet sleeve against the wound and hissed sharply.
"What is it?" Gil-galad had also entered.
"Wood alcohol."
Elendil hissed with disgust. "Can you cure him?"
Elrond's face was troubled. "His body will rid itself of the toxin, in time. But the blindness, I'm afraid, is permanent."
Nionë sobbed quietly at her father's bedside. She gasped suddenly and Elrond looked over. Annos had grabbed her hair and was yanking her closer.
"It was an elf, I know it was," he hissed, sitting up and grabbing her by both shoulders. She looked up into his sightless eyes and tried to pull back. "Listen to me, you little brat!"
Elrond stepped forward to defend Nionë, but Gil-galad stopped him with an outstretched hand. The elf-lord's eyes held silent warning.
"You keep away from them," Annos hissed as he shook his daughter fiercely, his teeth gleaming in rage. "Do you hear me? Keep away!" He shook her harder.
She let out a cry and ripped away. "Tye ulundo!*" she whispered.
"What did you call me?" Annos' voice was cold.
"Nothing, father. I was frightened. I don't know what I said."
"You damn well do!" he shouted. "What did you say? You little elvish slut! Get back here!"
She backed away from him. He turned his head this way and that, trying to find her. "What did you say?" he screamed. Nionë turned and fled, pushing past Elendil.
Down the long corridors of Imladris she ran. She sped as though wings touched her feet, tears flowing freely down her face. Her heart was in her throat and she felt cold all through her body.
She threw open the doors leading to the gardens and plunged into the night. Her dress caught on a nail in the door. Impatiently she yanked on it, ripping it free.
Down she ran across the soft, cold grass. She stumbled in the dark—only stars lit her way. At last she fell with a cry, skinning her hands and her knees. Cold and miserable she curled up, crying silently.
She jumped and shivered when warm hands touched her shoulders, but did not move. No one but an elf could sneak up upon her without her knowing. She lay still as Elrond knelt and gently covered her with his cloak. She shivered uncontrollably.
"Lady?" His voice was gentle as he took her hands in his. The stabbing pains where rocks had been driven into her flesh eased, and a bit of warmth crept back into her numb body.
"My lord." Her voice was hoarse. "My father…he…"
"Quildë*," he whispered. "Let me help you up."
She scrambled up without taking his hand. Her eyes, no longer dilated from the belladonna were now a beautiful gray, soft and sad in the evening light.
Elrond drew her to a bench and sat down. She sat beside him and drew his thick cloak about her. Their shoulders touched and she sighed suddenly, weariness hitting her like a blow. Her head rested lightly against the elf's shoulder; she didn't notice Elrond stiffen almost imperceptibly, and within moments she was fast asleep.
Elrond tucked the cloak around her, and then gently lifted her, one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back. She murmured and sighed, but made no other motion, turning her face into his chest.
He met no one in the short walk to her room, for which he was grateful. Gently he placed her in her bed. Tear-trails sparkled in the moonlight. He wiped them away with his finger. "Fúmë, titta quén*," he whispered, placing a hand on her head. "Fúmë."
* * * *
Over the next few days, as the army that was to set forth against Sauron began to gather at Imladris, Elrond and Nionë spent long hours together as he taught her Quenya, the High Elven tongue. She was quick to learn, and practiced whenever she could. She would say hello, good bye, good morning, good evening, even "your hair smells," to Elrond when she saw him. He would gently correct her pronunciation here, her stress on a syllable there, laugh with her when she accidentally said something she had not meant. It was not long before she could hold short, slow conversations with the other elves in Quenya. They were mutually delighted and intrigued that she could speak both Sindarin and Quenya, and Nionë was content.
"You do realize that just about the entire human court believes you are sleeping with her?" Gil-galad said one afternoon in a completely blasé tone of voice as he had lunch with Elrond out on their balcony.
Elrond put his wine glass down and stared at his lord and friend in horror. "My lord?"
"No, Elrond. Don't give me those wide, innocent looking gray eyes. You know what humans think about an un-chaperoned man and woman in a room together."
"Do they have so little trust in her? In me?"
"It is not a matter of trust, Elrond. For humans the temptation of being alone is often too great, even if they are only friends."
"She is a child by my eyes! I wouldn't—couldn't—take advantage of her. Not though she was human, elf, dwarf or what not!"
"I know that; the elves know that. Elendil knows that. But the rift that divides the humans and the elves is growing, Elrond. One day they may hate us simply for what we are. The court does not approve of your actions."
Elrond was growing angry. "And do I care what they think?"
"You will if you are wise, my friend. The court carries much power. Nionë's father, Annos, in particular."
"Annos is blind now."
"But he is not deaf. Listen, my friend!" He caught a hold of Elrond's sleeve and gazed into the younger elf's eyes, his own nearly black in the shadow of the building, honest concern in his face. "For her sake, be careful. Do not ruin her life over your own pride. Sit outside and teach her where all can see, if you will do naught else. Don't be seen alone with her. Is this asking too much?"
"Do you ask me or order me, my lord?"
Gil-galad sighed and released him. "Fine, Elrond, be that way. But I warn you, no good can come of this."
Elrond left the room without answering.
* * * *
"I have told you, I am not interested in marrying your son," Nionë said irritably to the noble woman who, for the fifth time, had come demanding she marry her son. "I am not ready."
The woman's face grew dark with anger. "You were ready enough for that elf-lord," she muttered as she turned to leave. But Nionë had inherited her mother's sensitive ears and overheard.
"Elrond? What's he got to do with this?"
"Oh, don't think we don't see the way you look at him, the way he smiles at you. You're sleeping together—why not just come out and say it?"
The woman reeled back in surprise as Nionë lashed out, slapping her. "How dare you?" Nionë breathed, enraged. "Elrond is a friend, naught more. If you think else-wise you are an idiot and I have no time for idiots." She slammed her door in the woman's face.
"A lover's quarrel, eh?" the woman said loudly at the closed door.
Nionë yanked open the door, about to throw the infuriating woman across the room, but she was gone.
Nionë's hands shook slightly as she changed into trousers and a tunic. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she frowned. "Isa! Rele! Come quickly!"
* * * *
"Well, it appears my niece is a tad late," Elendil commented as he, Gil-galad, Elrond, Erestor and several other members of the court mounted up for a day's riding. "She should be along soon."
"I'm here, my lord uncle."
Gil-galad blinked as Nionë emerged. A hawk, free from tethers, sat patiently on her shoulder. She led her horse, which wore nothing but a decorative headstall, and was dressed in simple brown trousers and a green tunic held in place by a leather belt. Her eyes sparkled with delight and mischief.
Elendil seemed stumped. So did the rest of the court, which, dressed in their best finery, looked on at the King's niece's peasant clothes, aghast.
"Lady, have you been feverish?" one courtier finally asked. "Your hair…"
"I had Isa cut it this morning. It looks nice, don't you think?" Her voice and face was open and completely innocent.
Her hair was all cut off—the new cut made her face look boyish and mischievous. It came down to her ears; she could have been an apprentice for her looks—she'd even bound her already small breasts flat. If it weren't for her natural feminine beauty she could easily pass as a man.
"My lady…" Nionë silenced the woman with a look, and tossed her bird into the air. She then sprang lightly onto her white stallion's back, and maneuvered over towards her uncle and Gil-galad.
"Nionë, what possessed you?" Elendil demanded in a low voice.
"If I get one more offer for marriage I'll kill someone," she answered just as quietly. "I want a man who likes me for me. Not for my looks. And I will choose the man, not his mother me."
She maneuvered until Gil-galad was between her and her uncle, her face tight with anger.
"You are wise, lady." Gil-galad's voice was hardly hearable above the impatient pawing of horse hooves.
"How so, my lord?"
"You choose a man who loves you for you—not for your looks. Too often it is the other way around."
She looked him in the eye. "Who said I had chosen?"
Nionë urged her horse on without another word, allowing her stallion to stretch into a canter. Elendil matched her stride for stride, with Gil-galad and Elrond on his right and Nionë on his left. The court followed, muttering.
The ride was brisk and full of laughter. One Nionë calmed a bit she was happily talking to the elves in both Sindarin and Quenya, speaking in carefully enunciated but perfectly understandable elvish. Erestor was completely delighted with her progress.
"Lady, you speak almost as one born to this tongue!" he exclaimed delightedly.
Her eyes twinkled. "Why, lord, you flatter me! But I do not have that wonderful accent you elves use."
"It comes from several lifetimes of practice, lady."
Nionë only laughed.
The spot they stopped at was a large green meadow beside a burbling stream. As the men took the horses to water, the women, both elven and human, spread out the blankets and the food. Nionë did neither, but instead spoke softly to her hawk, who had returned to her shoulder.
"If I may ask you, lady," said a falconer over his bread and cheese, a kind man by the name of Erentel. "How do you keep him without tethering?"
"I asked him to stay," she replied calmly. Elrond nearly swallowed his tongue. He had never heard of a human speaking to animals in their own languages before—and being understood.
"Asked him?" The man was honestly puzzled. "How?"
"In elvish. Most animals know one form or another."
Erestor smiled. "Yes, a great delight of our ancestors was speaking to animals, stone and trees alike. Most creatures still understand and respond to it."
"Trees? Stones?" A second man, fair-haired and skeptical, leaned over to join the conversation. "How could you talk to a rock?"
"Everything speaks, in a way," Nionë said quietly. "It's not what they say, but how you listen that matters."
Gil-galad looked at her, really looked at her, and realized then why his friend and herald cared so much for her. She was truly an exceptional woman. Nionë noticed his glance and smiled.
The hawk shifted on her shoulder, holding its wings out for balance. It tapped his beak against her head, very gently. Erentel gasped in wonder as she turned to look it in the eye, her face hardly an inch from those rending claws and beak. There was no fear in her face as she stood up.
"Mára raimë, otorno,*" she whispered, and launched him into the air.
Elrond saw the movement at the edge of his vision. "Nionë! Undu!*"
An arrow whizzed by Elrond's ear and struck Nionë through the chest.
* * * *
The statements hereafter are written by King Gil-galad, by his personal hand in his journal after said encounter:
Nionë made no sound; her breath caught in her throat as an arrow slammed between her ribs, just under her left breast. She staggered slightly, and then straightened—even as a second arrow whistled with a sickening clunk into her stomach. She tried to speak, but blood dribbled from between her lips and she choked. She doubled over without a sound and collapsed.
That's when the screaming started. Elendil sprang to his feet and drew his sword, pushing his wife to the ground beside him. Erestor seized a bow and let loose a volley of arrows into the treetops, where the shot had come from. There was a cry of pain, and something fell from the tree. Grimly, Erestor, Isildur, and several other men set out after it.
Elrond caught Nionë as she fell, and lowered her down. Her eyes were wide and she struggled to breathe. Her wounds were mortal, there could be no mistake.
She gasped suddenly in pain, and whimpered piteously. Elrond drew her head into his lap and placed his hands aside her head. His eyes burned with a feverish light that I had never seen before—it frightened me. Her breath caught again and she shuddered horribly. He said something; I was too far away to hear what. Her eyelids closed.
I've seen Elrond glow slightly when he heals someone—it's an inner light that is unmistakable to those who know what to look for. Faint, yes, but it was there. With Nionë he burned like a small sun—I couldn't even look at him directly. I squinted at his hands instead—he burned too hot to come closer than a few feet. I heard gasps and cries of fear, but they were all human. The elves were silent and still.
He reached for the arrow under her left breast, and with a quick jerk pulled it free. The arrowhead was dark with her blood. Nionë screamed. Elrond spoke again, his voice full of power and compassion. The girl was still. Elrond flared briefly, and then the light dimmed. I could see him clearly. He reached for the second arrow. Nionë's face was pale and her eyes were still closed. She breathed without struggle. He yanked the second arrow free, and again she screamed. Elrond cried out as well and the light encircling them expanded, blazing, blotting out the sun.
Then it was gone. I blinked the spots away from my eyes. Nionë rested with her hands on her breast, a small smile on her face. Elrond was gray and shaking as he stood. I stepped forward and caught him as he fell. He was warm, as though he had been baked in an oven. I looked at Nionë and sucked in my breath sharply. Her clothes were tattered and blood-stained, and she was deep in slumber, but her flesh was healed without a mark, and she was one of few alive to tell of surviving a lung and stomach punctured by barbed arrows war-arrows.
It was nothing short of a miracle.
* * * *
Such miracles do not come without a price.
Elrond struggled within his glob of light to save the girl he cared for. Her soul, to his eyes, was a clean, healthy white. No dark lines running through it to signify evil; no red lines running through to signify wrongdoing. Only blue lines, signifying illness and pain.
She whimpered. "Quildë hinya*," he whispered.
Nionë sighed and closed her eyes. "Elbereth, save her." Elrond bent nearer to the girl's head. He grasped the arrow under her breast. "I will sacrifice whatever you wish for her." With a quick jerk he pulled it free. She screamed and he steadied her, easing the pain. "Whatever is required I will give. Let me heal her." He reached for the second arrow and pulled it free. Again she cried out.
I hear you, Elrond Eärendil's son.
Let me help her. Let me save her. I offer my service to you in return.
I do not take sacrifices of blood or soul, you know that Eärendil's son.
I do not offer such a sacrifice—I sacrifice my freedom. I will not leave Middle-Earth until Sauron is vanquished forever. It is the pact I offer you.
Very well, Elrond Eärendil's son. Your pact is accepted. Your passage to Valinor is stayed until Sauron is vanquished. In return, the girl will be saved.
The light around them pulsed and flared. Elrond screamed as suddenly something divine—and very power—worked through him, healing Nionë and sealing the wounds. He gasped, his head reeling from the experience. The pain in his head was unbearable.
Elrond stood up and collapsed in the arms of his lord.
*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*
Tye ulundo! = you monster!
Quildë = hush, quiet, rest
Fúmë, titta quén = Sleep, little one.
Mára raimë, otorno = good hunting, brother
Undu = down
Quildë hinya = hush/quiet/shush/ my child