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Chapter 16 - Elflings
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It was comfortable were he was. Warm, peaceful – serene; it was serene. Vague memories of fear and pain vanished and the feeling of floating, floating free like a leaf that drifts lazily from the top of a tall tree to the earth far below, soothed him.
There was no uncertainty or doubts of… what? And that was the one thing that troubled him in this most serene of places. Doubts, doubts of escape… rescue? Why would he want to escape or need rescuing from such a place as this?
He was thoughtful as he saw the familiar small, bright lights in the distance. The fireflies, they were back. He drifted through the silvery mist toward them, smiling. Their dance was chaotic, tiny beacons through the mist guiding him, and as he moved closer, the lights began to glow brighter. He laughed joyfully as they encircled him, their glow enveloping and moving through him to touch his very soul. He began to spin with them slowly, swirling in their warm, glorious light, not noticing that they drew him further and further away from his place of serenity.
Suddenly, the mist disappeared and he began to fall, and as he fell, the fear began to return; he was lost. Lost and in pain, a blinding, white-hot pain that flooded through him like the snow melt in spring into the Celebrant. He struggled desperately against the pull. He wanted to go back, but the twinkling beacons were gone; he could no longer see them. A choking darkness had replaced the twilight of the mist.
He was no longer floating, no longer falling. He was halfway between the welcoming bliss of oblivion and the bitter truth of waking. He had returned, and it was cold and hard and lonely where he was.
He forced his fuzzy mind to take inventory of his devastated body. The body he thought he had left behind. The worst of the pain radiated from his right thigh to his left side just below his ribs. The pain seemed to meld together and wrap itself around his spine. His shoulders and hips were consumed with a burning ache, his hands and arms felt leaden and numb, and his ankles and knees seemed to sing in cadence with the tightening band of pain around is head.
In his lifetime, he had experienced many degrees of pain and often used those experiences, gauging from least to worst, to catalogue new injuries. The pain that he was experiencing now had no place within that scale; it was beyond his comprehension.
He drifted closer to waking, and he thought he could perceive voices whispering to him, encouraging him. However, he did not want to wake, for somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that the pain that he was feeling now would be nothing compared to the full bloom of agony that waited to greet him.
He wanted to return to his serene place, to the fireflies, to the dance, but the voices, sweet and soft, were insistent.
"You must awaken dear elf… if only for moment… awaken, for we desire to know that you are not lost to us… please… awake."
Rúmil lifted heavy eyelids to the remnants of small, bright lights dancing in his vision. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he opened them once more, slowly, trying to focus on anything, something, to distract him from the pain.
"He awakes!"
Staring skyward, he flinched suddenly as the smiling face of a small child slipped into his eye line. The sudden movement sent hot daggers of pain directly behind his eyes, and he felt a rush of searing bile rise into his throat. He moaned softly, fighting the crushing wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.
"Shush… not so loud, Loarel; you cause him pain."
Rúmil blinked his eyes slowly, his focus shifting to the little one above him. She was a child of the Edain with auburn curls and bright, green eyes. Very gently, she cupped his cheeks in her tiny hands and quieting her voice, gave Rúmil a look of great contrition.
"Oh, I am so terribly sorry."
"Loarel, 'tis all right, you did not know. Saes, go fetch Danelhir quickly. I need his help."
The little girl gave Rúmil another quick smile before rising, and said, "I will hurry."
Rúmil attempted to shift his gaze in the direction of the other voice, but his body, frozen in place by pain, was unable to move and the speaker's position behind him made it impossible.
The other, sensing his searching gaze, shifted into the position vacated by the little girl so that Rúmil would not try to move.
To Rúmil's surprise, she was another child, somewhat older than the first, but still a child, an elfling actually. She had long, dark hair and dark eyes, and she bore the glow and countenance of the Firstborn.
He flicked out his sticky tongue to sweep across cracked, dry lips, desperate for moisture.
"Wat…," was all he could get out. He could barely speak, his voice just a rasping whisper, but the elfling understood his request easily.
Moving away from him briefly, she returned with a damp cloth in her hand, and leaning over, placed it against his lips, letting the cool water trickle down his parched throat, and at that moment, Rúmil thought had never had such sweet-tasting water.
The nausea he was feeling abated slightly, and he attempted to suck more liquid from the cloth. Seeing this, the elfling moved to soak the cloth again then returned it to his lips a second time. His eyes conveyed his gratitude as she withdrew the cloth. Once again, Rúmil tried to speak, and, while not as rasping, his voice was still just a whisper.
"Who…?"
"I am Mirrian and the little one that just left is Loarel. She went to fetch our brother, Danelhir. He is the oldest of us and the best at healing."
Rúmil's eyes darted anxiously about him, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He was resting on a pallet in the middle of a small, roughly built talan. It appeared to be abandoned, for there were no personal items or adornments that he could see. A three-legged chair was leaning in one corner while in front of a crumbling firepit against the opposite wall, sat a wobbly, round table with chairs that matched the first. The roof of the little talan had rotted away giving only partial protection, and the canopy of the trees above was clearly visible. So decrepit was this talan, he was sure that if he could stand, he would go plunging through the floor.
Looking back at Mirrian, he whispered, "How did I get here?"
"My brother and sisters helped me carry you here."
Rúmil's gaze flicked to his other side at the sound of this new voice.
"I am Danelhir, and this is our home-away-from-home."
This new elfling, dark like the first, smiled at Rúmil warmly as he approached. Rúmil lost sight of him briefly as the elfling moved behind him to slide his arms beneath his shoulders, and raising him slightly, the elfling supported his head so that Rúmil could drink more easily. However, even that small movement was enough to make Rúmil gasp softly and waver back toward nothingness. Danelhir grimaced in empathy at the pain he caused and waited for the elf to steady.
"We are relieved that you are no longer wandering, for 'tis perilous to travel in the mists for too long."
Danelhir motioned to Mirrian, and she retrieved a cup of water, lifting it to Rúmil's lips so he could drink. The warrior drained the cup quickly then looked back to Mirrian with pleading eyes. She swiftly refilled the cup, and he watched her warily as she stirred a few pinches of dried, crushed herbs into the water.
Diverting his attention from what Mirrian was doing, Danelhir said, "Drink this one more slowly. You do not want to sicken your stomach.
Rúmil looked at the cup suspiciously, as Mirrian moved it back up to his lips. Understanding his anxiety, she smiled, and said, "Worry not, for the herbs that I have added to the water will help with the pain." Then her smile turned to a slight frown. "Unfortunately, it will not eliminate it, only ease it slightly."
Rúmil drank the contents of the cup, his nose wrinkling at the bitter taste the herbs. The cup was refilled a third time and after he emptied it, Rúmil sighed with exhaustion, his eyelids beginning to droop slightly. Danelhir watched him closely, worry drifting across his face, as Rúmil's eyes began to slide shut.
"Would you like some more?"
The shake of Rúmil's head was barely perceptible, and he began to sag in Danelhir's grasp. The elfling gently lowered Rúmil back to the soft pallet then leaned over to whisper into his ear.
"Sleep now, meldir, but do not return to the mist, for you may not be able to find your way back, you are safe here and will come to no further harm. We will watch over you, we will protect you."
The faces of the children faded as his eyes drifted shut. Do not return to the mist? He had not desired to leave the mist. He was at peace there. He had friends there.
Rúmil was not so sure he wanted to stay.
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"Will he be well, Dani?" Loarel spoke quietly, fearing to hurt the elf again by being too loud.
Danelhir gave Mirrian a guarded look before turning to the three small children standing quietly in the corner.
"I hope so, penneth, but we must watch him closely. He may still wander, and we must make sure that he does not lose his way. You three can be a big help with that, can you not?"
The smaller children nodded their heads vigorously, and he held out his arms, motioning for them to sit with him and Mirrian next to the injured elf.
Loarel moved to sit in the young elleth's lap while the other two curled up into the crooks of Danelhir's arms. Once she had made herself comfortable, Loarel whispered, "Do you think that he will want to stay with us, Mirri?"
Mirrian glanced across to Danelhir with a questioning look as Loarel shifted her gaze to the injured elf. The little blonde elfling sitting with Danelhir leaned forward to touch the long, silky hair spilling over the side of the pallet and onto the floor. Also speaking softly, she said, "We could ask him to stay."
Then turning to the older elfling, she looked into his eyes hopefully. "He is lost, Dani. Can we not ask him to stay?"
Danelhir smiled back at Aerien and then to Loarel but shook his head, saying, "He is not lost, he just thinks he is. His place is not with us. He has a family, many who love and care for him, and a home of his own."
Danelhir turned to look at the little boy nestled in the crook of his other arm who, remarkably, had yet to ask any questions.
"Eli? What troubles you?" he asked, and he gave the young boy a squeeze, encouraging him to speak.
Eli glanced over to Loarel then back to the sleeping elf, his eyes drifting over the length of his body, shuddering at what he saw. When he spoke, it was in a small, quavering voice.
"It was Men who hurt him so. He may not want to stay because Loarel and I are here, because we look like those who…"
Danelhir understood instantly and shushed him by pressing a finger to his lips.
"Eli, you and Loarel are nothing like the men who did this. Their souls carried a darkness that you could never possess. Our new mellon will see that so worry not."
Then giving him a crooked grin, Danelhir asked, "And you know what I think, Eli?"
The little boy dropped his serious expression at once and grinned back at Danelhir as he recognized the playful tone in his brother's voice.
"Nay, what do you think, Dani?"
The three girls looked at each other and rolled their eyes as the all too familiar conversation began.
"I think that we brave, fearless warriors need to go hunting so that these dear, helpless maidens will not have to fret about getting dirty."
Eli giggled and jumped up, standing as tall as his small frame would let him. Taking a deep breath and lifting his chin, he puffed out his chest as he turned to scamper out of the talan and down through the branches of the tree that held it firmly. Danelhir laughed and called out behind him.
"Wait for me o' brave, fearless one."
Leaning down to brush the back of his hand across Rúmil's forehead, Danelhir frowned as a feverish sweat dampened his skin.
"Watch him, Mirrian. Námo calls sweetly to him I fear. I sense that he is drawing away."
Mirrian nodded silently in agreement as he continued, "I will search for something for his fever and for him to eat. Try to keep him cool. If he awakes, see if you can get him to take more water. I will return as quickly as I can."
Then winking at Mirrian, he crouched down in front of Loarel and Aerien, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"Be sure that Mirrian keeps a close eye on our new mellon," and then dropping his voice even lower, he said, "You know how forgetful she can be sometimes."
All three slowly turned their heads in unison, arching their eyebrows in the exact same manner, to look at Mirrian in silent agreement as she crossed her arms across her chest and glared back at them.
"You had better get going, or our brave warrior will be halfway to Aman before you find him."
Laughing, Danelhir gave each of his sisters a quick kiss on the cheek before walking over to the edge of the talan to search for the light of his brother, and he quickly spotted him hunkered down behind a shrub at the edge of the clearing. Smiling, he jumped out of the tree and slipped silently across the glade to retrieve his brave and fearless hunting companion.
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Celeborn entered the small garden in search of his mate and found her staring intently into the shimmering pool of her Mirror. He could feel her frustration growing, for the Mirror had yet to reveal to her the fate of one of the sons of her heart.
"What do you see?"
Her usually warm voice was cold and unfeeling.
"Those responsible are dead."
Celeborn met her gaze evenly. There had been no doubt between them as to the doom of those who had harmed Rúmil and Anendel.
"And of Rúmil?"
At his question, her stern countenance turned troubled. She moved toward her Lord and into his warm embrace.
"His fate is veiled from my eyes… for what purpose I do not know. I sense that he still lives but is in great need."
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~* To Be Continued *~
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Námo = Mandos, Vala of the Elven dead
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