The Gray Maiden
Elrohir turned to face the newcomer, who hesitated on the threshold. Her figure was slight and her face pale. The gray veil covering her hair signified that she assisted the healers in their duties. He did not recognize her but realized that she held in her arms a child. It was Dunthalion.
Elrohir started towards the woman, who appeared quite young, a mere maiden. "What are you doing with my son? Is he ill?" He peered anxiously at Dunthalion.
"No, my lord," she reassured him. "He is fine. He's a wonderful, happy baby." At Elrohir's challenging gaze she faltered. "I was told to bring him..." her voice trailed off and she directed an appealing gaze over Elrohir's shoulder. He turned to see who she looked to for help.
It was his grandfather. Realization began a slow burn in the pit of his stomach. Before he could find the words to voice his suspicion, proof walked through the door.
"Lord Celeborn," Haldir sounded quite harassed. "When possible, I would like to know when the task I am set is likely to risk my life." He'd barely finished speaking when Calmae pushed past him into the room. She rushed to Elrohir's side, words spilling out like stones poured from a jar.
"That-that jumped up gatekeeper," she sputtered. "He laid hands on me!" Calmae pointed at an accusing finger at Haldir like Mandos pronouncing the Doom of the Noldor.
Haldir made an outraged noise. "You threw a pan at my head, woman. Even with your aim, I could have been killed!"
"He simply appeared demanding that I bring Dunthalion and come with him." Calmae complained to Elrohir. "I refused unless he explained himself, which he would not do. He said he had his orders. Just like the night Lady Eloessa died."
Calmae's shoulders slumped. "While he kept me busy arguing, she slipped in and took the baby." Calmae looked at the young woman holding the child. "We have worked side by side at many a sickbed, Sindawen. I never thought you would betray me so."
Sindawen, now named and accused, gave a minute shake of her head. She buried her face in the dark curls of the child nestled against her.
"I think you will find that Mistress Sindawen is the not the author of this piece, Calmae. Nor Master Haldir, either, tempting as it is to believe in his iniquity." Elrohir's wintry expression made it clear the recent truce of the two men was near breaking. "No, it is my esteemed grandfather that plucked our strings as if we were instruments of his making."
Elrohir advanced on Lord Celeborn's throne, rigid with barely controlled rage. "What did you hope to gain by this charade?"
Celeborn sat and surveyed his grandson, unmoved by the challenge. "When in my realm you promised to obey me. Where is your duty?"
"I swore an oath before Manwe himself to stand as father for this child and protect him from all harm." Elrohir answered fiercely. "I recognize no charge higher than that!"
"You dishonor yourself and Lord Elrond with such self-indulgent nonsense." Celeborn snapped. "No Eldar outside the Blessed Realm has the luxury of answering solely to the duty of husband and father." Now Celeborn stood, veteran and survivor of greater destruction than Elrohir could yet conceive. "Your behavior causes me to question where your ultimate loyalty lays, Elrohir. Elrond thought this might happen and his message has proved true. Return to your flet and consider carefully what you do next."
Elrohir would have spoken but Celeborn turned away. "You are dismissed."
Elladan grabbed his brother's shoulder. "Elrohir, you tread perilously close to disaster." He hissed in a low voice. "Let us go, now. Calmae will make sure the boy comes to no harm. She is like a badger with its cub." He pulled Elrohir toward the door by main force. "Come on!"
Calmae said quickly, "I will not leave him, I promise." Elrohir, stunned at Celeborn's revelation about his father, nodded jerkily and left the room. Elladan cast a grateful glance at Calmae, a worried one at his silent grandfather, and then hurried after his twin.
Celemedril, silent since the healer had entered with the child and throughout the ensuing battle of wills, now inquired. "Lord Celeborn, what do you intend?"
Celeborn's head was bent and he did not answer for a long moment. At last, he looked up. "What do I intend? I mean to leave and allow you to get acquainted with your nephew." A faint smile appeared. "I will let Mistress Sindawen tutor you in the gentle art of infant care."
Celeborn made to depart, gathering Haldir up in his wake. He beckoned to Calmae. She did not immediately come, clearly torn between guarding her charge and obeying.
"Do not allow yourself to be caught between two loyalties again, Calmae," Celeborn warned, not unkindly. "Believe that I want what is best, for us all." He held her gaze until she dropped her eyes, acknowledging his point. "But I will not put you to the test. You may stay, but do not interfere. Do I make myself clear?"
Calmae nodded, relieved not to have to choose. This time.
Neither of the two remaining men spoke or made any move toward Sindawen. Uncertain, she glanced back and forth between them. One was tall and broad, an obvious warrior. He unnerved her a little. The other was slender, almost thin, as if he had been ill. He kept his face averted so she could not see him clearly, but he seemed to bear some scars he did not want others to see. As usual, she thought wryly, it was the wounded one who made her feel the most at ease.
The big warrior had been shouting when she came in and anger still seemed to cling to him, but he said nothing.
In desperation, Sindawen looked to Calmae for help. Calmae gazed consideringly at her fellow healer for a moment. Then she nodded slightly in Eomeril's direction.
Sindawen smiled and moved toward Eomeril. "My lord? This is your nephew. His name is Dunthalion." Obeying an instinct she had learned as a healer to trust, she made to hand the baby to Eomeril. Startled, he turned away, trying to avoid the burden, but she was insistent.
"No, he can not see me like this." Eomeril protested. "He will have nightmares."
"The babe does not care what you look like," Sindawen said. Attuned to such things now, he heard compassion underlying her healer's briskness, but he detected no pity or revulsion.
Reluctant but intrigued, he accepted the bundle she presented him. The child was solid and firm in his hands. He felt a small hand grasp his fingers with astonishing strength. He suddenly remembered Eloessa doing the same thing when she was very young.
Then the child in his arms laughed. It was like the sun piercing the clouds after the first storm of winter. It brought with it the hope of spring, rebirth and renewal. Sindawen thought she saw the hint of a smile on the ruined face.
Gingerly, Eomeril traced the baby's face with his fingers revealing Dunthalion had his sister's fine straight nose and delicate arched eyebrows.
Sindawen helped him adjust the child, guiding his arms so he had a firm grasp on the wriggling babe. "He is a fine, strong boy," she told him, her voice low and sweet. Eomeril imagined it must be soothing to the ill and wounded.
Watching them, Celemedril felt a faint stirring of hope that his brother might yet recover from his black despair. He watched as Eomeril grasped Dunthalion a little tighter, as if he feared he would drop him. Celemedril observed his brother with the healer and Dunthalion for several more minutes, then seemed to come to a decision.
He silently crossed to where Calmae waited. He held out his arm to her. "Come, Calmae, let us leave them alone for a time." She looked at him questioningly. "We will go no further than the antechamber outside the hall. You may tell me all that happened to Eloessa after I left. There is much that I wish to know." Calmae, nodding, allowed her former charge to escort her from the hall.
As he left, Celemedril turned one more look on those that remained. He would meet his nephew later. For now the child worked a unique magic on his brother. Celemedril did not begrudge him what happiness he could find.
"I will not hurt him?" Eomeril asked anxiously. The child squirmed in his arms, a ball of energy and vitality that touched a deep chord within the wounded Elf.
He could hear the smile in her voice when she answered. He thought again that it was a pleasant voice, the hint of laughter like the sound of chimes in the wind. He wondered what she looked like.
"No, my lord," she assured him, "You will not hurt him. Babies have their own spells of protection to save them from clumsy parents." It took him a moment to realize that she was teasing him. The laugh escaped him before he could hold it back. By the Valar, it felt good to laugh.
"Mistress Sindawen," He surprised himself by speaking. "May I touch your face?" He asked hesitantly, shyly. It was new, this shyness. He had been confident with the elf maidens. He had known the charms he wielded, but that had been before...Now all he would have from them was pity and that was unacceptable.
But this one, somehow she was different.
Instead of answering, she took his hand. She gently guided it to her own face, laying it there lightly. With Dunthalion happily babbling and reaching up to them, Eomeril explored her face for the first time.
Her skin was soft and smooth. She would be fair he decided, with a straight proud nose. He traced from the arch of her eyebrows down the high cheekbones. So fair was she and small. His hand cupped her chin as he ran a hesitant finger across her lips. He heard her quick intake of breath but that did not stop him. Her mouth was soft and warm. The thought rose unbidden that they were kissable lips. For a moment he imagined kissing them, and that they kissed him back.
He snatched his hand away as if burned. How could he think such things? No one would want him, ruined as he was.
But then she did a remarkable thing. She reached out to him. He tried to turn away, to hide his face from her, but she would not allow it. Trapped with the child in his arms, he could not prevent it when Sindawen took his face in her hands. They were sure and strong, the hands of a healer.
She ran her fingers over his scarred face. His skin warmed where she touched him and he could feel the healing in her hands. But it was not the mending of his flesh that he felt. No, something far deeper began to stir to life.
He thought it just might be the burned-out husk that was his soul.
Elrohir turned to face the newcomer, who hesitated on the threshold. Her figure was slight and her face pale. The gray veil covering her hair signified that she assisted the healers in their duties. He did not recognize her but realized that she held in her arms a child. It was Dunthalion.
Elrohir started towards the woman, who appeared quite young, a mere maiden. "What are you doing with my son? Is he ill?" He peered anxiously at Dunthalion.
"No, my lord," she reassured him. "He is fine. He's a wonderful, happy baby." At Elrohir's challenging gaze she faltered. "I was told to bring him..." her voice trailed off and she directed an appealing gaze over Elrohir's shoulder. He turned to see who she looked to for help.
It was his grandfather. Realization began a slow burn in the pit of his stomach. Before he could find the words to voice his suspicion, proof walked through the door.
"Lord Celeborn," Haldir sounded quite harassed. "When possible, I would like to know when the task I am set is likely to risk my life." He'd barely finished speaking when Calmae pushed past him into the room. She rushed to Elrohir's side, words spilling out like stones poured from a jar.
"That-that jumped up gatekeeper," she sputtered. "He laid hands on me!" Calmae pointed at an accusing finger at Haldir like Mandos pronouncing the Doom of the Noldor.
Haldir made an outraged noise. "You threw a pan at my head, woman. Even with your aim, I could have been killed!"
"He simply appeared demanding that I bring Dunthalion and come with him." Calmae complained to Elrohir. "I refused unless he explained himself, which he would not do. He said he had his orders. Just like the night Lady Eloessa died."
Calmae's shoulders slumped. "While he kept me busy arguing, she slipped in and took the baby." Calmae looked at the young woman holding the child. "We have worked side by side at many a sickbed, Sindawen. I never thought you would betray me so."
Sindawen, now named and accused, gave a minute shake of her head. She buried her face in the dark curls of the child nestled against her.
"I think you will find that Mistress Sindawen is the not the author of this piece, Calmae. Nor Master Haldir, either, tempting as it is to believe in his iniquity." Elrohir's wintry expression made it clear the recent truce of the two men was near breaking. "No, it is my esteemed grandfather that plucked our strings as if we were instruments of his making."
Elrohir advanced on Lord Celeborn's throne, rigid with barely controlled rage. "What did you hope to gain by this charade?"
Celeborn sat and surveyed his grandson, unmoved by the challenge. "When in my realm you promised to obey me. Where is your duty?"
"I swore an oath before Manwe himself to stand as father for this child and protect him from all harm." Elrohir answered fiercely. "I recognize no charge higher than that!"
"You dishonor yourself and Lord Elrond with such self-indulgent nonsense." Celeborn snapped. "No Eldar outside the Blessed Realm has the luxury of answering solely to the duty of husband and father." Now Celeborn stood, veteran and survivor of greater destruction than Elrohir could yet conceive. "Your behavior causes me to question where your ultimate loyalty lays, Elrohir. Elrond thought this might happen and his message has proved true. Return to your flet and consider carefully what you do next."
Elrohir would have spoken but Celeborn turned away. "You are dismissed."
Elladan grabbed his brother's shoulder. "Elrohir, you tread perilously close to disaster." He hissed in a low voice. "Let us go, now. Calmae will make sure the boy comes to no harm. She is like a badger with its cub." He pulled Elrohir toward the door by main force. "Come on!"
Calmae said quickly, "I will not leave him, I promise." Elrohir, stunned at Celeborn's revelation about his father, nodded jerkily and left the room. Elladan cast a grateful glance at Calmae, a worried one at his silent grandfather, and then hurried after his twin.
Celemedril, silent since the healer had entered with the child and throughout the ensuing battle of wills, now inquired. "Lord Celeborn, what do you intend?"
Celeborn's head was bent and he did not answer for a long moment. At last, he looked up. "What do I intend? I mean to leave and allow you to get acquainted with your nephew." A faint smile appeared. "I will let Mistress Sindawen tutor you in the gentle art of infant care."
Celeborn made to depart, gathering Haldir up in his wake. He beckoned to Calmae. She did not immediately come, clearly torn between guarding her charge and obeying.
"Do not allow yourself to be caught between two loyalties again, Calmae," Celeborn warned, not unkindly. "Believe that I want what is best, for us all." He held her gaze until she dropped her eyes, acknowledging his point. "But I will not put you to the test. You may stay, but do not interfere. Do I make myself clear?"
Calmae nodded, relieved not to have to choose. This time.
Neither of the two remaining men spoke or made any move toward Sindawen. Uncertain, she glanced back and forth between them. One was tall and broad, an obvious warrior. He unnerved her a little. The other was slender, almost thin, as if he had been ill. He kept his face averted so she could not see him clearly, but he seemed to bear some scars he did not want others to see. As usual, she thought wryly, it was the wounded one who made her feel the most at ease.
The big warrior had been shouting when she came in and anger still seemed to cling to him, but he said nothing.
In desperation, Sindawen looked to Calmae for help. Calmae gazed consideringly at her fellow healer for a moment. Then she nodded slightly in Eomeril's direction.
Sindawen smiled and moved toward Eomeril. "My lord? This is your nephew. His name is Dunthalion." Obeying an instinct she had learned as a healer to trust, she made to hand the baby to Eomeril. Startled, he turned away, trying to avoid the burden, but she was insistent.
"No, he can not see me like this." Eomeril protested. "He will have nightmares."
"The babe does not care what you look like," Sindawen said. Attuned to such things now, he heard compassion underlying her healer's briskness, but he detected no pity or revulsion.
Reluctant but intrigued, he accepted the bundle she presented him. The child was solid and firm in his hands. He felt a small hand grasp his fingers with astonishing strength. He suddenly remembered Eloessa doing the same thing when she was very young.
Then the child in his arms laughed. It was like the sun piercing the clouds after the first storm of winter. It brought with it the hope of spring, rebirth and renewal. Sindawen thought she saw the hint of a smile on the ruined face.
Gingerly, Eomeril traced the baby's face with his fingers revealing Dunthalion had his sister's fine straight nose and delicate arched eyebrows.
Sindawen helped him adjust the child, guiding his arms so he had a firm grasp on the wriggling babe. "He is a fine, strong boy," she told him, her voice low and sweet. Eomeril imagined it must be soothing to the ill and wounded.
Watching them, Celemedril felt a faint stirring of hope that his brother might yet recover from his black despair. He watched as Eomeril grasped Dunthalion a little tighter, as if he feared he would drop him. Celemedril observed his brother with the healer and Dunthalion for several more minutes, then seemed to come to a decision.
He silently crossed to where Calmae waited. He held out his arm to her. "Come, Calmae, let us leave them alone for a time." She looked at him questioningly. "We will go no further than the antechamber outside the hall. You may tell me all that happened to Eloessa after I left. There is much that I wish to know." Calmae, nodding, allowed her former charge to escort her from the hall.
As he left, Celemedril turned one more look on those that remained. He would meet his nephew later. For now the child worked a unique magic on his brother. Celemedril did not begrudge him what happiness he could find.
"I will not hurt him?" Eomeril asked anxiously. The child squirmed in his arms, a ball of energy and vitality that touched a deep chord within the wounded Elf.
He could hear the smile in her voice when she answered. He thought again that it was a pleasant voice, the hint of laughter like the sound of chimes in the wind. He wondered what she looked like.
"No, my lord," she assured him, "You will not hurt him. Babies have their own spells of protection to save them from clumsy parents." It took him a moment to realize that she was teasing him. The laugh escaped him before he could hold it back. By the Valar, it felt good to laugh.
"Mistress Sindawen," He surprised himself by speaking. "May I touch your face?" He asked hesitantly, shyly. It was new, this shyness. He had been confident with the elf maidens. He had known the charms he wielded, but that had been before...Now all he would have from them was pity and that was unacceptable.
But this one, somehow she was different.
Instead of answering, she took his hand. She gently guided it to her own face, laying it there lightly. With Dunthalion happily babbling and reaching up to them, Eomeril explored her face for the first time.
Her skin was soft and smooth. She would be fair he decided, with a straight proud nose. He traced from the arch of her eyebrows down the high cheekbones. So fair was she and small. His hand cupped her chin as he ran a hesitant finger across her lips. He heard her quick intake of breath but that did not stop him. Her mouth was soft and warm. The thought rose unbidden that they were kissable lips. For a moment he imagined kissing them, and that they kissed him back.
He snatched his hand away as if burned. How could he think such things? No one would want him, ruined as he was.
But then she did a remarkable thing. She reached out to him. He tried to turn away, to hide his face from her, but she would not allow it. Trapped with the child in his arms, he could not prevent it when Sindawen took his face in her hands. They were sure and strong, the hands of a healer.
She ran her fingers over his scarred face. His skin warmed where she touched him and he could feel the healing in her hands. But it was not the mending of his flesh that he felt. No, something far deeper began to stir to life.
He thought it just might be the burned-out husk that was his soul.