Mírdan

Chapter 5: Mírdan's Story

It was dark when he awakened. He was dying of thirst, his tongue thick and pasty in his mouth, his throat dry. He hoped there would be water in the battered bowl that served as his drinking cup, for sometimes they did not remember to fill it. Or, perhaps, they forgot on purpose. It would hurt to move, but he did not know how much longer he could go without something to cool his parched throat. He opened his eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the darkness.

Something was not right. The room was not the same. He stilled his breathing as he felt another's presence. It took all his strength to remain calm as he heard a door open and someone else walk into the room. "Meril, how is he doing?" he heard a gentle voice ask. The female spoke his language, not the guttural Westron he had been used to hearing. Elves? Was he dreaming again? A hand touched his forehead and he could not help but flinch, a small gasp leaving his lips at the unexpected touch.

"Are you awake, sweet one?" another person asked, this one also female. "I am sure you are thirsty; let me give you a drink of water." He said nothing as a hand slipped under his head and a glass was pressed to his lips. He took a sip. The water felt so wonderful going down his throat that tears came to his eyes. He was allowed three more sips then the cup was taken away. He groaned.

"I cannot allow you to drink too much, for you would not be able to keep it down. Wait a few minutes and I will give you more."

Someone lit a candle and a soft light filled the room. He looked around slowly. Two elliths (elf maidens) stood by his side, one with a cup in her hand. The one with the cup spoke. "I am Meril, a healer. This is Emmelin, my assistant. I spoke with you once before, but I am not sure if you remember. You are in Lothlórien, in the city of Caras Galadhon. You are safe from harm, with your own kin."

A hand reached out from the coverlet and Meril grasped it in hers. Brown eyes moved from the face of one elleth to the other, brown eyes filled with pain and also wonder.

He was still afraid to trust his senses. The hand holding his was soft and warm. He rubbed his thumb across it gently. It was real; this was not a dream. He was in Lothlórien; he was safe. He ran his tongue across his dry lips. "Water, please," he whispered. He watched as the elleth again brought the cup to his lips and he closed his eyes in appreciation as the precious liquid flowed down his aching throat. "Thank you," he was able to say before sleep took him once more.

Light, he could sense it even though his eyes were closed. It was something he craved. Something he had been denied for too long. He had spent so much time in the dark room that he barely remembered how the rays of Anor felt upon his skin. They caressed his face like a warm blanket, like a lover's touch. He opened his eyes and blinked. The room he was in was flooded with light. It reflected off the walls, the floor, and the bed on which he lay. The bed - he was lying on a soft mattress with clean sheets, covered by a light green blanket. His eyes took in more - the carved wooden table with the silver pitcher wet from condensation - just to gaze at it made his mouth water. Wide windows with gauzy curtains that fluttered as a gentle breeze blew through the chamber, let in the blessed sunlight. A chair with a plush cushion stood empty beside the bed. Another chair stood next to it and seated upon it was a vision of loveliness, an elf maiden with pale face and shimmering hair; her eyes lost in reverie; her lips like the palest rose. He smiled. He was safe; he was protected; he was with friends. At this realization, he cried. All the pent up emotions and fear he had held inside for so long burst forth. His shoulders shook as gasping sobs issued from his cracked lips. He had dreamt of this, longed for this, prayed for it, but never had he believed his prayers would be answered. He was free, and he was alive!

Emmelin awakened at the sound. Her patient was in tears. She quickly rose and walked to the side of the bed, placing her hand upon his shoulder. Embarrassed, he turned on his side, facing in the opposite direction. Emmelin patted his shoulder. With her other hand, she stroked his long braid, which lay across his pillow. "Do not be ashamed of your tears. I have seen many in this place. You need to unburden yourself. Tears have healing powers. They will cleanse your soul and ease your pain." She sat beside him until his tears subsided. He turned back toward her, his brown eyes searching her face. "Am I truly here?"

"Yes, my friend, you are. No one will hurt you again; I promise."

Emmelin smiled and brushed her hand across his tear-streaked cheek. "Would you tell me your name?" she asked.

"Mírdan", he whispered, "I am called Mírdan."

"Welcome to Lothlórien, Mírdan. I am Emmelin, assistant to the healer Meril. We have been taking turns keeping your watch. If you do not mind, I wish to tell her you are awake. I will only be gone a second. If you prefer, I will stay."

Mírdan shook his head. "I remember you both; I thought you were of my dreams. If you do not mind, may I have a drink of water before you leave?"

"You have only to ask." Emmelin replied, pouring water from the silver pitcher into a cup and holding it so Mírdan could drink. She opened a drawer from the chest by the bed and removed a small bell. "I will put this on the bed. If you need anything while I am gone, ring the bell." She smiled. "I shall not be long." And with that, she walked gracefully from the room.

Haldir carried his tray over to the table and sat down next to Rúmil. "Sorry I am late. Did you have any problems this morning?" he asked.

"No," Rúmil replied, "I have a tentative list on food supplies and the duty roster is finished. It is on your desk. What about the elf, might we speak with him today?"

Haldir took a bite of his apple. Rúmil had to wait until he chewed and swallow it before receiving an answer to his question. "I spoke with Meril before coming here." Haldir replied. "The elf has awakened; his name is Mírdan. That is all I know at the moment. Meril says we may speak with him, but only for a short period. He is weak and she does not wish for us to tire him. She is continuing the medication for pain, but has stopped the sleeping draught, at least during the day, so he should be alert. We will take it slowly, for he has been through much trauma. If he becomes upset, we will have to leave. Meril did tell him that we plan to speak with him."

"I am glad he is going to recover," Rúmil said as he pushed his food around on his plate. "When I first saw him I did not think he had much chance. I also was not sure whether he had been... abused in other ways." Rúmil glanced sideways at Haldir.

"He was not touched sexually, if that is what you mean, Rúmil. At least there is not any sign that he has been recently." Haldir's face was grim. This was not something that was easily discussed among elves. The thought that anyone would take another against their will was almost inconceivable. But Haldir knew that the darkness that had touched the world brought madness to some. Humans, orcs, and even worse were known to lust after the Firstborn. Elves taken unwillingly usually faded. It was not a pretty thought. This was a time of unrest. The days of peace were over.

Haldir looked at his brother's plate and sighed. "If that is all you are going to eat brother, we may as well go. At least put an apple in your pocket in case your appetite returns. I have seen birds eat more than you have today!" Rúmil scowled, but did as Haldir asked before they left the dining hall for the House of Healing.

Mírdan licked his lips nervously as two silver-haired males entered the room. Both were dressed in the black and grey colours of the Lórien guard. The taller of the two looked familiar; however his stern visage sent a shiver down Mírdan's spine. The other guardian's features were softer, more delicate, but even so he could tell the two were related. Both, to his eyes were striking. There was something that marked all the Elves of Lórien. They had a glow, a strong inner light. He lowered his eyes as he did not wish to stare then raised them when the taller of the two spoke.

"I am Haldir, Marchwarden of the Lothlórien guard. This is my brother, Rúmil. I understand you are called Mírdan."

"Mae Govannen (Well met), Marchwarden Haldir, Rúmi," the elf in the bed answered. "Yes, that is the name I go by." He was silent for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts. "Meril tells me that I owe my life to Rúmil." Mírdan looked at the shorter elf. "Thank you, Rúmil, you have my eternal gratitude; I am in your debt."

Rúmil could not help but stare at Mírdan. Clean from dirt and free from the grimace of pain, the elf was one of the most beautiful he had seen. His skin was pale, but flawless, except for the bruising. His face had the soft outlines of youth, sharpened only by the bones of his cheeks, which stood out in high relief. But he did not have the harsh look of many with this trait.

Light brown hair streaked with gold was drawn back tightly from a broad forehead and bound into a singe braid. But it was Mírdan's eyes that held Rúmil the most. Soft, brown, overlarge, fringed with long, dark lashes, they seemed to draw him into their depths. Rúmil almost did not feel the jab in his side, Haldir's subtle way of letting him know it was past time to give a response to the compliment Mírdan had paid him.

"My pardon, I do not know what came over me." Rúmil replied. "You owe me nothing, Mírdan. Anyone would have done the same as I under the circumstances. I thank the Valar that you have recovered quickly and I am sorry that you had to undergo such grievous and cruel treatment. On my oath as a guardian of these woods, I swear that no harm will come to you in Lothlórien." With these words, Rúmil broke his gaze from the elf and focused his eyes on the planked floor beneath his feet.

"Do you feel well enough to answer a few questions?" Haldir asked Mírdan in a gentle voice. "You have been through much trauma, but it is my responsibility to ensure the protection of this realm, and I must know of any and all dangers that threaten."

At a nod from Mírdan, Haldir continued.

"Where from do you hail, and what caused you to suffer such treatment?" the marchwarden asked. "I wish to hear your story, but if at any moment the telling of it causes pain, you may stop."

Mírdan nodded again. "I have heard of you, Haldir o Lórien. Aye, perhaps I have even seen you once from afar."

Haldir's eyes widened in surprise.

"Fear not, Captain, for I have heard that you are just and fair and are a formidable warrior."

Haldir remained silent, but raised one of his eyebrows as if questioning the other's statement.

"Surely, someone in your position is not surprised that you have such a reputation?" Mírdan laughed softly. "I will tell you my tale, at least that part which I remember. It would, however, make me feel more comfortable if you would both be seated. There are chairs on the other side of the bed."

Rúmil moved the chairs and seated himself next to Haldir. They both waited patiently for Mírdan to begin.

"Where I am from has no bearing, all you need know is that at the turn of the season I was bound for Imladris after spending time in Dale and Lake-Town. I am a metal-smith, a jeweller, and this route was one I often travelled, seeking those precious metals and gems that dwarves delve from the deep places underground. My bartering that trip being successful, I had arranged for transport of my goods at a later date, knowing full well that to try to carry such treasure on my person would be asking for trouble."

"Surely you did not plan to travel that distance alone?" Haldir interrupted, his eyebrows raised in astonishment.

"My build may be slight, but I am fair with sword and bow, and many times I have made the trip without mishap. I had no reason to think this time would be different. Call me foolish if you wish, but I can be stealthy and resourceful when the need arises. But, to continue with my tale, I had been travelling the Old Forest Road and had made good progress, although I was not in any particular hurry. The dangers of Mirkwood had been passed successfully, you know to what I refer-spiders-and I had crossed the Anduin that morning, hoping to reach the mountain pass by dusk. I planned to camp there, as I am always uneasy in open spaces.

"At sun's set, I had reached my goal and found a cave that would offer protection for the night. Since the weather was fair, I let my horse graze free. Dinner was jerky and a bit of bread, so I did not bother with a fire, just placed my bedroll a ways back from the mouth of the cave. I settled myself beneath my blankets and was asleep in a matter of minutes.

"It must have been approximately three hours later that I was awakened by faint noises, the sound of shod hooves, the jingle of metal, men's voices. To my ears, it seemed a fair sized group, and I did not care for them to know of my existence, much less the fact that I was alone. I did not worry, for they were not close. There was plenty of time for me to leave the area. It did not take me long to gather my possessions and mount my horse and I was soon moving silently down the trail. Knowing there were places not far ahead where I would be able leave the path and move deep enough into the surrounding terrain to find a hiding place for my horse, I had no fear.

"My plans were to spend the rest of the night in a tree. Men would not be able to spot an elf within the foliage. As I said before, I was not worried, only irritated that my sleep had been interrupted. The unforeseen delay meant I would be off to a later start the next morning than I intended. Those were my last clear thoughts as suddenly there was an arm around my neck and a wickedly curved blade pressed against my throat. I had not heard a sound. No man could have snuck up on me like that."

"Why does one of my kin seek me harm?" I questioned my attacker.

"'Quiet!' the wielder of the knife replied in a voice of pure malice. 'Turn your horse around and head back the way you came; do not move a muscle or I will slit your throat from ear to ear.' A dread feeling began to creep into my stomach.

"There are men back down the trail," I said, "They may not take to us kindly."

"'Maybe not to you, pretty one, but they will laud me when they see the lovely prize that I bring them.' And with that, my unwanted companion threw back his head and laughed. Not a cruel laugh, the tones that left his lips were like the golden notes of a flute, and they floated on the air like the soft puffs of a dandelion. I knew I was in trouble then, and the blood ran chill in my veins.

"Five of the men dismounted and walked up to my horse the minute we came into view. It was not until they had pulled me from my mount and bound my wrists and ankles that I was able to get a good look at my attacker. He was one of the Firstborn, for his skin was fair, and his long hair silky and fine. I watched as he walked up to what appeared to be the leader of the group. They talked for a few moments, the elf gesturing gracefully with his long, slender fingers. Their words were too soft for me to hear, and when their lips stopped moving, the elf pressed his to the man's in a deep kiss. He broke away slowly, and turned to face me, his eyes raking my body from head to toe. He ran his tongue across his lips slowly, gave me an evil smile, and walked away. Before I could say what was on my mind, a cloth was pressed against my mouth and nose, and I sank into blackness."

At this, Mírdan's voice trembled, and he looked down at his hands. "Could you give me a few moments?" he asked. Haldir nodded and then walked to the other side of the bed where he grasped the handle of the silver pitcher and poured water into the cup that sat beside it. Placing the full cup in the hands of the trembling elf, he helped him guide it to his lips.

"Take small sips and try to relax. If you wish to stop, we will understand."

Mírdan looked up with glazed eyes. "I w-want to continue, he said, it is just I find it hard to do so." He raised pleading eyes to Haldir's face. "I am not soft; I have undergone much hardship in my life. I am not the weakling you see lying here, I want you to know that," he said softly. "But the next part of my tale i-is hard for me to tell."

Haldir flinched as one of Mírdan's hands lightly touched his upper arm, only to fall away quickly as the elf saw the cold expression in the marchwarden's eyes.

Haldir stepped back from the bed. "I think we should continue our talk at another time. You need rest. I will send Meril to check on you. Come, Rúmil, we have other business to which we must attend."

Rúmil rose slowly from his chair. He had seen the emotion on Mírdan's face as he told his story. The pain and despair that flitted across the elf's brown eyes made Rúmil long to open his arms and embrace the slender patient. He wished to comfort him, to promise him he would keep him safe. This was his elf. He was the one who had found and rescued him. Rúmil opened his mouth intending to offer soothing words, but to his surprise, he could not think of any thing to say. Feeling extremely guilty and perplexed, he offered a quick smile then turned and followed Haldir out the door.

All Mírdan could think about were their eyes. One pair the colour of the deep waters of the ocean, cold as those sunless depths, devoid of any emotion, eyes that looked through him without seeing. Even though the voice was kind, the eyes did not reflect that quality. They were like the chill of winter, cold, icy. He wondered at the thoughts behind those frosty orbs. The elf was stronger than any he had ever known, he could feel the strength pouring from the body. Mírdan needed that strength, craved it.

But then there were the other eyes, a softer blue, like that of a summer sky, eyes that sparkled and shimmered with golden highlights, like the shining metal that he worked with his hands. Eyes that radiated concern, eyes he could not meet, yet from which he could not tear himself away. Eyes that called to him, told him he was safe, aye, even loved. Never had he felt such a pull towards those of his kin.

They were brothers, so alike, and yet so different. Like Ithil and Anor, light and dark. One, full of light; shining as brightly as the day; spreading warmth and joy; chasing away the shadows, the other, dark, mysterious and cold. It was not easy to read that one. There was light there, but it came from deep within, only dimly reaching the surface. Mírdan thought long about his visitors. He knew they would be returning soon, and he would have to speak with them again. One elf, he knew, would persist until he drew the truth from him. The other would be gentler in his persuasion. But, of one thing he was certain, and it surprised him. He was strongly attracted to both.

TBC