I know, I know, I took forever getting this up. But, please, cut me some slack; I've been fairly busy lately. I mean, (for those of you who know what I'm talking about) my high school football team as made it into the play-offs (Sectionals are this Friday), and being in the band I have to be at all home/play-off games, and my Phys. Ed. teacher is psycho and insists on giving us homework that takes forever. Add to that my general lack of sleep, and you get Carlee the Psycho Who Doesn't Write Very Fast.
Sorry. I'll shut up now.
^*^
The Dark Star
Part Ten
Attempted Normalcy
Two days later, there was still little news of Aradalien, and Adariel was still not allowed to enter that portion of the infirmary, nor was anyone else, save Elrond himself. Adariel was still busy, but it wasn't driving or severe, as it had been before that rather confusing talk with Haldir. Somehow she knew that the two were connected, though she couldn't even begin to fathom the reason, or reasons.
It hadn't been until later that night that Adariel realized just how much she had revealed to the Marchwarden of Lórien, whom she barely knew. Very few had heard even that much about that terrible night, and she hoped that Haldir would keep her confessions to himself. She believed that he would, but her belief in his ability to keep his mouth closed wasn't enough to banish the fear entirely.
She was doing her best to push these thoughts from her mind as she entered the infirmary on that bright, cheerful morning. Many - nearly all - of the search party members had been released, but a few, including Marchwarden Haldir, still remained, predominantly because she was overly cautious.
Upon entering the ward Adariel found several Elves, anywhere from ten to fifteen, most of them perfectly well, holding a sort of gather of men-folk. She pursed her lips.
"When, pray tell," she said in a deadly quiet voice, gathering their attention quite effectively, "did my infirmary become a place of social gathering?" She glared at them, and they looked appropriately ashamed, which would have looked rather odd to passersby, given that her eyes were level with the shortest one's chin.
"Out!" she shouted suddenly, and the healthy Elves scurried out of the ward. When they were gone, the smile she had been holding back broke free, and she shook her head as she laughed.
Maedhros, opposite her gentle laughter, was in hysterics. "Haven't they learned?" he cried. "You do that every time!"
"Apparently they've not learned," she replied as she started gathering the things she needed.
"What many of us couldn't help but notice," Sûlthalion said conversationally, "was that they were all at least a head taller than you, my lady."
Adariel whirled, clutching her things to her chest and looking mock-scandalized. "Well! That is something I hear often, I must say!"
Some snorted, others simply rolled their eyes, and one watched interestedly. "It is interesting to see a she-Elf make seasoned warriors scurry," Dagnir, another friend of her brother's, though not so close as Maedhros, pointed out.
"They do not scurry," Adariel corrected as she began tending to Maedhros. "They depart from the room quickly."
"Otherwise put, they scurry," Dagnir countered, and Adariel simply shook her head with a smile and dropped the subject.
"You may leave," she told Maedhros, and he jumped up as she moved on.
"I dare say, Adariel, it's about time!" he teased. "I thought I would remain here for eternity!"
"Just for that," she said sweetly, "sit. You must stay at least one more day. That blow to your head still worries me."
The Elf's jaw dropped slightly in shock, and she laughed as she tended to her next patient. "Excellent, Maedhros," Elendur said, jestingly sarcastic. "Now you must sneak away."
Adariel turned and told him, "I'll not have you giving him ideas, or you shall face the same fate." Elendur did not reply, but merely beamed at her.
Whatever conversation passed afterward was ignored by Adariel as she focused on her task. She released them all, with firm instructions to come to her immediately if any wounds gave them any trouble whatsoever.
"Angrim, let it be known that if I hear of you at the archery range before a week has passed, I will reverse the heavens and earth. Have I made myself clear?" she said firmly to the young Elf with a broken right arm.
He nodded sheepishly and left, leaving Adariel with her last patient. Somehow, she was not surprised to find Lothlórien's Marchwarden.
"How is it," she demanded with folded arms, "that you are ceaselessly hindmost?"
Instead of making a short, rather biting comment while glaring at her impassively, which was something she had seen less and less of, and was still surprised by the lack thereof, he smirked slightly and said, "It is an enigma even to myself, my lady."
"That nasty habit of yours will change eventually, I trust," she said lightly as she began her work, which was that of mere moments. Adariel got to her feet once more and said, "There. You also may leave, but if-"
"I know," he said wearily. "If I'm given any trouble go straight to you, correct?"
"Impertinent Marchwarden," she accused. "Now begone with you."
He bowed with a smirk, simply to annoy her, and started to leave, but stopped when a small voice said, "Adariel?"
Adariel turned to find a small child standing in the door way, clutching at her hand. She smiled kindly. "What is it, Nessa?"
"I hurt my hand," she said, with the slightest hint of a lisp. Once more under the same interested speculation, Adariel's grin swiftly changed to a frown.
"Let me see," she said, and little Nessa tottered across the room to present her lightly bloodied hand. Adariel lifted her up onto the previously occupied bed and examined her hand as if it were a severe wound.
"What happened?" she asked as she made of a show of inspecting the small palm.
"We were playing by the river and I tripped on a rock," Nessa explained, though Haldir had to decipher this through the lisp.
"I see. There's no need to worry over this, Nessa. Within moments, it will be as if nothing happened," Adariel said confidently, and the girl smiled.
True to the healer's word, Nessa was soon being helped off the bed and sent on her way, but only after giving Adariel a hug and a bright goodbye.
She was relieved to find that Haldir had already gone. She wasn't sure how much of her session with Nessa he'd seen, but her relief had nothing to do with that. After admitting everything about Dimalphion, she wasn't sure she was ready to be alone in the same room with him, only because very few had heard as much as he had about that entire occurrence. Elrond and Arwen knew, though Elladan and Elrohir had been off playing Ranger at the time, and had come back in time to hear the edited version. Aradalien and Nurardaion had known a slightly more detailed account, but not so detailed as the version Arwen and her father had heard.
Somehow, though she was ashamed of herself for it then, and still was, she couldn't bring herself to give her siblings the full story. She didn't know what held her back from it, but somehow she had always felt rather uncomfortable with it. She sighed as she mulled this over, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, wondering why she didn't feel untroubled sharing something of such importance with siblings. Or, her single sibling.
Adariel wandered out of the infirmary, and after a moment's indecision, decided upon visiting the library, which was less than a moment's walk away from her current location. The ornate wood doors were opened wide, as always, when she arrived. She straightened the books on the shelves, put those out of order in their place, and other things required for maintaining a library, but was soon finished.
The waiting, she was sure, would drive her mad. Her sister had been in Imladris two days, and she had seen her once, that one time being during a point that no one should have to see those they love at. Worry, slight (but disappearing) guilt, and the pure urge of a healer to mend all hurts would weigh on her until her sanity left her, she knew it.
"Mistress Adariel," a prim voice called, and she turned to find one of Elrond's assistants standing at the end of the row. "I ask that you accompany me to the restricted ward."
An odd numb feeling rippled through her as she nodded. He turned and led the way at a brisk walk, and before her mind had quite caught up with the rest of her, they were before the door behind which laid Aradalien.
She looked to him, as if verifying that she truly could open the door, and he grinned at her reassuringly. Or at least, tried to: Adariel had never seen either of Elrond's assistants smile. It looked liked it hurt this one's teeth to do so.
Before she could even reach for the handle, the door opened, and she found herself blinking up at Elrond himself. He smiled down at her encouragingly, and was much more effective at it than his assistant.
Her 'uncle' said nothing, merely stepped aside, allowing her to enter, and closed the door behind her, leaving her alone in the room with her twin. Aradalien was sitting up in the bed, leaning against the headboard and staring out the window. She looked much better; the ghostly pallor of her skin was gone, replaced by her creamy complexion. There was a angry red gash above her left brow, surrounded by a dark bruise, and her right cheekbone bore a second bruise. Her black curls had been cleaned and combed and were pulled back in a loose horse tail at the base of her neck, and she wore a red robe dress that wrapped around her body, secured with a white sash embroidered with red.
Nervously Adariel stepped out of the shadows, her movement enough to bring her twin's attention to her. Suddenly under her gaze, Adariel froze, afraid of what her sister might think of her. She had failed Aradalien, after all, leaving her at Kazad-dûm, under the assumption she was dead.
Without moving her gaze from her sister, Aradalien lifted the covers and slowly stood. Adariel moved forward instantly when her sister wobbled, proving herself to be very unsteady, given that Aradalien was an Elf, but Adariel stopped short when she was still a meter from her.
Aradalien reached out and touched her arm mutely, but her trembling sister didn't know what to say, let alone do. She took a step closer to Adariel, then another, and flung her arms around her in a tight hug.
^*^
It was roughly an hour before the door opened once more and Adariel exited the room. "She is sleeping," she told Elrond, who had been waiting. His smile was gentle.
"I thought as much," he admitted, "but I was in honesty waiting for you. Come with me."
They walked silently for a few moments, before Elrond gently said, "I mentioned your self-accusation to Aradalien."
Adariel glanced at him, though it wasn't as sharp as one might have expected it to be. Elrond had always had a way of doing what he thought was best for her, whether she agreed, or even knew, or not. She had never complained; the Lord of Rivendell had nearly been more of a father to her than her own had been.
"I feel I must inform you that she found it as ridiculous as the rest of us," she was told by a stern-voiced Elrond. His voice was firm, but his eyes were equally kind.
"She told me," was the dry response. "The majority of my time with her was spent being lectured on how I had best stop blaming myself, or as soon as she's well she would bind my hands and lock me in my own wardrobe until I admitted that there was no way I was entirely at fault."
Her companion laughed, and she couldn't help but grin. "Perhaps now you will heed our words, then?"
"I heed them," she said defensively as they walked up a flight of stairs and out onto a balcony overlooking the valley.
"But do not take them to heart," Elrond added.
Adariel leaned against the railing of the balcony, sighed, then replied, "For quite some time I found no reason to. Even now, it is difficult."
"Which is no surprise," her surrogate uncle said fairly. "Many who are the sole survivor, or, as in this case, the least injured when life-threatening or fatal wounds are involved, condemn themselves."
"But so many of the circumstances-"
"You never requested their accompaniment," Elrond interrupted firmly, but not unkindly. "Aradalien and Nurardaion departed with you under their own free will, not yours."
Adariel cast her gaze downward for a moment, then looked over at Elrond, to her left. "I would love for it to be so simple in my mind."
A comforting, rather fatherly hand was laid on her shoulder and she found herself on the receiving end of a gentle smile. "It can be, if you let it. You need not protect the rest of us, child. You need not force the guilt upon yourself."
She blinked at him, but otherwise gave no other signs to her thoughts. It appeared that Haldir wasn't the only one who thought she was trying to protect others by blaming herself. It was conceivable, when she thought of it, the idea that she might be guarding others by taking the guilt. Not only that, but she knew that if Elrond believed it, it was more than likely true. As for Haldir... He was still, as he was before, a confusing thought all his own, so she left it at that.
"I suppose that is possible," she said slowly, more as if she were thinking aloud. Adariel smiled at her 'uncle' and hugged him, then stepped away as she said, "I'm improving, at any rate, thanks to you and others. I will endure, if only to ensure that there is at least one annoyingly persistent healer in the Dell."
Elrond laughed as she turned and started back toward the stairs, but said before she was gone, "And who might the 'others' be?"
She suddenly panicked slightly; somehow, for no known reason, she didn't want to reveal that one of her confidantes (albeit the most confusing) was a Marchwarden she barely knew. But she didn't show this outwardly, instead shrugging simply and saying, "Arwen, Elladan, Noviel, Elrohir. Just... others." She turned to leave again.
"Adariel," he called after her suddenly, as if his mouth had uttered it of its own accord, and she turned again, brows raised inquiringly.
"Yes?"
Elrond hesitated, something which struck her as odd; he was always so sure of himself! But then he smiled (though at first glance it looked rather forced) and shook his head. "Nothing, Morelen."
The Lord of Rivendell watched her go, an unreadable yet rather anguished expression etched into his ageless features. He had nearly told her, but had managed to refrain himself from speaking. Certainly Adariel had seen something in his countenance, but she was patient - when she wanted to be at least - and willing to wait for him to say it on his own.
He sighed as he turned to look out over the valley. Nimrómen had made it clear that he preferred Adariel to never know, but had agreed that she had the right to know; he had left firm instructions for Elrond to not tell her until she was ready. It would be quite a shock, of course, and she might even be displeased by it. Avarlammeniel, who had been rather bitter toward the Morelen for nearly the child's entire life, hadn't cared either way.
And so the choice was left to him, Elrond Peredhil of Imladris. He wanted nothing more than for her to know - he had felt her entire life that she should know - and he knew Adariel was ready, but he wasn't sure that he himself was ready. Not ready for her reaction, at least. He knew that he *had* to tell her, but... Not yet.
^*^
Having barely thought twice about Elrond's odd behavior and thinking more of their conversation, Adariel had nearly run over Arwen as the Undómiel turned a corner at the same time she did.
Arwen planted both hands firmly on her hips, but her eyes danced. "I've been looking for you."
Both dark brows raised. "Have you?"
"Yes." Arwen held out a plain, white cotton gown. "You told me that upon your return you wished me to instruct you on the use of a blade," she reminded her friend. "No better time than the present."
Adariel took the gown, then looked back up at the Undómiel, who said without waiting for a response, "Change into that, and meet me in the practice yards in a quarter of an hour."
Adariel couldn't help but smirk at her friend's retreating back; Arwen had always had the habit of being rather controlling at some times. But then, it wasn't that Adariel herself could throw stones, living in a glass house; she was controlling almost all the time. It was a natural side affect of being a healer, in Adariel's case.
A quarter of an hour later, Adariel stood in the center of a practice court, in the white practice dress, which was slightly loose fitting for better movement with sleeves that went half way down her fore arm, bearing her wrists, holding a dull practice blade in her right hand.
Arwen corrected her stance and grip, and instructed her on the basic maneuvers, but it took Adariel the better part of a few hours to get that much down, due to her general hopelessness with any weapon not made of wood and without feathers.
It was six hours before Arwen finally said, "I believe that you have the elementary moves conquered."
"Really?" said a voice from the doorway. "That's certainly more than anyone else could accomplish with her, Arwen. I congratulate you."
Adariel made a face at her surrogate brother as her instructor said, "I do not believe that your opinion was asked for, Elrohir."
She shook her head as she put her practice blade away, then nodded to both siblings. "Thank you, Arwen. Meet again tomorrow?"
"Certainly. Dawn?"
"Just as good a time as any other." Adariel nodded to Arwen's brother. "Elrohir," she said, then turned and left.
It would take quite some time before she would be even remotely skilled with a blade, Adariel realized as she, already cleaned, dressed in a pale blue robe-dress with white embroidery and a white sash. The collar was high on her neck, but did not bother her.
Hopeless as she was with any weapon that was not made of wood and had feather, Adariel also realized that she had made great improvements in that single morning. She had paid the price for it, though, given that swordsmanship required entirely different muscles than archery, and was rather sore.
Deciding that it had been far too long (an entire three days) since she had seen her gelding, Adariel went to the stables, where she grabbed the brushes required for a proper grooming, and gave him just that, basking in the serenity that the stables offered. It was quite, but not uncomfortably so, and the company was pleasant.
When she was finished, Adariel put the brushes away, then went back to the stall bearing an apple. She grinned as Gil-luin snatched it away and began to munch happily on the fruit. She stroked his mane, content to simply spoil the horse that had saved her in more ways than most would have thought possible, given that he was a horse, for some time. Then she heard an odd noise, as if an Elf - an already implicitly silent being - was doing its best to walk silently over straw.
She paused, the sudden, overwhelming feeling that she wasn't alone making her throat lock. She carefully dropped her hand, attempting to make the move look idle, and went to reach for something - anything - solid enough to protect herself with, but before she could grab anything but empty air found herself being jerked through the open door of the stall and thrown against a closed stall door on the opposite side. Her hands, which had automatically gone up to protect herself, were pinned between herself and the wood, just as she was pinned between the wood and her attacker.
Adariel found herself reliving moments she would have rather died than gone through again as a hand was clamped over her mouth and a knife pressed to her throat. "Remain motionless, Morelen, and I shall not harm you. I simply want to remind you of something."
The voice was sickeningly familiar, and Adariel closed her eyes as if it would help her.
"No matter how many others you place between us, I will still find you," he hissed. "You never gave me an opportunity, and now you must face the consequences of your actions. Replacing your brother with that marchwarden friend of yours will only make those consequences worse."
As suddenly as it had appeared, the pressure was gone, and Adariel fell away from the stall door, struggling to pull air into her mashed lungs. She brought a hand up to her stinging throat as running footsteps sounded through the stables. But it was not him, she knew; he had made his threat, he would not bother her for two more weeks.
"Lady Adariel?"
That made her look up; it was Orophin. She stared at him astonishedly as he watched her in much the same way.
"It was him, wasn't it?" he asked slowly after some time. "I've not heard the entire tale, but I know essentially what happened; Elrohir told me of it." His faced hardened into a look of harsh sobriety that did not fit him. "Your silence answers for you." Orophin turned.
"Where are you going?" she found herself calling after him.
"Someone must be told of this. Either of Elrond's sons, Rúmil, Haldir, someone."
That spurned her into movement, and within an instant Adariel had thrown herself at the young sentinel and gripped his arm desperately. He didn't know the circumstances; if he were to tell someone, more than likely it would be someone who would then confront her attacker, and if Dimalphion were to know that somehow it had gotten out... He would only hurt her more, but not directly. No, he would hurt those she loved, relishing in her self-destructive guilt, and then he would hurt her directly.
Adariel would allow Dimalphion to do whatever he wanted with her, anything he wanted, if it meant keeping those close to her safe.
"No!" she cried. "Tell no one! No one must ever know!"
Orophin stared at her as if she had lost her senses, which may have actually been true. "No one must ever know?" he repeated. "Perhaps your lack of air has caused you to temporarily take leave for your sanity. In the case that you may not have noticed, blood is currently soaking into the collar of the gown you wear!"
Adariel reached up to touch the high collar and found it slightly damp, testifying truthfully to Orophin's words.
"I realize this, but I beg you, tell no one, not yet! I... I will tell someone! But I want you to never speak of it!"
He watched her rather dubiously. "If not Elladan or Elrohir, then at least mention this to my brother; Haldir seems to have developed-"
Somehow, the prospect of that sentence's ending frightened her nearly as much as Dimalphion. "Orophin, please," she said, voice low. "I will mention this when I feel that I am ready. But until then, I implore you, do not breathe a word of this to anyone not even - *especially* not - your brother."
'Your brother,' she added mentally, 'knows too much as it is. Much more, and Dimalphion may believe him to be close to me, and then... Well, for now I shall simply say that I do not want him harmed because of a misconceived friendship.'
Orophin merely watched her uncertainly, and a desperate note entered Adariel's voice when she said, "Swear!"
After some time he finally said, "I swear it," and Adariel released his arm.
"Thank you," she said quietly, then walked in the direction of the infirmary.
Orophin knew that he should never have sworn such a thing; he knew that he should have told someone. But Adariel had looked so strangely panicked, as if the thought of him telling anyone terrified her more than the event itself.
Oddly, she had also seemed frightened of hearing what it was that Haldir had developed. He didn't know what she expected, but he wasn't sure he wanted to ask. At any rate, Orophin had been about to tell her that the marchwarden had developed an odd dislike for that Dimaphion character, and that Haldir would certainly be happy to add another reason to his personal list of why he hated Dimalphion.
The sentinel sighed as he made his way into the stables, for all his own horse was still in Lórien. Under normal circumstances, when something confused him this much, he went to either of his brothers for an explanation: one of the direct advantages of being the youngest. If Haldir did no know the answer, then Rúmil would, or vise versa. He had gone to them less and less as the years passed, but occasionally he would find himself in a situation, such as this one, that left him with more questions than he had answers.
Being sworn to secrecy, however, left him at a slight disadvantage. If he was forbidden from speaking of it, how could he go to either of his brothers? He couldn't, not if he were to keep his word at the same time.
Orophin could only hope that Adariel said something to someone soon, before it happened again. The violence with which this Dimalphion handled her would increase gradually, and Orophin knew that he did not want to see it reach its peak.
Adariel was still shaking at least two hours later, when Maedhros sauntered into the infirmary. But she had cleaned the blood from her throat and changed in to a light violet gown of the style.
"What is it?" she asked, not looking up from the line of sedative tonics she was labeling.
"We have a visitor, from Lórien."
*That* made her look up. "Do we? Who made this journey, if I may ask?"
Maedhros shrugged. "I did not ask."
Adariel rolled her eyes and stood. Maedhros may have been brilliant in battle, but he was rather hopeless the rest of the time; honestly, he did not *ask*? Wasn't that the first thing that most did, to ask who had arrived? Maehdros was a wonderful Elf; kind, humorous, and a magnificent soldier, but he was absolutely hopeless; typical male.
She made her way through the corridor and out into the courtyard, where she was shocked to see none other than Vinya dismounting from a beautiful mare and greeting a very pregnant Lalaith, who was also the midwife of Rivendell.
This was certainly a surprise, though perhaps it should have been; Vinya had said when Adariel left Lórien that she may make the journey herself, to help a relative welcome a child into the world.
Movement to her right caught her eye, and Adariel saw Orophin enter the courtyard. Their encounter at the stables, however, was temporarily forgotten as she observed the young sentinel's expression as he watched the she-Elf of Lórien.
Adariel grinned, realizing that perhaps Vinya's sentiments toward Orophin were returned.
^*^
Wowzers, this one took quite some time... At least it was longer than the last one. Oh, as for the title to this part, I called it 'Attempted Normalcy' because A) I couldn't think of any better ones, lol, and B) because that's exactly what Adariel is doing; she's attempting to find normalcy in her life, when deep down she knows there's none to be found. Just had to add that, since there was nothing related to 'attempted normalcy' in this part.
Love and hugs,
Carlee
Sorry. I'll shut up now.
^*^
The Dark Star
Part Ten
Attempted Normalcy
Two days later, there was still little news of Aradalien, and Adariel was still not allowed to enter that portion of the infirmary, nor was anyone else, save Elrond himself. Adariel was still busy, but it wasn't driving or severe, as it had been before that rather confusing talk with Haldir. Somehow she knew that the two were connected, though she couldn't even begin to fathom the reason, or reasons.
It hadn't been until later that night that Adariel realized just how much she had revealed to the Marchwarden of Lórien, whom she barely knew. Very few had heard even that much about that terrible night, and she hoped that Haldir would keep her confessions to himself. She believed that he would, but her belief in his ability to keep his mouth closed wasn't enough to banish the fear entirely.
She was doing her best to push these thoughts from her mind as she entered the infirmary on that bright, cheerful morning. Many - nearly all - of the search party members had been released, but a few, including Marchwarden Haldir, still remained, predominantly because she was overly cautious.
Upon entering the ward Adariel found several Elves, anywhere from ten to fifteen, most of them perfectly well, holding a sort of gather of men-folk. She pursed her lips.
"When, pray tell," she said in a deadly quiet voice, gathering their attention quite effectively, "did my infirmary become a place of social gathering?" She glared at them, and they looked appropriately ashamed, which would have looked rather odd to passersby, given that her eyes were level with the shortest one's chin.
"Out!" she shouted suddenly, and the healthy Elves scurried out of the ward. When they were gone, the smile she had been holding back broke free, and she shook her head as she laughed.
Maedhros, opposite her gentle laughter, was in hysterics. "Haven't they learned?" he cried. "You do that every time!"
"Apparently they've not learned," she replied as she started gathering the things she needed.
"What many of us couldn't help but notice," Sûlthalion said conversationally, "was that they were all at least a head taller than you, my lady."
Adariel whirled, clutching her things to her chest and looking mock-scandalized. "Well! That is something I hear often, I must say!"
Some snorted, others simply rolled their eyes, and one watched interestedly. "It is interesting to see a she-Elf make seasoned warriors scurry," Dagnir, another friend of her brother's, though not so close as Maedhros, pointed out.
"They do not scurry," Adariel corrected as she began tending to Maedhros. "They depart from the room quickly."
"Otherwise put, they scurry," Dagnir countered, and Adariel simply shook her head with a smile and dropped the subject.
"You may leave," she told Maedhros, and he jumped up as she moved on.
"I dare say, Adariel, it's about time!" he teased. "I thought I would remain here for eternity!"
"Just for that," she said sweetly, "sit. You must stay at least one more day. That blow to your head still worries me."
The Elf's jaw dropped slightly in shock, and she laughed as she tended to her next patient. "Excellent, Maedhros," Elendur said, jestingly sarcastic. "Now you must sneak away."
Adariel turned and told him, "I'll not have you giving him ideas, or you shall face the same fate." Elendur did not reply, but merely beamed at her.
Whatever conversation passed afterward was ignored by Adariel as she focused on her task. She released them all, with firm instructions to come to her immediately if any wounds gave them any trouble whatsoever.
"Angrim, let it be known that if I hear of you at the archery range before a week has passed, I will reverse the heavens and earth. Have I made myself clear?" she said firmly to the young Elf with a broken right arm.
He nodded sheepishly and left, leaving Adariel with her last patient. Somehow, she was not surprised to find Lothlórien's Marchwarden.
"How is it," she demanded with folded arms, "that you are ceaselessly hindmost?"
Instead of making a short, rather biting comment while glaring at her impassively, which was something she had seen less and less of, and was still surprised by the lack thereof, he smirked slightly and said, "It is an enigma even to myself, my lady."
"That nasty habit of yours will change eventually, I trust," she said lightly as she began her work, which was that of mere moments. Adariel got to her feet once more and said, "There. You also may leave, but if-"
"I know," he said wearily. "If I'm given any trouble go straight to you, correct?"
"Impertinent Marchwarden," she accused. "Now begone with you."
He bowed with a smirk, simply to annoy her, and started to leave, but stopped when a small voice said, "Adariel?"
Adariel turned to find a small child standing in the door way, clutching at her hand. She smiled kindly. "What is it, Nessa?"
"I hurt my hand," she said, with the slightest hint of a lisp. Once more under the same interested speculation, Adariel's grin swiftly changed to a frown.
"Let me see," she said, and little Nessa tottered across the room to present her lightly bloodied hand. Adariel lifted her up onto the previously occupied bed and examined her hand as if it were a severe wound.
"What happened?" she asked as she made of a show of inspecting the small palm.
"We were playing by the river and I tripped on a rock," Nessa explained, though Haldir had to decipher this through the lisp.
"I see. There's no need to worry over this, Nessa. Within moments, it will be as if nothing happened," Adariel said confidently, and the girl smiled.
True to the healer's word, Nessa was soon being helped off the bed and sent on her way, but only after giving Adariel a hug and a bright goodbye.
She was relieved to find that Haldir had already gone. She wasn't sure how much of her session with Nessa he'd seen, but her relief had nothing to do with that. After admitting everything about Dimalphion, she wasn't sure she was ready to be alone in the same room with him, only because very few had heard as much as he had about that entire occurrence. Elrond and Arwen knew, though Elladan and Elrohir had been off playing Ranger at the time, and had come back in time to hear the edited version. Aradalien and Nurardaion had known a slightly more detailed account, but not so detailed as the version Arwen and her father had heard.
Somehow, though she was ashamed of herself for it then, and still was, she couldn't bring herself to give her siblings the full story. She didn't know what held her back from it, but somehow she had always felt rather uncomfortable with it. She sighed as she mulled this over, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, wondering why she didn't feel untroubled sharing something of such importance with siblings. Or, her single sibling.
Adariel wandered out of the infirmary, and after a moment's indecision, decided upon visiting the library, which was less than a moment's walk away from her current location. The ornate wood doors were opened wide, as always, when she arrived. She straightened the books on the shelves, put those out of order in their place, and other things required for maintaining a library, but was soon finished.
The waiting, she was sure, would drive her mad. Her sister had been in Imladris two days, and she had seen her once, that one time being during a point that no one should have to see those they love at. Worry, slight (but disappearing) guilt, and the pure urge of a healer to mend all hurts would weigh on her until her sanity left her, she knew it.
"Mistress Adariel," a prim voice called, and she turned to find one of Elrond's assistants standing at the end of the row. "I ask that you accompany me to the restricted ward."
An odd numb feeling rippled through her as she nodded. He turned and led the way at a brisk walk, and before her mind had quite caught up with the rest of her, they were before the door behind which laid Aradalien.
She looked to him, as if verifying that she truly could open the door, and he grinned at her reassuringly. Or at least, tried to: Adariel had never seen either of Elrond's assistants smile. It looked liked it hurt this one's teeth to do so.
Before she could even reach for the handle, the door opened, and she found herself blinking up at Elrond himself. He smiled down at her encouragingly, and was much more effective at it than his assistant.
Her 'uncle' said nothing, merely stepped aside, allowing her to enter, and closed the door behind her, leaving her alone in the room with her twin. Aradalien was sitting up in the bed, leaning against the headboard and staring out the window. She looked much better; the ghostly pallor of her skin was gone, replaced by her creamy complexion. There was a angry red gash above her left brow, surrounded by a dark bruise, and her right cheekbone bore a second bruise. Her black curls had been cleaned and combed and were pulled back in a loose horse tail at the base of her neck, and she wore a red robe dress that wrapped around her body, secured with a white sash embroidered with red.
Nervously Adariel stepped out of the shadows, her movement enough to bring her twin's attention to her. Suddenly under her gaze, Adariel froze, afraid of what her sister might think of her. She had failed Aradalien, after all, leaving her at Kazad-dûm, under the assumption she was dead.
Without moving her gaze from her sister, Aradalien lifted the covers and slowly stood. Adariel moved forward instantly when her sister wobbled, proving herself to be very unsteady, given that Aradalien was an Elf, but Adariel stopped short when she was still a meter from her.
Aradalien reached out and touched her arm mutely, but her trembling sister didn't know what to say, let alone do. She took a step closer to Adariel, then another, and flung her arms around her in a tight hug.
^*^
It was roughly an hour before the door opened once more and Adariel exited the room. "She is sleeping," she told Elrond, who had been waiting. His smile was gentle.
"I thought as much," he admitted, "but I was in honesty waiting for you. Come with me."
They walked silently for a few moments, before Elrond gently said, "I mentioned your self-accusation to Aradalien."
Adariel glanced at him, though it wasn't as sharp as one might have expected it to be. Elrond had always had a way of doing what he thought was best for her, whether she agreed, or even knew, or not. She had never complained; the Lord of Rivendell had nearly been more of a father to her than her own had been.
"I feel I must inform you that she found it as ridiculous as the rest of us," she was told by a stern-voiced Elrond. His voice was firm, but his eyes were equally kind.
"She told me," was the dry response. "The majority of my time with her was spent being lectured on how I had best stop blaming myself, or as soon as she's well she would bind my hands and lock me in my own wardrobe until I admitted that there was no way I was entirely at fault."
Her companion laughed, and she couldn't help but grin. "Perhaps now you will heed our words, then?"
"I heed them," she said defensively as they walked up a flight of stairs and out onto a balcony overlooking the valley.
"But do not take them to heart," Elrond added.
Adariel leaned against the railing of the balcony, sighed, then replied, "For quite some time I found no reason to. Even now, it is difficult."
"Which is no surprise," her surrogate uncle said fairly. "Many who are the sole survivor, or, as in this case, the least injured when life-threatening or fatal wounds are involved, condemn themselves."
"But so many of the circumstances-"
"You never requested their accompaniment," Elrond interrupted firmly, but not unkindly. "Aradalien and Nurardaion departed with you under their own free will, not yours."
Adariel cast her gaze downward for a moment, then looked over at Elrond, to her left. "I would love for it to be so simple in my mind."
A comforting, rather fatherly hand was laid on her shoulder and she found herself on the receiving end of a gentle smile. "It can be, if you let it. You need not protect the rest of us, child. You need not force the guilt upon yourself."
She blinked at him, but otherwise gave no other signs to her thoughts. It appeared that Haldir wasn't the only one who thought she was trying to protect others by blaming herself. It was conceivable, when she thought of it, the idea that she might be guarding others by taking the guilt. Not only that, but she knew that if Elrond believed it, it was more than likely true. As for Haldir... He was still, as he was before, a confusing thought all his own, so she left it at that.
"I suppose that is possible," she said slowly, more as if she were thinking aloud. Adariel smiled at her 'uncle' and hugged him, then stepped away as she said, "I'm improving, at any rate, thanks to you and others. I will endure, if only to ensure that there is at least one annoyingly persistent healer in the Dell."
Elrond laughed as she turned and started back toward the stairs, but said before she was gone, "And who might the 'others' be?"
She suddenly panicked slightly; somehow, for no known reason, she didn't want to reveal that one of her confidantes (albeit the most confusing) was a Marchwarden she barely knew. But she didn't show this outwardly, instead shrugging simply and saying, "Arwen, Elladan, Noviel, Elrohir. Just... others." She turned to leave again.
"Adariel," he called after her suddenly, as if his mouth had uttered it of its own accord, and she turned again, brows raised inquiringly.
"Yes?"
Elrond hesitated, something which struck her as odd; he was always so sure of himself! But then he smiled (though at first glance it looked rather forced) and shook his head. "Nothing, Morelen."
The Lord of Rivendell watched her go, an unreadable yet rather anguished expression etched into his ageless features. He had nearly told her, but had managed to refrain himself from speaking. Certainly Adariel had seen something in his countenance, but she was patient - when she wanted to be at least - and willing to wait for him to say it on his own.
He sighed as he turned to look out over the valley. Nimrómen had made it clear that he preferred Adariel to never know, but had agreed that she had the right to know; he had left firm instructions for Elrond to not tell her until she was ready. It would be quite a shock, of course, and she might even be displeased by it. Avarlammeniel, who had been rather bitter toward the Morelen for nearly the child's entire life, hadn't cared either way.
And so the choice was left to him, Elrond Peredhil of Imladris. He wanted nothing more than for her to know - he had felt her entire life that she should know - and he knew Adariel was ready, but he wasn't sure that he himself was ready. Not ready for her reaction, at least. He knew that he *had* to tell her, but... Not yet.
^*^
Having barely thought twice about Elrond's odd behavior and thinking more of their conversation, Adariel had nearly run over Arwen as the Undómiel turned a corner at the same time she did.
Arwen planted both hands firmly on her hips, but her eyes danced. "I've been looking for you."
Both dark brows raised. "Have you?"
"Yes." Arwen held out a plain, white cotton gown. "You told me that upon your return you wished me to instruct you on the use of a blade," she reminded her friend. "No better time than the present."
Adariel took the gown, then looked back up at the Undómiel, who said without waiting for a response, "Change into that, and meet me in the practice yards in a quarter of an hour."
Adariel couldn't help but smirk at her friend's retreating back; Arwen had always had the habit of being rather controlling at some times. But then, it wasn't that Adariel herself could throw stones, living in a glass house; she was controlling almost all the time. It was a natural side affect of being a healer, in Adariel's case.
A quarter of an hour later, Adariel stood in the center of a practice court, in the white practice dress, which was slightly loose fitting for better movement with sleeves that went half way down her fore arm, bearing her wrists, holding a dull practice blade in her right hand.
Arwen corrected her stance and grip, and instructed her on the basic maneuvers, but it took Adariel the better part of a few hours to get that much down, due to her general hopelessness with any weapon not made of wood and without feathers.
It was six hours before Arwen finally said, "I believe that you have the elementary moves conquered."
"Really?" said a voice from the doorway. "That's certainly more than anyone else could accomplish with her, Arwen. I congratulate you."
Adariel made a face at her surrogate brother as her instructor said, "I do not believe that your opinion was asked for, Elrohir."
She shook her head as she put her practice blade away, then nodded to both siblings. "Thank you, Arwen. Meet again tomorrow?"
"Certainly. Dawn?"
"Just as good a time as any other." Adariel nodded to Arwen's brother. "Elrohir," she said, then turned and left.
It would take quite some time before she would be even remotely skilled with a blade, Adariel realized as she, already cleaned, dressed in a pale blue robe-dress with white embroidery and a white sash. The collar was high on her neck, but did not bother her.
Hopeless as she was with any weapon that was not made of wood and had feather, Adariel also realized that she had made great improvements in that single morning. She had paid the price for it, though, given that swordsmanship required entirely different muscles than archery, and was rather sore.
Deciding that it had been far too long (an entire three days) since she had seen her gelding, Adariel went to the stables, where she grabbed the brushes required for a proper grooming, and gave him just that, basking in the serenity that the stables offered. It was quite, but not uncomfortably so, and the company was pleasant.
When she was finished, Adariel put the brushes away, then went back to the stall bearing an apple. She grinned as Gil-luin snatched it away and began to munch happily on the fruit. She stroked his mane, content to simply spoil the horse that had saved her in more ways than most would have thought possible, given that he was a horse, for some time. Then she heard an odd noise, as if an Elf - an already implicitly silent being - was doing its best to walk silently over straw.
She paused, the sudden, overwhelming feeling that she wasn't alone making her throat lock. She carefully dropped her hand, attempting to make the move look idle, and went to reach for something - anything - solid enough to protect herself with, but before she could grab anything but empty air found herself being jerked through the open door of the stall and thrown against a closed stall door on the opposite side. Her hands, which had automatically gone up to protect herself, were pinned between herself and the wood, just as she was pinned between the wood and her attacker.
Adariel found herself reliving moments she would have rather died than gone through again as a hand was clamped over her mouth and a knife pressed to her throat. "Remain motionless, Morelen, and I shall not harm you. I simply want to remind you of something."
The voice was sickeningly familiar, and Adariel closed her eyes as if it would help her.
"No matter how many others you place between us, I will still find you," he hissed. "You never gave me an opportunity, and now you must face the consequences of your actions. Replacing your brother with that marchwarden friend of yours will only make those consequences worse."
As suddenly as it had appeared, the pressure was gone, and Adariel fell away from the stall door, struggling to pull air into her mashed lungs. She brought a hand up to her stinging throat as running footsteps sounded through the stables. But it was not him, she knew; he had made his threat, he would not bother her for two more weeks.
"Lady Adariel?"
That made her look up; it was Orophin. She stared at him astonishedly as he watched her in much the same way.
"It was him, wasn't it?" he asked slowly after some time. "I've not heard the entire tale, but I know essentially what happened; Elrohir told me of it." His faced hardened into a look of harsh sobriety that did not fit him. "Your silence answers for you." Orophin turned.
"Where are you going?" she found herself calling after him.
"Someone must be told of this. Either of Elrond's sons, Rúmil, Haldir, someone."
That spurned her into movement, and within an instant Adariel had thrown herself at the young sentinel and gripped his arm desperately. He didn't know the circumstances; if he were to tell someone, more than likely it would be someone who would then confront her attacker, and if Dimalphion were to know that somehow it had gotten out... He would only hurt her more, but not directly. No, he would hurt those she loved, relishing in her self-destructive guilt, and then he would hurt her directly.
Adariel would allow Dimalphion to do whatever he wanted with her, anything he wanted, if it meant keeping those close to her safe.
"No!" she cried. "Tell no one! No one must ever know!"
Orophin stared at her as if she had lost her senses, which may have actually been true. "No one must ever know?" he repeated. "Perhaps your lack of air has caused you to temporarily take leave for your sanity. In the case that you may not have noticed, blood is currently soaking into the collar of the gown you wear!"
Adariel reached up to touch the high collar and found it slightly damp, testifying truthfully to Orophin's words.
"I realize this, but I beg you, tell no one, not yet! I... I will tell someone! But I want you to never speak of it!"
He watched her rather dubiously. "If not Elladan or Elrohir, then at least mention this to my brother; Haldir seems to have developed-"
Somehow, the prospect of that sentence's ending frightened her nearly as much as Dimalphion. "Orophin, please," she said, voice low. "I will mention this when I feel that I am ready. But until then, I implore you, do not breathe a word of this to anyone not even - *especially* not - your brother."
'Your brother,' she added mentally, 'knows too much as it is. Much more, and Dimalphion may believe him to be close to me, and then... Well, for now I shall simply say that I do not want him harmed because of a misconceived friendship.'
Orophin merely watched her uncertainly, and a desperate note entered Adariel's voice when she said, "Swear!"
After some time he finally said, "I swear it," and Adariel released his arm.
"Thank you," she said quietly, then walked in the direction of the infirmary.
Orophin knew that he should never have sworn such a thing; he knew that he should have told someone. But Adariel had looked so strangely panicked, as if the thought of him telling anyone terrified her more than the event itself.
Oddly, she had also seemed frightened of hearing what it was that Haldir had developed. He didn't know what she expected, but he wasn't sure he wanted to ask. At any rate, Orophin had been about to tell her that the marchwarden had developed an odd dislike for that Dimaphion character, and that Haldir would certainly be happy to add another reason to his personal list of why he hated Dimalphion.
The sentinel sighed as he made his way into the stables, for all his own horse was still in Lórien. Under normal circumstances, when something confused him this much, he went to either of his brothers for an explanation: one of the direct advantages of being the youngest. If Haldir did no know the answer, then Rúmil would, or vise versa. He had gone to them less and less as the years passed, but occasionally he would find himself in a situation, such as this one, that left him with more questions than he had answers.
Being sworn to secrecy, however, left him at a slight disadvantage. If he was forbidden from speaking of it, how could he go to either of his brothers? He couldn't, not if he were to keep his word at the same time.
Orophin could only hope that Adariel said something to someone soon, before it happened again. The violence with which this Dimalphion handled her would increase gradually, and Orophin knew that he did not want to see it reach its peak.
Adariel was still shaking at least two hours later, when Maedhros sauntered into the infirmary. But she had cleaned the blood from her throat and changed in to a light violet gown of the style.
"What is it?" she asked, not looking up from the line of sedative tonics she was labeling.
"We have a visitor, from Lórien."
*That* made her look up. "Do we? Who made this journey, if I may ask?"
Maedhros shrugged. "I did not ask."
Adariel rolled her eyes and stood. Maedhros may have been brilliant in battle, but he was rather hopeless the rest of the time; honestly, he did not *ask*? Wasn't that the first thing that most did, to ask who had arrived? Maehdros was a wonderful Elf; kind, humorous, and a magnificent soldier, but he was absolutely hopeless; typical male.
She made her way through the corridor and out into the courtyard, where she was shocked to see none other than Vinya dismounting from a beautiful mare and greeting a very pregnant Lalaith, who was also the midwife of Rivendell.
This was certainly a surprise, though perhaps it should have been; Vinya had said when Adariel left Lórien that she may make the journey herself, to help a relative welcome a child into the world.
Movement to her right caught her eye, and Adariel saw Orophin enter the courtyard. Their encounter at the stables, however, was temporarily forgotten as she observed the young sentinel's expression as he watched the she-Elf of Lórien.
Adariel grinned, realizing that perhaps Vinya's sentiments toward Orophin were returned.
^*^
Wowzers, this one took quite some time... At least it was longer than the last one. Oh, as for the title to this part, I called it 'Attempted Normalcy' because A) I couldn't think of any better ones, lol, and B) because that's exactly what Adariel is doing; she's attempting to find normalcy in her life, when deep down she knows there's none to be found. Just had to add that, since there was nothing related to 'attempted normalcy' in this part.
Love and hugs,
Carlee