Chapter Two: The Captive

Elrond glided swiftly in a south-westerly wind, following the course of the Bruinen as it approached the Angle. There it would become the Gwathlo, or Greyflood, and empty in the Great Sea, Belegaer.

"How are you?" he called down to his mother-in-law, who could be seen swimming an elegant backstroke in the river.

"I'm fine," she replied. "And yourself?"

"Never better. Where do you think Gandalf is?"

"I don't know. He may already be on the ship, perhaps waiting in the galley fire…"

"That could be," Elrond nodded. "Let's not keep him waiting longer than necessary."

Mother- and son-in-law plunged forward, surging through wind and waves to reach the Sea as quickly as possible.

The sun was climbing slowly in the clear sky when the Bruinen became the Gwathlo, and sped down to the western shores of Middle-earth. Neither of the two friends were tired from their journey; on the contrary, every swell of wind and water gave them new energy. In no time at all, it seemed, they were tumbling down to Belegaer.

"Do you see anything?" Galadriel called up to her companion.

"No," he replied. "But they'll be here soon enough."

"We won't let them anywhere near Mithlond," said Galadriel resolutely. "Come."

They moved southward faster than the elements could carry them, and found the ship in a matter of minutes. Its black sails reared against the sky like a threatening storm as it sliced through the water; the muffled throb of a drum reached them, growing ever louder.

The ship was teeming with Corsairs; every one looked drunk and rowdy. Most of them were broad of build, but a few were more slender and wiry. They all had grimy clothing and thick, dark, tangled hair.

"I'm going aboard to look for Gandalf," Elrond called down to Galadriel, hovering in the air as the ship approached. "Are you coming?"

"I'll wait here," the water-spirit replied.

"As you wish."

Elrond slipped silently through the ship's main deck. He checked the galley first, as it was the most obvious place to have a fire. Sure enough, Gandalf was sitting patiently in the embers of a cooking oven.

"There you are," smiled the fire-spirit. "Is Galadriel with you?"

"She's in the ocean," Elrond replied. "How long have you been here?"

"Not long," said Gandalf. "Did you just arrive?"

"Yes," Elrond nodded. "I should tell Galadriel I found you. If you'll excuse me…"

"Wait," the fire-spirit spoke up insistently. "Before you leave the ship, be sure to look in the middle deck. There is something there that may interest you."

Elrond departed without another word. He slid through a crack in the floor, and found himself in a dim chamber. The noise of the Corsairs two floors above him were extremely muffled, and now a much sweeter sound hailed him… a song.

Elrond frowned in confusion. The song didn't sound at all like a raucous sea shanty or drinking song. It was an eerie melody, one whose words he couldn't quite distinguish. It seemed to be coming from behind a dark door at the far side of the room.

Carefully the wind-spirit advanced. As he moved closer to the door, the song became clearer. It was a soft tenor voice, singing sadly in Elvish:

"Ai Elbereth, tiro am nin!

Im olvne na aglar lle.

Tiro ten' nin ned nûr fuin;

Im neumen ned i mornië."

Elrond felt on the verge of tears as he listened to the mournful lament. 'Oh Elbereth, look upon me! I am lost to your light. Look for me in the deep night; I am trapped in the darkness.' Who could be singing such a song?

Whoever was behind that door, Elrond vowed to protect. He swept forward, hovering next to a tiny crack below the door, through which no light was streaming. The soft voice floated through it, sobbing now.

"Hello?" Elrond whispered. "Who's there?"

The sobs ended abruptly in a gasp.

"Who are you?" a quavery voice demanded. "What do you want?"

"I'm a friend," the wind-spirit replied gently. "I'm here to help you. May I come in?"

"The door's locked," the voice told him. "No-one can get in, and I can't get out."

"You'd be surprised where I can get in and out of," Elrond told the voice.

There was a pause, and then the voice replied, "All right. If you think you can, come in."

Elrond obediently slid through the crack, and felt his body being compressed in a most uncomfortable manner as he did. Emerging on the other side, he was engulfed by thick, musty blackness.

Wherever he was smelled strongly of mould. Seeing by a shred of light from the crack, he found himself in a small, cell-like room, no bigger than a cupboard.

And in the tiny room was a young boy.

From what Elrond could see, he looked barely older than five or six, but something about him hinted he was older. His straight, dark hair was cropped roughly and close to his ears, which ended in small points.

The child's eyes were in shadow, as he kept his head downcast. He stiffened as Elrond moved carefully around him, feeling his way through the chamber. "Where are you?"

"I'm right beside you," Elrond whispered soothingly in the child's ear. "What is your name, little one?"

"I'm Daeglir," the boy replied. "Who are you?"

"My name is Elrond," he answered.

"Pleased to meet you, sir," said Daeglir. Then he frowned. "Are you really there? All I can feel is the wind."

"That's because I am the wind," Elrond told him. "Or a wind-spirit. But I was once an elf."

"How'd you become a spirit?"

Elrond laughed. "That's a strange tale. I went out in a terrible storm one night with two very close friends of mine, and suddenly everything went black. When I awoke, I was a spirit, floating in the wind."

"What happened to your friends?" Daeglir asked, awed.

"They, too, became spirits. But they're waiting for me, so I must leave you for a while. But I promise I'll come back."

Daeglir nodded. "I can wait."

"Good lad. I won't be long."

----

Elrond hurried back up to the main deck, whooshing down over the ship's port side. Galadriel rose in a small wave to greet him. "What kept you?"

"I was listening to something Gandalf said," Elrond replied. "In the middle deck, just below the galley, a boy called Daeglir is locked in a cupboard."

Galadriel gasped in horror. "What did you do?"

"Daeglir was singing to Elbereth about how he was trapped. I went in and spoke with him, telling him I was a friend, and that I was there to help him. I also told him I'd be back shortly, so I don't want to keep him waiting."

"I'm coming with you," said his mother-in-law decisively. "There must be some sort of leak in this ship."

"Very well," Elrond nodded. "I'll help you look."

"No," Galadriel dissented. "You go straight to Daeglir. I'll be fine on my own."

"Are you sure?"

"Don't you trust me?"

The wind-spirit laughed. "All right, then. I'll see you shortly."

Elrond quickly re-entered the ship, heading straight for where he'd last seen his young friend. Slipping deftly through the infinitesimal gap under the door, he called, "I'm back, Daeglir."

"Are your friends here?" asked the boy.

"Not yet, but they're looking for a way to get in," Elrond replied"They're not quite as mobile as I am."

"How will I know they're here?"

"If you feel water entering, then one of my friends will certainly be here. And the other will arrive if you see embers or fire."

"Then I won't see the second one," said Daeglir sadly.

"Why not?"

There was a pause, and then the boy replied in a near-whisper, "I can't see anything. I never could."

"You're blind?" cried Elrond. "Was it the Corsairs?"

"I've never been able to see," shrugged the boy. "I don't know how."

"You poor child," the wind-spirit whispered sadly. "How long have you been here?"

"Where's 'here'?"

"You're locked in a cupboard," Elrond explained, "on a Corsair ship."

"Well, wherever I am, I've been here for as long as I can remember," said Daeglir. "It feels like years."

"Well, I'm going to do anything that I can to get you away from here and back to your family," Elrond vowed.

"I don't remember much about before," the child sighed dejectedly.

"What do you remember?"

"A woman," Daeglir replied after a long, pensive pause. "I think she was my mother; I remember her holding me and singing. And I think there was my father, too. I remember him kissing me… it felt funny, like he had a beard. But elves don't, do they?"

Elrond was silent as he drank this in. But after a moment he gasped, "There was one – a good friend of mine, named Cirdan. Does that name mean anything to you?"

"Yes!" cried the boy. "I remember that name. It sounds right. It makes me think of the Sea."

"Cirdan lived very close to the Sea," said Elrond. "In a haven called Mithlond—"

But he broke off in mid-sentence. He suddenly remembered – they were on their way to that very haven! Things were looking up.

But why would the Corsairs bring Daeglir back to where he came from?

The answer came in an instant – ransom. Of course. The pirates were going to try to exchange the child for money. And if Cirdan refused… Elrond shuddered. He couldn't bear thinking about it.

"What's wrong?" asked Daeglir.

"Nothing," the wind-spirit lied. "I wonder what's keeping Galadriel?"

"Who's Galadriel? One of your friends?"

"Yes. She became a water-spirit; she's my mother-in-law."

"I've heard the Corsairs talking about water-spirits," said the boy in a tremulous voice. "They said they were called sirens, and that they drowned sailors by singing and making the ships run into rocks."

"Galadriel would never do that," Elrond assured his friend. "But you've just given me a wonderful idea, Daeglir."

"I have?"

"Oh, yes. Would you mind if I went to look for Galadriel? I'll try to hurry."

"You don't need to hurry too much," said Daeglir. "I'm used to being alone. But your mother-in-law might be in trouble, so I guess you'd better go."

Elrond nodded, his heart sinking with this newfound notion. What if Galadriel was in trouble? He slipped quickly out of the cupboard and away.