Disclaimer: Elves and Rivendell belong to Tolkien. Polarans and Vell-os belong to Ambrosia Software and ATMOS.
All characters speak in their respective languages unless specifically stated otherwise. Ie, Elves speak Sindarin, Nil'Tanar speaks Polaran, and Ryllaen speaks Federation Basic.
Had he thought himself isolated, lost in an alien culture on an alien world? It was nothing compared to what he felt now. Nil'Tanar forgot about his own wounds as he carried Ryllaen into the hall.
The Vell-os could not die now. He could not.
But there were no mortal wounds that Nil'Tanar could see, no blood loss serious enough to merit his collapse. There was nothing the young warrior could bind and set with a rough field dressing. The malady had little to do with the Vell-os' body, and everything to do with his mind. Nil'Tanar understood, then, and was angry.
Ryllaen had chosen to involve himself in the battle. He had woven a shield that not only protected himself, but also encompassed the entire hall and all the humans within who could not protect themselves. From poorly remembered classes, Nil'Tanar knew that such a shield was difficult to create, more so than even the largest of Vell-os ships. Damaged as he was, Ryllaen should not have been able to weave it, let alone hold it for as long as he did. Nil'Tanar had seen the Vell-os, had seen the pain he was in, and knew that the risk had not been undertaken lightly.
His glare fell upon Elsa. She faltered a moment at the force of his fury as she helped her cousin, though it was not directed at her.
Glorfindel touched his shoulder. He looked up, and away. Try as he might, Nil'Tanar could not meet that stern gaze; it was bright and clear, piercing. Nil'Tanar felt oddly chastened. When he lifted Ryllaen's inert body onto the table, his hands were steadier.
There was nothing he could do. Even if he knew how to help the Vell-os – and he angrily admitted to himself that he was no Ver'ash and no expert on the complex interconnections between Vell-os physiology and telepathy – he found before him a communications barrier that he had forgotten existed. The syllables that swirled around him were incomprehensible, alien. Nil'Tanar felt helpless and lost, more so than when they had first crashed on this planet. It was not a sensation he enjoyed.
But the activities of the humans and Elves were not so strange as they set about repairing the damage of the orc attack. Nil'Tanar stood. He could not help with the wounded, and he could not bear to sit by the Vell-os and do nothing. So he went out into the torch-lit courtyard and, the pain of his wounds receding before the need to do something, anything, to take his mind off this situation, joined the few Elves piling orc and wolf carcasses in a heap. It was grim work. Nil'Tanar performed his chosen task with mouth set in a hard line to rein in his repulsion. He yearned for the wide reaches of space, where warriors were destroyed more often than not with the ships they flew and battle seemed cleaner. Even those expeditions that took the Nil'kemorya to planet surface did not end like this, stepping on earth turned to a quagmire of mud with blood, labouring under the smoky light of an open flame to burn the vestiges of a primitive fight.
There were others among the dead, five pale slender bodies under spills of silken hair. Nil'Tanar veered away from the fallen Elves, uncertain what their culture demanded and preferring to leave them to their own. He was exhausted and afraid; he drove away panic by working thus until the homestead was cleared and the mist fled before morning's heat. He might have continued had not Glorfindel found him and took him into the hall, and he gave in to exhaustion at last.
Cam studied the body sprawled over his dining table. A bandage was wrapped around his head, but the farmer's gaze was still sharp and purposeful. "Strange Men," he muttered. "I am not certain they are Men at all. There's nothing here I can fix."
Legolas agreed with the assessment, though he did not say so. "Lord Glorfindel?"
The Elf-lord had a hand over Ryllaen's head and another over his heart. What his green eyes saw the others could not see, but he drew back suddenly, an expression of pain and shock on his fair face. "It is his fëa. Ai, I should have looked earlier." He met the others' puzzlement with an explanation that left the mortal farmer none the wiser. "He is torn asunder, and not all the damage is new, though this wound is. He will not wake again unless his fëa can be mended."
The Woodland prince looked at him thoughtfully. That Glorfindel had not tried a healing told him much, and he could think of very few with power to match the former Gondolindrim. "You mean to make for Imladris," he concluded.
"There is some binding on the fëa that both wounds and keeps alive. I fear to do too much lest I cause further damage." Glorfindel sighed. "Elrond is better skilled at healing than I."
"And the other?" Cam gestured at the Man who slept wrapped in the folds of a thoroughly bedraggled cloak.
"He will not allow himself to be separated from his companion, I think," Legolas replied. "Take them both, Lord Glorfindel, and I will send with you two of my warriors." He smiled briefly when the other Elf raised a brow. "I cannot continue with this journey. The orcs ran east. I will not allow them to reach the safety of Dol Guldur."
He did not add that Dol Guldur lay within the boundaries of what once had been Greenwood the Great, and though the Elven inhabitants of that forest gave ground to the darkness, they did so with much reluctance and at great cost to the Necromancer's minions. For a moment Glorfindel saw the pride and stubborn will that was the hallmark of Oropher's line shine through his grandson. It was these traits that had led Oropher to his doom and enabled his son Thranduil to hold out for so long against the shadow that plagued his realm; Glorfindel knew that they would drive this latest scion in his turn. Then Legolas grinned.
"Take them both," he continued. "You will need them, for when the one Man is healed and the other assured of his safety, it will take all your diligence and strength to keep them from injuring each other." Legolas left them to speak with Elrohir and his scouts, returned after making sure no orc remained within easy reach of the homestead.
Allowing himself a light smile at the youthful prince's words – when and not if – Glorfindel acknowledged the truth of the parting shot. The promise of violence hovered between the two strange Men, and he was not so certain they could keep it in check before the goal behind the uneasy alliance was achieved. Yet he had more immediate concerns than that, and began organising the necessary details with Cam.
The journey from the Vale of Anduin through the High Pass to Rivendell was fast-paced, though it did not have the urgency that pursuit imposed. Nil'Tanar rode in the horse-pulled cart beside Ryllaen, the two Rivendell Elves rode in front, and those of Mirkwood alternated between guiding the cart and walking alongside it. Nil'Tanar found himself with little to do but think and worry; he had attempted some conversation and found the scant Sindarin he had gleaned to be severely lacking, though he discovered that the other two were named Eiliant and Galind.
The Mirkwood Elves did not talk as much as Glorfindel and Elrohir. Nil'Tanar wondered at their reticence, and at length decided that Elrohir simply spoke more than enough for the rest. But they laughed and sang, and if the songs of the two pairs were subtly different to his ears, they were equally compelling. Sometimes Nil'Tanar could allow himself to smile and enjoy the strange music; other times he was annoyed by their cheerfulness. He knew that it stemmed from frustration and suppressed it as much as he could, though he was not entirely successful. The Elves were inexplicable to him; he had seen them serious and light-hearted by turns, most often the latter, the emotions often flowing into the other faster than he could blink. What heralded the appropriateness of one over the other, he could not establish. At times they were, to put it kindly, silly. Never before had Nil'Tanar met full-grown warriors who could and would act like children. Well-behaved children, yet still children.
Attempting to place aside this growing perception, Nil'Tanar concentrated on other matters. His inability to speak with them was of immediate concern – he had not realised just how much he had relied on the Vell-os. He struggled to learn, though language had never been his skill, and was surprised to find that the Elves understood some common and rudimentary Polaran words. Or rather, he acknowledged with a wry grin, they understood those words thathe often used. But they were not many, for he had not been overly talkative and now regretted the lost chance to increase the word base.
And so he had very little idea where they were going or what the Elves intended to do once they reached their destination. At least, he thought, there is nothing attacking us now. The journey was uneventful, and for that he was grateful.
The unconscious Vell-os was a never-ending source of concern. Glorfindel tended him as best he could, somehow managing to make him swallow at least enough water and lembas to stay alive. Nil'Tanar watched these ministrations closely, almost obsessive as he guarded Ryllaen from every palpable and likely harm. Had he been less practical and more vocal, he would have cursed the Vell-os for their prolonged stay on this planet.
This is one report Iuso will never believe, he thought tiredly, though any Mu'hari inquisitor that followed the report would find no lie when his mind was searched. A lack of sanity, perhaps. He refused to consider the possibility that he would never make the report. And to make sure that possibility never became certainty, he kept watch over the Vell-os. The Elves appeared to recognise what he was doing, for none save Glorfindel tried to offer unwanted aid.
A day came when Elrohir shouted and galloped ahead of the party. Nil'Tanar watched this with puzzlement, understanding only when they passed over a crest and he caught sight of the buildings nestled in a steep valley.
"Imladris," Eiliant told him, smiling, and Nil'Tanar was relieved and a little apprehensive, for this appeared to be the end of their journey.
He was correct; by the time they reached the first buildings a small group of Elves was waiting with a stretcher. One of them, greeted by bows from the Mirkwood Elves and a cheery wave from Glorfindel, approached the cart. He looked too much like Elrohir to be anything but a close relative; Nil'Tanar watched him closely.
The Elf frowned as he rested a hand on Ryllaen's forehead in a gesture similar to the one Glorfindel had used. His expression was troubled as he exchanged words with the golden-haired Elf who came to stand by his side. The newcomer gently turned Ryllaen's head to the side and brushed away long strands of hair to reveal the device at the back of his neck. He drew back in surprise, then reached out again to touch the gleaming surface.
Nil'Tanar was alarmed. His hand shot out to grip the other's wrist. "Don't!" he said fiercely.
The Elf met Nil'Tanar's gaze for the first time. Taken aback by the strength in the clear grey eyes and a sense of age that did not fit with the youthful, kindly face, Nil'Tanar released the Elf with just as little thought as he had seized him. But he did not relent. The Elf nodded at him gravely, acknowledging something he appeared to see in Nil'Tanar, and spoke rapid words to the stretcher-bearers. Nil'Tanar followed them as they lifted Ryllaen and carried him into the building.
Elrond studied the Man as they walked, marking his anxiety and the suspicious gaze that alternated between watching the stretcher-bearers and sweeping the halls. "I see you have much still to report," he said to Elrohir.
"There was not enough time." Elrond's son flashed a reassuring smile when the Man glanced at him. Then he continued, "I do not understand this illness. Lord Glorfindel can explain better than I."
"It is as you saw, my lord," Glorfindel said. "The bonds extend from that object, though I know not how this was achieved, for I sense no inherent power in it. He cannot be healed while it is there." He hesitated. "Yet I do not know what effect that will have, and so I have done nothing. Nil'Tanar seems adamant."
Elrond saw the Man's gaze flicker back at the sound of his name. "He is protective."
"Yes." Glorfindel frowned.
"Does he wish the other to remain bound?"
"That is something we must ask him."
They waited until they had reached the House of Healing and Ryllaen had been gently set on a bed. All the stretcher-bearers departed save one, who offered a bow and a bright smile.
"Allow me to offer my services, Lord Elrond. I hear you have need of a translator."
"Gildor Inglorion. Your aid is, as always, appreciated." Elrond could not help but smile at the Exile who had appeared with some members of his Company a week past. He did not believe it to be coincidence. What coincidence could there be when an Elf of the House of Finrod, possessed of that House's ability to learn languages with ease, came to his door when a language never heard needed learning?
The Lord of Rivendell approached the prone Vell-os, conscious of the anxious Nil'Tanar whose hands hovered by his knife hilts, ready to draw them in an instant. He was not concerned, for each of the four Elves in the room were accomplished warriors in their own right, but he moved slowly to calm the Man. Elrond ran fingers lightly over Ryllaen's neck, circumscribing the area where metal that was like mithril but near-black and slippery met skin. He was disturbed to find that the wires were fused into skin. They ran deep, to what end he did not know.
Nil'Tanar moved restlessly.
Elrohir placed a gentle restraining hand on the Polaran's shoulder. Grey eyes caught and held the other's gaze. Tipping his head to the side, Elrohir said, "Ver'ash. Elrond, Ver'ash."
The Polaran stared at him. Elrohir's assurance that the other was a healer seemed to remove some of Nil'Tanar's anxiety. But not his resistance; he gestured at Ryllaen and shook his head repeatedly. The words he spoke were short, full of rough certainty.
"What purpose?" Elrohir asked, speaking the words in the Polaran tongue and hoping they were not too far out of context.
Apparently Nil'Tanar understood his meaning well enough, and though his expression showed that he thought it hopeless, he pointed at Ryllaen and tried to explain his reasoning with gestures that became increasingly complicated and frustrated. The sound of his language was exotic and not without music of its own; Elrohir caught a few words he thought he recognised, lost in the rapid flow of words.
He was not the only one listening closely. Gildor, eyes alight with intense concentration, followed every sound. He touched Nil'Tanar's mind to find the word-images that always accompanied anything spoken; it was thus, with the ability to uncover the meanings of such images and an understanding of the structures of language, that his kinsman had been the first to learn the tongues of Men and Dwarves upon reaching the shores of Arda.
Nil'Tanar stopped speaking mid-phrase as he whirled to face Gildor, brushing away the restraining hand on his shoulder as he did. The Elf felt the other's surprise, and wondered that the Man had been able to sense his light touch at all. After a moment Nil'Tanar renewed his admonishments with greater fervour. The word-images were clearer as they came thick and fast, and Gildor knew that Nil'Tanar was trying, clumsy though he was, to project his meaning.
At last Gildor broke eye contact. "I am not certain of all his words," he told the others. "Much of what he says is strange to me. But he tells me that his companion will die if the device is removed."
"What is its intent?" Elrond asked. He had not turned from his inspection of Ryllaen throughout the conversation.
Gildor asked and listened to the response. He stiffened, eyes flashing with shock. "Slavery," he said. "It binds and controls the fëa." His tone must have been accusatory, for Nil'Tanar spoke again. The Elf's brow knit as he tried to sort and understand the words. "He speaks of a war between two peoples. The older, more powerful people lost to the younger, more numerous second people. This device is the means by which the conquerors control the power of the others. He says that he belongs to a third people who took no part in the war."
"These two are enemies," Elrohir interjected. "I have seen enough to know that. And slavery is an evil that we cannot let pass unchallenged."
Gildor relayed the words, though Nil'Tanar was already shaking his head as if he had known what the response would be. "The third people wars with the second," Gildor said after extensive gestures and words on the part of the Polaran. "They cannot trust the first, for they are bound to the second. He says–"the Elf frowned in confusion before continuing, "–he says that his people work to free the first, but that they have not been able to do so without killing those they save. The device is bound to the health of the body. He is adamant that the device cannot be removed."
Straightening, Elrond turned to look at Nil'Tanar. He seemed weary, but his eyes were bright as always when there was healing to be done. "Tell him that he need not fear for now. I have healed what I can without removing the device and his companion will likely wake within a few days." Elrond watched as the youthful warrior relaxed a little. "Elrohir, please show our guest to a place where he may rest."
After his son had, by dint of gestures and reassuring smiles, coaxed the Polaran out of the room, Elrond offered Gildor water. "You are troubled."
"Aye." The Exile drank, nodding his gratitude. "He spoke of things I do not understand. He told of how the device will kill, but his words were strange and his thoughts more so. I see stars in his mind, Elrond, vast lands separated by regions empty of all things, distances farther than one can walk through all the Ages; he speaks of the different peoples that warred, and I see Men who are wholly unlike the Atani, more numerous than all the Elves and Men that were ever born. I know not from whence came this Man, nor do I believe any but Manwë Súlimo may fathom it. Did you see it so in the other?"
Elrond sighed as he looked at Ryllaen. "There was not so much to see; there are barriers and dark places in his mind that I hesitate to breach, and he himself has gone deep beyond my reach."
"Yet when he speaks there is much of what you say in his words," Glorfindel said. "Not always, for I think he cloaks it so that we may hear his thoughts without confusion. But it is there."
"Lord Elrond, what of the device? Think you that it may be removed?" Gildor stared at it with a distaste matched by them all.
"Not without danger. Yet in the end we may have little choice. His fëa will not survive its bindings much longer."
Elrohir returned, less the Man, and the four deliberated over the patient until the hour came when other business needed tending.
Remarks:
Gildor and Finrod: valarguild[dot]org[slash]varda[slash]Tolkien[slash]encyc[slash]elves[dot]html
fëa - spirit
Atani - Second People (the race of Men)
Manwë Súlimo - Lord of the Breath of Arda (Valar)