Chapter Thirteen: Deception

Time seemed to pass at an agonizingly slow rate for the next while. Elrond and Elwing furtively prepared for the impending siege while the other elves were oblivious. It was imperative that the Fëanorians' attack remain a secret. Food stores were rationed, and an inventory was taken of weaponry and other necessary supplies.

"Everything is in order," Elrond reported to his mother. He had just finished recounting the weapons in the armory.

"Good," Elwing replied. "What time is it?"

"Just after dusk," the half-elf told her, glancing out the nearest window.

She nodded. "Get some rest, my lord."

"I'm not tired," he protested, knowing how childish he sounded.

Elwing would have none of it. "Who knows whether Lord Lórien will decide to send you another vision? Besides, you do need sleep. You look exhausted."

Elrond frowned, glancing dubiously into a mirror hanging next to him. There were slight dark circles under his eyes, and the rest of his face was pale. He shrugged submissively, starting down the hall toward his bedroom. "I might as well. Goodnight, my lady."

But at the last moment he turned back. "What day is it?"

"The twenty-ninth of March," his mother replied. "You needn't worry too much just yet. We still have time."

Elrond nodded. "Time. Yes."

But they were rapidly running out of it.

----

The elf woke in darkness after a deep, dreamless sleep. Stars twinkled calmly outside his window, but despite their soft comfort, a chill seized his heart. Today was the thirtieth of March. The sons of Fëanor would be here in only four days. Four… his unlucky number.

He rose silently from his bed, slipping down the hall on cat-feet. Relying on his keen eyes to guide him, he made his way carefully toward his mother's bedroom. But it seemed she had had a similar idea; he soon spotted her moving swiftly in his direction.

"Lord Elrond," she whispered. "I've had a dream."

Elrond frowned, sensing immediately that it was important. "What did you see?"

"I saw Lord Lórien," she answered him. "He told me that we must warn my people of the Fëanorians now. Today."

"Not just yet," Elrond replied. "Let's wait until breakfast."

Morning came bright and warm for some, but not others. Elrond and Elwing were equally uneasy about today, and for good reason. They hardly spoke as they began their morning meal, though they sat side-by-side. But at last the elf-lord leaned over and muttered in his mother's ear.

"I think it's time."

Elwing nodded once. Rising smoothly to her feet, she cleared her throat before calling out to the assembled elves in a clear voice.

"My people!" she cried. "I have a grave announcement to make."

An immediate hush fell over the entire room. A hundred pairs of eyes swiveled to look at her; she paused a moment before she spoke again.

"Four months ago I received word that the Fëanorians would attack our haven. Now I know that they will arrive here in no less than four days."

A ripple of shocked murmurs shuddered through the assembly. Elwing raised her hand for silence and continued, "Please remain calm. Everything is under control. And we still have time to prepare for the attack. I repeat, everything is under control. No-one needs to be harmed."

There was a brief silence, and then a suspicious voice rang out. "Who told you this?"

Elrond got to his feet, replying coolly, "Her words come from the Valar themselves."

The elf's eyes narrowed. "It was you!"

"Me?" Elrond said quietly, raising an eyebrow. The back of his neck prickled.

"You're the one who invited the Valar here!" yelled the elf. "You called the Doomsman! You brought him here to bring us down!"

"Warmongerer!" cried another voice.

"Who knows where he came from?" the first elf shouted, evidently heartened. "He could be a spy for the Dark Lord!"

"Traitor!" yet another elf screeched.

Now the whole crowd was on its feet, hurling the spiteful words at Elrond as if they were spears. Spy! Betrayer! Doomsman's herald!

Elrond broke out in a cold sweat, struggling bodily to remain steady against the terrible onslaught of verbal abuse. But soon another voice overwhelmed them all, like a great roar of thunder.

"SILENCE!"

A hundred elves were struck mute with shock. Two hundred wide eyes stared in horror at the dark figure who now stood on the threshold, looming like a storm. The Doomsman.

Mandos moved purposefully forward, his dark, blazing eyes fixed upon a single elf in the entire throng. The first elf who had spoken against Elrond was cowering back in his seat, sobbing in terror.

"No, lord… forgive me… I meant nothing by it… please, spare me!"

What words Mandos spoke could not be heard, but the elf's wails intensified. There was the suggestion of another word spoken, and the elf was dumbstruck.

Mandos turned away, giving a soundless nod to Elrond before swirling away in a flash of darkness.

Elrond's legs couldn't support him any longer, and his knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed weakly into his chair; Elwing laid a gentle hand on his trembling shoulder.

----

Right after breakfast, the elf locked himself in his bedroom and didn't emerge until his growling stomach persuaded him to wander to the dining hall. His footsteps were slow and wary; every time he heard another elf's voice he would shy away from it until the sound faded.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump half a foot off the ground. He whirled around and found himself nose-to-nose with his mother.

"I wondered when you'd show your face again," she smiled benignly. "How are you?"

"Do I need to answer that?" Elrond asked softly.

Elwing glanced downward. "Oh. I see."

Elrond slumped dejectedly into a chair, resting his chin on his folded arms. Elwing seated herself next to him, saying gently, "You don't believe them, do you?"

The elf-lord didn't reply for a long while. At length he murmured, "Lord Mandos is not evil. He does only what he must. But the fact that he is the Lord of the Dead… and the coming attack from the Fëanorians… it all adds up to doubt and lies."

"They insulted you, not Lord Mandos," his mother told him. "Don't you care what they said about you?"

The elf's silence answered her question. Elwing sighed.

"If it makes you feel better, I didn't believe a word of it."

He lifted his head, smiling slightly. "I know."

----

Elrond stayed up late that night, rereading his father's letter over and over by candlelight. He had had it framed and hung on the wall opposite his bed. It served as a constant reminder that no matter how difficult things would become, someone out there still loved him.

"Things aren't going well," he said aloud. Though it was unlikely anyone could hear him, it felt good to voice his worries. "They all think I'm a traitor. All but my mother. She's the only one here I can truly trust. Well," he added, "there's Caranel as well… she has a kind heart. But that doesn't change things. The sons of Fëanor will be here in four days. It doesn't look good."

"The darkest hour is before the dawn," said a calm voice behind him.

Elrond turned, a smile rising automatically to his lips. "Hello, Caranel."

The elleth bobbed a curtsy as she always did whenever they met, despite Elrond's dissent. Her blue eyes sparkled with concern.

Elrond rose to greet his guest, but a sudden thought made him freeze for a moment. Had she heard him talking about his mother?

As though she had read his mind, Caranel smiled calmly. "I didn't hear all of what you were just saying, but I heard enough to get the idea. Thanks for your kind comment."

"You're welcome," Elrond smiled. "Did you happen to be in the dining hall this morning at breakfast?"

"No, I was stuck in the kitchens scrubbing pots," the elleth sighed. "But I heard the whole incident."

"You heard it, or heard of it?" Elrond frowned.

"I heard it. I heard the elves yelling all of those horrible things at you, and I just wanted to…" She made a wringing motion with her hands in the air. "And when Lord Mandos came, I thought my heart was going to stop."

"So did I, believe me," Elrond shuddered. "It was horrible, the way he spoke to that elf… the one who started the yelling."

"Oh, yes," nodded Caranel. "I wondered what he was sobbing about. Ruthindir is not one to show emotion."

"Other than anger, it seems," said Elrond bitterly.

"He'll get over it," Caranel told him reassuringly. "I highly doubt anything nasty will trot over his tongue for a long time."

Elrond nodded. "Thank you for believing me."

"You're welcome."

The elleth suddenly glanced out the window. "I'd better go, sire... I have things to do. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, mellon nin," (my friend) Elrond smiled.

As Caranel left the room, shutting the door softly behind her, the elf-lord couldn't dismiss the horrible feeling gnawing at his mind… a flicker of doom.