Chapter 13: Echoes of the Past
Beleth paced nervously about her quarters, unsure of what to do. Thranduil was in such a fragile state – body, mind and soul. She feared Caladhel's reaction should her nephew reveal himself fully. She feared a single cruel word would tear him apart, and while she did not believe Caladhel heartless, there was no knowing how the Lady would react to the sight of Thranduil's scars.
Beleth continued to pace the length of the carpet, ringing her hands anxiously all the while. Túven found her thus. He came in as she completed a circuit and her distressed state caused him immediate alarm. He came to her side and took hold of her arms to halt her pacing.
"What is wrong?"
Beleth was so upset she did not think to skirt her husband's question and answered him straight away. "Caladhel came to see Thranduil."
Túven's eyes narrowed. "And?"
"They are speaking now."
"You let her in?"
Túven's anger rang clear in Beleth's ears and she immediately regretted her candor. She read disapproval on her husband's face, but refused to be blamed for what she had no power to control.
"Thranduil commanded it."
"What were you thinking, allowing her to see him like that?"
"It was not my decision to make!"
Túven dismissed his wife's excuses. They meant nothing to him, for Túven never bent to Thranduil's whims when he thought his nephew mistaken.
"Thranduil is in pain. He is not thinking clearly. You should have stopped him." He turned abruptly and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" Beleth asked, fearful now that her husband might make matters worse.
"To save him from himself," he said on his way out the door.
"Túven!" Beleth called after him but she was too late. He was gone as suddenly as he came, leaving Beleth more anxious than before in her pacing.
When Thranduil finally opened his eyes he had no idea how long had passed since Caladhel departed. When she withdrew her hand the pain had been blinding and afterward Thranduil wished the arrow had struck his heart. It would have been an easier torment, surely, with a swifter end.
As the minutes passed, his senses calmed, and the agony of loss receded. He raised his hand to his cheek and with great trepidation touched the ruined flesh. He felt nothing and did not know whether to laugh or weep at the lack of sensation, for within his heart hope now warred with despair. He fought them both, willing them back into the recesses of his mind where long ago they were banished. They did not retreat willingly and Thranduil feared they would no longer be so easy to restrain.
Thranduil pulled himself together in time for a hand to knock on his door. He did not have to ask who came calling, for his uncle's knock was distinctive. Túven entered a second later. Even in the dark Thranduil marked his disapproval. He went straight to the hearth, drew a light stick from the ceramic holder and held it into the fire. Unlike his aunt, Túven did not ask Thranduil's permission before lighting the lamps. After the room was illuminated, Túven came to his nephew's side and lifted the edge of the bandage to check his wound.
"How is your shoulder?"
Thranduil had to think about the question before answering. His mind had not dwelt much on the injury. "It hurts," he replied, "and itches."
"Good," said Túven. The itching signaled the wound had begun to heal. Túven had feared it would take longer due to the poison, but that fear, at least, was unwarranted. "I must change the dressing."
Túven went to gather the supplies he left the night before on Thranduil's dresser. When he returned he had his nephew shift forward in his seat so he could unwind the cloth that held his arm and the dressing in place.
"Beleth told me you spoke with Caladhel."
Thranduil sighed deeply. He should have expected Túven's disapproval, but had not had time to consider his uncle's reaction before he walked through the door.
"What were you thinking?" Túven asked.
It was a simple question on the surface, but Thranduil found it difficult to answer. He had been thinking many things in the hours between when the arrow first struck him and the moment Caladhel arrived at his door. The sum of them amounted to one thing.
"I am tired."
Túven began applying a healing salve to the wound on Thranduil's back. "When I am done with the wrap you can rest."
"No," Thranduil corrected him. "I was thinking I am tired."
"Tired how?"
"I do not know."
"You do know," Túven replied. "Tell me."
There was a slight shift in Túven's tone at the last, barely perceptible, but clear enough to Thranduil. Oropher had altered his voice in a similar fashion to distinguish the king's command from the father's. The difference was not quite as subtle with Túven, for it was easier to discern his counselor's request from his uncle's command.
Thranduil was not eager to deal with his uncle so soon after his conversation with Caladhel and briefly considered dismissing his counselor's request. Were it not for the well of concern reflected in Túven's eyes when he met them, Thranduil would have done just that, but in the end he chose to answer.
"I am tired of hiding," he said, "tired of the illusion of being whole. This is what I am. I only pretend to be otherwise. And by denying the injury to my body I have allowed it to claim part of my soul."
Túven shook his head. "They are only scars."
"Our bodies and souls are bound closer than those of mortals. You taught me that."
Thranduil's statement brought that particular lesson to the fore of Túven's mind. He silently cursed the long forgotten memory; one his nephew had clearly not lost to time. Thranduil had been so young and wanted to know more about the race of men. Túven took much effort to explain the differences between their peoples. The strength and nature of their bodies and souls had been a significant part of that lesson.
"I have spent so long denying what I am," Thranduil said.
Túven looked down at his nephew curiously as he secured the bandage. When he was done he stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. "And what is that, exactly?"
What, indeed? Thranduil knew the answer. It called out to him from the shadows of his mind and the darkest depths of his soul. It was given form in his cruel and violent actions since Caladhel arrived at his door.
"I am a monster."
Túven dismissed this conclusion with a huff. "You are being dramatic."
"Am I?" Thranduil asked. He leaned back again in his seat. Looking up, he sought his uncle's eyes and held them. "I hurt her, Túven."
"You saved her life."
Thranduil knew in Túven's mind saving Caladhel balanced the scales, or perhaps even tipped them in his favor. Thranduil did not agree, for whatever sacrifice he made in that moment could not erase all that came before.
"I might have saved her, but only after I hurt her. After I locked her in the dark. When she thought it wiser to flee on her own rather than remain in these halls at my mercy."
"There was nothing wise about her actions," Túven grumbled.
Thranduil was not surprised by Túven's bitterness towards Caladhel, though he, himself, no longer held her at fault. As for wisdom, Thranduil thought to remind Túven of their first conversation about the Lórien lady. "Caladhel is no simpering fool. Those were your words, Uncle."
Túven did not care to have his counsel thrown back in his face, and as he saw it, out of context. "I was not implying that she is wiser than you or I."
"Maybe she is," said Thranduil. His mind returned to Caladhel's insult the night he marked her face. The accusation haunted him, not for its rudeness, but for the weight of truth behind it. "The night of the banquet she said I was less of a king than Isildur."
"And you would heed those hollow words?"
Thranduil dropped his gaze and turned it back to the fire. "She sees me for what I am," he replied. "The illusion could not hide the truth from her. She saw through the mask."
Was that not why he invited her in? Because hiding what he was no longer mattered.
Túven laid a firm but gentle hand on his nephew's shoulder. "Look at me," he commanded, and he waited until he held Thranduil's gaze before he spoke again. "Your people love you. Your warriors trust in your command. You are a great king, like your father before you. Do not allow one elleth's words to cause you doubt."
Túven's praise did little to soothe him. In fact, his uncle's trust and faith in him had the opposite effect, for Thranduil did not wish to be found a disappointment. "I have doubted since the day you handed me my father's crown. Her words did nothing more than remind me of that fact." Thranduil took a deep breath before continuing. "My actions put the safety of our whole kingdom at risk. If Taurhîn had abandoned us, where would we be? How much trust would our people have had in me then?"
Thranduil noted the angry set of Túven's jaw when he spoke of the Lord of the Forest, but he knew that anger was directed at Caladhel. She did not deserve it.
"Caladhel told me she came only to deliver the news of her cousin's marriage and to judge our reactions to it." There was a long pause wherein he reached out his scarred hand and clasped his uncle's arm. "I believe her."
Túven was not convinced. "What makes you so sure?"
Thranduil found he could not answer his uncle's question honestly. Not because he lacked an answer, but because he did not feel comfortable speaking of Caladhel further knowing how much his uncle distrusted her.
"Have you ever just known something?" he asked in lieu of an answer.
Túven saw in his nephew's eyes that he would be getting no further response to his query. "You should rest," he replied. "Beleth will bring you dinner later."
Thranduil nodded. His uncle gathered together the soiled bandages and left him alone again with his thoughts. And as his mind replayed his conversation with Caladhel, his hand would now and then come to rest upon his cheek.
Beleth brought Thranduil his evening meal a few hours later. She cut it into pieces as before and this time he ate without protest. She was glad of the change, for she feared he would be more withdrawn than before his conversations with Caladhel and his uncle. He was not in as terrible a state as she feared, but nor did she mark his mood any better, only somewhat different than before. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she changed the sheets on his bed and placed a stack of cleaned linens in his bureau drawers. She noted that Thranduil raised his hand to his cheek more than once while she attended to chores. His fingers would reach out slowly to alight on the exposed muscles. A haunted expression would flicker across his face before his hand fell away.
After returning from his conversation with Thranduil, Túven instructed his wife to keep the lamps in their nephew's room lit. He did not tell her what they spoke of, nor did she ask. She did, however, agree to his instruction about the lamps and she checked each one now, ensuring they had enough oil for the remainder of the evening. When she was done, Beleth returned her attention to Thranduil to find his hand once again touching his face.
"Tell me what you are thinking," she said.
Thranduil dropped his hand back to the armrest. His absentminded action had betrayed him, for Beleth knew he hated to touch his scarred flesh. He could see concern in her eyes but hesitated to share his most recent musings even with his aunt.
"You do not care much for my thoughts of late."
"That is true," Beleth conceded, "but you are my brother's son and I love you. How am I to help direct your course if I know not which direction you are turning?"
Thranduil was heartened by his aunt's concern and the surety that she had the power to bend his will. He had wished his aunt less power over him when they first argued about Caladhel. He found it ironic that now he prayed for Beleth's strength to guide him.
For hours now Thranduil could not stop thinking of Caladhel's hand. The memory was so intense that he thought it might drive him mad. In an effort to avoid that outcome, he forced his mind to focus on something else, anything else. His efforts did not have their desired effect, for his mind, troubled as it was, was drawn to darker places and he soon found his thoughts trapped by those shadows instead.
"I think of Eöl," he said at last.
"Eöl?" Beleth had not heard that name spoken for an age. "Why?"
"I wonder if it was only enchantments he used to ensnare Aredhel."
Here the cause of Thranduil's musings became clearer to Beleth, for Eöl, too, had once held a Noldorin lady captive. But something in the tone and phrasing of her nephew's words made Beleth uneasy. The question of Eöl's deceptive conquest of Aredhel did not worry her, what caused Thranduil's curiosity did.
"What else do you imagine?" Beleth asked, though she was not certain she wished to hear his answer.
Thranduil had imagined quite a bit, too much, in fact, most of which he would not dare to speak. One thought above all refused to leave him, for it was echoed by a more recent memory.
'You cannot keep her locked in the dark!'
'Can't I?'
Thranduil shuddered at the memory of their argument and the surety that he would have left Caladhel in darkness had Beleth not intervened. "Maybe he kept her locked in the dark so long that she finally gave in."
Beleth's jaw fell open a small measure, shocked as she was by her nephew's dark musings.
Thranduil had no need to guess at his aunt's reaction for the horror of it was written on her face. "I warned you would not want to hear my thoughts."
"They are dark, indeed."
"Like the Shadow upon me."
"You are not cursed!" Beleth said with as much authority as she could muster.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "I am not."
Beleth came to Thranduil's chair and dropped to one knee beside him. She reached out to his free hand and wrapped both of hers around it tightly. "Why do you dwell on such ugly thoughts?"
Thranduil was a long time in replying, but at last he shared with her the memory that haunted him. "She touched my cheek, what remains of it."
When he failed to continue after a minute, Beleth pressed. "And?"
Thranduil drew his hand from Beleth's and hesitantly pressed the tips of his fingers against the bare muscles of his face. His fingers once again registered the strange sensation of his ruined flesh, but the scars themselves were, as ever, without feeling.
"And I could feel it, the touch of her hand, the warmth of her skin. It drove the numbness away, like the dragon had never been. It only lasted while her hand lingered, and when she drew away I felt nothing again."
Thranduil dropped his hand from his face. "I was mistaken. I am the real threat to my kingdom, not Caladhel. I should release her."
Beleth had waited weeks for Thranduil to come to this conclusion. She was glad he finally conceded, though she wished the process had been less painful for him. "It is a wise and brave king who can admit his mistakes."
Thranduil reached out his hand to his aunt's again. He held it fast, but did not meet her eyes. "I know what I should do," he said, "and yet I find now, more than before, that I do not wish to set her free."
Beleth was disturbed by this new revelation, and in light of their earlier conversation regarding Eöl, feared to ask why. She did so anyway for Thranduil's sake.
"Why would you hold her here now?"
He closed his eyes against the answer and the aching of his heart caused the lines of his face to twist in pain. "I want to feel whole again."
Beleth drew Thranduil's hand to her heart and held it fast. His eyes opened and when he looked at her she saw despair. She could not leave him to drown in it, but did not know what to say to draw him from the depths. All Beleth could tell him was what she knew to be true.
"I do not know what power touched you when she set her hand upon your cheek, but I do know that warmth is not something you can take from another. It is something one must choose to give."
Thranduil knew his aunt was right. It was that simple truth that turned his thoughts to brooding. "I know. That is why I think of Eöl."
A/N: For those of you not familiar with Eöl/Aredhel's tale, it's one the most disturbing stories Tolkien ever wrote. In his original version, Eöl finds Princess Aredhel lost in his forest and rapes her: "he took her to wife by force: a very wicked deed in the eyes of the Eldar." Later, Tolkien decided that elves can't/won't/don't rape. Therefore, he changed the structure of the story to make it much more ambiguous and not a simple physical violation. In this version, Eöl used enchantments to get Aredhel lost in the forest and to trap her there where he then swoops in, rescues her and then 'takes her to wife.' Again, ambiguous in this context given the verb choice and that he uses magic and deception to trap and enthrall her in the first place. In regards to their marriage, Tolkien added the comment, 'It is not said that Aredhel was wholly unwilling,' which is a fabulously elegant description of dubious consent. After they are married, Eöl proceeds to tell Aredhel that she can never walk in the sun, never leave his forest, and never see or communicate with her family or any Noldor ever again. They have a son, Maeglin, and when he grows up she and her son eventually run away back to her family. Eöl hunts them down and arrives in the hidden city of Gondolin. Aredhel's brother tells Eöl that he and his son cannot leave the hidden city. Eöl, enraged, tries to kill his son with a poisoned javelin and hits Aredhel instead when she jumps in its path to protect Maeglin. Eöl doesn't tell anyone the weapon is poisoned and Aredhel dies that night. Eöl is thrown to his death from the walls of Gondolin as punishment.
If you like literary criticism, there is a fabulous essay by Dr. Lynn Whitaker published in the journal Mythlore titled "Corrupting beauty: rape narrative in The Silmarillion." It's an analysis of the stories of Aredhel and Lúthien as mythic mode/archtypal rape narratives. You can read it for free on the website thefreelibrary, but it is not a light read.
