10
Chapter Five
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SUMMARY: Daeron takes some much-needed down time and spends his day off confiding in a friend, hoping to ease his troubled mind.
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As we eavesdrop, we learn a great deal about our beloved Guard and the story of his time in Dale, serving under King Girion.
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I admit this is a long chapter, but there's no good way to split it up.
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***Trigger Warning***.
This contains domestic violence that ends in tragedy, so if this is something you are sensitive to, please, skip this chapter...
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
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"To me, you were more than just a person. You were a place where I finally felt at home."
― Denice Envall
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City of Dale; Morning, 18th of July 2942 T.A.
After the stress with Mistress Ellyn and her family, Daeron was grateful to be riding toward the forests outside the city to spend his day off with a friend.
When he reached his destination, he dismounted and adjusted the rent so Aegis could graze comfortably, then smiled and placed his hands on its trunk to greet it. "Órenya linda tye-cenien," he said, "Ma alwa nát?"
The large tree's branches sang in the breeze and it graciously lowered a limb. "Thank you, Doron. I am in need of comfort, and your listening ear today."
What troubles you? Doron asked wordlessly.
Daeron relaxed against his friend's strong trunk, and revealed his heart. "I am in love, and I do not know what to do."
Tell me about this Elf…
"She is a Woman from Dale named Rhian."
From the race of Men? Does she love you?
"No," Daeron exhaled. "and it is increasingly difficult to bear."
Oak swayed in sympathy. Yet, there is more that troubles you, my friend.
The Elf's raised his and lightly traced the rough lines of Doron's trunk. "Sellwen has been on my mind a great deal…"
Sellwen?
"She… was someone I knew a long time ago."
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In the year 2432 T.A. a Man named Garon, the youngest brother of the Prince of Dol Amroth, came to the North and established Dale. Once good relations were established with King Thranduil, Daeron visited whenever possible, delighting in the architecture and the company of the Men who settled there. He loved the sights and sounds of this bustling city, and whenever he heard the bells ring, marking the noon hour and sundown, he would stop, close his eyes and listen to their simple melody. Dale began to be known far and wide as the "City of Bells," and their song became famous.
In the year 2569 T.A., a particularly virulent flu brought Dale to its knees. King Tîrevan, "the Archer" (and Garon's third great-grandson), sent a desperate plea to the Woodland Realm, and the Elvenking sent wagons full of food and medicines and Healers, as well as several Guardian units who went door-to-door to locate and the sick, and guard the city until it could run on its own again.
Daeron worked tirelessly, eager for to learn how to the many illnesses that plagued these frail humans, and in the process, had found his calling. When Lord Thranduil summoned him regarding the King of Dale's request for an Elven Healer to remain, he jumped at the chance. Three days later Daeron had packed his things, said goodbye to his family (promising to write often), and moved to Dale.
Over time Daeron made many friends, and his medical skills increased a hundredfold as he learned all about the workings of the human bodies, and introduced sanitation protocols which drastically reduced the spread of illness and infections.
But, of course, the best part of his practice was all the babies! When he first arrived, the mothers of Dale were aghast at the idea of an Elf delivering their babies, and a male Elf at that - it simply wasn't right; this was women's business!
"Be patient," King Tîrevan encouraged him. "They'll come around."
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Word began to spread, and after a few years, Lieutenant Daeron Adamarion was the midwife of choice in the Healing Hall of Dale. When babies weren't positioned right, or the cords were knotted, he was able to urge things this way or that to get things straightened around. For a particularly painful or troublesome delivery, he quickly put a losta-luith over the mother, to ease the way. If absolutely necessary, he delivered the child through an incision in the abdomen. The Healers were shocked at the idea of this and expressed their doubts, but when mother and child were easily saved, he gained even more respect and admiration, and of course the family of the child send food and treats to him for weeks.
Still, none could prevent the occasional tragedy, and when a mother's arms remained empty, the people of Dale found sensitivity and compassion in their Elven Healer.
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Year after year, generation after generation, Lieutenant Daeron Adamarion could be seen walking to and from the Healing House at all hours of the day and night, delivering of Dale's citizens. Word of his unique skill had spread, and others came from all over to
The biggest reward for Daeron always was his relationship with the babies. He loved touching a mother's belly and feeling the child's fëa for the first time. They were almost always surprised, and sometimes frightened, but he knew how to sooth them and offer them assurance. Even before their birth, these human babies had a sense of wonder and eagerness to meet the world that always made his heart sing. These children delighted in him as well. Most of them would kick with glee during regular checkups, and by the time the babies were due to be born, they were as eager to meet him as they were their mothers, and look at him with knowing, familiar eyes.
He loved them. He loved them all…
But it all came to an end when he met the child who broke his heart.
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In the year 2767 T.A., almost two hundred years after Daeron moved to Dale, a pregnant woman, covered in bruises had been brought to the Healing Hall by a neighbor over her objections. She was pale, frightened, and covered in bruises.
"I know who you are," she said timidly. "You're that Elf that knows babies."
"I am." He smiled. "And I would like to ease your discomfort, if you would allow it. What is your name, hênig?"
"M-Miriam, sir –"
"It is a lovely name. My name is Daeron." He gently took her hand and rubbed his thumb across her palm to calm her. "Can you tell me what caused these marks, Mistress?"
"I fell down the stairs," she said warily. "It was an accident. Is my baby hurt?"
"Let me bring you some relief from the pain, and then I will tell you, yes?"
Her eyes remained lowered as she swallowed, then bobbed her chin slightly.
He eased her anxiety by explaining his actions, and as he placed his hands over her bruises and eased the swelling.
"Can you follow my finger with your eyes, please?" He moved it up and down and back and forth, and paid special attention to the swollen one. "Does your head hurt at all?"
"Not anymore. Thank you."
"That was a rather nasty set of steps you fell down, Miriam."
"Yes." Her voice was flat, emotionless. "Is my baby all right?"
"The babe is in no distress. I will thoroughly examine you shortly, but I need to step outside and get some salve for your eye, first." Daeron gave her shoulder a gentle pat. "I will be back shortly."
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After softly closing the door behind him Daeron dropped his calm façade and angrily clenched his fists. He swiftly sought out the Master Healer. "I've got a pregnant woman I suspect has been beaten by her husband."
"Aye," Master Gylim sighed through pursed lips. "I know who you're talking about, and it's not the first time. He always denies it, and the she's too cowed by that bastard to press charges." The man shook his head sadly. "I'll send for the King, regardless, and give her every chance at help, but we cannot force her; it's against the law, as hard as it is. Unless we have proof, we can't accuse him. I've seen this too many times, and believe me; if there was another way…" Th older man shook his head sadly. "Check her... everywhere, if you get my meaning."
"You mean he has…?"
"Raped her? I sure he has, but we could never prove it." He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. "Damn," he whispered. "As terrible as it sounds, I almost hope you can find something, so we can finally lock that bastard up."
They exchanged nods, and Daeron got back to his patient.
The Elf gave her a reassuring smile as he sat on the bed facing her. "Miriam, I have not seen you before this, and you are nearly six months along." He told her. "I am concerned that you have not had proper care."
"Oh, my husband says I don't need it. He tells me what to eat, and everything, and he doesn't like me being out."
"Why is that?"
"He says I'm too clumsy and I'll hurt myself."
"Miriam, I would like to do a thorough examination; will you permit this?"
He smiled. "It will not. And we might discover whether you are having a boy or a girl."
"I'd like that." She said took a couple of deep breaths and placed his hands on her belly—
His heart jolted and his body felt like he'd been struck by lightning. With a startled gasp, he removed his hands and opened his eyes in surprise.
"Is something wrong?" Miriam went white.
"I am sorry," he said absently. "Relax and close your eyes, please."
Once again, the child's fëa slammed into him, but he kept Daeron hands in place.
As it happened, he had nothing to be alarmed about; it was the opposite, in fact. What had washed over him was pure and utter joy.
The girl child turned her little heart to him, and reached out, as if she'd been looking for him, and he realized he'd been looking for her, but until this moment, he'd never knew it.
Is it you? The babe asked wordlessly. Are you the one?
Yes… his heart answered, though he couldn't begin to understand the question. It is me. I am here, and I am so happy to meet you…
Daeron was startled back to himself by Miriam's cry of anguish. "Something's wrong; I know it! You're crying!"
"Was I?" He laughed and wiped his tears on the sleeve of his tunic. "I am sorry to worry you; your daughter is healthy and perfect She is... incredibly special."
"It's a girl?"
"She is a beautiful little girl, Miriam." He kept his hand on her stomach and smiled. "I'm happy for you."
Just then there was a loud knock at the door, and Miriam looked at Daeron nervously, and shrank back.
"Miriam!" It was a man's voice. "Are you in there?"
Daeron grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. "You do not have to see him, if you do not wish to."
"I—"
But a well-dressed man burst into the room. "There you are!" he said with artificial charm. "I've been looking all over for you! Is everything all right?"
The man went over to the table and put his arm around his wife's shoulders with an iron grip, but spoke to her in cloying, honeyed tones. "Well, I'm glad to hear you went to the Healers' dear. I knew you'd hurt yourself sooner or later, you silly egg."
But all pretense faded when he turned to face Daeron. "You're an Elf." His lip curled with disdain.
"I am Daeron," he said, coolly. "I have healed your wife's injuries and was examining your unborn daughter."
"You're a man."
"A male Elf, yes."
The husband gave his wife a withering look. "You let him touch you?" He demanded, and Miriam shrank back, eyes bulging in terror. "I'm sorr-"
"How did your wife get those bruises?" Daeron stepped between them, and backed the man away from his victim.
"It was her own fault of course; she's clumsy, and trips over her feet all the time," he walked around the Elf with a saccharine smile and put his hand possessively on her shoulder. "Isn't that right, Miri?"
"She could have been killed," Daeron narrowed his eyes, "and the child - your child - could have died!"
Miriam winced, as the man's fingers dug into her flesh.
"Get your hands off of her!" The Elf shouted. "This instant!" The Elf grabbed his arm, yanked it off his patient and stared him down for several long minutes. The husband's face turned beet-red with fury, cursed him as he struggled to get away.
"What is the meaning of this?"
King Girion entered the room, accompanied by two of his guards.
"Hîr nîn," he saluted and spoke to the King in Sindarin, "I strongly suspect this man has beaten his wife."
Girion's gaze fell upon Miriam's swollen belly and froze. His dark brown eyes met the Elf's with concern. "Gwinig i Bain?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.
"Ma, Belain hanni. A de gwen pîn."
"My Lord," Miriam's husband simpered, "you'll have to excuse my wife for all this fuss. I do my best to keep her out of trouble, but you know how it is with these silly females; you turn your back for a second, and disaster strikes."
"Roald," Girion's spine went rigid. His mouth thinned and his eyes narrowed as he slowly turned toward the man. "Roald," he said, as he crossed his arms. "Why am I not surprised?" He shook his head in disgust then turned to Miriam. "Could you tell me what happened, Mistress?"
"I… fell down a flight of stairs, My Lord." Miriam was near hysterics.
The King eyes narrowed as they glanced between husband and wife. "I will speak to this woman alone."
Roald went ashen and his lips disappeared, knowing full well what the penalties were for a man who has been convicted of beating his wife. "But My Lord, I don't–"
"Out. Now. Or I will have the Guards will drag you out. Daeron, you will remain."
"Yes, My Lord."
The man made a big show of kissing his wife on the cheek. "I love you sweetheart, and I promise everything will be all right. We'll be so happy; you'll see." And looking daggers at the Elven Healer, he left.
"Dear Mistress," King Girion went over to the young mother and took her hand. "Your name is Miriam, am I right?"
The woman trembled. "Yes, My Lord."
"Please don't be frightened; I simply want to be sure you and your babe are safe and well. I don't see you much in Dale."
"I… like to stay home. And I haven't felt well since the baby."
"I understand. The Queen would often become sick when she carried our five children. Did I tell you Daeron, here, helped her deliver them all?"
"I didn't know that," Miriam looked at the Elf with wonder.
Girion grinned. "Why, just last year, he brought my first grandchild into the world."
"A find young Prince," Daeron smiled.
Girion gave Miriam a conspiratorial wink. "He even helped my mother give birth to me, if you can believe it," he smiled at the girl. "And my father before him. In fact, Daeron has presided over every birth in the Royal Family of Dale for over ten generations. What do you think of that?"
"Really?" She gasped. "But he looks so young!"
"Aye. He's much older than he looks." Girion chuckled. "How old are you, Daeron?"
"1,818 years, My Lord."
Miriam gasped. "You are joking!"
"I kid you not. So, you can trust my word that you and your babe are in excellent hands with Daeron, here." Girion waited a moment, then probed her gently. "Tell me Miriam; are you certain all is well in your home?"
She swallowed, but didn't say anything.
Girion probed further. "Is it true you fell down the stairs?"
"What?" She looked at him with wide eyes.
"I asked you a question, and I must have the truth from you."
"M-my husband is right, her eyes studied her lap, she began to shake. "I'm clumsy."
"Ah. So, you are in no danger, then?" he looked her carefully. "No one has hurt you purposely?"
"It is my fault, My Lord. It was an accident." Miriam murmured.
"Miriam," the King said kindly, but firmly, "it's a serious offense to lie to your King. Are you sure there is nothing you need to tell me?"
The poor woman grew so pale, she looked like she was going to faint. "Please!" She sobbed. "You don't understand; Roald loves me!" She began to cry. "He's my husband, and I… I love him!"
"Shhh…" Daeron sat beside her and rubbed her back.
"Miriam, I hope you can trust me or Daeron enough to tell us if you feel unsafe in any way."
"It's not his fault…" she sobbed. "I'm just…"
Girion sighed sadly and pursed his lips. All right, child. We need to make sure you suffer no further...accidents, so I'm ordering you to come to the Healing halls to see Daeron every three days, so Daeron can examine you and make sure you and your baby remain healthy."
"I don't think Roald will like that –"
"You leave Roald to me." One corner of Girion's mouth lifted upward. "Your daughter is also my subject, and her safety is my responsibility, do you understand?"
Miriam looked alarmed, but nodded.
"In the meantime, say the word, and we will make sure you have nothing to fear again. Think about it, Miriam; that's all I ask."
Girion jerked his chin toward the Elf, who followed him to the door. "Av-'osto, Mellon nîn," he said quietly. "Athapan maethyr berian Miriam a tir-hervenn."
Daeron put his hand to his heart and bowed his head. "Le fael, Hîr nîn."
"Oh, stars," Miriam murmured. "What's the King going to do? What if Roald— "
"Hush, now." Daeron massaged her hand. "It will be all right."
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Three days later, Miriam appeared, accompanied by Roald, who demanded to be present, until one of King Girion's guards conveniently appeared and put an end to the histrionics. After that, she came on her own.
Daeron genuinely liked Miriam, but if he were honest with himself, he counted the hours until he could "see" the child again. Every time he put his hands on Miriam's belly, his heart began to pound with excitement and eagerness, and when the little girl's fëa sensed him, she waved her tiny arms and legs with joy.
Why her? Why this small, unborn human child? And as soon as Daeron asked himself the question, he understood the answer. 1
And for a while, things were all right.
Until it wasn't.
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Ni veren an gi ngovaned, Tithen Pen! – I am happy to meet you, Little One!
Órenya linda tye-cenien – (Quenya) My heart sings to see you
Rista-Goel - "Terrible Severing," when the fëa of a bond-mate dies. Since Daeron and Sellwen were not joined in marriage, it wasn't potentially fatal, but agonizing nonetheless.
Suil, Gwador – Hello, my (sworn) brother
Vuin nîn – My dear
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NOTES:
1 "Marriage, save for rare ill chances or strange fates, was the natural course of life for all the Eldar. It took place in this way: Those who would afterwards become wedded might choose one another early in youth, even as children (and indeed this happened often in days of peace); but unless they desired soon to be married and were of fitting age, the betrothal awaited the judgement of the parents of either party." -J.R.R. Tolkien, Christopher Tolkien (ed.), Morgoth's Ring, "Part Three. The Later Quenta Silmarillion: (II) The Second Phase: Laws and Customs among the Eldar"