.
.
Chapter Six
.
.
Two weeks before Miram's baby was due to arrive, Daeron was at the Healing House to help a patient deliver twins. It was not an easy birth; she was a tiny woman, and her boys were good-sized. He was considering a surgical birth, but in the end, they'd managed to bring the children into the world safely.
After scrubbing and changing, Daeron walked out to the waiting area to speak with the distraught father, who looked like he was about to faint.
"Congratulations." He smiled. "You wife wants to introduce you to your new sons."
"My sons…" the man's eyes bulged, his voice thin with shock. "We have sons... I'm a father..." Daeron found himself enveloped in a tight hug. "Thank you!" he cried, then took off like a shot for his wife's room.
Daeron was still toweling off his hands, when the door burst open and three Guards ran in.
One of them was carrying Miriam.
"Ai naergon…" his heart jumped into his throat. In an instant he was across the room, examining her bloodied head. "What happened?"
"We were on the other side of the street watching the house, when he came in late. He'd been drinking, so we went to the door to listen better, and at the first bit of noise we kicked it in, but…"
"But WHAT?" Daeron screamed. "What happened?"
"He threw her over the upstairs bannister, Daeron." The Guard had tears on his face. "I tried to catch her, or at least break her fall, but... she landed on her head… I think her neck is broken. I'm so sorry."
No... Please...
"Get her in the first room!" he instructed the one holding. "You!" he addressed second Guard. "Get the King up at once!"
"We've sent for him, already."
After ordering the third Guard to get the Master, he helped lay the woman on the table.
.
"Oh, Stars..." the Master said, softly when he came in. "That dirty bastard..." The man quickly examined her head wound.
"Shh!" Daeron had to take three deep breaths, to calm down and put his hands on her belly.
The baby was fading; her tiny heart was slowing.
Help me... She wordlessly pleaded, and her fëa desperately reached out for him.
Master Gylim said in a strangled voice. "Miriam is dead."
"Make ready!" Daeron sprang into action. "If I can deliver the child now, she might live!"
"What?" the Master asked, incredulous. "You can't -"
"We have to try and save the child!" He grabbed the surgical knife and quickly made the incision in Miriam's stomach and the Master stepped to his side to retract the organs to get the baby out.
Please... hold on... I am coming...
In less than three minutes, they had her on the receiving table, and both of them frantically worked to clear her airway. He listened for her heart. Nothing. Quickly put his lips over her mouth and nose and blew two soft breaths into her lungs, then massaged her chest with two fingers, sending her everything he had; willing that organ in her chest to move of its own volition.
Please, stay… You cannot leave me now, before I have had a chance to look into your eyes...
After several minutes, he stopped and listened carefully. Nothing. He gave her two more breaths, and continued to massage her heart. And again.
A hand rested on his shoulder.
"Daeron…" the Master said gently. "My friend…
But the Elf shook his head defiantly and refused to stop.
"The child is gone, my friend."
Daeron's vision swam as hot tears fell from his eyes and landed on the tiny, still body. "It is not true! It is not! Please," he beseeched any of the Valar who would listen. "do not take her away from me…"
Two assistants silently entered the room to begin the clean up, but Daeron ordered them out and resumed his efforts.
"Come with me, son," the Master Healer urged. "You need to sit down." The grip on his arm tightened painfully, and Daeron's turned to see the worried expression on the Master's face.
"Daeron," he whispered. "You've been at this for the last hour. I'm sorry, but she's gone."
"But you do not understand; she cannot… She…" He couldn't catch his breath. "I… have to. She has to—"
.
.
.
One of the assistants, a middle-aged woman named Wynne came over and put her arm around his shoulders. "Come on, sweetheart." she said in a soothing, motherly tone. "We need to get you cleaned up and let them take care of things, yeah?"
"I must be with her," Daeron pleaded. "Could you help me?"
"Of course, I'll help you." Wynne ran her hand up and down his back. "Now, tell me what I can do to make this better for you."
"She must be cold…" He grasped at possibilities. "If we get her warm again…"
The woman and the Master exchanged wide-eyed looks. At his nod, Wynne took a soft blanket from the shelf and gently wrapped the child up. "Nice and toasty; how's that?"
"Give her to me," he nervously snatched her back. "I cannot leave her."
"Well, of course you can't, dear." She handed the little bundle to him and took him by the elbow. "Tell you what: let's take her into the other room, and we'll get you both cleaned up, then you can hold her all you like."
The kindly woman guided the dazed, distraught Elf into an empty birthing room next door, and sat him down in a rocking chair.
"I've got some warm, soapy water all ready, and we'll have you good as new in no time... You don't have to let go, see? Just give me the one arm…" Wynn spoke in soft, calming voice, and prayed it was enough to keep the poor Elf's hysteria at bay. "I just want to get this dirty tunic off you... Come on, now... Now switch her over and let me have the other hand..." She managed to get his bloody garment over his head and began to wash him carefully.
"The warm water feels good doesn't it?" Wynn said with a kind smile. "Everything's better when we're clean and dry, isn't it? Daeron?" She stroked his head. "Do you feel better, love?"
His head bobbed up and down, but never took his eyes from the small form in the blanket.
The woman managed to get him changed, without him letting go of his precious bundle, then put a basin of clean, warm water on the table beside him, along with soft soap and towels. "Do you want some help giving her a bath?"
"I will do it." Daeron's voice was thin, but when he looked up, Wynne had to bite her tongue to stifle a gasp of alarm. The once-bright, friendly pools of greenish blue were dissolving into a dull, muddy grey.
She blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. "Tell you what, sweetheart: I'll sit next to you, and hand you the things you need; you don't have to let her go, all right?"
Daeron laid the bundle on his lap, opened the blanket. With the soft, soapy cloth he gently washed every part of the tiny child. He marveled over her, and kissed her tiny fingers and toes. Daeron smiled as he traced the outlines of her mouth. "She is so beautiful... Everything about her is perfect."
"She's lovely, Daeron. Anyone can see how much you care about her."
"I love her, Wynne. I need her."
"Of course, you do." Wynn rubbed small circles between his shoulder blades. "This wee one is all could you talk about for months, and your face lit up like the sun, every time Miriam came to see you. It's wonderful, the way you looked after them."
At the sound of the woman's name, Daeron's chin lifted and met her eyes. "She is dead," he said, simply. "Roald killed her."
"Shhh..." she stroked his head. "Let's not think about that right now. You've got her nice and clean so how about giving her a new blanket, and we'll take the dirty one away. She'd like that, wouldn't she?"
He took the cloth she held out to him, and swaddled her.
"You sit and relax, Daeron," she got to her feet and leaned down to place a kiss in his auburn hair. "I'm going step outside for a minute. Can I get you something, dearie?"
"No thank you; I will call you the moment she wakes."
"You do that, sweetheart."
.
Wynne stepped into the hall, and the Master came up to her and whispered, "Miriam has been cleaned up and covered. The King will be here, once he's got Roald sorted."
"What are they going to do with him?"
"Take him to the dungeons, for now. The King is arranging an emergency Court tomorrow morning, to read the charges. We must attend to give evidence." The Master had a grim look. "King Girion will make that monster pay." He jerked his head toward the room where Daeron and the child were. "How is he?"
"The poor boy's shattered." Wynne wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. "Daeron's lost patients before this, and I've seen Mams fall apart, when their wee ones don't survive, but this... I'm frightened for him," her voice broke. "I don't understand, Gylim; what is different about this little girl?"
The Master's throat bobbed as tried to form words he didn't want to say, " If what I suspect is true, Daeron has lost a lot more than a patient, and that Elf is worse off than either of us can know."
"But he'll be all right, won't he?"
"I don't think so, Wynne." After a comforting pat on the woman's shoulder, he went out to wait for Girion.
.
.
.
As he gazed into the dimly-lit room, pain erupted in Girion's chest, stealing his breath. He'd secretly hoped Master Gylim and Wynne had been exaggerating, but the truth was unavoidable: Dale was about to lose one of best Healers it had ever known, he was about to lose a lifelong friend.
Worst of all, Daeron might be about to lose himself. The Elf was gently rocking the child in his arms, caressing her tiny head in the palm of his hand as he hummed softly.
Girion tentatively stepped further into the room. "Daeron?"
"My Lord," Daeron looked up in surprise. "Please excuse me for not getting up; she's sleeping."
"I see that." He came closer. "She's beautiful, Daeron."
"She is perfect." He smiled down at her.
"You love her."
"I do; very much." The Elf's perfect teeth glimmered in a brief smile. "My fëa knew her; is that not a miracle?"
"Really?" The King regarded the Elf with furrowed brows. "You mean..."
"Yes! Elves often encounter the one that is meant for them in childhood." He bit his lip in suppressed excitement. "She knew I was her One. She knew it!"
"It was such a wonderful surprise, when I first met her, My Lord. Elves love only once, and... she is my bond-mate." Daeron looked serenely into Girion's face. "She is my One, you see; for me there is no other."
"She is not an Elf, Daeron."
"That is why I did not understand it at first, but it happens, sometimes." Daeron laughed and shook his head. 1, 2 He hummed softly for a few seconds then stopped. "Miriam is dead, did they tell you?"
"I know. I came…" Girion paused, not quite sure how to proceed. "Wynne and the Master asked me to come, to see if I could help you."
The Elf held his gaze through lowered brows. "Thank you, but there is no need for concern," he turned back to the child, and gently stroked his finger along her cheek.. "If she stays with me, all will be well. "I have to keep her with me..."
"I know you want to," the King got down on one knee and tilted his head to meet Daeron's eyes.
"Please!" The Elf held her against his chest, his voice suddenly high and frantic. His eyes closed tightly and his head bowed, as if to ward off a terrible blow.
"Mellon nîn," the King spoke softly as he slowly lifted his hand and gently rested it on the Elf's cheek, urging his chin up again, "this child's fëa has departed this world."
"That is not true!" Daeron's chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. "When she wakes, she will open her eyes, and— "
"My dear friend," Girion swallowed, hating the words he needed to say, "I am sorrier than you can imagine, but this child is not going to wake up."
"You are mistaken. It is Miriam who was killed— "
" I wish with all my heart it wasn't true." Girion gently urged his face to look at him again. "You cannot sense her fëa, can you?"
The Elf's voice wavered. "She is just sleeping."
"Please, my friend." The King whispered softly. Just look for me."
" I... do not think I want to." Daeron whispered, child-like in his denial.
"Daeron, is her little body warm? Is she breathing? I'd like you to examine her, and tell me what you see?"
" Please... Do not ask me to do that. She has to stay..."
Girion squeezed his wrist. "I'll be right here with you, all right?"
Daeron stared at his face for several minutes, then slowly put his hand over the child's chest.
"That's it." Girion encouraged. "Now, close your eyes, and tell me what you see."
" No..." the Elf's face started to crumble. "No..."
Girion swallowed down the painful lump in his throat. "I'm so sorry," he rasped, fighting back tears, "but it's time to let her go, now."
"I cannot do that."
"Yes, you can, Daeron." The King raised a finger and silently signaled. Wynne, her chin quivering in sorrow, silently tiptoed into the room. He gently put his hands over the Elf's. "Come on... Look at me, Daeron, and we'll do this together... that's it... Keep looking at me..."
"Please, do not make me do this." Daeron begged him. "Oh, please..."
"I'll help you..." Slowly and carefully, he loosened the Elf's fingers. "I've got you, my friend, I'm right here...". His eyes didn't leave the Elf's face, as he took the child from him. Wynne reached her arms down to take her, then quietly left.
"No... No..." Daeron doubled over with a horrible, guttural cry, that began as a low moan, then increased in pitch and volume, and the agonizing keen sliced into the hearts of everyone who heard it. Everyone, be they staff member, patient, or visiting family, froze. Some murmured a prayer for the poor soul. Some hugged themselves in fear, lest that scraping wail reach their own hearts scooped out every happiness they had known. Others cried with him, for they knew recognized kind of anguish from their own lives, and grieved for anyone who was forced to join their silent company.
Girion could no longer hold back the tears as Daeron collapsed onto the floor and buried his face in the crook of his elbow. He could only hold on to his friend as the Elf suffered the Rista-Goel, sobbing and praying in rapid Sindarin, begging the Valar for it not to be true, to take his life instead.
"I'm so sorry," Girion whispered, over and over, adding his own prayers. "Oh, stars, Daeron, I'm so, so sorry."
.
The King of Dale sent an urgent message to King Thranduil, then arranged for Daeron to be brought to a guest suite near his rooms in the Castle, where the Queen and the rest of the Royal family gave him constant care.
.
.
Three days later, Daeron was seated in a dressing gown by the window, next to a tray of untouched food, when there was a knock on his door. He didn't have the heart to answer, but after a moment, he heard the knob turn, and a visitor entered.
"Suil, Gwador," a quiet, familiar voice greeted him.
Turamarth came into the room and sat down on the edge of his bed. "It is good to see you, Mellon," he said in a quiet voice.
Daeron looked at his cousin and friend with empty eyes. "You have come to take me home."
"I have."
"I am glad you came."
"I wanted to come." Tur's eyes were filled with compassion. "King Girion told me what happened.
"Does King Thranduil know?"
"He sent me to look after you. We are all worried for you."
"I lost my bond-mate, my One, before she ever took her first breath." His gaze returned to the window, as a sigh heaved through him. "How…?"
"How what, Mellon nîn?" Turamarth came to kneel by his chair.
"How can one grieve like this, yet live?" Daeron asked desperately. "How can my heart be in such pain, and yet it does not kill me? I feel like my fëa has no home anymore; I am lost and bleeding inside and I do not know what to do." He put his head in his hand and began to weep. "She was taken from me, yet I still love her with all my heart. I do not understand why this happened."
"We may never understand it," Tur's voice was soft, as he grasped Daeron's hand. "But would the knowing of it ease the pain?"
"Perhaps." Daeron swallowed, and looked out the window again. "Perhaps not." He hugged himself, as the tears continued to flow. "Thank you for coming."
His cousin wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, and said. "They hold a funeral tomorrow, for Miriam and the child."
"I would like to attend."
"We will do that together." Turamarth regarded his cousin carefully. "Lord Girion also told me of the husband's execution."
"Roald is dead?"
"Yesterday. The man paid for his abuse, that much I will tell you for now."
"Good," Daeron said, then sighed. "Nothing will bring them back, Turamarth."
"I am sorry about that, Gwador nîn. I truly am."
"King Girion asked me to give the baby a name." Rested his head against the wing of the chair and closed his eyes. "For the gravestone."
"That was nice of him. What did you choose?"
"Sellwen."
"'Daughter of Joy.' I like it." Turamarth gave him an encouraging smile and got up. "We must get you dressed, and I am going to make sure you eat a good meal, and take you for a walk outside in the fresh air and you will find some comfort from the flowers in the Queen's garden. After that I will help you sleep, and on the morrow, I will stand by your side, as you say farewell."
"Thank you," Daeron whispered, as his cousin helped him to stand. The room began to spin, but Turamarth kept a firm grip on his elbow.
"It is well, Gwador; lean on me, until you are strong once more."
.
After his return to the Woodland Realm, the Elvenking left Daeron to his family's care, but kept a close eye on his progress. His mother and father were supportive and made sure he looked after himself and ate enough. For several months, Ermon came in the evenings and administered a losta-luith to make sure he slept and to prevent dreams.
Turamarth hardly left his side, and made him go riding when he didn't feel like it, or dragged him to the archery range, put a bow in his hands, and badgered him until he started to shoot, just to shut him up. He sparred with Daeron to near exhaustion, to physically work through his grief, his rage, and his despair.
Aunt Indis took him walking through the forest or the flowering gardens, and gently encouraged him to open up and speak about the tragedy.
"You know what happened, Aunt."
She smiled and remained silent in her wise way, waiting for the words and feelings to burst forth.
Which, eventually, they did."
"It is my fault!" His fists clenched by his sides. "I could have saved her; I could have forced Miriam to leave her husband, but instead, I let her go, and sent to her death." he swallowed. "She never would say who had hurt her; she only would say she fell down some stairs, but I should have found a way to keep her from going back there."
"Were you sure it was the husband?" asked Indis.
"I could prove nothing - and she refused to say. But I knew. We all knew."
"Instincts are not evidence in a lawful court, Gwathellion. Were there any witnesses?"
"The only time anyone witnessed his violence was when Miriam's neck was broken."
"It was the woman's choice to remain, Daeron." Indis urged him toward a nearby bench and sat him down. "Lord Thranduil was given a detailed report of the incident, and holds you blameless. King Girion has expressed his deep regret for their loss, and he feels terrible for your sorrow."
"But I knew she was in danger! I could have been there."
"At the time, you were helping another mother through a dangerous birth. Can you honestly say you would walk out on that woman and her twins, knowing they could die?"
He swallowed and remained silent.
"You are not to blame, Vuin nîn. In any case, this was King Girion's judgement to make, not yours, and you do not have the power to reverse his commands. I honestly do not think Girion is to blame, either. From what I have learned, he took extraordinary measures to protect the mother and child, within the confines of the law. Sometimes, Daeron, despite all we do, terrible things happen."
"It was not Sellwen's choice to be in such danger! She was an innocent..." his throat tightened, "...I wanted to look into her eyes, to meet her." Daeron buried his face in his hands. "I am so angry, Aunt. Sometimes... I hate Miriam for not leaving that monster!"
"I was told she had no family, and this husband isolated her from any friends she had. He made her believe she had nowhere else to go." Indis lifted her arm and rested it along the back of the bench. "Let me ask you this, Daeron: do you truly think Miriam did this purposely? That she wanted to endanger her child?"
"No," he sighed.
"I think Miriam knew no better. She was young and hopeful, and only wished for what we all want: a life she could have faith in, someone who would love and protect her, and a home where she could feel safe. Sometimes a person clings to these wants too desperately, and cannot see clearly."
"I do not understand situations like that," He admitted.
"Who, of any race, can comprehend such deliberate cruelty? Even those of the race of Men hardly understand such things." Indis shook her head. "And your bond with Sellwen was powerful?"
"Yes!" He couldn't help the sob that escaped him. "Her fëa sang a song I'd never heard, yet somehow, I knew the words... It was instantaneous, a lightning strike; so powerful and wonderful, and..."
"Ah." Indis smiled knowingly. "It is the Ehtë Raumo you speak of. It was the same when your Uncle Ómar and I first met. I thought my heart had stopped..." she smiled and nudged him with her shoulder. "He fell off his horse, did he ever tell you?"
Daeron nodded, and couldn't help his small smile. "It was just like that. I know you might think it was not as real or strong because she was not an Elf, but..."
"I think no such thing." She assured him. "Had things been different, I would have supported your choice."
"Even if we had married?" Daeron 's brows lifted in surprise. "Even if I was no longer immortal?"
"It would be grievous at our separation, but want you to be happy." She gave his shoulders a squeeze, and said. "Your life still has a path, Daeron."
"What do I do? I loved her, Aunt." he swallowed hard, then whispered. "What does the Ilúvatar do with a soul of Men who was never given a chance to be born?"
"I do not know, hênig." She kissed his hair. "Someday, you may have the answer, but for now, you must grieve your loss, and try to move on."
"I am not sure how."
"l know it does not seem possible now, but there will come a day when your pain will ease, and the memory of her will bring a smile to your face. Is that not why you named her Sellwen? Now you only feel loss, but one day you will think of her and remember why you named her 'Joy.'"
"I will never be the same, again," he murmured.
"No," Indis stroked his hair and kissed his temple. "You will not. But you will go on. That is enough, for now."
.
In the 170 years since Sellwen's funeral, Aunt Indis's words became truth.
Knowing Sellwen had changed him, as all joys and tragedies do, and in time, Daeron's faith returned. He found a way to accept what could not be changed, to let go of the pain, and remember her with the peace his Aunt had promised.
Then he returned to Dale last November, and tried to help a young girl carry some water. And his soul was touched, and he was in turmoil, again.
.
.
.
A tragic tale, Oak told him with a thoughtful wave of its branches. But beautiful, too.
"It is." Daeron leaned his head against the trunk thoughtfully. "She is a part of me, and despite everything, I am glad of it."
What will happen with this woman, Rhian?
A sigh. "I wish I knew, Mellon nîn. Again, I love someone I cannot have, and I do not know what to do."
Trust in Eru Ilúvitar, my friend. Trust in Yavanna to help you.
Daeron nodded, then sat up straight, swung down the many limbs and branches, until he landed gracefully on the ground.
Farewell... The leaves rustled merrily. I am here for you; always ready to listen.
Daeron raised his hand, the trunk a friendly pat, before he turned and headed for home.
.
.
ELVEN TRANSLATIONS (Alphabetical Order):
Athapan maethyr berian Miriam a tir-hervenn. – I will assign guards to protect Miriam, and watch the husband.
Av 'osto, Mellon nîn – Don't worry, my friend.
Doron – Oak Tree
Ehtë Raumo – (Q.) Lightning Bolt (lit. "Storm Spear") Sometimes, when an Elf first encounters his or her bond-mate, they can feel a powerful, emotional response, like lightning. (It doesn't always happen – Thranduil felt it when he first saw Mírelen, but she did not return his feelings at first.)
Gwathellion - Nephew (lit. "Sister-son")
Gwinig i Bain? – Is the child healthy?
Law! Law! Law… - It's not true! It's not true! It's not true…"
losta-luith – Sleeping Spell
Ma alwa nát? – (Quenya) Are you well?
Ma, Belain hanni. A de gwen pîn. - Yes, thanks be to the Valar. It is a little girl.