Chapter Eight
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SUMMARY: Daeron and Turamarth enjoy an early-morning workout, before he reports for his part-time duties at the Healing House. As he makes his way there, he does a little reminiscing, and we learn more details of Thranduil and Bard's first meeting on the Forest River, and witness their encounter when they meet again in the ruins of Dale.
His day has some unexpected surprises, but the summons he receives at the end of the day is the biggest one of all.
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"The way he looked at you. I got it then. He loved you, and it was killing him. He won't get over you… he can't."
― Cassandra Clare, City of Glass
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City of Dale, 18th of July 2942 T.A.
Daeron woke up early, and enjoyed a vigorous sparring session Turamarth before he began his shift that day.
The cousins had chosen to share an apartment in Dale, close to the Castle. As Officers, they were not required to live in the barracks, and as they were both assigned to guard the King Bard and his family, it made sense for them to live nearer to the Castle. Today, Turamarth would be at King Bard's disposal, while Daeron headed to the House of Healing to see patients.
As Daeron said farewell to Turamarth, he walked the several blocks to the large three-storied building in the center of Dale. This location was evidence of Lord Bard's commitment to serve all his subjects – he had heard the Master of Laketown had only catered to the wealthy or high-born, and left the rest to fend for themselves. This building was closer to both the Market Square, and the neighborhood where Bard housed its elderly citizens, so they did not have far to travel.
On a personal level, he was grateful to work in an entirely new building. The site of the old Healing House had been razed completely, and replaced with the new Army barracks. Memories were painful enough; he didn't want to step in the same halls and have them brought to life again.
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~o0o~
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In 2770 T.A., just three years after Sellwen's death, Daeron was still recovering and under the care of his family, when the Elves of the Woodland Realm heard a terrible roar, and dread filled their hearts as they looked up and saw a Dragon flying Eastward.
The next day a pale, shaken Elvenking summoned him and Turamarth to his study.
"Sit down, Lieutenants. There is news we need to discuss."
"Is it about the Dragon, My Lord?"
"Yes." Thranduil closed the adjoining door to Galion's office and sat behind his desk. "Daeron, I did not want you to hear this from anyone else. Your cousin is here, not as a fellow Guardian, but as a friend."
His heart began to pound. "What has happened, My Lord?"
"Erebor has been sacked, and many are dead, but," he paused, "Dale has also been destroyed."
"Completely?" The room began to sway, and he could barely feel Turamarth's hand on his arm.
"My preliminary reports say it has, and that the entire Royal Family has been killed." 1
Daeron's heart clenched. "Lord Girion... All of them?"
"I believe so. Commander Feren is preparing a caravan to aid the refugees. We leave in four hours."
"My Lord, I want –" Daeron began.
"No, Lieutenant; you will stay."
"But I want to help, Sire!"
"Your inclinations are admirable, but you are not on the Army's active list. I have spoken to Ermon at great length and he feels it would jeopardize your recovery. I am taking Ermon and his wife, your mother, to supervise the feeding of the survivors, as well as Turamarth and his parents. You will be in charge of the Infirmary while I am gone, and your father will take over Feren's duties."
Daeron's head swam as he tried to grasp this new reality. All his friends... the Master of the Healing House... Wynne... So many...
"I am truly sorry for your loss, Daeron," Thranduil leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk. "But my word is final on this matter."
"I understand, Sire." And he did. He knew he wasn't ready to see Dale on it's best day yet, and the idea of seeing the beautiful City of Bells in ashes, was beyond his comprehension. "I will do my best."
"I know you will. Dismissed."
Eventually, Daeron was strong enough to return to the life of a soldier of the Woodland Realm, and for the next one-hundred-and-sixty years threw himself into protecting the forest from Orcs and the ever-increasing spider population. Last fall, he was in the forest with his Guardian Unit, when Legolas and Tauriel captured the Dwarves, and brought them before his King. He saw the dread on Lord Thranduil's face, when he recognized Thorin Oakenshield, and knew he feared the Dragon's wrath, as they all did. On Thranduil's order he helped throw them in the dungeons, and they all hoped it would prevent needless deaths.
He had been on duty with Turamarth at the Main Doors, when Lord Thranduil ordered the Kingdom to be shut, allowing no one to enter, and no one to leave. It had been Turamarth, who reported to the Prince that Tauriel had left. After Thranduil gave his son leave to find her, he watched his Prince leave across the bridge.
When reports announced Laketown's destruction, and Smaug's death, King Thranduil ordered the entire Army to gather supplies and move out, the Lieutenant was once again summoned to his King's study.
"You are to accompany your unit to Dale, and will be working with Ermon and Elénaril in the Healing Tent, treating the refugees."
"I have not done this work for over a century and a half, My Lord."
"It will come back to you. No one in my realm has more experience in treating the Edain - not even Ermon. You are needed, Lieutenant." Thranduil sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. His tone was kinder, yet still firm. "Daeron, I know returning to Dale will be difficult, but I believe it is time to face your past. You need to get back to what you were born to do; any less would dishonor the gifts you were blessed with."
Daeron lowered his head, and said, "If my King wishes this, then of course I will do as he commands." His throat tightened, and he swallowed.
"Daeron, I think if you did not go, you would regret it. Every reported death in the Healing Tents would haunt you, because you would wonder if you could have saved them, had you been there. These victims have lost their homes and loved ones, and have nothing. We must help them."
Daeron understood the wisdom of Thranduil's words, but his stomach roiled at the thought of those ruins. But he was a Guardian of the Woodland Realm. He straightened his shoulders and put his faith in his liege, like he always had.
When they made the journey through the Forest, and first arrived in Dale, he recognized the one they called Bard right away, for he had seen him seven years earlier on the Forest River, when the man was interviewed for the job as Bargeman to the Elvenking.
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It was late June in the year 2935 T.A., Daeron watched the boat approach the dock, and observed the black-haired Man expertly secure the fastenings and approach the tent which had been set up with a table and chairs for the short meeting.
"Û!" Daeron gasped loudly, before he could stop himself. This man was of the line of Kings of Dale, resembled Girion so closely, for a split second he thought he was the King himself!
Bard of Laketown stopped when he saw the Elven Guard staring at him with his eyes wide.
"I'm here to see Lord Thranduil," he said, in a slightly bemused tone.
Even his voice was like Girion's! Instantly, Daeron was flooded with memories of the night when the late King of Dale helped him accept his loss, and the days following, when the King visited him in his room to offer what comfort he could.
"Is something wrong?" the Bargeman asked warily.
He cleared his throat and shook himself. "My apologies," and lifted the flap to the tent, ushered him inside and announced. "Bard of Laketown to see you, My Lord."
He felt a little bit better, when he saw Lord Thranduil react similarly, yet the King quickly brought himself under control.
"My Lord Thranduil," Bard bowed politely.
"Please; have a seat," the Elvenking gestured to the chair opposite him and poured him some wine.
As Bard settled in, Daeron had a chance to observe him more closely. There was no question he had the look of Girion, but he was taller, and his eyes were greener. His nose was smaller, his beard was thinner, and he was leaner in the waist and hips. Bard's face had lines on his brow and in the corners of his eyes, from days spent in the sun on the Long Lake, and probably from the relentless grind of poverty that plagued so many in the town on the Lake.
But it was more than worry. Bard the Bargeman had an aura of deep sadness about him.
Once the formal pleasantries were exchanged, Thranduil began the interview. "Your letters of reference speak highly of you, Bard, son of Brand." The Elvenking Picked up another piece of paper. "I also have a letter here from the Master of Laketown, requesting me to not only decline your employment, but to hire a nephew of his, instead."
The man went pale, and looked down at his lap in defeat. "I… am not a favorite of the Master, My Lord."
"That much is obvious." Thranduil set the letter aside, and folded his hands. "I have also made my own discreet enquiries about you, and my reports state everyone not in authority respects you, as they did your father."
Bard did not meet his eyes. "That is kind of them to say. I will not lie, I am often brought before the Master, as he feels I am encouraging sedition among my people."
"He considers you a," his gaze fell to the letter again, "'a rabble-rousing agitator that causes discord in our otherwise peaceful city.'" He looked at the Man. "Is this true?"
This time Bard sat up straight. "If 'rabble-rousing' includes bringing food and medicine to poor and hungry people who would otherwise go without, then yes, I am guilty, and proudly so, My Lord. I do not smuggle for personal gain; I do it because my people are starving, and I will not stand by and let that happen, if I can prevent it."
Thranduil tilted his head. "How do I know you will not 'smuggle' some of my wine, into the city? I have no desire to have a thief working for me."
"I would never, My Lord and you have my solemn word, on my father's grave. I might be a 'thief' as you say, but I am honest one. If I say I will not, then I won't."
As the King and the Bargeman regarded each other, Daeron noticed Bard's countenance change then, and saw the shadows of all the Kings in his family line, and he was impressed. Thranduil was giving away nothing of his inner thoughts, but the Guard knew that his King saw this, too.
"You have a family, do you not?"
"I do, My Lord."
"Tell me about them."
"My oldest, Sigrid is nine, and I have a son, Bain, who is seven, and my youngest, Tilda, will be a year old in September."
"And you are the sole support of your family?"
"I am. I am a fisherman, as was my father before me, but since the taxes have been raised again, it is simply not enough to keep food on the table. I have friends who help me, but..."
"I have been told your wife died in childbirth with your youngest."
Bard looked down and swallowed, but gave a slight nod of his head.
"I offer you my condolences. Your wife was a teacher, was she not?"
"She was, My Lord." Bard swallowed again, and ran his hand over his face as his eyes filled with tears. "Forgive me. It is…"
"…still a fresh wound. I understand, and again, I am sorry for your loss. I… wish words could be more helpful, Bargeman. Here," Thranduil refilled his drink and handed it to him. "I think this is a good occasion to use this for medicinal purposes, do you not think?"
"Thank you." Bard nodded and took a long drink.
"You have the job, Bard of Laketown, but I do not want you to think I do it out of pity. I am impressed by the letters of our friends, and from my own sources, and that tells me I can trust you. You need not worry about consequences from the Master. Most of his wealth comes from me, so he will not dare question my decision – especially if I express my displeasure should these shipments be 'interrupted' for any reason."
"Thank you very much, Lord Thranduil."
Bard was grateful and relieved, but nothing changed the stoop of his shoulders and the dull look in his eyes. Both Thranduil and Daeron knew that nothing would – not for a long time.
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Six-and-a-half years later (3rd of November, 2941, T.A.), after the Bargeman killed Smaug, and brought his people to Dale, the ground troops of Army of the Woodland Realm had silently entered the ruins while the refugees slept. Daeron was riding beside Turamarth, as their Guardian unit escorted King Thranduil and the caravan of supplies into the center of Dale.
He wasn't at all surprised to see Bard had been appointed leader of this group, when he walked over to his King who was astride his Elk, Baera-Maethor. It was the first time they had seen each other since that day on the Forest River, and he couldn't help but notice Thranduil's eyes widen as he and Bargeman look upon each other once more. Feren, noticed it, too. The King looked like he had been struck by the Ehtë Raumo, the powerful feeling he himself had when he first encountered the fëa of little Sellwen.
"My Lord Thranduil," the Man had said. "We did not look to see you here."
It was interesting to watch Thranduil shake himself from his reverie to say, "I heard you needed aide." And with a lift of his chin, gave the signal.
In came wagon after wagon of food, blankets and medicine, and the relieved cries of the Laketown people could be heard as they rushed forward. The Elves were firm but kind, as they urged restraint and began to organize the distribution of the contents of the wagon. Thranduil had also ordered the ground troops to begin to pitch tents to see to the needs of these people.
"You have saved us," Bard looked up at the Elvenking and their eyes met again. "I do not know how to thank you," he said.
The flustered look on Thranduil's face only lasted a second, but Daeron saw it, as did Commander Feren. He resumed his calm, controlled countenance.
"Your gratitude is misplaced. I have come to reclaim something of mine." Those closest to the King knew the harsh tone of his words were borne of discomfiture, not hostility. The subsequent debate over the reasons for going to war ended with Thranduil giving him a horse to ride to Erebor and treat with Thorin.
"That Dwarf will not yield," Feren commented, as they watched the Man ride away.
"No." Thranduil shrugged. "But Bard needs to see that for himself. More important, his people need to see him try. It will encourage their loyalty."
"I am surprised at your patience with him."
"He is entitled to some patience, Feren. The man is of the line of Girion, and is their King, though he does not realize it, yet."
"Is this the reason you loaned him Fînlossen?" Feren smirked. "Your favorite horse?"
At Thranduil's withering look, Feren smirked and turned his horse around. "If you will excuse me, My Lord, I am off check on the progress of the camps."
"Commander."
When Feren looked back, the Elvenking ordered. "Have my black stallion brought from the Palace. Bard will keep Fînlossen."
"Very generous of you, My Lord." The Commander was gone before the Elvenking had a chance to reply.
Thranduil turned toward Daeron, who was pretending not to hear the conversation. "Report to Ermon at once and help get the Healing Tent ready to receive patients."
"Yes, My Lord." Daeron immediately turned Aegis and left. Whatever was going on between his King and the leader of Dale was irrelevant. These people were in dire need of help and he was determined to overcome his anxiety and do his job.
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It all came back to him. The anxiety was gone after a few minutes, replaced with compassion and skill, as he was working alongside Ermon and Elénaril to treat the worst cases, as the assistants and several of the Laketown folks treated the minor injuries.
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Three days after their arrival, he came upon a young, brown-haired girl, heavy with child, as she tried to manage two buckets of water as she winced in pain.
And he put his hand on her wrist to help her, and he felt the Ehtë Raumo.
Again. It fascinated him, and excited him, but most of all, it terrified him.
Months had passed since that time. Winter had come and gone, it felt like a miracle to be once again living in his favorite City and doing the work he loved.
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~o0o~
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Enough reminiscing, he told himself. It was time to get to work. There were mostly minor injuries and joint strains, from the busy work of the folks of Dale. Children came in with cuts and scrapes from navigating the winding cobbled streets, or playing in the parks. A few illnesses were diagnosed, and medicines were dispensed to worried parents, and sent on their way.
He had just finished bandaging a little boy's finger when he heard a young voice call, "Daeron! Where's Daeron? They said he was here!"
He patted the child's head and followed him and his mother out to the waiting area. "I am here; what is it?"
"Hannah told me to get you and come quick! My Mam is having her baby!"
"Just a moment," Daeron quickly grabbed his bag and bundle of clean instruments and left with her.
"Why can you mother not come here?" He asked the girl as they marched through the city.
"Hannah says it's happening too fast, and… something's wrong." She began to cry.
"What is your name, child?"
"Rose."
"We must be brave, Rose," He tucked the bundle underneath his other arm and took her hand. "Now, show me how fast can you run!"
The pair raced through the streets and did not slow until they reached the back bedroom of the house, where a woman lying in her bed was writhing in agony. Hannah was sponging off her forehead with worry in her eyes.
"Rose?" He turned to the girl, who looked to be no more than ten. "Where is your father, child?"
"He died in the fires, sir."
Ai! So many widows! The woman must have gotten pregnant right before the Dragon destroyed Laketown. "Do you have grandparents?"
"They live three blocks over."
Hannah looked up. "Rosie, go to their house and stay, do you hear? We'll send someone to fetch you, love."
"But Mam –"
"It'll be fine, love. Get you to your Grammy's, now." The Midwife smiled at the girl. "Go on."
After the girl was gone, Hannah quickly explained. "Things, are moving pretty fast, and I think the baby's turned wrong." In a louder voice, she smiled. "Shelagh, this is my friend Daeron, and he's going to help me look after you."
"It's too fast!" Shelagh wailed, before another contraction hit. "Why is it coming so fast?"
"Your baby is anxious to see its Mam, that's all." Hannah soothed her. "Just let Daeron have a look-see, and we're going to make sure you're both all right."
Daeron stroked her brow. "Can you lie still, breathe deeply, and we shall see why your baby does not want to behave for us."
"I'll...try."
He closed his eyes and concentrated. There child was breech.
Hello, little one; we need you to move your head down for us…
The baby tried to move for him, but there was no room.
Because of her sister.
So, that was it. He took his hands off. "Did you know there were twins?"
"Twins? TWINS?" Shelagh wailed.
"I can't believe it!" Hannah was shocked. "Why didn't I feel them?"
"Is there something wrong? What's wrong?" Shelagh's eyes were filling.
"Please do not worry." He smiled down at the mother. "Their heartbeats are strong, and they appear healthy. We will need to sort them out and help bring them to the light."
"They had me fooled." Hannah held the woman's hand as she worked through a powerful contraction. Then she checked the woman's cervix. "She's ready to push now. My Lands, they're eager to see their Mam! Come on, Daeron; looks like we're a team again - get up there and do your stuff!"
Daeron crawled behind the woman, and held her just as he had Rhian, when Darryn was born. "We will deliver the head-down child first." He explained. "Shelagh, I need to twist her bit to get the cord out of the way, and force her to let go of her sister, and when your first little girl is born, we are going to turn the other around, and get her ready."
The woman stopped her panting and looked up at him. "Girls?"
"Two little girls. I hope you have two names you like, because they will join us soon. Come; let us begin."
After some careful maneuvering and readjustments, both babies were screaming and squalling bundles in their mother's arms.
"Congratulations, Mistress. Your girls are identical twins, so I suggest you tie a ribbon on one of their ankles to tell them apart."
"Here." Hannah took the ribbon from her hair and tied it around one of the baby's feet. "There you go!" She grinned at Daeron. "They were 'sharing,' weren't they?" Hannah laughed, as she gathered up the sheets. "No wonder they fooled me!"
"I don't understand." Shelagh was tired, but curious.
"Few identical twins share the same birth sac," Daeron explained, "but when they do, things can get in a tangle, and cause complications. Yours were embracing one another, and did not want to let go." He smiled down and stroked the cheek of one of the babies, who had fallen asleep. "All is well now, so be at ease, and enjoy your little surprise."
"Your Mam and Da will be over the moon, love." Hannah got up. "Can you stay with her, while I go get them?"
"I will do that, on my way back to the Healing House." He stood and smiled at the woman. "Hannah will take things from here. Get your rest; if these babes were full of trouble before they were born, I can only imagine what they will be like, now!"
"Thanks for your help Daeron." Hannah said. "You saved the day."
"You are most welcome, Mistress. Cuio vae."
As it turned out, there was no need to find Shelagh's parents. When he left the bedroom and went to the living area, there was Rose, holding the hand of a grey-haired woman and they both looked worried.
"I'm sorry, sir, but we couldn't wait," the girl explained. "Grammy wanted to be here."
"I understand."
"Is our girl all right?" the Grandmother stood up. "Rosie said something was wrong, and I had to come!"
"All is well. Mistress Shelagh is ready for visitors, and," he squatted down to smile at Rose, "your Mam has a surprise."
"Is it a sister or a brother?"
He smiled and stood up. "I think I shall let you see for yourself."
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That afternoon, Daeron was finishing up with an elderly gentleman, who was suffering from joint pain, when he saw Ellyn's children come in, along with Anna, who was carrying baby Owena.
"Hello, Maddox." He smiled down at the boy.
"Hi, Daeron! We sleepted at Anna's house!"
"It sounds quite an adventure. Let me take a look at your foot, and make sure it is better." He sat the boy on a chair in the waiting area, stooped down and moved his ankle around. "Does this hurt?"
"Nuh uh." Mad shook his head. "You fixted it."
"Excellent… He looked under the bandage on his knee. "Healing nicely. That is good, too."
He stood up. "I wish all my patients were as easy as you." Daeron turned to Bowen. "How are you today?"
The boy looked down at the floor. "Fine."
Anna put her arm around his shoulders. "Bowen's a bit tired, today, aren't you love?"
"I think about Mam. She's going to get better, right?" Bowen's face begged for good news.
"I wish I could tell you what you want to hear, but I simply do not know; they have not finished testing yet. I can tell you this: Ermon and his wife, Elénaril are much better Healers than I could hope to be, and if anyone can help your Mam, they can."
Bowen swallowed, and nodded.
"Have you been eating,
"I'm not hungry. Anna's a good cook, but…my stomach is upset a lot."
"I understand. Could you take your brother and sister back to see your mother? I need to speak to Anna for a moment." The woman handed the baby to him, and they went through the double doors to the residence Hall.
"He can't eat?" The Elf asked worriedly.
"He's not joking when he says he doesn't sleep either. I can hear him walk the floor. Last night, he was looking out the window and praying. He said he was talking to his Da, and I didn't have to heart to make him stop."
"Come with me." He instructed, then brought her to the dispensary, and handed her a couple of small vials. This is oil of peppermint. Give him this right after meals; that should help settle his stomach. If it doesn't work, we'll try a fennel tea or ginger. This," he held up the second jar. "will help him relax and ease his anxiety so he should sleep. Brew this in a cup of sweet tea and give it to him at night. And if these children need anything, do not hesitate to bring them."
"Thank you." Anna sighed, and looked at him. "It doesn't look good, does it?"
He shrugged. "She is their patient, and will give no answers until they have them. It is better that way, in the long run. In the meantime, I only work here part-time, but will help you with the children, when I can. Has Hannah been in touch, yet?"
"She's been a big help with the baby, and we'll get her straightened around." Anna took the items, but before she left to join the others, she said, thoughtfully. "I want you to know that should things take a turn… My Daffyd and I told Ellyn we'll take them and love them like our own. We already do."
"I think you have given her a great deal of comfort, good lady." Daeron took her hand and kissed it. "She will find peace in your words."
The woman sighed and stood straighter. "Aye. No one deserves it more."
After their visit, the family came back out to say goodbye. "Mam says she'll know tomorrow when she can come home!" Mad said.
"If that's when Ermon says, then you know it is true. Are you being good for Mistress Anna?"
"Aye! I help Daffyd brushted the horses, and Powell let me sit on one!"
"Powell?"
"My son," Anna explained. "He's nineteen, and works for his Da."
"Is he pleased with your visitors?" Daeron asked.
"Oh, aye. He's known these three since they were wee babinods. Like cousins to him, really." Anna looked at the boys thoughtfully. "He's helping us keep them busy."
"The best medicine. The children are blessed to have you and your husband." Daeron smiled. "I have no doubt they get plenty of those."
He walked them to the door and waved them off, just as a messenger from the Castle approached.
"Lieutenant," he saluted.
"Private." Daeron returned the gesture. "What can I do for you?"
"I have a message from King Thranduil, sir. He wishes to see you in his office tomorrow morning."
"Thank you. Please tell the King I will be there."
"Yes, sir."
After the Private left, Daeron did his best not to worry. What could this be about?
Had he done something wrong?
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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Û! - It cannot be!
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.)
Aegis – the name of Daeron's horse, ("Protection")
Cuio vae – Farewell
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NOTES:
1 As it turned out, there was a survivor of the Royal Family: Girion's daughter-in-law and baby grandson had been visiting relatives in nearby Esgaroth when Smaug came, and there she would remain with her relatives and care for the tiny King. For his own safety, it had been decided that the boy would abandon all political claims, and live in anonymity. The line of Girion fell into obscurity until a certain Bargeman appeared on docks of the Forest River, to meet with the Elvenking to be interviewed for the job of delivering and collecting wine barrels.