Chapter Eighteen

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SUMMARY: Bard continues to learn more of the horrors that was Ina's life. He struggles mightily with it, despite Thranduil's support and encouragement. Even his family did their best to cheer him up.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Maybe.

**TRIGGER WARNING** Mentions of physical, emotional abuse, rape and incest.

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The Woodland Realm; 18th of February, 2942 T.A.

Never in a thousand years did Bard think he'd feel sorry for the woman sitting before him.

But there it was; Ina was a victim, just as Rhys had been. She still was culpable for her actions against the boy, there was no doubt about that, but there was so much more to this story than simple abuse. The real demon in this whole thing was Ioan, Ina's father. He'd started a chain reaction that still was being felt through three generations.

Sadly, Alun had been even more a victim of that vile man, though he'd no idea the extent to which that monster had damaged the man's life.

It was one thing to think of such things; it was something much different to actually hear the words, and it slammed into the brand-new King, and made him feel helpless.

Please… I don't know how to handle this… I need your help… I feel like I'm drowning, and I can't… Bard closed his eyes and prayed, as he listened to the woman retch into the waste can, from stress and fear.

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After Ina was done being sick, Thranduil sent the can away to be cleaned, and some bread and mint tea were brought to settle her stomach.

"Are you feeling a little better?" Bard asked, after she had nibbled on the bread and drank half of the tea.

She nodded her head. "I'm sorry for that, My Lord."

"Don't worry about it. Are you ready to answer more questions?"

"Yes, My Lord."

So, Bard continued the interrogation. "Do you think it was true, Ina, that your father had to 'beat the evil' out of you? Do you think it was right that he acted this way to you and your sister?"

Ina's lower lip trembled. "No."

"Do you believe that it was right that your father forced you to have sex with him?"

A tear fell, at this question. "My Lord, I stopped believing that, when I was twelve years old, but I had no choice. I didn't know anything else, until I married Alwyn."

Just saying and hearing those words out loud made Bard sick to his stomach, and he felt his skin crawl. He was glad Thranduil hadn't reached out to reassure him. He couldn't have borne it now.

"Tell me; how do you feel about your son and your grandson's abuse now?"

For the first time since Ina had been brought before him, she showed real emotion. The woman buried her face in her hands, and began to sob. "I'm… I'm a monster, too… My father turned me into a monster." Then she couldn't speak anymore.

Bard saw Thranduil hand over his handkerchief to her, and nod to Dior, who put a comforting hand on her shoulder, as she cried it out, which she did for a long, long time.

Through their bond, Bard could feel his Elf send him reassurance and love. He was grateful, because he really needed it to stay calm. Bard felt new strength flow through him, and the nausea and knots in his stomach began to settle down.

Once Ina had calmed, Thranduil asked her, "Do you still feel sick?"

"No, My Lord. It's much better." As she wiped her face.

"Could you take some wine? It will help to settle your nerves, I think."

She nodded as she dabbed her eyes.

The Elvenking got up and poured her a generous glass of wine, and gave it to her. "Small sips; it is very strong, but I think you need it."

"Thank you."

She looked completely defeated; a pale, hollow vessel. Yes, she had committed terrible crimes, but this woman had every chance at love and happiness snatched away from her, and destroyed, right before her eyes. This woman was about Hilda's age, yet she looked elderly from being so beaten down.

Oh, Valar… Bard sent up a quick, silent appeal to the heavens for guidance. How do I cope with this? What do I do? He was in over his head, here, and he knew Thranduil could be of no help. He doubted Thranduil had ever encountered anything like this.

After she had drank some wine, Bard began, again. "I'm sorry, but I must ask you more questions. Are you up for it?"

She took another sip and nodded. "Yes, My Lord; I want to cover things up anymore. I just… can't."

"Did Iola ever find out about Alun's true parentage?"

"No."

"Are you sure about that?"

"If she had, she'd have blurted it out, during one of her rages. She hasn't said a word about it."

"And no one else knows?"

"Everyone who ever knew, is dead, besides me."

Then Bard asked. "Your father forced himself on Iola as well, didn't he?"

"Aye. After I became pregnant, Papa never touched me again."

"Do you think he was afraid of you becoming pregnant again?"

"I don't know. I… can't think on it, too much."

"I'm assuming your father continued his abuse with Iola."

"He was always worse with her. She's four years older, so when I was young, she'd get him to beat her first, so he wouldn't hurt me so bad."

"That was very courageous of her. What about later?"

"He was cruel to both of us. When I married, all the beatings stopped, which is why I think Iola accepted Alwyn in the house. Papa didn't want my husband to know our secret, because Alwyn could tell the Lord of Laketown. But then… Alwyn drowned, and Papa was worse than ever." She sighed. "Iola was different after that. She was just as controlling of me as Papa was, from then on. Even after Papa passed away, she wouldn't let me out of her sight, and took over Alun. I'd been hoping things would be better, after Papa died, but..." Ina's voice broke, and she had to wipe her eyes, again. "I couldn't predict what Iola would do, I couldn't get her to see reason."

And you sister beat Alun, or made you do it?"

She nodded. "Alun ran away from home when he was thirteen, and I didn't try to stop him or get him back. I was relieved he was gone. I'm sure he thinks it was because I didn't care about him, but really, I wanted him to be safe. When I heard Alwyn's parents took him in, I was happy for him."

"How do you feel about your sister, Ina? Please be honest." Bard probed, with a soft voice.

Ina's eyes filled with tears again. "I feel confused. I have hate for her, but she… protected me, My Lord, when I was small. After Papa would hurt me, she'd look after me and put salve on my back. When she could, she'd hide me in one of the cupboards in the kitchen, when Papa got angry."

"Would you have harmed Rhys, if you sister had not put you up to it?"

"I feel so ashamed, My Lord. I should have been strong enough, and I just…wasn't. And I allowed things to happen that can't be taken back. It's my fault."

Bard could feel his chest contract, and he sensed the same anxiety from his husband.

Ina looked at the Kings with pleading eyes. "Please… judge me all you want. It was my son and my grandson, and I didn't protect them, like I should have. Be merciful to my sister; she's just so… wrong inside, and hasn't been herself for a long, long time."

Bard crossed his legs, and studied the woman for a few minutes. "I think you've given me all the answers I need, for now. Captain Dior's reports coincide with everything we've seen and heard today."

Ina was stunned, and she looked up at Dior, who nodded at her, then back at Bard. "He can understand us?"

"Yes, and so can the rest of your guards." Thranduil told her. "You said nothing that contradicted their report, and that is a good sign. They have kept me abreast of your change in attitude as well as your sister's increasingly erratic and violent behavior."

Bard then said, "Sadly, Iola's been twisted and broken by what you've endured, and she's a danger to herself and others. This is beyond your ability to cope with, Ina, so I am separating the two of you."

"But My Lord, I've always – "

Bard raised his hand to silence her, and looked into her eyes intently. "Ina, can you tell me with absolute certainty, that Iola had nothing to do with your husband's death?"

The woman covered her mouth, and her eyes filled, again. After a moment she shook her head.

"I'm sorry. I can't allow you to be endangered like this. You need to be kept safe, and Iola needs to be protected; mostly from herself. You must learn to look out for yourself."

Dior looked down at her with compassion, and placed his hand on her shoulder. He supported her, as Bard went on:

"Ina of Dale: from here, you are to be taken to the Healing Hall, where I'd like you to submit to a complete physical examination, and any bruises or other ailments can be healed. After that, Dior will escort to your new rooms, and there you will remain, until further notice. We've already moved your things to new quarters, so all will be ready. You will be under guard, yes, but they will now communicate with you in Westron, and I'm going to ask King Thranduil to assign someone to give you counsel and serve as a companion, under Dior's and Elénaril's supervision."

He looked at her with sympathy. "Ina, have you ever lived without fear? I'd like you to learn what it's like to feel safe, and at peace, although it will feel strange at first. Someone will be talking to you, to help you adjust."

Ina looked frightened. "Will I see my sister? I don't know what to do without her. I don't know how to do anything…"

"I'm afraid you can't, but it's not your fault. It's clear she is dangerous, and we can't allow you to be in harm's way. We'll do our best to keep her safe, but I need you to understand that her care is out of your hands. I don't know how much she can be helped, but we'll do what we can."

"But I'll be alone!"

"I know it might feel like that, but with help, you'll adjust. Please understand; this wasn't your doing. She's in a bad way, and that's not something you can fix for her, however you might want to."

Ina tearfully nodded. "I understand, My Lord."

"Do you have any more questions?"

"Will I be allowed to see Rhys?"

"I'm afraid not. For now, you are to have no contact with him or his father. If you choose to make use of the chance I am giving you, we will revisit this matter at another time. Allow some time to pass, and for things to settle down. Then, it will be up to your son."

Bard then looked at his husband. "Is there something you'd like to add, Lord Thranduil?"

Thranduil turned to Ina, "Rhys has been living with our children in the Royal apartments since he was removed from you. I do not believe he has been permanently affected by his experience. Your grandson is a happy, well-adjusted boy, with a bright future ahead of him. I hope that gives you some solace."

Ina's eyes filled with tears, and she whispered, "I'm so glad."

At a nod from Bard, Dior took her elbow, and gently helped her to stand.

"Don't bind her hands; she'll cooperate." Bard said, before Thranduil added something in Sindarin.

Just before the Guard reached the doorknob, Bard said, "Ina?"

She turned around. "Yes, My Lord?"

"Your son, Alun, is man of intelligence and integrity. He has not only earned my respect and friendship, but all the men in Dale see him as a man of quality. He currently has a very responsible position in my administration, and he'll be a valued member of my Council, for years to come, if the Valar allows. You have every reason to be proud of him." Bard could see the woman's eyes shine at these words.

Then he continued. "Your father has caused enough damage, and I don't see a reason for any more pain to be inflicted. If your husband, Alwyn, was as kind as you say, then as far as everyone else is concerned, he is your son's father. You have my solemn vow as King, Ina of Dale, that your son will never know of his blood parentage."

"You have my vow, as well." Thranduil put his hand to his heart and bowed his head.

Everyone turned to Dior, who made a similar gesture. "My King's word, is mine as well. Not a word of this will ever pass my lips."

Ina's breath came in deep gasps and she turned to approach them. Bard nodded at Dior to allow it, and he got up and walked around the desk to face her.

She sank to her knees, and kissed his hand, crying. "Thank you for your mercy, My King. Alun and Rhys are blameless in all this, and I just want them to be happy."

Bard put his hand on her bowed head, and blessed her saying. "As your King and ruler, Ina of Dale, I order you to never speak of this again once you pass that doorway. Take the chance that you have been given, and see what you can make of the rest of your life. Go in peace."

Dior helped her up, and they quietly left.

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Once they were alone, Thranduil poured them some wine, and the two Kings sat in silence for a long time, in utter shock.

Bard shook his head, and struggled to wrap his mind around everything he had just heard, but he just couldn't absorb it. All he could do is hope and pray he'd handled it well, because when it comes to something like this, one's best meant so little.

Still looking off into space, Bard sighed. "I don't know how to prepare for things like this. Things seemed simple, when we sent for them, and now…"

"Nothing can prepare a King for that, Bard. This is not something Elves have ever dealt with."

"My heart just…hurt, listening to it. It still doesn't feel real." He sighed, again, and closed his eyes. "I don't think I can handle interrogating Iola, today."

"Please do not be angry, but I have already given orders to cancel her interview. The hour was growing late, and I did not want to chance the children seeing either one of them on the walkways. There was no opportunity to confer, with you, so I assumed."

Bard opened his eyes, and looked over at his husband. "Thank you. You're right; I'd prefer it if we could talk first, but there was no opportunity; you did the right thing. I don't want any of the kids seeing them.

"I do think Iola is insane, Bard, and I do not think anything will bring her back. If Gandalf were here, he might know of something, but I doubt it."

"Are you sure?"

"Bard, if anything could be done about healing a mind, Gandalf and Elrond would have done so, with me, centuries ago. If this were so, we could heal all the emotional pain from war; and no one would suffer nightmares." He gave Bard a sad smile. "It would be nice, would it not?"

"Oh, Valar, I'd love to know I'll never suffer another dream about that damned Dragon. I still think I should talk to Iola. That way I can tell myself I tried."

"I agree, but I doubt you could reach her. I am convinced she murdered Alwyn, possibly to prevent Ina from abandoning her. She may have been desperate at the thought of being alone with her father. It makes me wonder if she had anything to do with her father's death, as well."

"I've been through a lot, Thranduil, and you've seen and endured much. How could all that compare to a lifetime of physical and emotional torture at the hands of a father, who was supposed to love and protect you?"

After a few moments, his Elf said, in a very quiet voice, "It cannot. Betrayal makes everything so much worse."

Stars, this was horrible… Bard blinked back tears, and emptied his cup. "I can't sit here anymore and think about this." He got up and gathered up his papers. "Can we write the reports later? I can't do this now."

"Of course, Bard."

"Thank you."

After they closed the door to the study, Bard looked at the door leading to the garden. "Thranduil? Do you mind going without me? I need… some air."

"Do you want me to go with you, Bard?" Thranduil offered.

"I'm sorry… I need to be alone for a little while. I just…"

Thranduil kissed his brow. "Take all the time to you need, Meleth nîn." He turned to head off the children coming down the hall, and corral them into the Royal Chambers.

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Bard quickly ducked out, and walked the same paths he had this morning, and tried his best to digest the dichotomy of this day.

This morning, when he was visiting with Gruffudd, and watched little Dafina play on the rug, he thought Kinging couldn't get much better than that. He felt the same, when he saw Dale's children be educated, and then visited the Guilds and envisioned the future industry of his Kingdom.

Merely hours later, he learned just how bad Kinging could get.

Bard's stomach churned with anxiety, and he felt…filthy, and wanted a bath. He felt almost ashamed to even be a man; how could anyone think to prey on a small child, let alone his own daughters? It was unthinkable!

He could see why Ina wasn't strong enough stop her sister. Since she was small, she had been groomed and trained to submit. And she was severely punished, if she'd ever tried to object. He understood the women's denial. Both of those women told themselves lies to survive, otherwise, there was no point of going on.

Bard sat down on a stone bench and put his head in his hands. The last time he felt so full of grief and despair, was when he had that nightmare, and went to the Eastern Parapet, to watch the bodies of the fallen be buried. Thranduil had joined him, and he spoke words of wisdom about the Valar's intentions.

Bard had come to see the truth of the Elf's words, even more so, now.

No, everything does not "happen for a reason." Nothing could convince Bard that this was part of the Valar's plan - to put those two women through such suffering, and to be passed on through two more generations. The Valar did nothing to cause Ioan to be such a horror of a human being. They didn't "let it happen." People did.

Bard could only look to the Valar to guide him, as he tried to help, but he felt woefully inadequate, and the turmoil in Bard's heart went much deeper than that.

What kind of world was it, that any life could be in such despair from beginning to end, with no reprieve? How can this be?

Bard was not immune to tragedy or struggle, but he grew up with love that protected him, love that made him feel as safe as anyone can be in this world. That made him rich. Now, he was a wealthy man, and he was given a miraculous, second chance at love and a new world opened up to him. Why him? Why was he so blessed, while others go through their entire lives, from birth to death, watching any glimmer of hope, cruelly snatched away? What was the point of a life that only knew suffering?

He was angry.

He'd never allowed himself to contemplate such things before. He did what everyone else did; pretended things like that didn't exist, so he could find a way to struggle through his own life.

The futility frightened him in a way he'd never felt before. He felt helpless, and vulnerable and it only added to the pressures of all he was dealing with right now.

He thought of Alun, who was becoming a good friend to him. He'd be working with him closely, for years to come. How could he spend years working with someone, and know the deepest truth, and keep it from him?

How could he not? What purpose would it serve, except to devastate the man? How could he not feel a churning in his stomach, and an ache in his heart for him? In this moment, all Bard wanted was to go back and change things, so he'd never found this out. This was a burden he didn't know if he could handle.

Please, Ulmo… help me… How do I protect Alun from the truth? How do I carry this inside, and not give the man any hint that something so wrong has happened to him?

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From his left, a smooth, baritone voice answered. "You can do this, Bard, by taking all the guilt, and all shame of that secret, and throw it at the feet of the monster who caused this mess. Put it at Ioan's feet, and leave it there. If you have any affection or respect for Alun, you will refuse to consider anyone other than Alwyn as his father. You can do it; I believe in you, Meleth nîn."

Bard turned, to see Thranduil walking toward him. "I didn't realize I'd said all that out loud."

"I am glad you did." The Elvenking gave him a reassuring smile. "Forgive me, for disturbing you, but you have been out here a long while, and I was afraid you would get too cold." The Elf was carrying Bard's fur-lined cloak. He walked up, wrapped it around him, and fastened it at the neck for him.

"I meant what I said, Meleth nîn." Thranduil brushed the snow off Bard's hair and face, and adjusted his collar. "Leave the guilt with those who truly deserve it, and let this go."

"How do I do that?"

"All his life, Alun was told Alwyn was a good and kind man. He may not have known his father personally, but he has the idea of a man who would have been an excellent father, had he lived. This is not unlike Tilda's image of your Mattie, yes? Alun knows that this man loved him, every bit as much as your Da loved you. Alun loves the memory of Alwyn, does he not?"

"Aye. When Alun was thirteen, he ran off and Alwyn's Mam and Da took him in. They were good folk and help set him right, after what he went through. I think that's the biggest reason why Alun is like he is."

Thranduil sat down beside Bard, and put his arm around him. "That is Alun's truth, Bard, and it is every bit as valid as what we learned in there. The father he loves, has nothing to do with the brief act that conceived him. Alwyn was, and still is, Alun's Da, and it will always be so. It is not a lie, Bard."

Bard still felt a heavy, filthy weight in his stomach. "I'll never say anything, you know that, but I don't like feeling like I'm betraying a good friend."

"Why would it be betrayal, Bard?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Let me ask you this: Do you think Alun will meet up with Ioan, in the afterlife? Do you think Eru would allow such a monster to even share the same afterlife as his family?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Who do you believe will be waiting for Alun, when he passes on, to greet him with open, loving arms?"

Bard knew the answer, and smiled. "His Da. Alwyn. And Alwyn's parents."

Thranduil tilted his head, and smiled. "Alun has a Da who loved him, and who loves him still, from wherever he is. It is this love, Bard, that makes Alwyn his true father."

Bard swallowed, his eyes filled with tears. Thranduil reached his hand up, stroked his hair.

"Some of us grow up well, despite our circumstances. Alun is a prime example of this. A good bloodline does not guarantee success, as we know by the Master of Laketown. Some come from the finest families and despite all their efforts, become a sick, twisted criminal, such as Ioan. You, Meleth nîn, had the benefit of both, and that makes you the most fortunate of men."

"So Alun's true family is Alwyn and his kin, because they loved him. Is that enough?"

"Bard, what makes your children my children, too? What makes Tauriel my daughter, and your daughter, too? And Legolas? What makes Galion, Hilda and Percy part of our family?"

Thranduil encouraged Bard to lean is head on his shoulder. "I, too, mourn for the tragedy that is Ina and Iola's life. I do not understand why some of us are blessed to have so much, while others know so little of love and suffer so greatly. It frightens me, to consider such things are even possible, Meleth nîn. I want to weep, from the sadness of it all."

"I know," Bard said. "I think that's what I'm really upset about. Not what Ina said. Alun told me he'd suspected his grandfather was.. like that, so it was no real surprise to have that confirmed."

"He did?"

Bard nodded. "When he brought up the subject of shipping them off to Bree, he wanted me to understand a little about the women's lives."

"After all he suffered, and his own son attacked, he still wanted to you to show mercy?" Thranduil smiled. "This proves his quality to be the very highest, does it not?"

"Aye."

"What bothers you so much?"

"Well, it's one thing to have it suggested, but another to have in right in your face. I hate the idea of someone's life be so full of violence with so little hope. I can't wrap my head around it, and it digs at me…"

"Ina's life is no longer hopeless; you have seen to that."

"But what about Iola? She's lost all sense of reason, hasn't she? What happens if she never gets over it? What did her life amount to? It all feels so…futile. What was the point of Iola's life? Why was she even here on Middle Earth?"

"If we knew the answer to questions like that, it would save all of us a great deal of trouble, would it not?" Thranduil lifted Bard's head off his shoulder and rested their foreheads together. "We will never know those things, and to strive for it would be folly. We must put our energies toward easing suffering, where and whenever we find it. That is our task, Bard. That is how we serve our people, and ourselves. Leave those questions to Eru and the Valar."

Bard didn't feel better, but there was truth in his words. "Thank you."

"You would have worked this out for yourself, eventually." Thranduil gave him a small, knowing smile. "I simply brought your cloak."

"You're right; I know you're right. So much of this is beyond me. In any case, it's time to go in."

Thranduil stood up, and took Bard's hands to bring him to his feet. "Come. The family that our love has made, awaits us."

Thranduil put his arm around him, and took him inside. When they washed and got their sterile gowns on, to see Tilda, a rather nice surprise awaited him.

Extra chairs had been placed in there and all the children were dressed in their gowns and wore their masks with silly smiles painted on them. Bain and Rhys sat cross-legged against the foot of the bed, while Sigrid sat in a chair on the opposite side of Hilda and Galion.

Thranduil guided Bard over to sit against the headboard, so he could place Tilda in his lap, then sat down beside him. This was the first time the family had been in the same room, since Tilda had gotten so sick, and Bard hadn't realized how much he needed it. He didn't say much, but he kissed Tilda's cheek and stroked her hair while he listened to everyone crack jokes and talk about their day.

Trivial nonsense never sounded so wonderful! Sigrid was doing well in maths; she'd aced a recent test, but all three of them needed to study for their Sindarin class, so Thranduil and Galion drilled them all (including Bard) on their vocabulary, and made it into a game. Even Tilda did well, when Bard was told to recite his numbers and got stuck, and she whispered to him what seven was, and everybody clapped.

Soon it was time for dinner, so the children went out with Hilda and Galion and the two Kings enjoyed theirs with their youngest, who ate everything put in front of her, and was able to use her spoon and fork, with a little less help than before. She was clearly making progress, albeit slowly, but it was progress, nonetheless. The exercises seemed to be working, and her brain was relearning to tell the body what Tilda wanted it to do.

All the while, Bard thought about his husband's words, out in the garden. In his head, he knew Thranduil was right. He wanted to feel better about everything, and he ran the words through his mind several times, hoping his sense of hopelessness would lift, but it didn't. It all felt so heavy, and he didn't know what to do about it…

Why did he still feel so despondent? He had no reason to be; he had a wonderful husband, his children were still with them, after all they went through, with the Dragon and the Battle. Not every family was that lucky. He'd had ten years with his Mattie that he'd never trade for any reason. He'd had loving, wonderful parents, who taught him values and a good work ethic. They had been poor, but he had a happy childhood. Now, he had a Kingdom, a new husband, and good people who were working hard together to start a new life.

Yes, he has a very sick daughter. Yes, her welfare weighs heavily on him, as did just about everything else there was to do here and in Dale. But he also had a great deal of support and guidance to help him chip away at all of it.

What in Mordor was wrong with him? He shouldn't feel this way!

After seeing the children off to bed, Bard soaked in the bathtub, and scrubbed himself raw. When they went to bed, Thranduil reached for him, but Bard still felt distant.

"I'm sorry, love; just not having a good night. I'll feel better tomorrow, I promise."

"Just try to relax, and get some sleep." Thranduil reached for his hand, and held up their intertwined fingers. "This, Meleth nîn," he whispered, "is all the truth that really matters." And Thranduil kissed their joined hands and urged Bard to relax.

Bard fell asleep, still holding his husband's hand, and prayed their truth would be enough to carry him through this.

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NOTES:

"Learned Helplessness" is a real phenomenon that happens to victims of domestic violence:

wiki/Learned_helplessness

If you are a victim of domestic violence, or know someone who is, please seek professional help.

For those in the US, If you are in immediate danger, call 9-1-1. For anonymous, confidential help, 24/7, please call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233 (SAFE) ...