Chapter Three
He had no choice but to look at them, and the more he looked the more he hated what he saw. The days dragged on and there was little change, a few words more than the day before, a movement from one room to the next, those were the only indications that time was passing in Olórin's mind.
Saruman watched, each day he found the child by his side as he tried to verify accounts and deal with what remained of the realms of Men from afar. He would have to leave the Havens soon, Círdan had no need of him and a Council had been called. Still he could not bear to leave her there alone. Galdor did what he could, each time Saruman saw him he was reminded of the elf's ineptitude. Perhaps the blond painter had been able to heal Glorfindel's wounds at one time but that was not what the children needed. Saruman had to wonder why he cared, they were children who should never have been born.
Yet he did, not for the elder two who shunned him, quiet in grief, but for the youngest. The child was quiet when he told her to be and quite content to sit for hours simply watching him or looking down at Círdan's shipbuilders. When given permission to speak, however, Saruman could not answer questions quickly enough for her.
The summons came bearing Elrond's seal and Círdan had called Galdor to him, meaning to send him along with Saruman to Elrond's council. Saruman ignored it at first, Elrond was not King and could not command him to go. He had no love for the close of Galadriel for she disliked him from the start.
Still, he thought it over. He had to return to the wider world at some point, to cleanse it of the shadow they had been sent to destroy. Olórin had been led astray by the elves, Saruman refused to stay in the Havens and dwell on his friend's misery.
In the end he went to Círdan, taking Galdor with him.
"We leave for Imladris tomorrow," he told them both. "A Council without a King it shall be, and diminished in power." Of those who had formed their councils before, most were dead. Gil-Galad, Elendil, Oropher. Now Isildur, who had kept the Ring of Sauron when Elrond begged him to destroy it led the realms of Men, and Elrond and Thranduil were new to their roles. Saruman did not see them as leaders in this Council. Instead he expected Glorfindel and Galadriel to lead it, the last of the Firstborn who had seen the light of Aman.
"I should not like to leave Isowen's children alone," Galdor murmured. "Mithrandir is better, for sure, but he does not see past the shadows yet."
"They will be cared for, it is of greater importance that you go." Círdan paused a moment, his eyes locking onto Saruman's. The Teleri elf stared at him long and hard until behind his beard he smiled. "Galdor, you shall take Yarna to her uncle. Perhaps three children are too much of a burden on Mithrandir, Glorfindel will be glad of her in his own grief. Go now and prepare, as with ships there is a good tide on which to leave and yours is tomorrow's dawn."
Círdan had said little else all evening, wishing Saruman a good night only and telling Galdor to gather Yarna's things. Saruman rose and was waiting by the city gates. Galdor, for all his failings, was not tardy and arrived just as the sun rose above the hills and hit the surface of the Gulf of Lhûn. Sitting on his horse, bundled up in a blue cloak and half asleep, was Yarna.
"Good morrow, child," Saruman said as Galdor led his horse past him.
"T'is still yesterday," she complained. Galdor laughed at that and they mounted up, the child shaped bundle in front of the elf.
"Ego, bad!" Galdor called to their horses and they were off. They turned only once, Saruman noted, when Galdor made Yarna look back at the sea one last time.
For the first two days, the child was silent. Galdor spoke, which irritated Saruman until he saw why Erestor had a well-known dislike of the blond elf. He did not give the elf credit for trying to make the ride less dull or eerily quiet, after the third account of how the sunlight made painting shadows harder Saruman wished he had the child's ability to fall asleep whilst riding.
The fourth night they stopped under a hill, having fallen into a routine within the first day. Galdor tended the horses whilst the ever silent Yarna picked up branches and placed them delicately at Saruman's feet as he prepared the fire and food. Once their tiny camp was set up, she wandered off towards the hill.
"Yarna, come back here," Galdor told her. Dutifully she came back and they saw that she was crying. Not in the weeks since they had brought back news of her mother's death had Saruman seen her cry.
"Come here, child." She came and he sat her on the ground beside him gently. "What is the matter?"
"I like this place not," she spat. "It is an evil place." Saruman looked around at the pleasant, empty hills. They had passed through meadows and little woods for the past day, coming south of the White Downs within the realm of Arnor.
"What is this place?" he asked Galdor.
"Nowhere. A little patch of tame wilderness, brooks and streams and hills crowned with flowers. There are no people here, although it is a pleasant place." Saruman could sense no evil in their surroundings, nothing except a family of foxes living under the hill.
"There is nothing evil here, child," he told her only to find that she had nestled herself under his arms. Galdor looked at him uselessly. "Do you not believe me, child?" She looked up at him, her yellow eyes wide and watery. Slowly she nodded. "Good." To his dismay, she was still crying.
"Go to sleep, Yarna. Then you shall forget all about this evil you are afraid of." The child refused to move and Galdor sat back on his haunches, helpless.
"Listen, child, and I shall tell you a tale." She scrambled up eagerly to sit in front of Saruman. He had her in his thrall, as he easily had any elf. Saruman expected that Galdor would listen as intently as the child would, for all their kind had a weakness for stories. "When the world was made, a dark voice added discord to the harmony and beauty within it."
"Morgoth," the child murmured as she wrapped her blanket around her.
"Ilúvatar, father to all heard this discord, for none could mistake it. He raised his arm three times, each time creating a new chorus, greater than before. This, they believed was enough to overcome him and the world began. But great were the wrongs the Dark Voice wrought on the world and powerless were the Wise against the Shadow, for they could not leave their dwelling places far beyond the reaches of the world. They concocted instead a plan: to send forth beings of great light and power to fight this evil. Angels they named them, raised to great heights." Yarna had lain down by then, curled up tightly into a ball with only her luminous eyes peeping out to show that she was still awake. "One day, an angel will come forth and rid Middle Earth of all shadows. They will be of the blood of Kings and fairer than any other. Until then, angels watch over sleeping children to take them to distant lands whilst they sleep and guide them when they wake. They walk lands far to the east and north, through old forests where the trees rule themselves, and down to the sea where the damned walk alone. Some say they are kin to the lost souls that wander the endless shores."
"You tell beautiful lies, Curunír," Galdor whispered after a moment of silence and they were sure the child was asleep.
"Lies?" he asked, affronted.
"There is but one angel, and he is not lost, nor damned." Saruman smirked at him, the elf's adoration of someone who fit the description was slightly sickening to behold.
"As you say."