Calanon's heart almost stopped beating when he realised that only five of his children had returned. The alarm multiplied tenfold when he saw that they were all nursing wounds and weeping bitterly.
"What has happened?" he demanded urgently. "Where is Alassë? Where is your sister?"
"Oh Ada, I am sorry! I so, so sorry!" sobbed Alyan, holding a bloody scrap of fabric. "I tried! We all tried! But we were too late!"
"What? What do you mean?" Calanon's face drained of colour. "Where is she!?
"Ada she is…" Raunien choked on a sob. "She is gone!"
"Gone? Gone where?" Calanon's voice rose out of control. "Will you tell me what has happened?"
"Ada, we left for home at sunset and we took the long route, by the falls. We stopped to let Alassë look at the stars and we were attacked by two spiders. I told Alassë to run while we held them off, so she climbed up onto one of the rocks. We thought she was safe so we focused on trying to fend of the beasts! I never saw the third! It pursued her and by the time I noticed it, it had bitten her in the shoulder, poor mite! I tried to get to her before she succumbed to the poison, but I was too late! The spider attacked her and when it did, she lost her balance and fell down into the falls. I tried to get to her, I swear Ada! I was not quick enough! I just had to watch her fall! This was all that was left!"
Alyan held up the bloodied scrap of fabric – the same shade of leaf green as the tunic Alassë had been wearing – and burst into sobs. Numbly, Calanon took the cloth from his son, holding it as reverently as if it were spun gold. His face was deathly pale and his hands shook violently. This could not be happening!
"I am going to the falls!" he said flatly, and began to stride away.
"No, Ada!" Voronwë caught him and held him back. "We searched the pool and the river at the bottom – every inch, but nothing remained! There is no chance that she could have survived it! Her body has been swept away. Please, do not add to your grief by going to the scene!"
"We killed the spiders, Ada!" Raunien whispered. "We left not one of the foul beasts alive! It mattered not what wounds we received in the process!"
Calanon's legs gave way beneath him and he sank to the ground, clutching the fabric tightly. Tears of raw agony and loss began to stream down his face, and his heart felt like it was breaking in two. First his wife, now his daughter! How could the Valar be so cruel?
"Ada, I am sorry!" Aradan wept. Calanon reached out to clutch his hand shakily.
"You tried to save her, my son. You did your best; do not burden yourself with guilt. The fault is mine – I should never have let her go into the woods without me there! I should never have let her out of my sight! My baby! My poor, poor little one!"
Calanon tried to hold back his sobs and stay strong in front of his children – it was his duty; he was their father, their protector, but the pain was too great and soon he was sobbing openly; deep, wracking sobs that shook his powerful body.
Suddenly, they were disturbed by a small figure coming out of the door. Feredir, dressed in his nightclothes, was clutching a blanket in his hand, and his eyes were wide and frightened. He rushed over to where they were gathered and placed a small hand on his father's shaking shoulder.
"What is happening?" he demanded sleepily. "Why is everyone crying and where is 'Las?"
"Come here, gwador laes," said Alyan softly, opening his arms to Feredir. Swallowing, Feredir came to him and his eldest brother knelt to be on a level with him; tears still damp on his face. He pulled Feredir into his arms and hugged him tightly.
"Little one, something has happened to Alassë," Raunien explained, kneeling beside them. "She has gone to the halls of Mandos." Instantly, Feredir froze, his eyes darting round his brothers, and finally resting on his weeping father. He shut his eyes for a moment and then opened them again.
"You're lying!" he glared at first Alyan, then Raunien furiously. "That's a lie!"
"I know it is painful, little brother, but we saw it," whispered Alyan, stroking his hair. "She has died, Feredir."
"No she hasn't!" screamed Feredir, squirming violently in Alyan's arms until his elder brother was forced to let him go.
"I'm 'Las's twin! Not you!" he yelled, tears springing to his eyes. "I would have known if she died! I would have felt it! She is not dead!"
"Feredir, I saw her fall," Raunien told him tearfully.
"I don't believe you!" cried Feredir. "You're lying! I hate you!"
"Feredir," whispered his father through his tears. "Come here, my little hunter."
And though Feredir was certain in his heart Alassë was not dead, he was also bright enough to know that, whatever truly had happened, he was never going to see his beloved twin again. The knowledge hit him like a knife in the heart and he threw himself into his Ada's arms and began to scream with grief.
"Ssssh, it's alright," Calanon sobbed, his own tears wetting Feredir's hair. "It's alright to cry, little one. I am going to miss her too. Very much!"
Calanon got to his feet, still cradling the sobbing Feredir in his arms, and carried him inside. As soon as parent and child had passed through the door, the five elder sons of Calanon dried away the tears that stained their faces and flashed triumphant grins at each other.
"I told you they would fall for it, if we acted well enough!" laughed Raunien spitefully. "The task is complete! The brat is gone forever!"
"You could have been gentler with your dagger, brother mine!" Aradan complained, flexing his arm and staring at the wounds they'd given themselves to add to their performance. "This hurts!"
"Stop whining!" ordered Alyan. "Now come, let's go inside and play the bereaved brothers. And next month, after a respectable mourning period, we shall ask Ada's leave to journey away from the forest for a little while. If he grants us leave, we shall head to the nearest town and spend our earnings!"
"How did you convince the human to take her, Alyan?" asked Nithron curiously. "She has no talent, no endearing qualities and she is hardly intelligent!"
"When I was last in Laketown, I found myself in one of the less reputable taverns. I was warned to beware of Faelurinc; a human who was notorious for his dislike of elves. I did not hear the full story, merely a rumour, but I gather that a woman he once loved would not marry him because her heart was lost to en elf – some romantic nonsense like that anyway. They say that he has quite a complex about wanting to feel superior to elves. And he was looking for a servant. The perfect friend for our dear little sister, do you not think? It was quite a while before I could even get him to listen to me, but eventually he did. I offered him the brat as a servant, at a suitable price of course, and after very little convincing he accepted the offer.
He is like all humans; weak-headed and greedy for power; and he liked the idea of having complete control over one of the race he professed to hate so much. It was also said of him that he had a disorder of the mind – not madness, as such, but a definite instability! The men he travels with are no more attractive; outcasts and loners mostly – all violent of temper and lacking in morals…well, you saw them tonight. I am informed that they only hold together because no one else will tolerate their company. They are never welcome in any town for a great length of time because there is always some violent altercation or other with some of the locals.
I arranged that they should be here today to complete our business. I very much doubt that they will show her any kindness – so much the better! She will get exactly what he deserves!"
"You couldn't be more right, brother," Raunien agreed, before patting his pocket. "It looks like the brat finally found a use after all!"
THE MIRROR CLOUDS OVER AND THE IMAGE CHANGES
Alassë curled up on herself, tears of pain and fear making silent paths down her cheeks. She was lying trembling among the roots of a tall oak, the old tree trying it's best to comfort the distressed wood-elfling. But it could not dull her pain. Nothing could do that…
"Hey, brat! Did I say you could sleep?" Alassë jumped violently at the sound of His voice. It was Faelurinc, the human who had bought her from her brothers and now called himself her master. "Where is your fabled elven strength? Get up, you lazy little whelp!"
Alassë cringed, trying to get to her feet, although her shaking legs protested all the way. She struggled, the little strength she had left quickly leaving her. She'd had to fetch and carry for all ten of the humans in the camp all day and she had also had to lug firewood that she was certain was heavier than she herself. She was exhausted. Faelurinc seemed to prefer it when she was tired, for it meant he could launch yet another tirade on how the men in the camp were superior to her.
"I said get up!" Faelurinc yelled, and a riding crop was suddenly savagely applied to her tender back. Alassë cried out in agony, feeling her already bruised skin begin to burn.
"Shut up! What have I told you about squalling, elven scum?" He hauled Alassë up by the scruff of her neck and began to thrash her furiously. Alassë shrieked – this was the fifth time he'd done this in two days and the pain was becoming unbearable. Usually, wounds healed fast on her, but her back was being abused so often, it was in a constant state of agony.
"Who do you belong to?" demanded Garrick, as the crop struck her again and again.
"You! I belong to you!" She sobbed, writhing in his hold.
"And what are you?" he demanded, shaking her like a rat.
"Scum! I am elven scum!" she screamed, willing to do or say anything that would simply make the pain come to an end. Faelurinc gave a contemptuous laugh and threw her bodily against the tree, ignoring the strangled squeal which suggested he had seriously hurt her.
"That's exactly what you are! And I will make sure you never forget it!" he growled, before turning and walking away. It gave him such satisfaction to have an elf in his power, however young she was. She also served quite a useful purpose – when she was around for the men to take their frustrations out on, there was less of the usual squabbling and brawling amongst them! Indeed, buying her had been a most intelligent investment!
Alassë simply blinked dizzily, as a trickle of blood slowly made its way down her forehead. She shook her head gently, trying to clear her vision. The blurred shapes remained the same for now, but she could hear the human men laughing at her from their spaces around their campfire. Why didn't her Ada come for her?
Suddenly, Alyan's voice filled her head: 'He hates you! He hates you, brat and he would have had you killed long ago if it were possible.'
The frightened child uttered a heart-broken sob, as she curled herself tightly into a ball and cried herself into a lonely slumber. How desperately she wished the Valar would call her to Mandos. Then she could escape from this torture!
THE MIRROR CLOUDS OVER AND THE IMAGE CHANGES
"Whelp! Bring that jug over here and look sharp about it!" ordered Faelurinc.
Meekly, Alassë reached for the jug. It had been over a year since they had taken her from her Ada, but she had not grown any taller; nor had she become strong enough to do any of the ridiculously tiring chores he set her every day – tasks that should never have been given to a mere malnourished elfling! However, she had learnt one thing in that time – obey without question or else she would be beaten until she lost consciousness, especially on the bad days...
She had not been in Faelurinc's possession long before she had realised that, in terms of his mood, it was either a good day or a bad day. On the good days, he would tolerate her presence with no more than a grunted 'scum!' and leave her to do her required chores without bothering her too much. However, on bad days he was always in so violent a temper that he found fault with everything. He would beat her for no reason at all, seeming to take a perverse pleasure from her pain. He would scream insults and sneering comments into her ears until she was almost deafened by them. His moods were always so violent in their changes! It only took one small mistake to make him a ranting lunatic!
She could see that the other men of the group were terrified of him. He was the burliest and tallest of them all, standing at least five inches taller than the others' average height of six feet; tall enough to be a Númenórean, but possessing none of the nobility which that race was known for. However, despite this fear, they had no choice but to follow him. They were outcasts; thieves, violators, traitors who had been exiled from their homes. They were all violent, suspicious, cruel and, most of all, ignorant. For all his irrationality in his hatred of elves, and despite his intense mood swings, Faelurinc was clever and they needed his knowledge to survive. Take him away and the group was merely a bunch of brawling ruffians. They knew how to follow. Not one of them knew how to lead. Faelurinc scared them into some semblance of order, and took charge of the group's business, so no one had stuck a knife into his back…just yet.
This wandering group of men now made their living by buying and selling goods that Alassë had never even heard of. That was why they had stopped at the inn in town that night. And even with all the servants the cheerful place boasted off, Faelurinc was determined to have 'his' elf wait on him. It made him feel very important – no other guest in the inn had their own servant. None but him!
Grabbing the large glass pitcher with both hands, Alassë lifted it and gasped at the weight. She began to stagger towards the table occupied by Faelurinc and his men, careful not to spill a drop. Faelurinc had been in one of his black moods for days now, and she had been feeling the brunt of it almost constantly.
Suddenly, Lairn – Faelurinc's right hand man – stuck his foot out a tripped her up, sending her sprawling onto the ground with the jug smashing beneath her. The shards of glass pierced her skin like tiny daggers, but she bit back her screams; knowing that with Faelurinc, crying out just served to double your punishment.
"You clumsy little bastard!" Faelurinc yelled, leaping to his feet, eyes blazing with the mad anger that could be summoned in just a second. "Can't you do anything properly?"
Alasse's eyes filled with tears – this would mean no food for her again tonight. It had been four days since she had last eaten and the hunger pains were becoming unbearable. It would also mean yet another thrashing; another two dozen stripes to add to the convoluted mess on her back.
"Here now, there ain't no harm done," said the kindly innkeeper, picking Alassë up off the pile of glass and looking with concern at her bleeding hands, knees and face. "Leastaways, the jug is no loss. This poor wee thing needs tending to, though."
"Oh, she'll be tended to all right," growled Faelurinc, in a voice which made Alassë tremble. "Rest assured, my friend, she will be tended to!"
And that night, while the songs and tales rang clear in the common room, the screams and pleas of an agonised child upstairs went completely unheard, as Faelurinc bound Alassë to the end of his bed and thrashed her until she lay in a bleeding heap on the floor.
THE MIRROR CLOUDS OVER AND THE IMAGE CHANGES
The snow was falling heavily and the men had been forced to halt and make camp. Alassë knew this boded ill for her – when they were at camp, they usually found even more ways to torment her. And she had more than enough bruises to be getting on with right now.
Her face was grazed and swollen from the being slammed against the wall and punched two days ago, when Faelurinc had given to Lairn to take his anger out on after Lairn had almost come to blows with another member of the company. Her hands and knees were cut and bruised from the countless times she'd been knocked over that day. Her back never stopped hurting as she was thrashed almost every other day – he never gave her wounds time to heal. And today she could not sit down after the beating she had received for burning Faelurinc's supper last night. She could not bear any more pain!
"Stop that daydreaming and get over here, you lazy elf!" screamed a voice suddenly, and she scampered over to Lairn.
"I told you to make a fire!" he shouted, punching her savagely in the stomach and sending her to her knees. She choked, gasped and then vomited violently over the ground.
"You disgusting little…" Faelurinc seized her and hauled her upright, only to strike her across the face and knock her back down onto her stomach again. Then he began raining blows down on her upturned back while she screamed with the pain her caused her. Lairn and the others laughed spitefully – it was always immensely funny to watch Faelurinc punish his little slave – and to know that they, mere mortals, were more powerful than an elf.
"You are scum! You belong to me! I will teach you your place!" was all Alassë heard before she finally gave into her agony and succumbed to unconsciousness.
She was not sure what the time was when she came round again. All she knew was that it was pitch dark; not even the stars were visible. Cautiously, she placed her hands flat and began to push herself up from the ground, wincing as her back shot ablaze again. Her tunic had stuck to the dried blood Faelurinc had beaten out of her earlier; reopening the wounds as she moved. She bit back a sob as the tears rushed to her eyes.
She raised her head, hoping to edge closer to one of the water canisters and wash her filthy face. What she saw made her gape in shock. They were all in their tents! Every single one of them! Not even Torc, who was supposed to be on watch, was out in the open. Evidently, he'd thought the cold was too much to bear. Faelurinc would go berserk if he knew! Alassë steadied herself on shaking hands. She could hardly believe the chance this presented her with.
For two years, she's been in Faelurinc's clutches and she'd been watched day and night. Now she was finally able to run. Now she could make a bid for freedom!
She stood on shaking legs and crept quietly towards the trees; her heart hammering like a dwarf's anvil. As soon as she reached the cover of the old and sympathetic trees, she broke into a fearful run. She ran blindly; having no idea where she was, where she was heading, or even which direction her home was in. All she could think of was getting away from Faelurinc and his riding crop.
Her little legs managed to carry her for about two hours, but eventually her bruised muscles and five days lack of food took its toll on her. She headed for the shelter of a large set of boulders and climbed atop one. She touched the wet red cloth of her tunic and gave a pained gasp. She never realised she had been bleeding so badly. Thankfully, the bloodflow seemed to be ceasing now!
"Keep going! Keep going!" she told herself angrily, clutching her sides as violent spasms of pain shot through her. She got to her feet again and attempted to climb down from her perch on the boulder. They were slick with ice and she lost her balance in a second, falling to the ground. Her ankle emitted a sickening snap and pain shot through her leg. All of a sudden, it all became too much for her. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed in a dead faint. And there she lay, until twilight the following day, when a golden haired little elfling knelt beside her and screamed for his Ada.
THE MIRROR GOES BLANK
"Stop! Stop!" Alassë screamed pleadingly. "I remember now! I remember! Please, I do not want to see anymore! I remember!"
Elrond cast a distressed eye around the chamber. Haldir was crying quietly on Celeborn's lap; Legolas was hiding his eyes behind his hands, sitting close to close to Glorfindel. The twins sat on Glorfindel's other side; their faces white and strained, their eyes full of horror, anger and sadness.
As for Alassë, she had buried her face in Thranduil's shoulder and was sobbing as if her heart would break. Thranduil had his arms around her and was rocking her gently, his clear blue eyes dark with sorrow.
"I knew that it would be bad," Thranduil whispered, stroking her hair. "I did not imagine it would be this grievous"
"No indeed," said Elrond sadly. "We have much work to do."