Chapter 36: Tales of Woe

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By the time Lossrilleth and Ginnar met up with the other elves, it was quite late. It had taken her all afternoon to deal with Ginnar's hair. By the time they were finished, Ginnar shook his head gleefully, feeling light as he tossed his cap away with spite. He also needed dinner. The elves had adopted the Brothers' eating habits and skipped the meal, but this was not appropriate for a growing dwarf. Lossrilleth made sure he'd been provided for, then invited him to spend the evening with her family.

When her mother arrived, Angharad bolted for her, squeezing her arms around Lossrilleth's waist.

"Do not go without telling me, nana, please. I cannot bear it," she begged. She remembered too late that maybe she should save face in front of her friend, but she wondered if it was for the best. Perhaps he would let his guard down if she did.

"I am sorry, my love. I should have known that would bother you. I will not do so again. I am here now, though. Do we want to share some tales together this evening?" Lossrilleth said. What was the balance, the young mother wondered, to acknowledge this fear without reinforcing it?

Lossrilleth settled herself on a floor mattress, resting her back against a wall. Her daughter sat right next to her, almost in her lap, although she was getting too big to fit. Ginnar was looking about a bit awkwardly, but Lossrilleth patted the cushion on her other side.

"Come, sit with us. I have two arms, I trust you can share," she encouraged both children. Angharad pushed herself a little to be gracious about it, for her friends' sake.

"We have shared much these last years," the girl said, opening the door for Ginnar to take the invitation. "Better my mother than a cage," she added.

"A cage!" Lossrilleth gasped. So far her daughter had only said something about coming over on a boat.

"It is not so late yet," Legolas observed. "Perhaps it is time for the first part of your tale, children."

"Start with your bit," Ginnar told Angharad, sitting next to Lossrilleth a bit stiffly. His eyes kept darting to the two warriors in the room. "I do not know if I have heard it all."

So she did. She told her parents about the coracle, the dolphins, and the fisherwoman. She was tickled that the dolphins had helped her twice by sending her parents in the right direction. She recalled the time she spent with the servants in the Lord's hall in Anfalas. She remembered Brigid fondly when her parents mentioned the good woman.

She told them then of Eaben's treachery. Thranduil constrained himself to listen calmly, although he burned with rage in his heart. His regret for hesitating to interrogate the man ballooned intensely. If he had known the truth, that fiend would be on the bottom of the Long Lake at this moment being eaten by fishes after suffering a slow and painful demise.

Finally, Ginnar got to chime in as they told the tale of their voyage across the sea to the East. Their account of meeting Xiaoqing was a bit alarming, but when it was lumped in with everything else they were hearing, the demon seemed positively tame in comparison.

Angharad began to get worked up as she was talking about the Collector, starting to display an edgy restlessness. Legolas had gotten up to catch her where she was pacing aimlessly. She was beginning to feel out of control to her parents. They were working together to keep their own outrage and grief under wraps until the children were cared for, although it was difficult. Thranduil looked like he had been served something rotten and was ready to unleash the flames of his wrath on the culprit.

When the girl told them about waking in the beautiful garden, Lossrilleth thought the tale might be calming down enough that they could continue. But then she began talking about the menagerie full of captive peoples of all races.

"That is enough for one night, I am certain," the young mother declared. "Or none of us shall rest a wink. You have both been incredibly brave. There is no reason that you should have to swallow this poison whole. We can take it in pieces. Here we are now, in this nice safe place, all together," Lossrilleth began soothing her charges.

Thranduil excused himself to let them settle down together. He needed to go for a walk and avail himself of the solid spirits of the old pine trees that grew on the mountain so he did not destroy something in this place that was not his to damage. By the time he returned, the scene was much calmer. Legolas was telling the tale of the inaccurate portrait that had lasted the test of time in Aglarond. Angharad was dozing against him, while Ginnar was listening with curiosity. When the story was finished, Ginnar insisted on going back to his room on his own, although Lossrilleth wished he would stay.

She had the young dwarf walk her up the stairs to his room, so she'd know where he was. She tucked him in and told him with all seriousness that he was to come down and get her at any time of night for any reason. She didn't want to force anything on him, but it felt a bit wrong to leave him alone.

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When Lossrilleth returned from seeing Ginnar settled in his room for the night, Legolas was waiting outside their door for her. He was alone in the empty hallway, which was dark except for the candle he'd brought out with him and set on the floor a safe distance from his feet.

"Is everything alright?" she whispered to her husband.

"Yes, I just wanted to speak with you," he replied. He took her hand and pulled her close, settling his arms loosely around her waist. She rested her palms on his chest and looked at him, perplexed.

"What is happening with Ginnar? You were gone for hours. She kept asking after you. I said you were alright, but you felt a little sad," Legolas asked her in a whisper. He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but wondered if she could tell him. The boy had arrived hatless, his hair a fresh, flaming halo all about his head. He'd never seen a dwarf with hair so short.

"I cannot speak of it. I promised him. All is well now, that is all you need to know," she told him. He waited, feeling she wanted to say more.

"Legolas I need you to gain his trust," she said. "I cannot follow him into places like the men's bathing chambers and ensure he is cared for properly. And I do insist both children are cared for properly now. They are still quite young, despite it all. He could use some regard from a father figure as well."

"I will work on it then," her husband replied. "I am not a miracle worker like you when it comes to children, though. It will take some time."

"You will be fine. You do not give yourself enough credit. But thank you," she said. "Speaking of small children, you seemed to enjoy fighting our little girl with deadly weapons," she tried teasing a little.

Legolas chuckled, easing into the comfort of their well-worn banter. "You know very well they were practice blades. But it was enjoyable, yes. I will be glad to keep teaching her when we leave this place. She is good at it, and it eases my heart to know she can defend herself if she needs to."

Lossrilleth sighed and nodded along. As impressed as she was by her daughter, part of her resisted the idea of her fighting. But she'd seen for herself that the moment you needed it was too late to start learning.

"Well, that makes three of you, then. You are all unspeakably amazing. She certainly has a natural talent for it, and we know it did not come from me," she finally said to cut the silence. She had decided she did not wish to air her reservations. Everything weighed in favor of letting this happen.

Legolas shook his head at her. "What you hope to achieve by belittling yourself, I will never understand. You have other talents. I was not jesting about your skill with children. It really is a miracle to see how quickly he has put his trust in you after being mistreated by so many adults. So maybe you are not a fighter. I honestly believe it is that you have no taste for it, not that you are incapable – speaking of not giving oneself credit. You are a teacher and a healer. You are a good mother, melleth nin. It is well. I would not change it for anything."

She was about to give her head a tight shake and think of something to deflect when she felt his fingers pressing her chin up. She sighed and let him place a kiss on her lips, leaning into the reassuring familiarity of the two of them holding each other.

"What are you doing, sir, in this building full of celibate monks, your father, and several dozen children?" she teased him, glancing down the dark hallway.

"I believe you call it 'critical maintenance'," he quipped back. "We are married. It can hardly be courting scandal for me to kiss you, well after everyone is safely in bed, I might add. It is not as though I am propositioning you."

She took a breath to give him some clever retort. He gripped her firmly around the waist and shoulders and leaned her back, kissing her deeply until she relaxed into it and returned his ardor. He moved away after a minute, kissed her cheek, and whispered into her ear.

"I win again," he said.

He grinned into the dark as her body started shaking in silent laughter. It could be so easy to bring her joy to the surface sometimes. He reveled in it. They needed it after the first bitter draught of that tale. But her ease did not last. He had been right then, something else was off.

"My love, you must tell me what is wrong. It is not just whatever thing you fixed for Ginnar or the telling of their tale," Legolas insisted. "This disturbance you feel now has come and gone for weeks now."

Lossrilleth looked away from him and bit her lip. (This is where he'd seen this new expression his daughter had been using of late!) She was fingering her belt knife and the purse she kept attached to it. He had noticed she'd begun to touch the objects seemingly without thinking since they had stopped to resupply in a bustling trading port on their way East weeks ago.

"What is in that purse?" he asked her now. It was unlike her to keep something that was weighing on her from him. It was disturbing.

She finally sighed, folding tight into herself in his arms. Legolas waited patiently.

"Forgive me," she whispered. "I have doubted its wisdom since the moment I took it. But after hearing more of our poor girl's terrible story, I feel resigned again to keep it for the time being."

"What am I forgiving you for, meleth?" he asked. She still had not said what it was.

"I am a hypocrite," she said. She stepped back and carefully opened the belt purse. She pulled out a metal contraption the like of which Legolas had never seen. Or had he?

"Is this like the musket that shot you?" he asked with some alarm, studying it where it sat on her palm. It was hardly longer than her hand, with two round tubes pointing out from some kind of handle.

"Very like. I did not think pistols would be here now – I thought it was too early. But I was in that bazaar, haggling over a set of new ropes for the sails and the merchant had it lying about. He noticed I was interested in it. He said he had been promised it was a fierce weapon, but no one wanted it. He offered it to me for almost nothing if I stopped being so stubborn about the price of the rope. So I took it," she whispered.

"Why?" Legolas asked. "I thought you hate these weapons."

"I do. And now I have one with the very same excuse so many people use to justify them. To protect my family," she told him with a heavy sigh.

"That seems fair to me. What makes them worse from any other weapon?" Legolas asked her.

"It is because they make violence so easy. No one need learn discipline or discernment, or develop any skill or strength, before they can make themselves deadly. I could teach Ginnar how to use this after breakfast and he could murder the Collector with ease by lunch time. Once they are widely adopted, there is a vicious cycle. More people get them to defend themselves against each other. Someone invents an even stronger weapon… you see where this is going," she said. Legolas could not say he was surprised, but it made sense.

"Of course that is why I am tempted by it now. Ever since we saw her fight those soldiers, I keep seeing myself standing alone between Angharad and some fiend: a goblin. The Imperial soldiers. Now my mind will conjure these spirit knives and the Collector, I am sure. And every time, I am not skilled enough to protect us. So I have to let my daughter – she is so small, you still see that, do you not? I have to let her fight them for both of us. For me. It is so backwards I cannot stand it. So when I was offered this weapon, I took it without thinking. I have done nothing but think since," Lossrilleth said with distress.

Legolas considered all this new information. The firearm made him uneasy. It reminded him of Lossrilleth bleeding and white-lipped, half frozen in his harms. When he held her now, he could still feel the missing flesh from her arm. Her hiding it was even worse. But these visions she was having were ominous.

Behind them, the door to their room opened quietly and shut. With Angharad safely resting, Thranduil had eased closer to the door, wondering what was taking her parents so long in returning. He had not expected to hear this.

"I am sorry to have overheard, I was not intending to spy on you," the old king told the younger elves. "But I am glad I did. You should have told us as soon as it was on our ship, Lossrilleth. I am not pleased you concealed this. Show it to me."

Lossrilleth avoided his eyes in shame but held out the pistol for his inspection.

"Do you know how to use it? Have you shot it so you know you can aim?" Thranduil asked her seriously.

"Yes, but only once. When you both went hunting on that island with the little deer. I tested both chambers. I hit my mark square enough with the second shot. Remember I had those little burns on my hand, I said were from sparks from the cooking fire? They were from testing the pistol. I did not want to waste more bullets – the things you shoot, like arrows. I have the mold to make more, but we would need to find a blacksmith," she explained. "Honestly, I almost got it rid of right then. It takes too long to load. It may well be useless."

"How many bullets do you have left?" Thranduil asked.

"Half a dozen," she replied. That wasn't what she was expecting.

"I do not like having such a dangerous weapon with us. What if the children were to find it? Could they shoot each other?" Legolas asked, looking at the object suspiciously. Was that the bit to release the shot? It looked perilously easy to use, as she'd said.

"It takes a deal of preparation, like I said. They should not be allowed anywhere near the gunpowder, though," Lossrilleth started to answer, but Thranduil interrupted.

"These visions you are having concern me greatly. I have known elf mothers to have prescience about dangers to their children. I will not discount that this could be a true warning. We will go into the forest – soon – so you can show us how this works. Then we can decide whether you should keep it or not," Thranduil told the younger elves decisively.

"In the meantime, take our time here to improve your other defense skills, Lossrilleth. You help her – every day. Your daughter's safety may depend on it," Thranduil told his son.

He looked at the couple before him. Legolas was trying to catch her eye. She had stepped away from him and would not look away from the ground. Her purchase of the gun was quite a big secret to have kept.; she'd lied outright about the burns on her arms. He wondered if she knew the danger in those actions.

"Angharad has been restless in her reverie with you both gone, you should return soon," Thranduil added finally and excused himself to let the couple finish speaking.

"Why would you not tell me?" Legolas asked his wife, feeling hurt. Something like this had never happened in their marriage.

"Because I was ashamed, and I kept convincing myself I would throw it away instead and there would be nothing to tell," Lossrilleth replied, covering her face with her hands.

He pulled her hands off her face and made her look him in the eyes. He searched her gaze and opened their connection in fëa wide so he could observe her plainly. Lossrilleth shrunk back a little – it was intrusive, that sudden search so deep into herself. He backed off.

"Have I lost your trust?" he asked seriously. "I have never known you to lie to me."

"No, no," she said firmly. "In this I did not trust or love myself. I never lost any trust or love for you. This was my struggle. Old worries that are not from Arda. I wanted to keep the pain of them from you. I wanted time to know my own mind. Can I never think something through before I come to you with it?" She reached a hand to him, hoping to close the distance suddenly between them.

He accepted her hand and pulled her close, resting his forehead against hers so he could look her straight in the eyes as he whispered.

"Not for so long, not something this important. Next time trust me with your doubts rather than letting them fester – whatever their source. I accepted the burdens of that other world when I accepted you. Promise me, Lossrilleth. We can hurt each other if we start keeping such poisonous secrets. What you do to yourself you do to me. And to her, until she is grown," he said, gesturing towards the room where Angharad slept.

"Do not forget what this means," he added, pressing into the place in their souls where they were inextricably bound.

He occasionally had to explain something about these soul bonds to her, for she had not grown up in one. It was an infrequent problem, but when it came up, it made him nervous. Like being in a cart hooked up to a wild horse.

"Then forgive me, please. I promise I will not keep such a thing from you again," Lossrilleth whispered, feeling alarmed. This was not a convenient time to be suffering an injury to their bond. They had a long and perilous journey back to Valinor to complete and two traumatized children to care for.

"Calm yourself, meleth. I forgive you. I am touched that you wished to spare me from pain. And I can understand that you would not wish for me to see you in a bad light. I am not fond of this weapon, but do you think I would judge you for wishing to be able to defend our child?"

"Adar is right about one thing," he added. "This is a good place for me to help you fix some of your weaknesses in a fight, now that we understand them better. Let us do that, yes? Perhaps then we can throw this 'pistol' into the ocean unused. We can speak more about these visions another day."

"Yes. Yes to everything," she agreed. "I love you. I am sorry."

"I know. As I love you. And as we love our daughter, who is missing our presence," he replied warmly, kissing his wife on the forehead. She ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him back for a proper kiss.

"I should have taken that advance you made on me," she whispered, teasing him a little before letting him go, just to raise the energy.

He shook his head at her. "I said I did not proposition you, which you know."

"Alas, poor me, my husband no longer desires me and will not pursue my company," she sighed, drifting towards the door, candle in hand.

"You imp! You could twist a word back on itself until it meant its own opposite. If you continue, we will find ourselves doing something inappropriate in some dark stairwell and we will be expelled from Temple Mountain," he scoffed. But he was smiling. There was the little boost they needed. He tried to focus on that and not on the oceans of challenges that still lay before them. How much will it take for this family to make it home without breaking? he wondered, unable to keep the shadows from his thoughts.

(~***~)