"I studied sculpture at the feet of Mahtan during the later parts of the Years of the Trees by the generous patronage of my lord Atarincë." Finbaran's voice echoed across what his companions now saw was a broad cavern.
Erestor stepped closer to the form of the lady of Imladris. A second glance shattered the illusion as Celebrian neither spoke nor moved. It was a statue of such careful artifice that she seemed almost alive. Her hair hung in coils of spiraling gold down to her knees. Her hands twisted a lock upon her softly draped pearlescent bodice. The corners of her mouth glistened in curls of shell-pink gloss. She smiled as if she heard the distant sound of thunder. The librarian held two fingers to her parted lips as if he expected to feel the warmth of living breath.
"It has proven a very useful skill set in my chosen profession," Finbaran explained, and as he passed through the cavern, more figures became illuminated in the darkness. There were, arranged down the side and center of the chamber, thirty or forty noble faces, tall and fair, featured as if frozen in a moment of youthful heroism. Each one hovering at the edge of animation.
Erestor seemed transfixed by the statue of Celebrian near the entrance, his stormy eyes growing bright as he studied the placement of freckles and eyelashes.
"She's perfect." He whispered. Then said out loud, "has lord Elrond seen this?"
"Well, yes." Finbaran laughed nervously, adjusting his braids over his chest, "I have heard the classical Noldorin style called," he reached the door on the far end of the passage, "Creepy. Our lord is too kind to offer such critique, but I understood he would rather not have them in the main house."
"Nay, Master Elf," Fundin was studying the silken drapery of a lady he did not recognize. She held a flower in her hand, a golden bloom touched with crystalline orbs of straight dew. "These are treasures to be placed upon the great boulevards of Erabor."
"Indeed, they are masterful… and most time-consuming." The wizard sounded impressed as he circled a perfect likeness of Maglor Fëanorian. The Noldorin prince wore elaborate purple silks and had his braids pinned with gems as big as ripe grapes. His callused thumb hung in tension upon the F string of his harp. An instrument formed of gold and dark wood sat upon his outthrust hip. "But pray tell, my dear smith." Mithrandir raised his voice, "You did not set up all of this security for a mere art gallery." He crossed to where the elf stood before the final set of doors.
"I made those many yeni ago," Finbaran said dismissively. He looked between his visitors thoughtfully, his back to the door. "When first we came to Endor, before the rising of the sun and moon, our power was not diminished as it is today. Our healing songs still echoed the songs of the Valar, and our methods were less crude." He took a steadying breath as he regarded Erestor, intentionally misusing the style of the bardic historians in a way that he hoped would irritate the librarian. "As our power diminished, our casualties rose. We had to get creative. I made a prosthesis for my lord Nelyafinwë after his terrible ordeal. Still, I had not the power of my lord to breathe life into silver and stone," he nodded reverently at the dwarf, "and although I could make it look and move like living flesh, my lord Nelyafinwë felt it to be a hindrance and soon cast it aside to walk proudly in his maimed state." Finbaran shook his head.
"What lies beyond that door, my old friend?" Mithrandir stepped forward.
"We discovered much knowledge available here in Endor, of which those who dwelled west of the sea knew little." He fixed the wizard with a look of enormous daring, but he continued, "We ground lenses of purest crystal and saw that Ea is made of things smaller and grander than we had dared to imagine. We found that the lights of Varda were shaped as wheels and spirals and that our own bodies were filled with innumerable moving things. We learned to supplement our fading healing songs with scientific knowledge and to doubt the stories that we had been told of how Arda was formed. When our doom finally came upon us, we were on the edge of disproving the greatest delusion." He grabbed for the handle of the door behind him. For a moment, he met the wizard's gaze in defiance, but Mithrandir only knit his brow.
"The Greatest Delusion?" Erestor asked.
"Aye, my friend," he pushed open the door, "the delusion that only Eru Illuvatar can create life."
.
The first beams of morning light came across the distant peaks of the Misty Mountains and shone in rippling pools upon the rich red woodwork of the floor of Elladan's healing room. Elrohir had gone to wash the dirt and blood from his hair while Raniel changed the soiled sheets on the sick bed under the cool gaze of the door wardens.
"It's a good thing," The Lord of Imladris assured his worried-looking daughter. He was sitting back in a stuffed chair, holding a very heavily drugged Elladan carefully, upright against his chest while Raniel changed the sheets. "His kidneys are working." He explained, adjusting Elladan's head on his shoulder. His son was still deeply unconscious, but the drama of the night seemed to have resolved with the rising of the sun. Elladan's breathing was even and deep against his father's neck.
Elrond stood with the grace of a dancer, using his healing energy to mask the discomfort that the movement might cause. He laid Elladan back on the fresh linen, and as he placed the dark head back on the pillow, he heard a heartbreaking grunt of pain as the movement jostled his broken rib.
"I'm sorry," Elrond straightened his son's head on the pillow with his hands. Elladan's lashes fluttered, but his unfocused eyes slid off his father's face. "Elladan," Elrond tried to catch the sparks of his eyes, but they failed to track his fingers.
"Thought I was you," Elladan slurred. His fearful gaze briefly fixed on something in the shadowed rafters beyond his father's face.
"Shhh, shhh, shh," Elrond soothed, "Let no dark dream haunt your mind, Starboy. You need to sleep." He passed a hand over his son's eyes, and they fluttered shut.
"He's not making sense," Arwen looked down at her brother from the foot of the bed as her father and the nurse pulled the blanket up to his bandaged chest. She thought her father looked older than she had ever seen him.
"Let us hope that it is only the poppy." He settled himself into the chair beside the bed, "We need to make sure that he stays hydrated," Elrond looked to the water decanter placed just beyond his reach, and Arwen, understanding, handed him a filled glass. With a word of thanks to his daughter, Elrond turned and coaxed his unconscious son to drink a few sips of water. Then handing the cup back to Arwen, who still held the decanter, he sat back and let the first rays of Anor bathe his face in light. For a moment, he dared to hope that his family would survive this.
What happened next was so fast that Arwen had trouble remembering it later. The dark form dropped from the shadowed woodwork of the ceiling like a Mirkwood spider diving for a fly. There was a flash of steel as she went for Elrond's throat. He had the speed to spin away from her, sending the chair he was sitting in skidding across the floor. He felt the clean sting of one of his own scalpels slash across his face and ear.
"Get off him, you bitch!" Arwen screamed and, refracting the morning sunlight in a geometrical burst of rainbow perfusions, she swung the decanter at the dark figure and felt it shatter on their skull.
At that moment the door wardens were upon them, a blow to the gut sent the woodelf staggering into the window.
"Are you all right, my lady?" The guard asked.
Lhossiel was hurdled into the window at the same moment that Glorfindel came crashing into the room. She staggered against the bowed and shattered leaded panes, blood streaming from her face, shaking herself and looking around at the guards like a cornered animal. The decanter had split her eyebrow and broken her nose, and she spat blood onto the ground, looking slightly unsteady on her feet.
Arwen stared in shock at the broken handle in her hand, breathing heavily as she registered the feeling of hitting another elf in anger.
"Lhossiel," Glorfindel stepped forward, sending a glance to his lord. Raniel had rushed to press a towel against the side of Lord Elrond's face as he staggered to his feet. But the wood elf could not let herself go so easily, and perhaps the Imladris guards were unwilling to use the necessary force upon an elleth because she managed to open the two halves of the window behind her. A great gust of wind rattled the broken window panes and sent her long hair dancing.
Below this part of the healing wing, there was a sheer drop decorated with one of the underground tributaries of the Bruinen that flowed out from the caverns. When the window opened, the ever-present sound of furious water thundering over stone filled their ears.
"Don't," the golden Warrior rushed forward. He had expected her to jump, but instead, she made a great leap to catch ahold of the top of the window and disappeared over the tiled edge of the roof.
"How do they do that?" Glorfindel turned his head back to see the edge of the roof at least fifteen feet above him. "Find her!" he barked at the guards.
"I see you've found our assassin," Elrond said sarcastically. Taking the bloody towel from the nurse and pressing it into his face.
"I fear the loss of her husband has stolen the last fragments of self-awareness she had left," Glorfindel shook his head. Showing him where his arm was bound, "She likes knives." he observed, "She will lash out at anyone who tries to stop her. She has been taken by the enemy, my lord." They shared a look of knowing sadness, "Is anyone…" he looked around the room, "Where is lord Elrohir?"