Chapter Three

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Summary: Vildan is finally back home, but before he spends time with his niece, he needs some answers from Elrond. What he learns only serves to raise more questions.

But first...

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After weeks of tossing and turning, I had at last fallen back into my normal sleeping patterns. That is, until someone was shaking my shoulder and calling my name.

"Hmmm?" I rolled over and rubbed my eyes. And there they were, only this time, there was a large mug of Adila's coffee on my bedside table. Cream, one sugar and a shot of vanilla. "Thank you so much."

Hilda acted as spokesperson. "We're so sorry about the deaths in your family, lovey. I understand your poor Mam had been sick for a long time, and at least your uncle was in no pain when he passed."

"We are also sorry for the loss of your dog, as well," Thranduil added. "That was also unexpected?"

"Thank you." My eyes traveled to the framed picture of her, alongside my cat, who had died just months before. "Fang really liked you guys."

"And I enjoyed her on our little visits." His eyes rested on a spot at my feet. "Why do you have a dust mop on your bed?"

"That's not a dust mop. See? It has eyes."

His dark eyebrows lowered as he scrutinized the pile of hair. "Why do you have a dust mop with eyes on your bed?"

Said dustmop awoke, stretched her legs, smacked her lips and yawned with a soft whine. After a vigorous shake, her hair settled enough to reveal brown eyes that blinked up at the small crowd.

"My friends bought me a puppy," I said. "I'll always miss Fang, and no one could ever take her place, but they thought I would need her now, after losing my mother."

"It was a wise decision," the Elvenking nodded.

"I'm glad to see you, but is there a reason why you're here?"

"We came to offer our condolences on your losses," Bard repeated, "and we need to talk to you about something else."

"It was nice of you to give us a vacation," Rhian said, "and we all had a great time, but we've been talking, and—" she hesitated, biting her lower lip.

"Wait," I perked up with curiosity. "What did you guys do with your time off?"

The corners of Bard's eyes crinkled. "Thranduil and I went on a tour of Italy. The artwork in the Vatican was beautiful," he winked. "What we saw of it, anyway."

"Okay…." I turned my head and gave him a sidelong glance. "What does that mean?"

Thranduil's mouth pursed into a straight line. "That building you call the Sistine Chapel—"

"What about it?"

"First off, all those pale naked bodies on the ceiling—"

"Well, that's what men and women look like!" the Bowman scowled. "You like my body."

"Your body has all that delightful hair," the Elvenking pointed out. "Do you honestly believe those ancient Mediterraneans were hairless? Or that they shaved their entire bodies?" Thranduil wrinkled his nose. "How many women did you and I see on the street bearing mustaches!"

"But that's not on purpose," I said. "It's just that their hair is very dark, and when all women get older—"

"I am older," Hilda's tone was imperious, "and you don't see me with hair on my upper lip!"

"That's because I don't write you with one."

"That is not so," Daeron said. "Just last week, you came to see me for a spell—" Rhian elbowed him in the ribs with a warning stare. "Er…sorry, I must have mistaken you for someone else."

"Too right you did," Hilda sniffed.

It seemed wise to change the subject. "You were saying? About the paintings?"

"Why are the humans depicted as hairless and pale? And another thing—" he hesitated, looking to see if children were present.

"Go ahead," Bard said. "Might as well tell her all of it."

"Tell me all of what?"

The Elvenking raised his palms toward me. "Now, before you hear this, I want you to keep an open mind,"

"Uh huh."

"Best to confess all and be done with it," said Hilda.

"Do I really want to know?" I asked her out of the corner of my mouth.

"Not really, no."

"You see," Thranduil began, "the Tour Guide was pointing out the painting of the one called Adam—"

"'The Creation of Adam,' by Michelangelo?"

"That is the one," he said. "He was touching fingertips with a bearded figure—"

"God."

"Excuse me?"

"The bearded man represents God, the Creator," I said. "The Christian version of Eru Ilúvatar."

"Oh. Well, I merely pointed out Adam's obvious flaw and suggested something be done about it."

"What flaw?"

"It is a disgrace!" Thranduil said. "It is ridiculous to make anyone believe that poor Man's genitalia could be that undersized!"

"Oh," my eyes scrunched tight, "that flaw."

"So, you know of it, and have done nothing about it?" The Elvenking's hands flew to his hips.

"I can't do anything about it." I said. "Why?"

"Because that thing—"

"Adam's thing?"

"Yes, Adam's thing!" Thranduil pronounced it with the emphasis on the last syllable. "It is no bigger than his thumb!"

"Technically speaking," I cleared my throat, "Adam's thumb is bigger."

"Then you understand why something had to be done." Thranduil gave his husband a fond look. "While I consider myself fortunate that Bard is so well-endowed—"

"Oh, here we go," Hilda rolled her eyes.

Bard said nothing, but color stormed into his cheeks as he stared at his feet.

"Let's not get into that just now, okay?" I exhaled slowly, girding my loins. "Just tell me what happened."

"I only did what I thought was necessary." Thranduil crossed his arms, his chin lifted in defiance. "This Adam creature's Gwîb is an insult to the world of Men! It is grossly underproportioned, and it would have been better to simply paint a strip of cloth over his lap and be done with the matter!"

"Oh my God…"

"So this God belongs to you?"

"No, He belongs to everyb— What did you do, Thranduil?"

"First, I tried to resolve the issue diplomatically."

"Of course." I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose.

"I politely requested an audience with their King—"

"Oh, my G—" My eyes flew open. "You asked to speak to the Pope?" "Pope Francis?"

"Yes, that is what the Tour Guide said, but he was very rude and refused me an audience!" Thranduil tapped his chest. "When I told him I was King of the Woodland Realm, he threatened to call Security! So…"

"So, what?"

"Naturally, I was forced to take matters into my own hands," Thranduil said brightly.

"How?" I whimpered.

"He took off his outer robe," Bard said, "climbed up the wall, and fastened it over Adam like a…" he flipped his finger in a circle, "what do you call them?"

"You mean a toga? On Adam. You put a toga on the Creation of Adam?" My hands waved in the air like a jazz dancer as I fought down the hysteria building in my chest. How many of my worldly possessions would I have to sell to pay the legal fees? "Wait a minute." I said. "How did you get up there?"

"I am an Elf."

"But how in the hell did you get the cloth to stay?"

"Elven magic," Thranduil said smugly.

"Bullshit," Bard said. "You used gum!"

"You, mean you… you…." The hysteria won the fight. "You put chewing gum on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel? Oh, my God," I moaned, burying my face in my hands. "Oh, my God, OhmyGodOhmyGod…"

"It worked," Thranduil shrugged. "And that was my best robe!"

"'Artists must be sacrificed to their art,'" Bard quoted, then tucked his face into his shoulder and giggled.

Rhian giggled because Bard was giggling.

"Shhhh!" Daeron threw her a dirty look, hiding a smile.

Percy held his stomach and howled. Even Hilda was biting the inside of her cheek.

I peeked through my fingers. "How did you know about chewing gum in the first place?"

"Mithrandir," Thranduil said. "The tourists who came to Dale last Yule gave him some."

"Yep," Bard said helpfully. "He asked us to bring some back with us, so we bought this huge bag."

"What happened next?"

Bard's head sank into his shoulders. "We were sort of, arrested?"

"OH MY GOD!" I screamed.

"You say that a lot," Thranduil observed. "I thought you said your Monotheistic Deity did not exclusively belong to you?"

"Don't change the subject! You and Bard were arrested by the Swiss Guard?"

"Is that what you call them?" Thranduil laughed. "How could anyone wearing such an outlandish costume expect to be taken seriously?"

"Those uniforms are traditional!" I argued. "And the guards in your Throne Room look just as weird!"

"They do not!" Thranduil was outraged. "Take that back!"

"Enough, all of you!" Hilda stomped her foot. "They're here, aren't they? So they're obviously all right."

"How?"

"Gandalf came to the rescue," Bard said, "and nobody got hurt."

"See what I mean?" Hilda said in a soothing tone. "All's well that ends well, yeah?"

"But the painting—" I wailed.

"Was fixed," she reassured me. "And don't worry. No one can trace any of this back to you. Gandalf erased their memories."

"Ooh," my eyes lit up. "You mean like the flashy-thingie in Men in Black?"

"Huh?" Bard and Percy exchanged glances.

"Don't look at me," Percy raised his hands and looked at Daeron.

"I have never heard of such a thing," Daeron said, looking to Rhian for help.

"How would I know?" she shrugged, turning to Thranduil.

"Who are these Men in black attire?" the Elvenking asked. "Does this Flashee resemble Mithrandir's fireworks?"

"Never mind," I sighed. "Please, please tell me no one else got arrested."

"Worry not," Thranduil gave me a satisfied smile. "Galion and Rôgon took all the children on a boat tour—I believe they called it a 'Croose—'"

"Cruise," I corrected.

"…to a country called 'Alaskia—'"

"Alaska. It's actually a state."

"Tauriel and Legolas enjoyed climbing Mount DAnalee—"

"Denali."

"Sigrid and Bain enjoyed the nightclubs, and Tilda loved the Magick show."

"Thank God— er, I mean, the Valar." I turned to Daeron and Rhian. "Where did you guys go?"

"Scotland!"

"Did anyone notice your pointy ears?"

"He wore a hat," Rhian assured me. "Lots of Men wear those slouchy ones now. The weather was awful, but oh, the scenery was gorgeous! Darryn had a blast playing in all the Castles."

"Hilda and I went to Vegas," Percy said proudly. "Won a bunch at the Blackjack tables!"

"Of course, you did." I chuffed a laugh. "And did you ask Gandalf to help exchange it so you could bring your money back to Dale?"

"I…" Percy's face fell. "Shit."

"I did," Hilda said.

"Well, why didn't you say anything!" Percy's mouth fell open.

"Serves you right. I wanted to see some shows, but nooooo…" Hilda jabbed her finger into his chest. "You parked your arse in that stupid casino and wouldn't budge!"

It seemed a good idea to change the subject. "Where are the rest of you?"

"Tur and Evvy are still at their honeymoon cottage," Daeron and his wife exchanged knowing smiles. "They are in no hurry to get back."

"The thing is, love," Hilda sat on the bed facing me, and took my hands, "We enjoyed our vacation, but we need to get back. Your readers are worried about you."

I sat up straighter. "And you know this, how?"

"Er, you see," Bard winced, "we sort of asked Galadriel to use her Mirror to hack into your laptop—"

"Of course, you did," I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. "And?"

"We checked your AO3 Inbox—"

"Hey!"

"And we may have taken a peek into your Email—"

"Eep," I squeaked.

"…and your Messenger—"

"You have no right— OW!" The puppy bit my toes.

"See?" Bard said. "Even she knows it's time to get back to it."

"Good dog," Thranduil patted the pup's head. What is her name?"

"Brunhilda."

"Of course, it is," Thranduil rolled his eyes. Brunhilda got hold of one of the Elvenking's fingers and gave it a good chomp.

"Naeg!" he yelped. "Daro!"

Undaunted, the pup wagged her tail, yipped a few times and began to chew a hole in his robes.

"I don't think she understands Sindarin," Bard smothered a grin.

"She understands perfectly," Thranduil frowned at the pup, who was growling and shaking at the expensive silk.

"She's still a baby, and her teeth are coming in," I explained.

"So?" Hilda pressed. "Will you get back to it?"

With a sigh, I slid off the bed and grabbed my robe.

"Life must go on," I said.

And that's when I woke up…

(I'm beginning to sense a pattern, here...)

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"For small creatures such as we, the vastness is bearable only through love."

— Carl Sagan

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Rivendell, 5th of September 2945 T.A.

Vildan took a deep breath, prayed for guidance, and turned the knob.

And there she was.

Melui was seated on a couch next to an elleth, who was trying to entice her with a doll. The caretaker smiled a greeting at him as she spoke to the child in soothing tones. "Melui?" she pointed at him, "Tôrano Vildan túliele, tithen pen!"

Vildan's heart pounded the inside of his ribcage hard enough to leave bruises. After drawing a deep, harsh breath, he crept closer, careful not to make a noise or swift movement, lest it startle her.

He needn't have bothered. Melui was as oblivious to him as she was to her dark-haired caretaker.

Vildan went down on one knee before the couch and studied his niece. Her face and hands were perfectly spotless, her light blue dress fit her well and had been pressed into pristine condition. Every golden hair on her head lay in place upon her shoulders. Her boots were polished, and her white stockings bore no holes or smudges.

Too clean. Too still. The child might as well have been the doll in the Elleth's hands.

Except for the eyes. Melui's were normally the same shade of light blue as her mother, but now were a dull, muddy grey. He gently cupped her cheek and turned her to face him. With as much calm as he could muster, he whispered, "Túliel, Mîrë nîn. Ni ceno nin?"

Her answer was a distant stare that could have gone on for miles.

"Melui? Will you not look into my eyes? Please?" His throat constricted. "Tôrano Vida túliele," he said, his voice rising in fear, "In gi nathad!"

"Vildan."

A firm hand grasped his shoulder. He turned to see Lord Elrond looking down on him with compassion, but behind that was deep concern and a sense of urgency. He motioned for Vildan to stand. "Come away with me, now."

"What is wrong with her?" Vildan's voice shook as he rose to his feet. "Why does she not speak?"

"We will discuss that." Elrond gestured to the dark-haired caretaker. "You know Laniër, of course."

Vildan's eyes fell upon the attractive Elleth. "Yes, of course," he said politely, "I am sorry I did not recognize you."

"I understand," she demurred. "It is only natural that your first concern be for Melui."

He placed his hand over his heart and saluted her. "Thank you for looking after my niece."

"It is my pleasure," she said, her smile reaching her green eyes. "I am glad to be of some small help."

"We will go to my study." Elrond's grip on Vildan's upper arm was firm and commanding. "I am sure you have questions, but it is not beneficial to speak of such things in front of the child."

"Yes, of course," Vildan said dully, and in that moment, the grief from his sister's death, the exhaustion from the trip, and the shock of seeing Melui in her present condition crashed into him like an avalanche. His knees grew weak, and his legs threatened to buckle.

"Are you well, Lieutenant?" Elrond's face grew concerned. "Do you need to rest, first?"

"I am fine, My Lord." Vildan steadied himself. "Please, I need to understand what happened."

Elrond scrutinized him for a few moments, then gave a slight nod of assent. "Let us go, then. Lean on me if you need."

He supported Vildan as they made their way through the halls of the living quarters, around the courtyard, and into Elrond's study. Soon he found himself seated in one of the tufted leather chairs with a large goblet of Miruvor pressed into his hand.

"Drink," Elrond ordered. "All of it."

"Again," Elrond refilled his cup when he was finished. "You do not have to drink this all at once, but I want this emptied before you leave this room."

Vildan swallowed down another sip before he found his voice. "Please," he asked again, "what happened to Meássë and Narseg? Was anyone else killed?"

Elrond lifted the small brass bell on his desk and gave it a couple of shakes. "Before we begin, I would like Gildor to join us." 1

"Yes, My Lord?" Lindir opened the room and stuck his head in.

"Gildor awaits my summons in the library."

"I will fetch him at once." With a salute, Lindir exited, and a few minutes later, Gildor Inglorion entered the room.

Gildor, son of Inglor, was born in Valinor and had, in ancient times, joined Galadriel and her brothers on their long journey across the icy wastelands of Helcaraxë to make their homes in Middle Earth.

Though the weight of that treacherous journey did not show in his ageless face, his eyes and his countenance bore the sadness that can only come from surviving such things. He was taller than most of the Elves in Rivendell, though not as tall as Glorfindel or Elrond. His black hair hung long and straight to his waist, his piercing grey eyes were full of wisdom, and a plain silver diadem graced his brow. He was wearing robes of crimson silk, with golden buttons at his wrists and throat, and his leggings and boots were black. As with Glorfindel, and Galadriel, and any Elf that had once beheld the Light of the Two Trees, Gildor's skin held a radiance that set him apart—and above—any Elf born in this world.

Vildan set down his goblet, rose to stand at attention, and bowed his head with utmost respect. "Mae govannen, Hír nîn," he saluted. "I had the pleasure of making your nephew's acquaintance in King Thranduil's Palace."

Affection brought a twinkle to Gildor's eyes. "I hope you found him and his family well."

"Very much so. Their foster-children, Dylan and Rowena, have recovered nicely from their ordeal last winter. They are the picture of health and bring their parents much happiness. 2 I regret there was no time for a letter to be sent with me, but I am certain Gwindor and your namesake will send plenty of news when the rest of the Vanguard returns next month." 3

"I look forward to it."

Gildor took the seat with a fluid, poetic grace that Vildan would have admired any other day and under any other circumstance. They turned to Elrond, who reflected their solemn expressions. He rested his elbows on his desk, folded his hands together and began the meeting.

"Let us begin with what I know is your most pressing concern, Vildan. As I said, I am greatly concerned about your niece."

"Melui has just lost her parents, and I know she has missed me," Vildan said, picking up his goblet to take another sip. "Surely she will improve, now that I have come to care for her."

"That is my hope, of course. But I should warn you; I have never seen anything like this."

"How so?"

"Children of all races, especially the very young, are blessed with an extraordinary ability to adapt to their circumstances. They accept things with an ease that most adults envy. However, Melui has not. You have seen for yourself what I was saying." Elrond shook his head in dismay. "She eats enough, praise Elbereth, and she sleeps with the help of a Losta-luith adapted to her age and weight, but beyond that, what you have observed is how she has been for several weeks." He raised an eyebrow and gave Vildan a meaningful look. "The bigger problem is that Melui fell into that state before Gildor's messengers arrived with news of your sister's death."

The muscles in Vildan's neck went rigid. "I beg your pardon?"

"Melui did not become so afflicted when the reports of her parents came back. It appears that she did so at the exact time of their deaths."

"She knew?" Vildan's hand shook, spilling a few drops of Miruvor on his lap. Gildor took his goblet and set it on Elrond's desk. "But," Vildan's voice was a scrape. "How can this be?"

"That remains a mystery; one we will do our best to unravel."

"What do I do?"

"For now, she requires constant observation. I confess I was hoping for some sort of miracle when you entered her room, but..." Elrond heaved a sigh of disappointment. "Still, I am convinced it is you that can break through those walls."

"How?"

"Keep her with you as much as possible. Talk to her as cheerfully as you can, about things that will not upset or provoke her. Take her riding, for walks, read to her, anything that can stimulate her attention. Refrain from mentioning her parents, at least for now. After she begins to respond, I want to be there when we begin to speak of Meássë and Narseg."

"Whatever she needs, I will do."

"I know you will, Mellon nîn," Elrond gave him an approving nod. "I asked Gildor to join us, as I assume you wish details about your sister's death?"

"I do, very much."

"Before we go into that," the Elf-Lord leaned toward him, "I must have your Gwest a Dhínen. What you are about to hear is known only to Gildor, Glorfindel and myself, and it must go no further, is that understood?"

Vildan placed his hand over his heart. "You have it, My Lord."

"Very well." Elrond raised his hand to Inglorion. "Gildor?"

"De mhilui, Hír nîn. Early in July," Gildor began, "I was told in a dream to make haste to the Tower Hills; an urgent message awaited Lord Elrond in the Palantír of Elostirion. 4

"'Message?' I thought that stone went dark long ago!"

"None but a select few know the truth, Lieutenant." Elrond said. "We are only telling you to help you understand your sister's role in such matters. Go ahead, Gildor."

"We left the next day; Narseg was among the Vanguard escorting the party, and Meássë brought four of our fastest birds."

"She is a talented Falconer," Vildan said, then winced. "Was." He took a shaky breath. "Is the vision in the Palantír why Orcs attacked?"

"Unlikely. The Palantir's message concerned a future event that had nothing to do with them. 5 In any case, no one besides myself looks into the Seeing Stone, and I send the only copy of the message to Lord Elrond with the Falcons."

"Yet you yourself know what the Seeing Stone has revealed. Does that not make you vulnerable?"

Gildor's mouth curved with confidence. "Every Orc west of the Misty Mountains knows that to attempt such an attack on me would be suicide."

"I had no idea, about any of this," Vildan marveled.

"Which only serves to make the deeds of your sister and brother-in-law that much more admirable," Elrond said.

"On the sixth morning after we left the Tower Hills," Gildor continued, "Narseg and Meássë could not be accounted for. We organized a search and found their bodies in a small clearing a mile from camp. There were obvious signs of a struggle, and we found several arrows of Orc-make, along with a few of their weapons.

"I immediately sent another bird back to Imladris with news of the tragedy. I also asked him to send Glorfindel to me with all speed, and remained alone at the scene while the rest of the party carried your sister and brother-in-law back home."

"Why did you ask for this?"

"I was hoping he could use his heightened senses to confirm my suspicions."

"But…" A growing sense of foreboding stirred in Vildan's breast. " Orcs attacked your entire party, did they not?"

Gildor exchanged a meaningful look with Elrond, who said, "Vildan, Gildor and Glorfindel carefully examined that clearing, and they both agree that the murder scene was staged to look like an Orc attack."

Vildan's head jerked back, as if he'd been slapped. "How can you know this?"

"Oh, it was cleverly done, and would have fooled even the best Elven tracker. But Glorfindel and I have the advantage of our heritage, and we put them to good use on your sister's and brother's behalf." Gildor reached over and placed a hand on Vildan's arm. "Orcs were not responsible for this, my young friend. We have reason to believe that the murders of Meássë and Narseg were not random, but a deliberate and well-planned assassination."

"But wh…" he sucked in a harsh gulp of air. "Who could possibly want them dead?"

"I ardently wish I knew." Elrond's gaze lowered to his clasped hands. "We've asked. No one admits any sort of grudge against them, nor have I heard any complaints about any member of your family."

"What is being done to find those responsible?"

"The arrows and the Orc weapons are on their way to Lord Halbarad, Chieftain of the Dúnedain, to see if he can identify the pack they came from. In the meantime, Gildor, Glorfindel and myself are discretely coordinating an investigation here. Elladan and Elrohir—when he returns—will be pressed into service as well."

"I want to help," Vildan straightened his spine.

"Absolutely not. It is imperative that you remain outside these matters."

"But I must find out what happened to my sister! My Lord, I am Vanguard, and one of the best trackers in your—"

"What you are right now," Elrond's voice was kind, but resolute, "is a parent."

"But—"

"Lieutenant!" The Elf-Lord raised his hand to silence him. "We have no idea who is behind all this, and until we know more, it must appear as if we have accepted the lie, especially you. For all we know, the killer could be watching, and if he suspects we are still investigating this, you and your niece are in grave danger. We cannot risk assigning additional security, so it falls to you to serve as Melui's guardian and protector. Elladan will serve as her Healer, and since the two of you are friends, no one will suspect his frequent presence."

"Ai," Vildan's composure crumpled, and he buried his face in his hands. "Me neithan!" He felt the heat from Gildor's hand as it rubbed his upper back. The healing warmth loosened the tension in his shoulders, but it did little to ease the churning in his stomach.

Elrond got up, walked around his desk to rest his hand on the back of Vildan's head. "I know it will be difficult, Vildan," he said, "but you must trust us. Look at me." He gently placed his fingers under Vildan's chin, and raised his face to meet Elrond's piercing grey eyes. "I do wish to make this an order, but I will if I have to, do you understand?"

"Yes, My Lord," Vildan said, a tear falling off his chin.

"We will not stop until you and your child are safe, that is our solemn vow. And again, I am truly sorry for your loss."

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Vildan managed to keep his composure as he left Elrond's presence, but when Glorfindel appeared in his path alongside Elladan, his heart lurched with dread.

"Are you ready?" the blonde Elf-Lord asked gently, and handed him a large bouquet of flowers.

"Can anyone ever be?"

"No," Elladan grasped Vildan's elbow.

"I can do this by myself."

"You could," Elladan inclined his head, "but you will not."

Vildan allowed his friend and his Commander to lead him beyond the Gates of Imladris to a nearby hill. Two freshly-dug burial mounds lay side-by-side, the thick blankets of cut flowers still gave off a faint, sweet scent.

Glorfindel and Elladan kept a discreet distance as Vildan placed his flowers atop the others, their bright colors mocked the sea of dull, wilting petals that had been laid weeks ago.

When it was time for the Naegûr Laer, he began the melody in a clear, strong voice. Glorfindel and Elladan joined in, blending in perfect harmony. He sang for Melui, whose current state frightened him more than he could face just now. He sang for his parents, far away and sorely missed. But when he sang for his sister whom he cherished, and Narseg, who was as a brother, his voice stuttered and fell silent. He fell to the ground, his body instinctively drawing into itself to cradle his bleeding heart. The agony of loss exploded inside him, and he buried his head in his arms, only managing shallow gulps of air between sobs. Understanding arms encircled him, holding him steady. The singing continued but was no longer a lament, but a song that offered comfort and consolation.

How long did he weep before his cries finally slowed down and his vision cleared?

"It does not matter, Mellon nîn," Glorfindel knew his thoughts. "We are here for as long as you need."

The same strong hands lifted him upright, wiped his face with a soft cloth, and supported him, until his breathing returned to a semblance of normal. When he could once again see, the stars of Elbereth were shining in the night sky, giving him reassurance, but not hope. Not just yet. The wind picked up and whirled around him. A burst warm of warm air brushed against his cheek.

"I am all right, now," he rasped, wiping his nose with the handkerchief.

"You are not, and you will not be so for a long time," Glorfindel said. "Here," he offered a skin full of wine, and unwrapped a linen napkin to reveal three plain rolls and a pear. "It is a light meal, but I want you to eat it all."

"My father insists," Elladan said with a wry smile.

Vildan took a bite of the bread. "Thank you."

"We do not have to return before you are ready," Glorfindel said.

"But what about Melui?"

"One more night with Laniër will not cause difficulty," Elladan said. "Ada has ordered a proper night's rest."

They each took an elbow and helped him down the hill, through the back gates and passages, so Vildan could avoid the condolences that will surely bombard him tomorrow.

In Elladan's quarters, the servants had prepared a hot, soothing bath, with oil of Lavender and Athelas to calm his nerves and loosen the tension in his muscles that he hadn't realized was there.

Glorfindel returned to his duties, but Elladan remained to help his exhausted body out of the bath and into a night shirt. Once tucked into the first comfortable bed he'd been in since he'd left the North, the son of Elrond placed his hand over Vildan's brow, murmured a Losta-luith, and at last, this terrible day was over.

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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Ai! Me neithan – Oh no! We have been wronged

Athelas – Kingsfoil; a weed to most people of Middle Earth, but a valuable healing herb to those who know how to administer it.

De mhilui, Hír nîn – Thank you, My Lord

Gwest a Dhínen – Oath of Silence

Losta-luith – Sleeping spell.

Naegûr Laer -Song of Mourning

Ni ceno nin – Would you please look at me?

Tôrano Vida túliele an gi nathad – Uncle Vida is here, and I will help you (Vida is Melui's name for Vildan.

Tôrano Vildan túliele, tithen pen! – Uncle Vildan is here, little one!

Túliel, Mîrë nîn – I have come, my Precious Jewel.

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NOTES:

[1] /wiki/Gildor_Inglorion

[2] Broken Wings, Ch. 18: /works/20519588/chapters/52298323

[3] Broken Wings, Ch. 22: /works/20519588/chapters/53531497

[4] /wiki/Elostirion-stone

[5] Broken Wings, Ch. 45: /works/20519588/chapters/63097606

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