Chapter Eleven
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SUMMARY: So, what in the world is going on with Vildan? And who in the hell is beating on that poor Elf?
Elrond is doing his best to help, but all this triggers an unhappy memory.
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"Yet, if he said he loved me
I'd be lost, I'd be frightened
I couldn't cope, just couldn't cope
I'd turn my head, I'd back away
I wouldn't want to know
He scares me so
I want him so
I love him so…"
by Yvonne Ellimann
(Jesus Christ Superstar)
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Rivendell, 4th of March 2946 T.A.
"Vildan! Vildan!" The sound of flesh hitting flesh was a crack of a whip, and his right cheekbone exploded in pain.
"Wake up!" Another hard slap and another shout, more of a frantic sob this time. "Please, Mellon nîn, YOU MUST WAKE UP!"
Vildan scratched and scrabbled his way to the surface of consciousness, and with a loud guttural croak, gasped. Air, blessed, wonderful air, the element of life he would never, ever take for granted again, filled his chest, again and again. Each inhalation nourished the blood that still thrummed in his ears, nearly drowning out the concerned voice of Elladan, whose hand was raised to strike him again.
"Vildan?" The son of Elrond had gone white to the lips.
"Aa..." He opened his mouth to assure his friend, but he couldn't spare even a little breath. A sharp pain seized him right below his sternum.
"All right…" Elladan placed his hands on his chest, and said, "Vildan." He grabbed his face and yelled. "Vildan! Look at me! You have winded yourself, and your diaphragm is in paroxysm." Calm down and take slow, deep breaths…"
Soothing warmth flowed through Vildan's chest, easing the frantic, spasming muscles of his chest wall, but the sense of panic was harder to ease. Sweat poured down his face and stung his eyes. Or were they tears? The sobs that accompanied every exhale gave him the answer.
"Keep trying Vildan… That is it… Is it a little better?"
Vildan managed a grunt in response while his gaze swept the room and settled on the open door of his bedroom. "Wh…" he tried to say. "Me—"
"Do not try to talk yet. Keep your eyes on me and breathe…"
After what seemed like a century, the tingling in Vildan's face and arms subsided and the pain was gone. He flopped back down with a grateful sigh.
"Very good. Do you know where you are?"
"I am in your father's house." Another sigh. "And I think you broke my cheekbone."
"I did not; although I am sure I bruised it. Hold still." Elladan placed his hand on the side of his face and sung down the pain and swelling.
"Ci vilui," Vildan said as he worked the stiffness out of his jaw. "Why would you do that?"
"I struck you only as a last resort," he said apologetically.
The tightness and tingling returned to Vildan's chest again. "Why?"
"You were not breathing, Mellon, and it looked like you had not for several minutes.
"Melui—" he propped himself onto his elbows.
"My father is with her." Elladan pressed on his shoulders and made him lie down against the pillows.
"What happened?" he demanded.
"I was hoping you could tell me." Elladan sat on the bed, facing him. "Nyssiel was on duty and heard shouting. She came in to find you thrashing about in your bed. When she could not wake you, she sent for Ada and me." The soft, yellow glow of the bedside lamps reflecting the worry in his dark eyes. "I praise the Valar I came in time; had we delayed, I doubt we would be speaking now."
"Do not worry about me," Vildan sighed. "I am just grateful I am awake and out of that…place, though I hardly think it was necessary to clout me upside the head."
"Did you not just hear what I said?" Elladan said, grabbing the pyjama top. "It was as if someone was choking you! I praise the Valar we came in time; had we delayed for even another minute, we would be speaking!"
"I did not wake Melui, did I?"
"N…no."
"What is that look?" he said, looking past Elladan's shoulder. "Where is she?"
"Ada took her to the infirmary, which is where you are headed next."
"I do not—"
"Vildan, you are going! Ada wants you both kept under constant care until we figure out what happened to you." He called to Nyssiel, who was waiting outside the door, "Please help me take the Lieutenant to the Healing Hall."
"I do not need help," Vildan scowled and pulled the covers back.
Elladan's eyes moved upwards in a circular motion. "I would like to see you try."
Vildan swung his legs over to the edge of the bed with a groan, made a feeble attempt to stand, and lurched sideways into his friend.
"Very well," he groused, as another wave of dizziness overcame him. Nyssiel dashed forward to grab Vildan's other arm and the trio waited a moment for him to get his bearings.
"Stop grabbing at me!"
"I will grab you anywhere I need to." Elladan pulled Vildan's right arm over his shoulders, and Nyssiel did the same with this left. They exited the apartment made their way to Lord Elrond's infirmary, where they found the powerful Healer exiting the room.
"Ah," he said, gently closing the door behind him. His eyes turned to his son as he gestured toward Vildan with a wary look. "How is he?"
"Do not speak as if I am not here!" Vildan was filled with rage. "What did you do to my niece?"
Elrond's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied his face. "Well, that certainly answers my question." He directed Vildan's gaze toward the last bed in the infirmary which had been curtained-off. "Melui is sleeping comfortably at last, so if you would please lower your voice?"
A wave of shame swept over him, yet it was not enough to remove Vildan's anger. "My apologies, My Lord," he said through gritted teeth. "I do not mean to disrespect—"
Elrond raised his hand in assurance. "I understand."
"Do you?" Another wave of fury made his spine go rigid, but he managed to keep his tone low. "I have lived with this for six months without even a hint as to what I can do to help her! And now this?" he ground out. "Enough of this nonsense! Get the Lady Galadriel, and Mithrandir, if you must! I nearly died, and while I do not care so much for myself, I will not leave that child alone in the world!" Vildan struggled against Elladan and Nyssiel, who were no longer trying to keep him upright, but trying to prevent him from doing something he would regret. The urge to hurt this Elf made his blood boil and Vildan lunged toward Elrond wanting to kill him, to maim him, to make him feel the emotional torture he had been forced to endure for the last half-year.
Elrond remained calm and rather than the reprimand he deserved, the Elf-Lord narrowed his eyes and grasped either side of Vildan's face. He looked deep into his eyes, and after a moment or two murmured several words in Quenya. Vildan's head jerked back, and he tried to free himself, but Elrond held him firmly. Elladan and Nyssiel tightened their grip on his arms and forced him to keep still.
More words, ones he did not recognize, reverberated inside his mind, though Elrond's mouth was no longer moving. It was as if Elrond had sent something in his fëa that poked and probed and seemed to reach into the smallest most insignificant parts of Vildan's conscience and memory, until all was laid bare.
Vildan tried to fight it. Never had he felt more exposed, and the vulnerability frightened him. The words grew louder and more urgent, and all else faded away into nothingness as this…force attacked him. This time he screamed. Or did he? Why would Elrond want to kill him? Was he even in Elrond's halls?
For an instant, he saw the cave in his dream and feared he'd been thrown back there to die, and he was sure his Lord and Master was the one behind Melui's illness, the one who robbed him of air and—
But no. As soon as the thoughts surfaced, they were dissipated, and at last Vildan understood: the spell—for obviously it was a spell—was not malevolent at all. It was helping him dispel and heal the damage to his fëa from the dream itself, or to his brain from prolonged lack of air. Vildan didn't know, nor did he care at the point. All he knew was relief.
"Better?" Elrond stepped back and analyzed his face carefully. "If not, you must tell me."
Vildan managed a nod. "I am sorry—"
"Think nothing of it. Can you stand now?"
"I think so."
"We need to speak, but not here." Elrond nodded to Nyssiel and another guard. "Watch the child and do not allow anyone to approach her."
"Ben iest gîn, Hîr nîn," the Elves bowed their heads and saluted.
"We will go to my study," Elrond said. "Lean on Elladan and hurry."
As soon as they were seated, Elladan handed Vildan a glass of Miruvor and ordered him to sip it. The Elf still looked a bit pale but at least there was a bit of color to his lips.
"Do you know what happened, Ada?" he asked.
"I have my suspicions, but I must know more to be certain," Elrond said, his face intense. "Vildan, drink, gather your strength, and tell me everything you can remember about your ordeal."
"Yes, My Lord," Vildan's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. And with a visible shudder, he shared everything he could remember about the dream.
Ai, gorgor! Elladan's stomach turned as he listened to the words. "The assassin was you?"
"No! Well, yes. He looked like me, but I would never do such things! And how could I be in that tree slaughtering everyone below, when I was imprisoned in that place watching it all happen?"
"Interesting," Elrond leaned his elbow on his chair and grasped his chin. "Perhaps this dream was invoking your own sense of guilt; you feel as if you failed your loved ones by not being here to protect them."
Vildan's face disintegrated, but he did his best to remain stoic.
"Peace, mellon nîn." Elladan rested his hand on his friend's forearm and gave it a small squeeze. "Whatever the reasoning, no one believes this is your fault."
"I know. In my head, I know, but…" Vildan cleared his throat as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "But...what happened? How did you know to come?"
"Lt. Kædhan found me and said there was something terribly wrong with you and Melui. He had already woken Adar nîn."
"Hence my losta-haib," Elrond indicated his thick robe. "We arrived at your rooms and found you both in a terrible state," he said gently. "Nyssiel was trying to revive the child, but to no avail."
"Ai, nergon…" the cup nearly fell from Vildan's fingers.
Elladan grabbed it and set it on the desk. "Ada went to Meriel, while I went to you." He turned toward his father. "Vildan was grasping at this throat, as if something was choking him to death. It took a echuia-luith to revive him, but I still needed to get shock his system into wakefulness."
"I am afraid I found the baby in the same condition," Elrond's voice trembled slightly. "Fortunately, it did not need to get physical."
A cry escaped Vildan, and his head fell into his hands.
"Vildan… Vildan, listen to me!" Elrond's sharp voice cut through the panic. "I did revive her! Melui is in a genuine healing sleep, now."
"Thank you, My Lord," Vildan said, his face still pale. "Can you explain what happened to me in the infirmary? I heard strange words, and it seemed like you, but not. Was kind of spell was that?"
"One I rarely dare to use, Vildan," Elrond sighed. "The incantation was spoken in an ancient dialect once used in Valinor. The spell is called a Barthanc in that language, and I had to be absolutely certain of yours and Melui's condition and even then, only as a last resort."
"You mean, you used it on Melui, as well?" Elladan's eyes rounded.
"Once Melui was awakened," Elrond said evenly, "she tried to kick and bite me, as if I was the enemy in her dream, or whatever she was seeing. Even with her illness, that child was never aggressive."
"What condition do you speak of?" Vildan asked, rubbing his forehead.
"It is easier to understand if I explain how this Barthanc works. You should know that less than ten people in the history of Middle Earth could recite that spell. I was taught by my mother-in-law, but she cautioned me of its use." Elrond pursed his lips for a moment, then said, "Praise Queen Varda that I was correct; had I been wrong, you both would be dead."
No one moved, spoke or even breathed for several moments. Elladan glanced at Vildan, whose eyes darted back and forth as he tried to let the events of this night sink in.
Elrond steepled his fingers together—a sure sign of his worry—and continued. 1 "The Barthanc is a 'seeking spell,' one that is summoned, if you will, then sent to find that which is damaging the mind and/or the fëa."
"I remember…" Vildan said in a faraway voice. "I heard you say something, then it was as if something foreign was inside my head and looking…" he shuddered. "It saw everything terrible thing I was feeling and thinking and attacked it. Then…I could think clearly again."
"Exactly. The Barthanc can only be administered for a certain kind of," Elrond hesitated, "curse."
"Who would want to curse us?"
"Most likely the same person who had your sister and Narseg killed," Elrond said.
"So, if this Barthanc banished that curse; does that mean Melui will be well again?"
"Sadly, I do not think so. You both were under a spell which we refer to in Quenya as a Gurutholórë—"
"'Dream of Agony," Elladan interpreted. "I thought such things were only a myth."
"You are supposed to think so," Elrond said sadly. "It is a tactic used by the Dark Lord to control his followers. Someone here or in the nearby region has the not only the power to wield it, but also to mask it from people like myself and Glorfindel." Elrond pulled out a drawer and removed a folded piece of cloth.
"Vildan," he continued, "we did not share this with you before, because you needed to remain focused on your niece, not search the countryside for the owner of this. If I have erred, then I ask your forgiveness."
Elrond held out the bundle to Vildan. "When I performed an autopsy on your sister, this was buried in the base of her neck. It is the tip of an arrowhead, which we have determined was of Elven-make. Specifically, made in our own forges. Elrohir and his unit have worked for months to find out who might have owned this, but I cannot help but belief the true culprit is someone known to us.
"I chose Arwen's apartment for you to live because it is quiet and out of the way from much activity, but obviously it made you vulnerable to…" A muscle in Elrond's jaw twitched. "I will send for your things and for now, you both shall remain together in the infirmary where I can keep you both under heavy guard."
"Ai, gorgor…" A thought struck Elladan. "Where is Laniër? We did not see her at the apartment; I had assumed she was visiting friends."
"She usually does a few times a week," Vildan said, looking up from the cloth in his hands as he grasped what Elladan was suggesting. "Yesterday afternoon, I finally told her."
"Told her what?" Elrond asked.
"I am sure you have noticed Laniër's attachment to Melui," Elladan told his father. "What is not commonly known is that Laniër also has a particular attachment to Vildan."
Vildan's eyes fell to his hands. "I should have done something about this a long time ago, before she had a chance to get her hopes up."
"She was hurt," Elrond said.
"And angry," Vildan admitted. "Very angry."
"I see."
"But surely all this is a coincidence? And if the person who cursed us was also responsible for Meássë's death, then it could not have been Laniër! She was here that very same night!"
"Vildan," Elrond's voice grew soft. "What if she were working in concert with someone else?"
The Lieutenant's face grew ashen. "She… just before she left, she said I had no idea what she has done for me, what she protected…"
"Protected who, and from what?"
"I do not know," Vildan winced. "I lost my temper and she stormed out."
"Perhaps she was not as good a friend as we believed." Elladan mused.
"There might be something to that," Elrond said. "Whoever orchestrated all this has fooled both Glorfindel and me, and that is saying something. Someone that powerful could easily manipulate others into believing she—or he—has honorable intentions."
"Oh, no… It cannot be…"
Once again this night, Elladan had to steady his friend to keep him upright. "Ada? Are you well?"
His father clearly was not, and suddenly Elrond looked as old as his years. "In my house… into my very own halls has this evil entered..." He scrubbed his face and got to his feet. "Stay here," he ordered.
Elrond returned a few minutes later, shutting the door behind him. "I told the guards to find her telling her only that something terrible has happened to the child—"
"Which is not a lie," Vildan said wryly."
"We must speak with her, but if there is any truth to this theory, we cannot afford to spook her. Once she arrives, Glorfindel and I will interrogate her."
"I want to be with Melui," Vildan barely held back a sob. "I need to be with her."
"I agree," the Elf-lord and Elladan help Vildan to his feet. "We will take you to her."
Elrond Peredhel, son of Eärendil, could barely contain his rage. While he had sympathized with Galadriel and Thranduil when evil had breached their protective barriers, only now could he fully grasp the depth of their anger and frustration. Times have changed, and as Middle Earth approached the time when the fate of all Free Peoples will be decided once and for all.
At the heart of the murders in his mother-in-law's realm was a power-crazed Wizard who had fallen prey to the Dark Lord's powers. Pallando had also caused considerable damage in Thranduil's realm by placing an evil trinket into the hands of an Elfling.
Elrond was a fool to think for a moment that his realm was impervious to things like this, and for the second time in his life, the bottom had fallen out of his world, causing him to question everything he had ever believed. 2
Born near the end of the First Age 532, Elrond and his brother Elros had no recollection of their birth names, nor were they old enough to remember their mother but for vague memories of a soft breast and the voice that sang them to sleep. A brave, resigned smile in a damp, dark place, a kiss on both cheeks and a hurried command:
"No matter what you hear, do not come out for anyone but me or Lord Cîrdan."
It was 538 F.A. and the Havens of Sirion, was under attack.3 All Elrond could remember of that terrible time was screaming and fire and the grasp of his brother's arms as they huddled together.
But no one came. Not for days and days.
During the day, they carefully ventured out to eat the berries on nearby bushes, but once they'd been picked clean, there was nothing. The nights were full of gnawing hunger and a chill that sank into their very bones.
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One day, although the twins never counted the days, Elrond was lying down inside the cave, clutching his stomach in hopes of easing the cramps, when the voice of an adult Elf reached his ears. Elrond ran to the entrance to see Elros standing knee-deep in the water as a tall Elf squatted on the banks of the pool and asked him questions. Tired and hungry, Elrond lacked the energy to flee, though that did not stop his pulse from racing and his body nearly frozen with terror. Were they going to burn, as well?
But this dark-haired Elf merely held out some food and a blanket to Elros, who timidly stepped out of the water, grabbed the biscuit and jumped back a few steps as he devoured it greedily. A soft groan left his mouth and Elrond stopped caring about anything but that food. If getting a meal and a little warmth led to their deaths, then he was willing to die for it.
The Elf turned in surprise and when his eyes fell on Elrond, he slowly rose from his haunches to his full height. He had never seen anyone so tall before, and though there was a lovely glow about his face, the light grey eyes held great sadness. The Ellon approached him cautiously, breaking off another piece of biscuit and holding it out for him.
"Nán alassea omenita let," he said, breaking off another piece of biscuit and holding it out for him. "Ma samit maure matto?"
With filthy, shaking hands, Elrond snatched it from his fingers and gobbled it up.
The Ellon's lips curved into a small smile and rested his hand on his chest. "Maglor," he said. "Essenya Maglor ná." Then he pointed to Elrond and his brother. "Man esselya ná?"
But neither child responded.
"Maglor," he said again, pointing to his chest, then picked up the thick wool blanket and held it out. The twins took it and wrapped themselves up in it, grateful to find some warmth at last.
The blanket and the food seemed to bring the twins back to life. And with that life came the ability to finally express their sadness, for they knew now that their mother was lost to them forever. They pulled the blanket around them, and burst into tears.
When at last Elrond's vision cleared, he wiped his eyes with his fists, he for an instant, believed they had been abandoned again. But no; the Elf was approaching in the distance, leading a large black horse. Strong, solid hands lifted them into the saddle, adding a second blanket to keep them warm. Elrond leaned down and buried his face into the horse's silky dark mane and slept, Elros contentedly resting his cheek against Elrond's back.
They arrived at camp full of strangers, all speaking a foreign tongue. And even taller, red haired Ellon waved his handless arm at Maglor (for that indeed was his name). Their voices rose and fell in the firelight, the Red One's full of frustration, Maglor's soft and soothing. Finally, the Red One approached. His face was grim and a long, jagged scar ran down his left cheek. He had the same eyes as Maglor, only these grey eyes weren't just sad. They were haunted.
"Ni cheniog?" he asked, this time in Sindarin.
Elrond's shoulders finally relaxed, and both brothers nodded their heads.
"Ma i eneth gîn?"
But as relieved as the twins were, Elrond was afraid yet again. After of living in the physical darkness of that cave and the emotional darkness abandonment, both Elflings had lost the power of speech. Would this grim, scarred Elf abandon them, too? Would they be sent back to that awful place?
But to his surprise, the Red One bent over, lifted Elrond's chin and stared into his face. Tears fell, blurring his vision, but a soft hand rested on his cheek to wipe them away. When he could see again, the Red One's eyes were filled as well.
After a few days, the four of them left the camp and were taken to a splendid house, where the Ellyn were given new names: Elrond, because he had been in the cave, and Elros, because he had been splashing in the water, when Maglor had rescued them. They eventually regained their powers of speech and were educated in the language of their foster-fathers. people. Indeed, to children who had no real memory of their own father, Maglor and Maedhros had loved and cared for them as their own. Maglor preferred to tutor them himself rather than attend school, although Elrond could not help but notice the gaps in their history lessons. When he asked about that, Maglor insisted that they were learning all they needed and changed the subject, usually by handing him a harp and beginning their music lesson.
Maedhros trained them well in weapons and military strategy, and he was a thorough teacher, despite the occasional lapse in patience. This Elrond and Elros forgave because they heard him in the nights as he cried out, followed by Maglor who rushed past their door to attend to his brother.
One night, Elrond woke in the night to find Maedhros sitting by their bed, thoughtfully stroking their hair. He sat up and asked, "Are you well, Atar Russ?" he pointed to his foster-father's cheek."Do your scars hurt you?"4
"Ui, Onya," Maedhros swallowed a bitter smile. "It is the scars that cannot be seen that plagues me this night."
"Do you want me to play you song?"
"Some other time, perhaps. Your smile does a great deal to ease my pain."
Elrond scrambled from under the covers and wrapped his little arms around Maedhros's neck. "Will the pain ever go away?"
"No," a rough voice whispered into his ear. "But it is right that it should be so. Would you promise me something?"
Elrond pulled his head back and gave his foster-father a quizzical look. "What?"
Maedhros caressed his cheek as a tear fell onto his cheek. "Promise me that you will never, ever swear an oath that invokes the name of the Creator. No matter what the circumstances, no matter who might try to persuade you, do not do it."
"I will not; I promise. But why?"
"Because if you do," Maedhros's voice cracked, "you will be forced to do things that break your heart. And if I can at least be sure that you," he bit back a sob, "and your brother will be safe from such things, I might find it easier to bear my punishment."
"Who wants to punish you?"
"That is not important. All you need to remember is that, should you swear such an oath, you will lose everything and everyone you ever loved."
"I will never leave you." Elrond promised.
Another tear trailed down the scars of Maedhros's face, and he lifted a strand of hair from Elrond's eyes. "Oh, but you will, my beloved son, and all I can hope for is that you might remember this and remember that you were loved."
The years passed, the twins grew into their majority and traveled to the land of their birth, which was now called Lindon. To their great joy, they found Cîrdan the Shipwright, whom they believed dead all these years. Cîrdan had invited them to his home where they spent hours listening to stories of their parents, and even told them their birth names.
"I should have never stopped looking for you," he cried. "Elwing entrusted you to me and I should—"
"Fear not," Elros said, "for we were not lost for long."
"Oh?" Cîrdan sat back and poured himself another drink.
The twins related the story of their rescue and the brothers who took them in and raised them with great love. And as they spoke, Elrond grew uneasy at the look of utter horror on Cîrdan's face.
"You were found by the sons of Fëanor?"
"Yes, but what is wrong?"
"Those Elves are the same ones that were responsible for the Kinslaying here!" he said. "They are the ones who murdered your mother!"
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Enough. Elrond shook himself back into the present. A bed had been prepared next to Melui and Vildan was asleep at last.
He could have put them in a private room, but it was safer to hide them in plain sight, where any attempts against their lives would be witnessed.
He leaned down and, just as Maedhros had done long ago, he lifted a strand of golden hair off Melui's forehead.
He left the pair under the watchful eyes of Elladan and two other armed guards and was almost out of the infirmary when Captain Rahlen called his name.
"My Lord Elrond!" he cried, "Lusiël has been stabbed!"
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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Adar nîn – my father
echuia-luith – (lit.) wake-up spell
Gurutholórë – (Q.) "Shadow of agonizing death
losta-haib – sleeping clothes
Man? – What?
Man esselya ná? – (Q.) What is your name?
Ma samit maure matto? – Would you like some food?
Nán alassea omenita let – (Q.) I am happy to meet you two
Ni cheniog? – Can you understand me?
Ui, Onya – (Q.) No, my child
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NOTES:
1 SCOM; Ch. 8: /works/26090521/chapters/73036815
2 "When the Sons of Fëanor attacked the Havens of Sirion, Elwing was taken by Ulmo. The twins were carried off, but later found near a waterfall and they were named as such; Elrond was discovered in a cave. Taken captive by Maglor, they were subsequently raised by him. /wiki/Elrond
3 /wiki/Third_Kinslaying
4 Short for Russandol, Maedhros's father-name. /wiki/Maedhros
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