Chapter Sixteen
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SUMMARY: So, what's going on with poor Trastapîn?
In which our Kings get some unexpected help with the rescue effort. But not without an unexpected casualty.
Voron, son of Vernor, Elf and citizen of the Woodland Realm, as well as the attempted murder of Haden, son of Arminas, and Amrol, son of Ilinsor.
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"I guess that's just part of loving people: You have to give things up. Sometimes you even have to give them up."
― Lauren Oliver, Delirium
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City of Dale, 5th of March 2946 T.A.
Thranduil's heart battered his breastbone as he eyed the blood-stained hay at his feet, and the painful moans of his Guardians, who were being tended by Percy and Ivran. Bard was at the door of Mistanâr's stall, doing his best to settle the hysterical mare, so he could figure out how to free her. Thangon was barking and trotting in circles between the stall and the stable door.
"Shhh, sweetheart…" Bard's calm, assuasive tone belied the unmitigated fury in his eyes."Those bastards put a lock on this fucking thing!"
"Legron!" Thranduil called to the slim, dark-haired Lieutenant. "Come help us!"
The Elf finished pulling a blanket over the Stablemaster Voron's body and jogged over. As Bard continued to soothe the mare in Sindarin, Thranduil held her head still, while Legron took his knife and cut her halter off.
"Ai! Ai!"
Mistanâr exploded out of the box stall. Thranduil, ricocheting off the silver mare's shoulder, was slammed against the wood with a force that knocked the air out of his lungs. Bard was knocked completely off his feet, and poor Legron was dragged several feet before he could free his hand from a twisted piece of leather. He swung his leg up on her back and managed to free himself just as the mare exited through the front doors with Thangon close on her heels.
"Holy shit," Bard said, from the ground. "She's going after them!"
"She cannot get past the Gatekeeper; we need to hurry!" Thranduil grabbed Bard's arm and helped him to his feet. "Are you hurt?"
"Just my dignity," Bard brushed off his backside and sprinted to the tack room and returned with two bridles. "You said Elven horses won't let me fall? Now's a good time to test that theory!"
"Legron! Percy! Stay with the injured until the Healers get here," Thranduil ordered as he went to get his stallion. "Then go find Captain Tauriel and tell her what happened! Tell her to follow us out the West Gate. Ivran, Cwën, go get your horses."
As they struggled to get their horses outfitted, the occupants of the other stalls kicked at their walls, demanding to be released. Thranduil looked up and down the main aisle in shock and confusion at the rolling eyes, the pinned-back ears, and heads lifting in outraged screams. Bard managed to get Fînlossen ready, and sent Thranduil an inquiring look, but the Elvenking could only shake his head.
Boom, boom, boom… the wooden planks of the sliding doors were beginning to crack with each bash from their powerful haunches. If these beasts were not released soon, they would bring the entire barn down on their heads.
"Legron!"
"Coming, My Lord!" The Lieutenant approached, warily eyeing the box next to them. in which Aegis's strikes were so vicious, the support timbers vibrated. "I have never…"
"Nor have I, but we will work it out later." Thranduil fitted Naurmôr's bit between his teeth, then said, "We have no choice but to allow them to come. Wait five minutes after we leave, then let them loose."
"And they will follow?"
"If I am correct, they will. If not, we can round them up when our task is done."
"Yes, My Lord."
Legron slid the stable doors open all the way, and the four riders ducked their heads and cleared the low beam of the frame. Ivran and Cwën went ahead; shouting over and over to clear the streets and make way.
Mistanâr was rearing and knocking her front hooves against the West doors, with Thangon insinuating himself between the mare and anyone who tried to stop her. The Gatekeeper's face was full of relief when they approached.
"We were just about to send for you…" Mervyn said. When the cacophony of four dozen horseshoes hitting cobblestones was followed by the rest of the residents of the stables, he gave the group an incredulous stare. "What is going on?"
Bard gave him a brief summary, "Has anyone left these gates in the past hour?"
"Yes, My Lord." Mervyn said. "Those traders from down in East Bight came through with their wagons not an hour's past. Said they were done with their business and were headed home." He rubbed his neck nervously. "I checked their papers myself; all seemed to be in order. I can go get them—"
"I'll look at them later," Bard said. "Let us through, then go find Feren and tell him to lock down the city; no one enters or leaves, save Lady Tauriel. When you see her, she'll be running, so get the doors open and try not to slow her down.
"Sure thing." Mervyn lifted his arm and signaled to the Elves and Men on the ramparts. "Hurry it up, boys!"
Thranduil and Bard urged their stallions to the front of the running herd, but were only able to keep pace with Mistanâr for a few moments at a time. Thranduil wasn't surprised; he'd ridden the mare only once, in that frantic race to save Gildor's children, but he never forgot the experience. 1
As much as he sympathized with her, the silver mare mustn't get too far ahead and try to deal with the thieves on her own. Thranduil leaned down toward Naurmôr's ear and whispered to him in Quenya. The ebony stallion tossed his head, called out to the Meara mare, redoubling his efforts to reach her. Just as he caught up with her, Mistanâr's head lifted, ears alert nostrils sniffing the air. When a horse's cry sliced through air from the rear, Mistanâr answered though she kept running.
"Ada!" Tauriel called out as Lasbelin galloped past the Elvenking and caught up to his mate. The Silver mare slowed to a canter and leaned her head against Lasbelin, who returned the affection with reassuring sounds.
Thranduil nudged Naurmôr up to Tauriel's left. "The thieves used wagons, so we should have no trouble catching up with them. They are headed South on the Dale Lands Road toward East Bight."
"How can you be certain?" She called.
"They are acquaintances of Jack, Evan's nephew."
Tauriel's jaw dropped in outrage. "He had something to do with this?"
"That is yet to be determined; our priority is to rescue your filly!"
Twenty minutes later, Tauriel's face lit up in a mixture of relief and apprehension. "There they are!" She pointed a long, slender finger toward the dark shapes several miles ahead.
It was pointless to do anything but drop Naurmôr's reins and let him go. Neither Elves nor Men had really been in charge of this rescue, anyway, and all he could do was flow along with the events as they happened.
It took less than fifteen minutes for the herd to catch up to the wagons and surround the startled men. Mistanâr charged to the back of the first wagon and called out to the terrified foal, who answered her mother in high-pitched squeals and thrashing against her restraints, accompanied by human curses.
"Why are we stopping? And what the fuck is all that noise—OW! You bit me, you bitch! Why have we stopped? Ronald, where the fuck are you? Come and help me get this little shit under control before I tear her head clean off! Gustav!"
Ronald and Gustav were disinclined to answer just then, as each had a knife blade against their jugulars. Ivran and Cwën had the two drivers pulled down off their seats and in a chokehold before they had a chance to make a sound.
Thranduil and Tauriel pushed through to the front, "You are surrounded," the Elvenking shouted. "Come out of the wagon with your hands in the air, and we will not harm you."
The heavy canvas curtain was pulled aside to reveal a short, wiry dark-haired man who had one hand fisted in the nose piece of Trastapîn's harness, and the other, dripping blood from the filly's sharp teeth, pointing a long knife under her jaw. "Take one step closer," his mouth curved into an ugly, sardonic grin, "and I'll drive this clear through to her brain, you get me? Or maybe," he swiftly moved it toward her face, "I'll just make you watch me cut her eyes out, wouldn't that be fun?" Trastapîn thrashed against him, whimpering piteously.
Lasbelin reared on his hind legs with a roar of rage. Tauriel held on, jaw set, her hand on her sword.
"Hauta! Quildë! "Thranduil shouted, his hands raised. "Quildë!
By this time, Mistanâr was shaking with rage and terror, every muscle bunched tight and trembling, yet she softly whinnied assurance to the foal.
Thranduil's throat and chest contracted at glinting steel blade resting against the foals shimmering head. He stared the man down with an icy glare. "You have no idea of the mistake you and your friends have made. If you value your life, you will release her without harm, and you will be treated fairly. Damage one hair on her body and I will not lift a finger to protect you from them." He swept his arm out over the furious equine mob. "It is your choice."
The man surveyed the spectacle before him. "You forget one thing, Elf," he spat on the ground. "I have something you want, and I will be the one setting the terms here. Tell your men to release my friends, and back the fuck up!" the man ordered.
Lasbelin had had enough and took matters into his own hands. He reared again and jumped forward with a scream.
"Cabo Iellig!" Thranduil yelled in alarm.
Tauriel barely had time to jump clear as Lasbelin's propelled himself off the ground mouth open, teeth bared. The front of his body landed in the bed of the wagon and he had the man's forearm in his teeth, savaging his limb until the knife dropped and he screamed in agony. Thranduil dismounted and went to help free Trastapîn, but Mistanâr had already went to her baby and chewed her rope in two by the time he reached them.
Moving slowly and speaking in low smooth tones so as not to startle mother or child, Thranduil gently lifted the terrified foal to the ground. Tauriel grabbed hold of Lasbelin's stirrup and reins and pulled back with all her might to persuade the enraged stallion to back off, leaving the thief alone in the wagon holding his bleeding forearm. She pulled out an extra tunic she had planned to wear at Erebor and used it to wipe off the stallion's face. Once clean, the stallion pulled his face away and ran to his mate.
Mistanâr and Lasbelin nosed Trastapîn twenty yards away from the crowd and, much like the night she was born, snuffled and licked and examined every inch of the shimmery-white foal until they were satisfied she was whole and unharmed.
Praise to you, Queen Varda… The Elvenking turned his eyes skyward with a prayer. The other prisoners, Ronald and Gustav were tied up to one of the wagon wheels, while Cwën saw to the injured thief's arm, under the watchful eye of her husband who glowered at him, hand never leaving the handle of his sword.
Thranduil turned around and gazed in wonder at rest of the horses, who had gathered and surrounded the reunited family.
And that's when it happened. The Elvenking's jaw went slack as he observed one of the most astounding scenes of his entire life.
In no particular order or form, each horse trotted over coming no closer than ten yards, faced Mistanâr and/or Trastapîn, leaned on one knee, and bowed their heads. Even Naurmôr pulled his reigns from Thranduil's hands and went to pay his respects. Never in all his years had he witnessed such a thing.
What magic was this? Brief scenes flitted through Thranduil's mind in the months that Mistanâr and Trastapîn had been among them, be it in the pastures, or the stables or even when riding. Taken individually they but token moments, but blended like the stroke of a paintbrush in a white canvas, a clear picture emerged.
Mistanâr and, by extension, Trastapîn were treated with the same respect and deference as Thranduil received as King. It was not only other horses, for was it not Thangon who alerted the Kings at the Castle? And before the West Gate, it was Thangon who protected her from those who would detain the silver mare.
There were several herds of Mearas in Middle Earth, and, while all are highly prized and sought after, Mistanâr was…
…their Queen.
Surely Vildan must have known this; why didn't he say anything? At the very least, Elrond should have made him aware of Mistanâr's significance! And Bard—
Where was Bard? Thranduil turned a complete circle for signs of him, but he and Fînlossen were absent. As was Thangon.
Thranduil's face tingled as the blood fled from his cheeks, were there more bandits that had waylaid them?
"Tauriel! I need you!"
His daughter jumped out of the first wagon and ran over to him. "What is it, Ada?"
"Did you see Bard?"
"I did," she winced in shame. "He was stopped by the road four miles from Dale but Lasbelin would not allow me to stop. I am sorry; I should have told you, but everything happened at once."
"I understand. Was he hurt?"
"Fînlossen was shielding him from the road, but from what I saw, he was kneeling and looking at something. I am sorry—"
"Thangon," Thranduil's eyes closed.
"Thangon?" her eyes bulged. "He should have stayed in Dale! He is too old to—"
"I know that!" he roared, startling her and everyone in the area.
"Gwinïg," he gritted his teeth and forced himself to calm down. "It is a long story which I do not have time to explain now; I must go to them. Now!"
He whistled for Naurmôr. "Have Cwën take the empty wagon follow me as quickly as she can. Get those prisoners on the first wagon, gather the herd and head back to Dale but make them walk if you can; they need time to cool down. I'll make sure the stables are ready." Thranduil jumped on the black stallion's back and grabbed the reins. "Can you and Ivran handle this alone?"
"We will get it done," Tauriel told him, her voice rough. "Go Ada; Bard will need you."
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Once they exited the West Gate, Fînlossen surged ahead with the rest of the group, and soon the white stallion's three-beat canter shifted—Praise Ulmo, for he was getting jostled until his teeth rattled—to the four-beat cadence of a smooth full-out gallop. The horses had kicked up a surprising amount of dust for early spring; Bard squinted his eyes and avoided breathing through his mouth though the occasional particle stung his face. Fînlossen's mane was abundant and wavy and beautiful, but at the moment, it was whipping in his face, so he grabbed a handful and held it down.
He quickly glanced to his right for signs of Thangon and was relieved to see nothing. There had been no time to order his dog to stay when the Gate opened. Fînlossen took off like an arrow and Bard had no choice but to just hang on.
The high-pitched cry should not have been heard over the thunder of hoof prints, but, in the same way that Bard could instantly detect his own children's voices in a crowd, so did that sound pierce through the foreground of his consciousness and disturb his thoughts.
Thangon was not barking; he was screaming. In pain.
"Oh, shit! Shit! Whoa, boy," he pulled at Fînlossen's reins. "Damn you horse! Stop! Daro!" he commanded. Then with a growl of frustration, he shouted in Quenya, "Hautë, you great beast! Do you hear me?Hautë, for Ulmo's sake, Hautë!"
The white stallion slowed then stopped, but was clearly unhappy about it. He pawed the ground and kept his head forward as the rescue party went on. Then he looked back at bard with a loud, angry protest, and refused to turn around.
Bard struggled to explain. "Thangondil… Dammit! How the fuck do I say this in Quenya?," he cussed a few more words and wracked his brains. "Thangondil cé mala…?" Bard groaned in frustration. "Look," he shook his handful of white mane, hard. "I'm doing it with our without you, but if Thangon really is hurt, I need your help!"
Whatever he said seemed to get through to the great white horse, and he turned around and trotted in the opposite direction.
Ahead, in the middle of the road, a black-and-tan figure, refusing to be left behind, limped toward them, and his agonizing cries pierced Bard's chest like a dozen arrows.
"No, Thangon!" Bard's dry mouth could only deliver a mangled cry. "Thangon! Don't move! Uh…" His mind drew a blank… "Serë! Thangon, Serë!"
The dog did stop, and with a mournful half-bark, he huffed a few labored breaths, staggered to the side of the road and slumped into the softer grass. Fînlossen, finally understanding, needed no encouragement to race back as fast as he had raced in the opposite direction moments ago.
"Oh Valar, please, please no…" Bard murmured, over and over, until at last Fînlossen skidded to a halt beside the prone dog. The bowman swung his leg over, jumped to the ground and fell to his knees. "Oh, please be all right…" He felt the dog's limbs and when he placed his hands over Thangon's hip, the dog jerked and stiffened, his initial cry followed by whimpers of misery.
"All right, all right; I won't touch it… Shhh…" he stroked the great wrinkled head. "Just be still: I don't know how much I can help, but I'll see what I can do, all right?"
Granted, Bard skill was better suited to adding oomph to another Elf's efforts, but he refused to just sit there and do nothing. He gently laid his hands on either said of Thangon's hip joint, closed his eyes and tried in his own, bumbling, human way, to reduce the inflammation. When he opened his eyes again, Thangon was still letting out a soft moan with each breath, so Bard felt around his abdomen and ribs, not having a clue what to do. What does a normal dog look like on the inside anyway?
"Okay, whoever is up there," Bard lifted his eyes to the overcast sky, "if you could give me a hand, here, I'd really appreciate it." With a deep breath, he looked again. As his hands moved higher, under the ribcage—
Oh, no.
The family often spoke of Thangon's huge heart, and even among the Elven breeders, he stood out as a perfect example of what such a dog should be. If Thangon had not thrown himself at Bard when that stone block fell, it would have crushed his head instead of just his leg. When the Jarod and his gang attacked Dale, killed four people and kidnapped the hostages, it was Thangon who saved Adila's life by breaking the phony Harad king's neck.
But as terrifying as Thangon could be to enemies, he was gentle as a lamb with children, allowing babies to crawl all over him, poke and prod and pull to their heart's content and he bore it all with amused patience.
And when he wasn't tagging along after Bain, or enjoying his nightly walks with Thranduil and Tauriel, he was always at Bard's side as he walked the streets of Dale. The fishmonger, the baker, and even Rod at the Tavern could be counted on to for treats, but none more than at Adila's Coffee shop, where the grateful owner could be counted on to provide him with a ham sandwich, made just how he liked it.
But not even the devotion of all who loved him, could keep Thangon's heart strong forever. He had been examined by the Elven breeders every time the family took him to the palace, and whatever might ail him, including signs of aging, were addressed to the best of their ability.
Last fall, Thranduil had brought up the subject of retiring him, and Bard couldn't bear to consider it.2
"He's fine, love," Bard shook his head. "He spends most of his time sleeping on one hearth or another around here. He loves his job, and I think bringing in another dog to replace him would only hasten his…." He couldn't even say it. "Just, let's wait a while, yeah?"
Thangon's heart was big, too big. Bard pressed his hands over his chest and saw the organ struggle to push blood through arteries that had narrowed hardened with age. Instead of the usual lub-dub, lub-dub, Bard heard whooshes and clicks along with labored efforts of the lungs. When he closed his eyes, he saw the muscle quiver rapidly in distress, followed by a deep rumbled groan from Thangon, as he stiffened in pain. "No, no, no, no…" he murmured. "Please," he pushed onto Thangon and ordered the blood to flow. "Move it, damn you!" he said, through gritted teeth. "Don't you dare stop; do you hear me? Don't you fucking give up, because I am not done with you, Thangon! You've got to live, or what am I going to tell Bain, or the other children? Meryl worships you; she'll be heartbroken if you left her, and what about Beriel? She's supposed to be going into season in a couple of weeks; don't you want another bunch of puppies just as goofy as you? " His last words came out as a sob. "Don't leave me, Thangon; I'm not ready to say goodbye to you yet. I'm just not ready…"
Fînlossen nickered softly, and ran his lips over the dog's head, offering his canine friend what comfort he could, teasing and worrying at the dog's dark ear like he was wont to do when they relaxed together in the fields.
Thangon's fur was speckled with the small, damp spots that fell from Bard's eyes, but he didn't dare take even a second to wipe them. The dog's chest lifted and fell with breaths too shallow to give Bard much hope. He curled his fingers into the short coarse fur, letting the tips of the hair poke under his fingernails, as he willed the pulse under his hand to grow steady and strong, but it remained erratic and thready.
Fînlossen's head reared up with a loud neigh.
Bard tore his eyes away from his dog and nearly sobbed in relief. Thranduil was astride Naurmôr, galloping toward them with all speed, his long, icy-blonde hair flying in the wind. Fînlossen stomped his feet impatiently and called to his stable-mate to hurry. Naurmôr answered with a whinny and kept up his pace.
"Bard!" Thranduil called to him as he approached, landing gracefully on the ground. "Are you hurt?"
"No," Bard shook his head, his chin trembling.
The Elvenking's gaze landed on Thangon, and his eyes softened with sadness and worry.
"Can you help him?" Bard's vision blurred. "I tried to do something, but I just don't know how—"
"Let me take a look, Meleth nîn." the Elvenking murmured and gently moved Bard's hands. "Move up to his head and help him relax and stay calm."
Bard swallowed several times as he cradled Thangon's head in his lap and ran his hands over the loose skin on his muzzle and neck. "Sorry; I haven't asked—"
"The foal is fine; the thieves have been dispatched and they are making arrangements to return."
"Thank the stars," he sighed, running the dog's velvety hears through his fingers. "I was beside you, then I heard him…"
"This is not your fault, Bard."
"Yes it is! I never should have allowed him through those Gates! No matter what was happening, I should have made sure." He paused, afraid to ask. "He's dying, isn't he?" Bard dared a glance at his husband, and the sad resignation in the beautiful Elf's features told a truth that could not be avoided.
"His heart is just too damaged. I am so sorry, Meleth nîn."
"How…" his throat spasmed. "How long?"
"A few hours."
"I don't want him to die here," Bard wiped his nose on his sleeve.
"I will do all I can to make him comfortable." Thranduil stroked his hand along Thangon's hip, and murmured a spell. "He will not be able to get up again, but this will allow us to take him home, and give us a chance to say farewell." His voice grew rough. "He deserves that."
"We'll take up upstairs and put him on his bed by the fire in our room."
"I think he will like that very much."
Bard mustered a watery smile. "Would you like that? We'll build a nice fire, and you'll be surrounded by your family," Then with a sigh, he added, "We can't; all this other stuff…"
"There is nothing that cannot wait a day or two," Thranduil said firmly. "Feren will have secured the city, and Chief Tom will see to the prisoners. Amrol and Haden are in excellent hands, and whatever they missed, you know Percy will take care of. The delay is a good idea; we need time to gather evidence before the thieves are brought before your throne."
"That's true," Bard said. "Let them sweat."
A dull rumble came from the east and both Kings raised their heads to see Feren and several troops headed their way.
"My Lords!" the Commander saluted them, and asked sternly. "Where is your escort?"
The Elvenking raised his hand. "We are fine, but as you can see…" he gestured to the prone dog. "We await one of the wagons, but you will find Tauriel and Ivran with the rest of the group ten miles south on the Dale Lands Road. Please go assist them, and help make sure the horses keep a moderate pace; they have all had a shock.
"Ben iest dhîn, Erain nîn," Feren nodded and gave his sovereign a pointed glare. "But I am leaving four of the troops with you."
In due time, Cwën arrived, and the three of them carefully lifted the Thangon into the back with Bard. Cwën took the seat in the front, snapped the reins and clicked her teeth. Thranduil mounted his stallion, took Fînlossen's reins and they headed for home.
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The afternoon's events were the talk of the town, and by the time the wagon circled around the fountain and stopped in front of the Castle steps, everyone who lived and worked at the Castle were gathered on the dais with anxious faces. Tilda stood between Greta and Hilda, each holding one of her hands. Percy had his arm around Bain's shoulders with Alun, Rhys and Bowen close by.
As soon as the wagon stopped, Percy ordered everyone stay back and went to talk to Thranduil. "Where is Bard?" he asked, his eyes clearly worried.
"We have recovered the foal, and the thieves have been captured. However…" The Elvenking dismounted and jerked his head toward the back of the wagon.
Percy walked around peered into the back. "Ulmo's balls… Bard? Are you all right?"
"Not really," the Bowman stroked the space between Thangon's eyes. "We're home, pal. Just a little bit farther and you'll be in your nice, soft bed, yeah?"
"Where's Da?" Tilda let go of Greta's hand, and started to descend the steps.
"Just wait there, Beanie," Percy said. "I need everybody to move back and give Bard and these guys plenty of room, okay?"
A blanket was fetched, and Bard and the Elves carefully lifted the dog down to a chorus of gasps and cries of dismay.
"What happened to him?"
"Let's just get him upstairs, son," Bard told Bain. "Where is Sigrid?"
"She's still at work."
With a nod, Percy silently agreed to send for her.
"Did Thangon break his leg, Ada?" Tilda wrapped her arm around his waist.
"Not his leg," Thranduil stroked her head.
"I could get his toys," she offered, as Bard followed the Elves upstairs.
"I think he would like that."
"Is he hurt bad?"
"We will tell you all about it in few minutes. Why don't you take Meryl up to see him? She would want to see her friend; do you not think?"
"Okay."
The Elvenking quietly brought Hilda and the Castle staff up to speed. "Send Rhys and Bowen up with Bain; when Sigrid comes home, let her know what is happening. Tauriel will be along much later, but she is prepared for this possibility."
"I'll send up a light buffet for you all to nibble as you want," Greta offered. "Is there anything else we can do for you?"
"Not that I can think of; I must meet briefly with Percy and Alun and then I will join my family."
When the three of them entered his study, Thranduil didn't bother to sit. "What is happening in Dale?"
"Chief Tom has held Evan's nephew for questioning," Alun said, "and we've got several men ready to take the others to the dungeons."
"Good. What about the wounded?"
"Amrol is stable," Percy said. "Haden's condition is a lot more serious, but last I heard, his chances were slightly in our favor. The stablemaster's body is being taken care of, and Feren's ordered the Royal Stables scrubbed clean, and some troops on standby to look after the horses."
"Excellent. Where is Evan and his wife?"
Alun's face paled, "They're at home with two guards, though Tom promises me they're not under arrest. My Lord, I refuse to belief Evan had anything to do with this!"
"I'm sure you are right, Mellon, but if there are others in Dale who are working with those thieves, who might see Evan and Eryn as leverage. Until this mystery is completely unraveled, we must trust Chief Tom's and Feren's judgment. " The Elvenking gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I must go and join the family. Alun, if you would be so kind as to assist Percy in taking care of matters this evening I would be most grateful. If something urgent comes up, I will be available."
"Of course, My Lord."
The Elvenking wearily climbed the Grand Staircase to the end of the long hall, where the double doors were opened slightly. Bain and the boys were kneeling beside Thangon's cushion, recalling comical moments and adventures they had shared with him. Meryl was in her usual place, curled up beside his head, whining softly.
"Beriel will miss you," Bowen said, running his hand over a front paw. "Guess there won't be puppies this summer. But that's okay. She'll understand."
Bard was sitting cross-legged on the hearth, with a tearful Tilda in his lap. "It was just like when Esta died," she sobbed.
"I know, baby, but you know what? Esta protected you till the very end, and today, Thangon was doing the same thing. If it weren't for him, we'd never have even known that someone attacked the stables, did you know that?"
"He did?" she hiccupped, roughly swiping at her eyes.
"He sure did," Bard lifted his red-rimmed eyes to his, "right, Ada?"
"This is true, Tithen Pen." Thranduil reached down and picked her up. "Thangon has so much love in his heart for us, that he used it up to make sure his family and his friends were safe. I think he would rather do all the things he loved until his body gave out. He would hate to grow so old and stiff that he'd be forced to sit and watch life go by."
Tilda leaned her head on his shoulder. "Maybe he will go be with Esta."
"Would that not be a wondrous thing? She has surely missed him, and he will have good friend to greet him when he passes," he wiped her eyes again. And run around in the grass and play among the trees to their heart's content."
"I'm not ready, to say goodbye." she whispered.
"Nor am I, my little love," Thranduil rubbed her back and glanced down at his husband, who was weeping softly.
For it was in that moment, with a soft, peaceful sigh, Thangon, whose name meant "Great Shield," closed his eyes forever.
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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Amarth faeg… - Evil fate…
Ben iest dhîn, Erain nîn – As you wish, my Kings
Fînlossen! Daro! – Fînlossen! Stop!
Hauta! Quildë! Quildë! – (Q.) Stop! Quiet! Quiet!
Thangondil… (Q.) Friend Thangon…
Thangondil mala cé … - Friend Thangon pain may have
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NOTES:
1 Broken Wings, Ch. 17: /works/20519588/chapters/52054429
2 SCOM, Ch. 1: /works/26090521/chapters/63461635
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