CHAPTER TWENTY
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SUMMARY: So, what's going in Rivendell? The sons of Elrond each face their own challenges while helping their people recover.
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"We keep moving forward,
opening new doors and doing new things,
because we're curious,
and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths."
― Walt Disney
Rivendell, 5th of March 2946 T.A.
During the ride back to Imladris, Elladan tried to keep his squirming to a minimum, but the saddle of his brother's horse just wasn't made for two. He could only perch behind the leather and wood cantle, his legs dangling directly over the horse's hip bones and bounce on its rump. If he were honest with himself, the rougher ride, and the extra effort to remain astride, kept the surreal events of this day from sinking in, at least for a while. He was weary with sorrow, as if one of the stones from the Bruinen River sat on his chest, weighing down his lungs, and he know he should inhale the fresh air but he wasn't sure he saw the point of it.
Maybe he didn't want to face his own guilt for being so taken in by Lusiël; if only he'd bothered to look past that demure mask of shyness, all the events of the past year might have been prevented. Melui would still have parents, Vildan might still have Mistanâr, as well as Tauriel's love, perhaps her hand in marriage.
He still couldn't believe it was his own mother's necklace which had damned Lusiël to an existence he was sure she hadn't been born to. If what the Wizard said was true, she was as much a victim as everyone else in Imladris.
Elladan had always been attracted to her, but kept it in the recesses of his mind—he and Elrohir had work to finish in Middle Earth before either of them could entertain the idea of marriage and family. Since the day they returned their broken mother to Rivendell and, later, escorted her to the Havens, the sons of Elrond vowed to rid Eregion of Orcs and every other evil that had threatened their people. 1 2
But that wasn't the only reason.
The children of Elrond and Celebrian were well-versed in Elven history, and the twins had long ago suspected their father possessed something that could barely be thought of, let alone mentioned aloud. On the day their mother's ship sailed out of sight into the Gulf of Lhûn, and their Adar's tears making silver tracks down his face, Elladan and Elrohir's eyes met. Without a word passing between them, in that unique bond between twins, their mission was clear: Protect their home. Protect their father, but at all costs, protect that which he possesses, for if such a trinket were to be lost to the enemy, it would destroy whatever hope remained for peace in Middle Earth.
Such an undertaking leaves little room for affairs of the heart.
Elladan shook himself out of his morbid reverie and tightened his arms around Elrohir's waist as Prestapant jumped over a large puddle. His rump slammed down against the horse's rump so hard that the leather squeaked, like Estel's pencil would against his slate when he didn't want to do his lessons. The impact made his teeth rattle and he barely escaped biting his own tongue, but at least it distracted him from the indignities inflicted upon his poor genitals. He'd never heard of a Gwîb actually breaking, but he had no desire to test that theory.
"Naeg!" Elladan whined in a voice higher than he liked. "Could your horse's nulav be any bonier? I would like to father children one day!"
"Do not," Elrohir turned his head and squinted over his shoulder at him, "insult my horse. You may insult me—"
"Hah," he scoffed. "As if I want to get punched—"
"You may insult my choice of clothing—"
"That is a lie! Do you remember when I told you that brown was a terrible color on you? You grabbed my nose and twisted it so hard—"
"You may even insult my skill with a sword—"
"Well, that would only be telling the truth—"
"But if you ever, ever insult my horse again," Elrohir growled. "I will shave off your hair in your sleep."
The steed in question punctuated that last sentence by throwing out both hind legs into a high kick. Elladan howled in pain when he landed, and this time his teeth sank into the tip of his tongue.
The North Gate of Imladris was closed tight, and the bodies of Aldon and Naeven had been taken away, replaced with four of Lord Elrond's Vanguard, their faces grim and pale. Their eyes rounded in surprise at seeing Mithrandir, but they refused to raise the bar until the riders used the password. Elladan winced, expecting the Wizard him to bluster and wave his staff, but when Mithrandir responded with patience, it exacerbated the tragedies of this terrible day.
Elrohir urged his horse forward, recited gave the proper password for the day, and the gears ground their teeth against each other to lift the bar and allow the gates to swing open.
"I think you are through the worst of the trouble," Mithrandir advised the worried guards, "but best to stay alert and allow no one to enter or leave without Lord Elrond's consent."
"Ben iest dhîn, Mithrandir," they saluted and stepped aside.
Not surprisingly, the streets of Rivendell were deserted and silent. Most of the rain flowed into grates along the sides of the streets through underground clay pipes and saved to irrigate the fields when the weather turned dry. The cobblestones and walkways were still damp around the edges where the stone met the soil, filling the air with a musky scent that had always delighted Elladan, but today, no amount of rain could wash away the heavy haze of anguish that lingered.
If the extra guards at the main doors of the Homely House, were surprised to see the Grey Wizard among them, they gave no sign of it.
"Lord Elrond has been eager for your return," the captain bowed his head and saluted. "He awaits you in the infirmary."
"Thank you," Mithrandir said, studying the Ellon's face carefully. "Are you well?"
"I am, thank you," he said. "Others were not so fortunate, but they are being tended to."
The halls of his father's house were also filled with a palpable hush, though no one could say it was calm or peaceful; rather it was a taciturn shield. The older residents were reliving the horrors of the last siege of Imladris, when only with the help of the forces of Lothlórien did they overcome their enemy. 3 The younger Elves were fighting against this new, yet not new, truth: nowhere in Middle Earth was completely safe, and their belief in the impenetrable force surrounding their home in the Valley was just an illusion to help them sleep at night.
They passed the Council Chamber which still bore the scars of the chaos that took place there: overturned chairs, papers scattered on the floor, and a plate-sized stain in the center of the room where Laniër was murdered before them, blood seeping from every orifice in her head. A ball of pain suddenly appeared in Elladan's throat, and for a half-second, he feared it was another wave of witchcraft, a remnant of evil that might have remained. A hand on his upper arm brought him to his senses, as did his brother's encouraging nod.
"They will clean it up," Elrohir murmured.
"I know."
"The survivors must always take precedence."
Mithrandir eyes closed in consternation. "I should have seen it coming," he shook his head slowly. "We should have discussed this possibility at last year's Council."
When the trio turned the corner to the hall that led to the Rivendell's infirmary, Elladan was startled to see dozens of Elves lying in cots along the walls, attended by assistant healers and relatives.
"What is going on here?" Mithrandir asked a passing servant who was holding a large pitcher. "Has some other calamity taken place?"
"No, praise the stars," the young Elleth curtsied. "Lord Elrond has ordered everyone who suffered at the hands of…" her mouth grew hard, "to be closely observed for at least a day. These are the lighter cases and only need rest. The worst of the attack took place within the Council Chambers this morning, and those members are inside."
"Is Elrond with them?"
The blonde Elleth shook her head. "He attends Lieutenant Vildan in Lady Arwen's former rooms. Her eyes fell. "It was thought he would do better away from the activity here."
"And the child?" Elladan asked. "Where is Melui?"
"She is in Lord Elrond's study with Estel while Lord Glorfindel leads the door-to-door search of the city for victims. Please excuse me," she curtsied again and bustled off.
"I need to go to her." Elladan started to turn away, but the Wizard grasped his shoulder.
"Not now," he said gently. "We have work to do yet."
"She was nearly killed today!" Elrohir's lips pursed.
"There is no safer place for her. If there is any lingering dark magic, it cannot reach them there."
"May I ask why you appointed Lagrôval to protect Melui?" Elrohir's head tilted slightly.
"That's just it; I didn't." The wizard face echoed their confusion but also their relief. "I'm just glad he will."
"Do you know who did?"
"I have no idea yet, but someone one on high thinks that child is significant."
The twins exchanged looks as they walked to the entrance of the Infirmary.
Every bed was full, and the room was crowded with attendants and concerned family members. Many of the members of Elrond's Council had physical bruises, some with emotional wounds, some with both, as their spouses or others gently sponged their faces with Athelas and murmured prayers.
Lindir and Erestor was in the bed nearest to the door, looking tired and pale.
"I am fine," Erestor said before he began a coughing fit. Elladan rushed over to him and helped him sit up. When things died down, he poured a glass of water from the tray between their beds and urged Erestor to sip.
"My husband was here for a time, but…," Erestor rasped.
"I know where Glorfindel is," Mithrandir assured him. "I am sure he'd want you to stop talking and get well." After patting the Archivist on the leg, the Wizard turned to Lindir's bed. "And you? I see you still have bruises."
The slim, dark-haired Aide grabbed a pad of paper from the table between their beds and wrote: My lungs fine—my voice box crushed—Elrond dulled the pain—says I will make a full recovery.
"Excellent," Elladan smiled.
Across the aisle, the twins observed Eílíent fussing over her husband Thenin, over his feigned protests. 4
"You look much better," Elladan crossed his arms.
"I am much better," Thenin said, impatient. "I do not need to be here when others could use the bed!"
"Stop," Eílíent scowled at her husband. "He is not wrong, but he cannot be released until they have examined him," she shrugged with sympathy at the frantic bustle of the Assistant Healers.
"Perhaps I can do that," Elladan stepped forward and carefully checked his eyes, and other vital signs. "Do you have a headache?"
"No."
"Yes," Eílíent sent her spouse a dirty look.
Elladan covered both of Thenin's eyes then quickly removed his hands, observing the reaction time. "One of your pupils is a bit larger than the other. What did my father do for you?"
"Nothing yet," Eílíent said, regretfully. "Not that anyone blames him; he has been with Vildan since they returned."
"I understand." He called over to his brother who was still with Erestor. "Elrohir? Could you help me for a moment?"
Once his twin verified his suspicions, both sons of Elrond placed hands on Thenin's skull and sang down the bruising on the Guardian's brain.
"You are right about needing the bed," Elrohir said, "but that does not mean I want you up and around. Eílíent, take him straight to your rooms and keep him in bed for at least a day. Do I need to make this an order?"
"No, My Lord," Eílíent stood and helped her husband to his feet. "He will obey if I have to tie him down."
Thenin's mouth curled up in a What can you do? expression, as his wife led him away.
With a frustrated sigh, Elladan's eyes swept the rest of the large room. "I know they need help, but—"
"Go to Vildan, " Elrohir squeezed his shoulder. "I will stay and do what I can."
"Mithrandir?" he asked hesitantly. "Could you come?"
The Wizard looked up from Lindir's latest note and gave him a compassionate nod.
"Exactly how bad is it?" Mithrandir asked as they walked through the corridors.
"Ada said his spine has been torn in two," Elladan ignored the twist of foreboding in his stomach. "He could feel nothing below the waist when we pulled him out of the river."
"He doesn't know yet."
"Not at that time," Elladan shook his head. "He was so happy to see Melui back to herself, it seemed cruel to say anything just then." 5
The air in Vildan's apartment was fragrant with calming herbs and Athelas that steamed from a low, shallow bowl on the round dining table. Elladan couldn't resist padding over leaning his hands on either side and drinking in the sweet, energizing fumes. Just enough to keep him going. There would be a time to contemplate and mourn, but not yet.
Not yet.
"Elladan?" Elrond poked his head out of the doorway to Vildan's bedchamber. "I have been waiting for you. Where is your brother?"
"He is tending to the patients in your stead. Mithrandir is with me."
Elrond stepped out into the Sitting room and gazed upon the Wizard with a blend of surprise and relief. "Even better," he said, fatigue etching his face. "Come; we have much to accomplish."
Time lost all meaning, only the muscles and tendons and bones and nerves mattered. Elladan and Elrohir were adept at healing wounds, both separately and together, but whenever he helped his father, the "sight" of the injury, the silent cries of the muscles, bones, tendons, and nerves were so strong, so intense, it nearly always made Elladan weep from the sorrow of it. Even worse, only that which was above Vildan's waist cried out; below was eerily quiet, as if their very will to exist was slowly draining away.
Daeron told him once how, when he worked with Ada to heal Turamarth, that all he could do was try and keep up with the song; he could barely believe the strength and precision of Elrond's powers. 6 Elladan was well-acquainted with that phenomenon, and while he never truly got used to it, he always congratulated himself for managing to keep up.
But this. Tonight, he was little more than a bystander to the magic in the room, and he dared not move or look away. The Elven body is a wondrous thing, almost identical to the anatomy of a Man, though that ethereal, undefinable, immortal phenomenon that seeped from every particle of the Firstborn was something only Eru could fully comprehend.
The first sight of Vildan's broken spine nearly made Elladan withdraw in astonishment. This was so much worse than what Elrohir and Ada had told him at the river. Sharp edges of bones had slashed through everything in its path without care or mercy. Yet while Elladan and his brother were busy tracking down Lusiël, Lord Elrond had not been idle: Tissue that had been grossly swollen from trauma had been calmed, and tendons that had been torn were now supporting the muscles that were regenerating at an accelerated rate. Most important, the veins and vessels that had been sliced through were repaired just in time, sending life-giving blood to Vildan's lower extremities.
The deep gash on his leg was healed, the broken eye socket was repaired, as was the concussion on the side of his skull. A ligament was torn in his elbow, which was easily remedied, and three of his fingers had been dislocated in his efforts to fend off anything that might harm Melui as they crashed down the Bruinen. The broken foot was only partially mended; the rest could heal naturally, it could be splinted by an assistant, along with his fingers.
"Would it be better if we could roll him on his belly?" Elladan wondered.
"It would, but cannot risk it. There are too many small pieces of bone sitting against his spinal cord."
"Then we will do what we can," the Wizard said.
"The main problem is the bone splinters. Each one must be found and put into its proper place like a puzzle. If we leave even one sliver in the cord, he will never walk again. And the bone pieces must be completely healed, which is going to take a considerable amount of energy, but only then do we regenerate the tissue of the spinal cord."
"Can we rest in between these procedures?"
"No, the nerve endings will begin to die soon, and we cannot wait."
"Well, then," the Wizard took out a flask from inside his robes, and passed it around. He rubbed his hands together and said, "Let us begin, and may Eru favor our efforts."
They bowed their heads and lifted their palms to the air while Mithrandir asked the Valar for their blessings. Then they got to work.
A few hours later, after painstakingly restoring bones, sinew and reattaching every tiny nerve ending they could find, at last Elrond opened his eyes. "There is no more we can do." the rest is up to Vildan, the Valar and the Ilúvatar."
"Is he whole?" Elladan asked.
"Only time will tell, Ion nîn." Elrond ran his hands over his face. "The rest is up to the Valar, the Ilúvatar, and Vildan's own body."
"We cannot give up, Ada," he pleaded.
"Not at all. The spinal cord is not like bones and other tissue; 'spark' that brings nerves to life is beyond even my capabilities." He rested his hands on Elladan's shoulders. "But take heart; before you were born, I did as much for Lord Thranduil when he was nearly destoyed by the dragon in the War. Granted, his injuries were much more involved, but he remained in a Healing sleep for nearly six months. I think we must do the same for Vildan."
"I agree," Mithrandir nodded his head.
"Are you certain?" Elladan's eyes bulged.
"I am not sure of anything at this point," Elrond sighed. "But he absolutely must remain still, to allow his body to finish what we have begun. Even the slightest movement could reinjure him."
"How long, do you think?"
"As long as it takes."
"But what about Melui?"
"She will stay with Estel and his caretaker tonight, but after that, you will be her guardian."
"I will say here tonight."
"Of course you will. But I will send someone else to sit with Vildan. Take Melui's bed; there is much to do tomorrow, and we all need some sleep."
Now, get some rest."
Elladan pulled his father into an embrace. "Ci athae, Ada," he murmured, "Ci athae, Ada."
"And I love you, my son."
After they left, Elladan went to Vildan's closet and grabbed one of his friend's sleeping shirts and a robe. Vildan's build was slighter than his, and a few inches shorter, but the garments weren't too tight across the shoulders, they would do.
There had been no time to change out of the filthy clothing from their trek in the forest, and when Elladan peeled them off at last, the musty smell of moss, decomposing leaves, and river-water filled his nostrils. He opened the nearest window and threw them out into the night, never wishing to see or think about them again.
After his bath, he took one of the damp towels and made a few feeble attempts to wipe the worst of the caked-on mud off of his boots, before tossing them out of sight into the corner of Melui's bedroom.
Elladan fell asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow, but he awoke a few hours later, his mind reeling. After tossing and turning for several minutes, he gave up and decided to check on Vildan.
Instead, he found himself standing in Laniër's empty room, blinking around at the neatly-made bed, the comb-and-brush set on the dresser, and his own reflection in the looking glass. Something stirred deep in his chest, working itself upward and erupted out of his mouth as a strangled roar. His arm swept across the dresser, sending its contents flying. He balled his hand into a tight fist and shattered the mirror, slamming his knuckles into the hard plaster of the wall.
A startled cry came from the doorway and in Elladan's peripheral vision, the Elleth attending Vildan stood in the doorway, her jaw slack with shock and fear, then turned and ran to summon a guard. Let her go get someone to stop him, to arrest him, to bind his arms and legs. It didn't matter. He screamed as he ripped the covers from the bed, tore the sheets to ribbons, and upended the mattress so that it leaned up against the wall, the goose-down feathers collapsing and settling into an awkward lump.
Strong hands grabbed Elladan's upper arms. He jerked himself free, his vision red with rage and tears. They grabbed him again and again until they latched so tight they were sure to leave bruises. Still, he struggled and yelled until his legs gave out and he slumped to the floor. The cries turned to gut-wrenching sobs. The hands turned into arms that enveloped him into hard hug.
"Go ahead," Captain Rahlen murmured, stroking his head. "Let it out, Mellon nîn."
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6th of March 2946 T.A.
It was the in the early hours of the morning by the time Elrohir went back to his rooms. Every patient was sleeping comfortably, the bodies of the dead had been prepared for burial. He took care of Laniër's body himself, placed her remains in an out-of-the-way room, with a guard in attendance. It wasn't likely that anyone would attempt retribution against Lusiël's cousin, but it was kinder to the bereaved to keep her out of sight.
He had just reached the hall leading to his rooms when he encountered Rahlen hurrying in the opposite direction, followed by an anxious-looking private. The captain was still in his stockings, had just finished pulling on a tunic and was settling it down past his waist.
"What is wrong?" he asked.
Rahlen stopped and adjusted his sleeves. "Your brother is…distraught."
"Ai, gorgor; I knew he would take this hard." He turned around to go back, but Rahlen grabbed his sleeve.
"Let me handle this."
"I do not understand."
"Yes, you do." Rahlen's mouth curved into a grim smile. ""Right now, he needs someone he doesn't have to be strong for." He lowered his voice. "You and I both know this isn't just about Vildan. He cared for Lusiël."
Elrohir's head jerked back, not in denial, but in surprise that Rahlen would know something so private. "He would never speak of it, not even to me."
"Nor to me," the captain's eyes filled with compassion. "If you came, he'd worry about upsetting you, which is what you would think if you were in his place. You look terrible; go get some sleep."
When Elrohir finally reached his room, he shucked his clothes and flopped face-down on the mattress and fell asleep, not caring about getting the sheets dirty.
The next morning, he opted not to have food sent to his room, but went to the Dining Hall to assess the mood of the House. After eating a large bowl of porridge and fruit, Elrohir spent a few moments walking among the tables, offering what reassurance he could, before he went to find Glorfindel.
The Elf-Lord was in his office in the barracks, looking at reports from yesterday's search.
"Suil aur," he said as he knocked on the door frame. "Did you discover Lusiël's accomplice?"
"Not as yet," Glorfindel said. "Tell me what happened and about the necklace you discovered."
"Have you spoken to Mithrandir about it, yet?"
"I have, but now I'm asking you. Go over it again."
Elrohir recounted their hunt for Lusiël and Mithrandir's unexpected appearance, and the necklace that appeared when he removed it from her body.7 After asking about several details, the Elf-Lord seemed satisfied.
"This time, we are fortunate that Mithrandir appeared when he did, but how can we prevent something like this from happening again?" Elrohir asked. "What if there is some other object that is lying around, waiting to be used?"
"My thoughts exactly," Glorfindel rested his fingers against his mouth, worry lines etched in his brow. "I had greatly feared this when Thranduil had his trouble in the North. It was clever of Sauron; creating enemies from within, rather than without, that not only destroys lives, but the morale of our people, as well."
"I could see that this morning at breakfast," Elrohir agreed, his heart heavy.
"We could destroy every item of jewelry in my father's kingdom, but it would do no good. Experience tells us such things cannot be detected until its owner is dead."
"Your father has called a meeting in his study later this morning, to compare notes," Glorfindel told him. "One of the things we need to discuss is the deaths at the North Gate."
"Lusiël killed them to enable her escape."
"True, but if that were entirely the case, I would have expected the bars and locks to bear some sign of forced exit. But it all looks perfectly normal."
"She had help?"
"Not necessarily. She could have somehow used her powers to open it."
"I am not sure of that," Elrohir mused. "We know she can control people, but objects?"
"At this point, I will not discount anything." The Elf-Lord rose from his chair, placed the stack of reports in the large box and recited the spell to lock it. "I am going to visit the families of the guards killed there. You will accompany me."
"Yes, My Lord."
"We appreciate you taking the time to visit," Aldon's father said, his arm around his weeping wife.
"Aldon was well-respected among the Vanguard," Glorfindel told his parents, a cup of tea balanced in its saucer on one of his knees. "He was a credit to you, to our military and to our people, and he will be sorely missed."
"My father will come to see you as soon as he is able," Elrohir added. "But in the meantime, allow me to say how truly sorry I am for your loss."
"He always wanted to be a soldier," Aldon's mother said as she wiped her eyes. "He knew it would break my heart when he enlisted, but nothing could stop him." Her mouth pursed in bitterness. "How could your father allow this to happen?" she said angrily. "A…sorceress, right in our midst murdered my son like it was nothing! Why could you not stop her?" Her face crumpled and she buried her face into her husband's shoulder."
"Shhh…" her husband pulled her against him. "Please excuse my wife; it is the shock."
"We are all shocked," Glorfindel said kindly. After meeting Elrohir's eyes, the Commander nodded slightly, and they both rose. "Please; do not get up. We can see ourselves out."
"It never gets easier," Glorfindel murmured, as they walked to the stables.
"But you have been to the Halls of Mandos," Elrohir reminded him. 8 "Surely that memory offers you some comfort when you lose a brother in arms."
"Does it?" Glorfindel's head whipped around in fury. "What good does it do me, when I see families who must face centuries before they might see their loved one again, if ever? All these people know is the void in their hearts and lives, and to try and offer any sort of perspective to lessen their grief is insulting. Remember that, son of Elrond. Our job is not to fix what cannot be changed. Our job is to be present, to let them know you see their pain."
"But is it enough?"
"No," Glorfindel admitted. "But platitudes and oversimplistic solutions, no matter how well-meant, only serve to make things worse."
Naeven's family were farmers living two miles outside the city gates, their large stone house stood in contrast to the wooden barns on either side. The family had successfully worked their land for centuries, providing a variety of goods for Imladris and the other outlying villages in the area. Novon, Naeven's father, had been asked several times to join Lord Elrond's Council, but though he was greatly honored, he always politely refused.
It wasn't surprising that Elrohir and Glorfindel were shown to the farmhouse's kitchen rather than their parlor. The long oak table was the heart of this house, where the entire extended family gathered to accept their condolences.
"Please accept my apologies for not bringing the news to you myself," Glorfindel bowed his head and saluted.
Novon's face was almost grey with grief, his eyes riveted on a small knot in the wood of the polished table as one of his daughters poured out the tea. "We heard that Lusiël and her cousin were also killed."
Elrohir could feel the sudden tension in Glorfindel's posture. "I am afraid that is true."
"Can you tell us what happened?"
"Not at the moment; we are still investigating," the Elf-Lord rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward slightly. "Were you acquainted at all with the Ellyth?"
"Not so much with Laniër, though she was a lovely, but Lusiël spent a great deal of time with us. Naeven had been courting her for over a year, and just last week he said he was planning to ask her to marry him. He wanted to use our silver betrothal rings for the ceremony."
At this, Novon's wife burst into tears. Elrohir quickly rose and helped her into his chair, then raised his gaze to meet Glorfindel's eyes.
"That is indeed a tragedy," the Elf-Lord kept his voice carefully casual. "May I ask if your son was abroad for a time last summer?"
Elrohir froze, taking a careful breath.
"Of course, he did," Novon's left eyebrow dipped quizzically. "He accompanied Lord Gildor and his party to the Tower Hills. You should have that in your records, My Lord."
"Forgive me, I must have forgotten." Glorfindel sat back with a rueful smile. "It has been a stressful couple of days." With a quick nod to Elrohir, he got to his feet. "Díheno men, but ach boe annim mened." He said, as he kissed the hand of Naeven's mother and saluted his father. "Hiro hîdh neñ gurth Naeven."
It wasn't until they were almost to the main gates of the city that Elrohir dared speak. "Naeven was not officially assigned to go with Gildor was he?"
"No," Glorfindel said, his mouth drawn into a furious line.
"He was Lusiël's accomplice…" Elrohir could hardly believe his own words. "He must have opened the North Gate for her."
"Yes. Then he either killed Aldon, or she killed them both to keep them quiet." The Elf-Lord's lips curled. "Rhaich e!" he spat. "Naevenwas Vanguard, yet he slayed his own people in cold blood!"
"Siniath faeg," Elrohir groaned, burying his face in his hands. "How do break this to Elladan?"
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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Ben iest dhîn, Mithrandir – As you wish, Mithrandir
Ci athae, Ada – Thanks, Dad
Díheno men, but ach boe annim mened – Forgive us, but we must go
Gwanunig – Twin brother
Hiro hîdh neñ gurth Naeven – May Naevan find peace in death.
Suil aur – Good morning (lit. "morning greetings")
Siniath faeg– This evil fate cannot be
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NOTES:
1 "In T.A. 2509, on a trip to Lórien to visit her parents, she was waylaid by Orcs of the Misty Mountains in the Redhorn Pass. She was captured and tormented, receiving a poisoned wound. Her sons rescued her and she was physically healed by Elrond, but she never fully recovered in mind or spirit, and no longer wished to stay in Middle-earth. She left for the Grey Havens and passed over the Great Sea the following year." /wiki/Celebrian
2 After [their mother's] loss, Elladan and Elrohir were filled with hatred of the orcs, often riding against them with the Northern Dúnedain. /wiki/Elladan
3 The Second Siege of Imladris took place sometime between T.A. 1356 and 1409 of the Third Age in the War between Arnor and Angmar. At some point the siege was broken, and Lord Elrond was able to help subdue the forces of Angmar for a time by bringing reinforcements from Lothlórien. /wiki/Second_Siege_of_Imladris
4 SCOM, Ch. 7: Thenin and Eílíent are Guardians who, after spending their exchange year in Rivendell, asked to stay. /works/26090521/chapters/72741651
5 SCOM, Ch. 14: /works/26090521/chapters/77483909
6 Legolas, Ion nîn, Ch. 25: /works/17088320/chapters/44623087
7 SCOM, Ch. 17: /works/26090521/chapters/79447126
8 "Glorfindel's spirit passed to the Halls of Waiting, where he waited with the spirits of the other Noldor who had died during their war against Morgoth. But because of Glorfindel's noble actions in life, his reluctance at the Exile, and his furthering of the purposes of the Valar by saving Tuor and Idril, Manwë allowed his re-embodiment after only a short time ... Eventually, Manwë sent him across the sea to Middle-earth during the Second Age." /wiki/Glorfindel
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