Chapter Twenty-Seven
SUMMARY: While Ecthelion's visit to Dale continues, so do Radagast's lessons with Rhian. Vildan's recovery continues, though not painlessly.
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"A bridge of silver wings stretches from the dead ashes of an unforgiving nightmare
to the jeweled vision of a life started anew."
― Aberjhani, Journey through the Power of the Rainbow: Quotations from a Life Made Out of Poetry
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Dale, 17th of June 2946 T.A.
Rhian and Radagast had stopped their horses in the forest West of Dale, and strolled through the trees on foot at a casual, relaxed pace. "Why are we here, today?"
He gave her a lopsided smile, but there was a hint of seriousness in his eyes, "I think it's time we spoke about your heritage. What do you remember from your meeting with Elrond?"
"Well, he spoke about someone back in the First Age, named Rían, who had a baby—"
"Tuor," Radagast lowered his chin in a small nod. "Go on."
"And she abandoned him to go seek out her dead husband."
"'Abandoned?'" The Brown Wizard's eyebrows drew together. That's an interesting word."
"Look," Rhian clicked her tongue with a sigh. "I know that whole saga that makes for a poetic story, but I can't respect any mother who turns her back on her baby to throw herself on her husband's grave and starves herself to death.1 But as much as I love my husband—and I do—it just feels like she turned from her son, when this lady could have found solace and strength in being his mother."
"That's an interesting way to look at it," Radagast tapped his chin. "She was very young when she died."
"Well, I was very young when I was being beaten to a pulp by my husband. Trust me: I know what it is to suffer, and the only thing that kept me from sinking into despair was my son. He was my reason to work my arse off to get better!" Rhian's breath grew shallow. "I hate even thinking about that time, but…" she crossed her arms and looked up to Raven Hill in the far distance. "Maybe I do understand. I refused to see him when he was born because I thought Lord Bard would take him from me when he realized what I had done. I thought I'd be thrown in a dungeon or even hanged for abandoning Garth in Laketown, and…"
"So, you turned from him to make things easier for you?"
"Aye," she nodded. "But once the Kings helped me understand, all I wanted was my baby. And if you ask me if I regret leaving Garth to die, I'll say no. He'd have killed me and the baby if he'd survived."
"Of course, you're right," Radagast patted her arm. "And from what I have been told, your first husband was responsible for his own actions that led to his death. Bard and Thranduil tell me you had no way to save him, between your pregnancy and your injuries."
"That took a while to believe, I admit, but they were right," Rhian shuddered. "Can we talk about something else? Why are we here?"
"Why indeed, child," the Wizard gave her another smile. "What would you say if I told you that Rían agreed that it was a mistake?"
"What do you mean?"
"Rían was human, as we both know, and when she died, she and Huor spent all of the Second Age and most of the Third of her afterlife with her husband, she never forgot the child, as you say, abandoned."
"But he was with them, wasn't he?"
"Tuor didn't join his parents. Tuor married the Elf Idril—they are Elrond's grandparents—and the only Man to be granted an immortal life and lives in Valinor even as we speak. Five years ago, their son Eärendil brought the Blessing that changed things. This was due in large part because of his mother's petitions to Eru and the Valar." His blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "And Sellwen. And you."
She scrunched her eyes tight. "I don't know them! I don't remember any of what you're telling me!"
"And you won't, child—not for a very long time." Radagast took her by the elbow and ushered her to a familiar tree. "This is what I wanted to show you."
"But I've seen it before. This is Daeron's favorite Oak tree."
"It is. And you've been here before, haven't you?"
"Once. Just after our honeymoon. Daeron helped me 'see' then."
Radagast touched the side of his nose. "But you don't need his help anymore, do you?"
She laughed warily. "I suppose not."
"Rhian," he took her hands. "Daeron is a great deal older than you—"
"I know that."
"Yes, you do. In an…abstract sense." He squeezed her fingers. "Doron was told an interesting story a few years ago, and I think you might want to see it for yourself."
"See?"
"Trust me, my dear." He patted her hand before he dropped it and stepped over to touch the wide, dark trunk and closed his eyes. Rhian watched in fascination at the silent conversation between the two—there was a vibration emanating from them that she could sense without knowing the words. Radagast had insisted these powers had always been part of her, but it still felt foreign and uncomfortable. Which he also insisted was normal.
Why? Her new friend avoided the implications of such a gift, but Rhian wasn't a fool; she was given this ability for a reason, and her imaginings of the tasks she might be required to perform made her toss and turn some nights.
But Radagast never pushed her—more often than not, he would call a halt to their sessions long before she felt ready to quit, and only smiled in that patient way of his when she urged them to keep going.
"Perhaps that is his way of proving to you that you need not be afraid of this," Daeron told her one night as he lifted the covers and crawled into bed with her. He smiled down at her and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. "He does not want you to advance until you feel comfortable with each step."
"Did he tell you that?" She propped herself up on her elbows.
"Not in so many words, but I have known Radagast since I was first patrolling the forest, Hind Calen. He is gentle with animals and with growing things; it only makes sense that he would be the same with you."
Rhian was roused from her musings by a hand at her elbow.
"Up you go, now."
"Where will you be?" she eyed him nervously.
"I'll be nearby," he said cheerfully, "checking for 'messages.'"
Rhian swallowed hard, then turned to the huge tree. After taking a deep breath, she jumped and easily caught the lowest branch and began her ascent to the large comfortable-looking limb. She leaned her back into the trunk, closed her eyes and cleared her mind, just like Radagast had made her practice until it was almost second nature.
Suilië, meldonya… Vibrations from the aged tree greeted her. You are Adamarion's bond-mate."
I am, she answered with her thoughts. What does he want you to show me?
Just relax, and you will see…
Rhian closed her eyes and took several cleansing breaths, and in moments a vision came to her of Dale, only not Dale. The buildings looked much the same, but the flowers, the murals and the fabric that hung in the windows was different. Garon's Castle was also different; it was attached to the Great Hall and paved courtyard was a different color. 2
There was a building that looked like the Healing Hall, but this was closer to the Castle, and was accessed by the courtyard at the top of the city. 3
Rhian gasped when the images changed and she was observing one of the treatment rooms and her heart leapt at the sight of Daeron, holding the hand of a pregnant woman whose face was covered in bruises. Her stomach lurched and a burst of nausea nearly broke the connection between her and Doron.
A reassuring wave of comfort eased her shoulders and her stomach. These are images from long past; nothing can hurt you.
In burst an irate husband who, praise the Valar, looked nothing like her first husband, but it was still difficult to see that man, Roald, mimic the same attitude, the same behavior as Garth. How obvious he was, how cloying and manipulative! It wasn't just Roald that upset Rhian; it was the memory of her own responses, her own futile hope at Roald's promises that were reflected in Miriam's eyes. Rhian was ashamed of her own willful ignorance that nearly ended hers and Darryn's life.
But Doron knew her thoughts about this, as well. Be at ease, little one. Watch your husband—this is why you are here with me.
And she did. At the tears of joy at meeting the unborn babe, his laugh when Miriam's belly moved as the child—Sellwen—returned his affection with kicks and turns and small waves of her arms. Over the following weeks, as the bond between Daeron and Sellwen grew, the child's fëa was…familiar.
Another gasp of surprise. "I know this, but I don't." she said aloud. "It was the same feeling I had on my wedding night!" Doron said nothing, but came as close to smiling as any ancient oak tree could she supposed.
The love in Daeron's eyes was the same as she had now, in the small moments when he met her gaze across a room, or when he laughed as they walked through the park with Darryn, or when he was above her, making love to her. It was innocent and pure and strong and utterly beautiful. There was no need jealousy, because what her husband gave this tiny being was also for herself in a mysterious, astounding way that she couldn't begin to explain.
Prepare yourself, child…
Of course, she knew what was coming, for didn't Daeron share the entire story with her? Rhian swallowed straightened her spine and slowly blew out a breath.
Daeron, teeth clenched in anger and terror as he swiftly retrieved the baby from the dead mother's belly, even as little Sellwen's fëa rose above her tiny body. Wiping off the blood and crying out his plea for her to stay. "No! Please!"
A dimly-lit room, a plump middle-aged woman caring for Daeron and hiding her own tears. A King with the same features as Bard kneeling before her husband's chair and gently prying his shaking hands from the small bundle. An agonized wail filled the air, like none that had ever been heard in the Healing Hall as Girion cradled the bereft Elf in his arms and murmuring useless words of comfort.
But Daeron's face. Oh, his face, as he grasped the King's arm and completely fell apart. His shoulders heaved with sobs that should have broken his ribs, his skin, should have made his heart explode with grief. 4
Rhian burst into tears, but the vision did not melt away. She was hovering above the scene now, wanting so much to comfort Daeron, to tell him it wasn't forever, that she would return to him…
She and Sellwen were one at that moment, and what Radagast had called an abstract knowledge now became a memory to store in her heart. Now the tears Daeron had shed after their joining made more sense.
Soft leaves brushed over her cheeks. There is more, little one. Do you want to see?
She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and nodded. "Yes. I think I need to."
Very well…
Daeron was in a room in the Castle, sitting in a high-backed chair facing the window, his skin and eyes a dull, dry grey, with lips that were lighter than his cheeks. If not for the shallow up and down movement of his chest, he might have been a corpse that had been placed their and posed to imitate the living.
The door opened and in walked Turamarth, who gently closed it behind him. Tur's hand covered his mouth to stifle a cry, his eyes blinded with tears. After forcing himself to calm down, he carefully took a few steps forward.
"Suil, Gwador," his voice was quiet, tentative. "It is good to see you." 5
"You have come to take me home."
"I have."
" I am glad you came."
" I wanted to come." Tur reached for him, but drew his hand back at the last, curling his fingers under. "King Girion told me what happened." The cousins spoke quietly for a few moments, then Tur—bless him—picked up the plate of fruit from the plate by Daeron's chair and fed him, a small piece at a time, over his protests.
At the funeral, Daeron couldn't stand by himself, but Tur kept him upright while he tossed flowers over the covered bodies of Miriam and Sellwen, then was led away to a wagon waiting to take him home.
"No more," Rhian sobbed. "Please."
There is only a little more. Will you bear with me?
She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Fine. But I don't see the point—"
Another day. Here was Doron with his friend resting comfortably in his limbs, eating a leisurely lunch, and enjoying his day. Telling Oak the story she had just witnessed.
"She is a part of me," he said, "and despite everything, I am glad of it."
Rhian gasped again, but this time in surprise.
What will happen with this woman, Rhian? Doron asked.
A sigh. "I wish I knew, Mellon nîn. Again, I love someone I cannot have, and I do not know what to do."
The next words from the giant Oak were a revelation to her—perhaps this is what Radagast had been trying to show her:
Trust in Eru Ilúvitar, my friend. Trust in Yavanna to help you...
Daeron was finally finished with his shift at the Healing Hall, and by a rare circumstance there were no women in Dale due to give birth at his time, so both he and Hannah could enjoy a few evenings with no fear of interruption. It was almost the Eve of Midsummer, the Tarnin Austa, and it looked like he might just be able to participate in the ceremonies and the Silent Vigil with the rest of his people. He made a mental note to ask Silvi, their new servant, if she might stay overnight with Darryn while he and Rhian enjoy it. 6
This was his favorite time of day. As he to strode through the winding streets to the top of the city the rays from the sun warmed the building, and brightened the red of the clay-tiled roofs. And, as he usually did, he reflected his good fortune at his life and gave thanks to the Valar for his home, his son, and his beautiful wife.
The same wife who was running toward him at breakneck speed, skirts lifted, feet flying over the cobblestones, calling his name as if the world were on fire.
"Ai, Hind Calen!" he caught the sobbing woman into his arms. "Ci mhaer?" He held her tight until her weeping subsided, then pulled back, inspecting her for cuts, bruises, anything that might explain this burst of emotion. "Is Darryn all right?"
"Yes," she smiled through her tears. "Nothing is wrong at all. I just…love you so much." She threw herself at him again, her arms snaking around his neck so hard it nearly cut off his air supply. "I understand, now. I tried to before, but I really get it." Her lips quivered and she stifled another sob.
"Understand what, my love?" he took her face in his hands, and wiped her tears away with his thumbs. "Are you sure you are not hurting somewhere?"
"No, I'm fine. More than fine. I know about you and me, and…Sellwen. I know what happened. I saw. It was awful but then it was so wonderful, because," and she began to cry again, in earnest. "Oh, Daeron, I just love you more than I ever thought it possible, and I'm so…" she hiccupped. "I'm so…h…happy! I'm so happy!" And she collapsed again into his arms. "I…came back because…you…l-love me so much!" she wailed.
Her knees buckled just then, so he grabbed behind her knees and swept her up into his arms while she buried her soggy face into the crook of his neck. A few people stopped in the street to stare; curious at the spectacle, wondering if something terrible had happened and they would need to make some food to send to their house.
Daeron could only shrug at them with a "what can you do?" grin and carry his wife away.
He was sure of one thing: whatever prompted this outburst, Radagast the Brown was at the bottom of it.
He was also sure that whether he would curse the Wizard or thank him would depend upon what happened after he got his wife home and into bed.
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Rivendell, 17th of June 2946 T.A.
"How are you today?" Elrond said, as he walked into Vildan's room.
"Weak, and frustrated," the Elf said with a sour face.
"It has only been two days since we woke you up," he said with a patient smile. "Have you been doing your exercises with Elladan?"
"Yes," the son of Elrond rolled his eyes. "In fact, he wants to do twice as many. I threatened to tie him down."
Vildan skewered his friend with a look that would have wilted flowers. "I cannot stand this!" he cried angrily. "How would you feel?"
"My son is correct," Elrond quirked an eyebrow. "Your body has been forced to lie still for three months and your muscles have atrophied. We must rebuild them, slowly and carefully, lest you tear ligaments and such. How many times has this been explained to you?"
"Many times, My Lord," Vildan's head fell back onto his pillow. "It does not seem like months to me; I fell into a river one day, went to sleep and woke up with a body that is shriveled and useless! I still cannot feel my legs! What happens if—"
"Do not think about that," Elladan said firmly. "I am not ready to give up, even if you are."
"But—"
"No!" Elladan's expression grew militant. "Like Ada says, it has only been two days."
"To tell you the truth, I am hoping the feeling comes back gradually, Vildan. The pain would be too great otherwise."
"You think it is not painful to be stretched and pulled and pushed for hours a day?"
"Better that, than to add the sensation of thousands of hot needles piercing you. Do you not remember what King Thranduil endured when we fished him out of the frozen lake in that cave?" 7
"Better that than weeks of lying here!"
With a sigh, the Lord of Imladris pulled a narrow cloth bundle out of his pocket and pulled out a long, thin needle, the same type used to knit socks. He moved to the bottom of Vildan's bed, pulled at the blankets to expose his feet, and ran it up and down his foot pressing into the point of pain on any healthy Elf or Man. "Do you feel that?"
"Yes."
"Tell the truth, Lieutenant."
"No," came the glum reply. "When will I?"
"I wish I could tell you. I have never seen an injury such as yours, but fortunately you have me as your physician as well as Mithrandir's help. If you have any chance of walking again, we are the ones who can make it happen." He covered the Elf's feet with the blankets again and patted him on the shins before he sat down on the bed to face him. "Keep up with the stretches exactly how you are instructed, Vildan. No more and no less. Let Elladan and the others continue with the massages, and soon enough, we can get you outside in the sun and that will lift your spirits."
At the Lieutenant's impatient sigh, Elrond said. "Take your victories where you can find them, child. My hope is that you will once again take your place as one of my Vanguard, but only if you cooperate."
"Suppose I do get the feeling back; how long will it be before I can walk?" The Elf's eyes were anxious.
"As an Elf, your recovery will increase exponentially at a rate much faster than any Man. For our people, it will be a matter of a month or two, as opposed to six, though I doubt any of the Edain would have the same chance.
"In the meantime," Elrond pulled a thick envelope out of another pocket, "something came for me in the latest box from the Woodland Realm. Before you read it, there is something we need to tell you."
"What?" Vildan's head jerked up and his arms flailed feebly.
"Here," Elladan immediately went to him. "Let me." He grabbed Vildan under his arms and heaved him toward the headboard, where he propped him up against several pillows.
"They sent messages back in March, but obviously there was no way to tell you then. It seems that on the same day Imladris was under attack, thieves in the City of Dale attempted to kidnap Trastapîn, Mistanâr's foal."
Vildan's face drained of its color. "Are they…"
Elrond raised both hands and stopped his musings. "She was recovered, unharmed, within two hours. Unfortunately, one Elf was murdered, and two were injured—"
Vildan licked his lips, "Tauriel? How is she?"
"I am told she was not present when they broke into the stables, but she was instrumental in the filly's rescue."
"But why would they want her?"
"When your horse mated with Tauriel's it was naturally assumed that Trastapîn's bloodline would be diminished. However, the opposite appears to be true. Thranduil wrote to me when the foal was born of course—"
"As did Tauriel," Vildan interrupted, "though her message was void of any sort of detail."
"I am sure that had they noticed anything remarkable they would have said at the time, Lieutenant."
"You are right," he said sheepishly. "Forgive my impertinence."
"We shall assume you are grumpy from being so confined. At any rate, there are no boxes during the winter months, just small messages by bird if there is an emergency. We had no way of knowing how she developed otherwise, and I agree with Thranduil that such news should be confined to a vessel that can only be opened by it's recipient."
"What about Trastapîn?"
"My son told you of the circumstances of Mistanâr's birth, of the prophecies that were made?" 8
"Yes."
"It would seem that the horses spoken of through her line, is through Trastapîn. Not only does she possess the same sort of abilities as her mother, but she also exceeds them, even in her appearance. Thranduil writes that while Mistanâr's coat shimmers varying shades of grey when she moves, the hairs on Trastapîn serve much like a prism, and she appears opalescent. I have never heard of such a thing on Middle Earth, but Glorfindel tells me there are such animals in Aman."
Vildan's jaw went slack, and his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "And that is why she—"
"—was stolen, yes. Both Thranduil and Tauriel feel terrible that more security measures were not taken, but that is not entirely their fault. I must bear the responsibility for not sharing what I knew about Mistanâr," Elrond rested his hand over Vildan's, "and for that I am truly, truly sorry, Vildan. We were very worried when your sister and her husband were killed, but that is no excuse for not doing what I should to keep such a valuable animal as safe as she should have been. Since March, there is extra security at the Royal Stables, and while in pasture, they are surrounded by three large guard dogs. No one will have a chance at them again."
"Tauriel must feel terrible about all this."
"She did. She does, according to her father."
Vildan's face grew tense again. "Does she know…?"
"We have not told anyone outside Imladris of your condition, Mellon nîn," Elladan assured him.
"That is true," Elrond seconded his son, "and that has presented some problems. Tauriel sent a letter four months ago, but there was no way to respond, as we did not know its contents. Not surprisingly, there was another letter that arrived recently addressed to me, from her older brother, Legolas, and he is not pleased."
"Ai," Vildan winced and rubbed his jaw. "Amarth faeg…"
"Obviously, you were unable to respond," Elrond opened the envelope to extract the letter. "Now that you are back with us, we need your help with the response."
He scanned and shuffled through the pages. "Ah. Here we are:
…Mistanâr and Trastapîn, while physically unhurt from their ordeal, their personalities have certainly changed. Not so much the mother; she is courageous and confident, but she and Lasbelin spend much of their time worrying over their daughter. To date, the foal will let no one but Tauriel approach, and even then, will hardly allow her to touch. We have done our best to help Trastapîn's anxiety, though spells, through music, even adding calming herbs to her mother's food to be given through her milk. The light in the filly's eyes has gone out and I fear it may never shine as it once did.
Which brings me to another purpose for my letter. You told me once that I was to be as your son for a while, and it is to this Adar-nauth that I ask such a personal question:
Why has Vildan not responded to my sister?
Even to enquire after the horses and their welfare?
Do not misunderstand me, My Lord; she has no idea I am writing to you of this. Neither does my father, and if that is some breach of etiquette among Kings, than I beg your forgiveness. But Tauriel is the most important Elleth in the world to me, and she is hurting more than she allows others to see.
I know if Vildan had been killed in the attack on your people, you would have told us, so I can only assume his silence is from anger at her alleged carelessness. I can promise you; nothing could be further from the truth. Perhaps at first her affection for those horses was a way to distract herself from losing Vildan—for it was a grievous loss—but she loves them with her whole heart, and her eyes light up when she is with them. Or they did, but much like poor Trastapîn, my sister is also changed, and she is but a shadow of her former self.
There was a time when I was convinced I was in love with Tauriel, but we both know that wasn't real. 9 But have no doubt of my love for her as a friend as a brother; I will do my utmost to keep her from harm. If Vildan refuses to shed light on this, or if he has chosen another for his wife, then I think she deserves to be told the truth by those who would protect and cherish her. I beg of you My Lord, write to my father or to myself, and we will do our best to help her."
Elrond carefully folded the letter, put it in the envelope and back into his pocket. "What should we tell them?"
Vildan stared at the far wall, away from the window, his eyes puffy and red from tears.
"I will not burden Tauriel with a useless lump for a husband. Tell her nothing, and let us pray she grows to hate me."
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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Ai, Hind Calen! – Oh, Green Eyes!
Ci mhaer? – Are you hurt?
Tarnin Austa – (Lit.)"Gates of Summer" was held on the eve of the first day of summer. It was custom to begin a solemn ceremony at midnight, continuing it until dawn of Tarnin Austa. The Elves did not speak from midnight to daybreak, but upon the rising of the Sun they would burst into ancient songs, with choirs standing upon the eastern wall.
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NOTES:
1 /wiki/Rian
2 An Invincible Summer, Ch. 55: /works/14127870/chapters/39824019
3 An Invincible Summer, Ch. 1: /works/14127870/chapters/32556594
4 An Invincible Summer, Ch. 5: /works/14127870/chapters/33048123
5 An Invincible Summer, Ch. 6: /works/14127870/chapters/76045805
6 SCOM, Ch. 25: /works/26090521/chapters/83831500
7 Broken Wings, Ch. 21: /works/20519588/chapters/53127007
8 SCOM, Ch. 8: /works/26090521/chapters/73036815
9 Legolas, Ion nîn, Ch. 10: /works/17088320/chapters/42097547
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