***Refugee camps***
The stench of death was chokingly intense. Ash floated in the air. Trees grieved in deep, monotonous phrases. He had to find his friend. It was his fault. He should have kept a closer watch, for he knew how exhausted his friend had been.
"I will find you." He vowed as he steered his steed over the burnt undergrowth. Cruel laughter rang in his ears. Suddenly, the scene changed, and he was trussed up against a tree. Sharp bonds cut his wrists.
"He is dead. We found him most entertaining." Foul drool oozed from a grotesque mouth. The orc leered and licked its lips. Blood dripped from a long limb, and that was its dinner. "Your steed was especially flavorful. Perhaps you can provide similar entertainment before we need to dine again."
"No!" He shouted and thrashed against his bonds.
"Erestor, wake ion-nin." A cool hand on his head spread comfort through him. "Erestor, dear one, it is naught but an ill dream."
"Naneth." Erestor stared dazedly as he shivered. He grasped for her hand as if it were a lifeline. "You are alive!"
"All is well ion-nin." She soothed and bent to pull him into a loving embrace, humming softly as she waited for his heartbeat to slow from its frantic pace. One melody ended, and another began before he calmed.
"I am sorry." He blushed, humbled and embarrassed.
"It is I who am sorry, ion-nin. If it had been in our power, Adar and I would have succored you and your sister away from strife. You and your friends have endured far too much in your young lives. I hope that in this time of renewal and rebuilding, we can give you your first chance to enjoy peace. You all need time to be young and to study what your heart truly desires, not take up only the duties thrust upon you out of dire necessity."
"I am no longer a child."
"Of that, I am painfully aware. Like many, you were forced to grow up too quickly. Out of necessity, we thrust duties and adult responsibilities on you at far too young an age. I spent several centuries discovering my own talents and interests. At the time, no one would dare force responsibility on elves under two hundred and fifty. You had completed grueling studies and were on patrol protecting our people when you were barely two hundred. A month ago, I nearly lost you." Tears slipped from her eyes as she kissed the crown of his head. Last week, the healers had removed the remaining stitches, but the road to a complete recovery would be several weeks more.
"I did not do enough to protect you. Thank Eru that most of the Yavannildi were shielded from harm."
"Let go of your guilt, for you are blameless. You fought bravely, ion-nin. You and Durgin saved many lives. Now is the time to be selfish, to look into your own heart and discern your own wishes. The future lies ahead. It is a future of peace where you can finally begin to explore paths of your desires, not just fulfill duties imposed on us by war."
***Among the Avari in the forest***
Kalmë kept a close eye on his charge but rarely spoke to the youth. This evening, the guard stood just outside the youth's line of vision, concealed by the shadows of the trees. Dinner had ended. The musicians were tuning their instruments in preparation for the weekly dance that brought such pleasure to young and old. Kalmë watched his King and Queen take their leave of the youth, who bowed respectfully. Tradition dictated that the royal couple led the first dance. Not surprisingly, no one stepped up to speak with the Peredhel, who stood out dark and exotic among the light-colored Avari. They were insular, wary of strangers, although it did not halt their curiosity. Many openly stared at the alien youth in morbid fascination, as if they could not decide what to think about one whose blood mixed elven with the divine as well as that of the second born.
"It is too late for him to be about." The healer noted sourly as he approached Kalmë. "He should be resting."
"Can you not see that he is lonely?"
"You encouraged him to seek out the princess?" The healer questioned.
"Are you not concerned for him as a whole person?"
"I am his healer. Of course, I watch over his health."
"As long as he does not interact with too many of us." Kalmë gave a grim look as he realized the difficulties this child of the three kindreds would face in a world of elves. Elves whirled in delight as the rhythm of the music quickened.
"I hardly think any elleth of the Avari would seek a relationship with an outsider who is both yet a child and a peredhel." As if in response, the distant dark head bowed slightly.
"He seeks a dance and some friendly conversation, not a relationship." Kalmë watched the youth turn toward his tent. The healer sighed in relief.
"Make sure our patient turns in safely."
***Foundations of a new Lindon***
"Sire, the architects and engineers have convened. They await you." Tarest found Gil-Galad poring over the planner's map of the proposed city.
"Have they implemented any of the suggestions?"
"I believe so, my Lord. But allow them to update you."
"What about the quarry?"
"People are addressing the logistics of transportation."
"Wood will be in short supply for the next yen."
"Aran Finarfin and his council have equitably divided supply between themselves and men. Primarily, it will be used for shipbuilding and to sure up their makeshift accommodations." Tarest subtly guided his Lord to the door.
"Our first buildings will rely primarily on stone," Gil-Galad muttered as he followed his Seneschal. "Perhaps their strength and beauty will cause many to rethink their decision to sail."
"I think many will remain here because your vision and guidance inspire confidence," Tarest confidently predicted. This young King had impressed many with his nobility, vision, and sense of fairness.
"We have a chance to build anew here, to make good on all those who have sacrificed for us."
***The camp of the Noldor of Tirion***
"Beloved." He leaned forward to kiss his golden wife awake. In this instant between dream and awakening, he could truly assess her state before the independent and self-sufficient daughter of Finarfin's sharp mind hid all her hurts behind the powerful wall of her mind. "A draught for pain then."
"It is not necessary." She pulled him closer to kiss him, but he could feel her flinch slightly at the movement. It would likely be another week before her side healed enough to remove the stitches.
"It is unnecessary to endure this pain when a healing tea is easily procured. His heart ached to see her shake her head and close her eyes. A tear welled from the creased lids. He knew instinctively that memories of darker times and buried guilt were now entwined with the remnants of that dark voice.
"No," he whispered against her lips. "Galadriel, leave the past where it belongs. It is our fate to give thanks for our present blessings and to fight for the future." He ran his fingers through her silken hair and gently pulled her into his arms. A call from one of Finarfin's servants interrupted their conversation. He felt his Lady stiffen slightly at the gaze of the unknown servant. Her pride and resolve not to let anyone see either her spiritual or physical pain were clear. Celeborn gave a silent prayer of thanks that he had won her love and deep trust. He instructed the apprentice healer quietly to send for a pain-relieving draught. The awed elf bowed politely and left. He turned his full attention back to his beloved, laying soft kisses across the furrowed brow. Aman had been too small and constricting to the children of Finarfin. It was not just pride but a deep-seated need to make one's mark, to make a difference in the world that had sent his beloved across the cruel grinding ice. In Aman, the elder leaders never stepped down to allow the younger elves to blossom. That, unfortunately, was not an issue in the Kingdoms of the East. So many had fallen in wars, and now a very young Ereinion was King of the Noldor. This grim line of thought sparked Celeborn's strategy for distracting his wife from her pain.
"In a few weeks, we will join Ereinion at Lindon. Indiriel sent a thick letter to you. They are in the midst of planning the layout of a small future city and palace buildings. I believe she seeks your opinions." He smiled at the immediate change in his beloved's mood.
"A city?"
"Aye, perhaps the shells of several buildings will be complete before Yule. Indiriel would very much like us to join them before winter sets in." A near reverence call in Quenya interrupted their conversation.
"Enter." Celeborn returned in Sindarin.
"Aranel (Princess)," the young healer apparently spoke no Sindarin and stared uncertainly as he held out the healing draught. Celeborn switched to Quenya, a language he had learned much to Aran Elu Thingol's chagrin.
"The Master Healer prepared a healing draught." The young elf stammered, unnerved by being in the presence of such royalty. He delivered the draught to the Lady. "He bid me to tell you that he will come within the hour to attend you, Lady Artanis."
"Thank you." Galadriel managed a smile from where she was ensconced in her husband's gentle embrace. The young elf blushed at the sight of the beautiful Lady and nervously stuttered a polite goodbye. Celeborn held his laughter until the footsteps retreated.
"Even injured your beauty takes people's breath away."
***Among the Avari in the forest***
"Child, how many times must I remind you? You are here to heal. You must let your soul be idle and listen to the song." The Avari healer sighed in frustration at his inability to understand or control this unusual patient. Elrond bristled at the tone. Each time he made a connection to one of the few Avari who would speak with him, work called them away – either that or this stubborn healer would step in to remind him that he was here to rest and heal. The ones who spoke with him were shy at first, but once at ease, shared interesting stories of their history and homes, that is until they were interrupted.
"I simply can not endure this. Can you not supply some books or allow me to continue my lessons with your medicinal plant expert?" Elrond felt the eyes of the elves surrounding them widen at his audacity in questioning their chief healer, and he fell immediately silent.
"Enough Penneth. Go to the meadow and resume your mediation. Begin with your breathing exercises. I will be up to check on you in a few hours." The tone brokered no argument. So Elrond sighed and simply excused himself to walk down to the meadow. The other elves watched him leave. Their eyes were not all benevolent.
"I wonder if Findarato and Artanis felt such scrutiny and suspicion when they entered Doriath? Would elves outside of Gil-Galad's circle always look at him as such an oddity? He nearly laughed at the memory Eonwë's proclamation that his role would be 'serve the Eldar' and 'council many from the poorest to Kings of Arda'. It would be long indeed before the average Avari decided to even speak with him." The trees read his dark mood. He heard their concerned whispers and was surprised at the singsong voices they adapted to trying to entice him to swing in their branches.
"No play makes you a dreary elf indeed!" They teased.
"I admit to frolic among your branches is very appealing. But if I do, they will be convinced I am still an elfling." Elrond returned.
"But you are an elfling yet. You are hundreds of years younger than the youngest elf here." The great oak reasoned. "Why not indulge yourself? My branches are perfect for swinging."
"They will come gawk at the peredhel."
"Peredhel?" The tree repeated in confusion. They did not understand the term but felt his deepest wish. "You wish to hide from the others? A game of hide and seek?"
"You know of places to hide?" Elrond returned, suddenly intrigued.
"My roots reach deep. I know of a hall carved underground by water. Echoes and breezes that pass there speak of a grand palace where the rock has been molded into crystals and sculptures."
"A palace underground?" The elven voice rang with childlike curiosity. The tree smiled at the youth's joy and continued to regale him with tales of the caverns below.
****Foundation of a new Lindon****
"Foundations!" Indiriel bubbled with excitement as she hugged Ereinion. "I watched them lay foundations!"
"Perhaps before winter sets in, we will be surrounded by solid walls and have a roof over our heads, though I fear little else will be finished inside."
"I would celebrate a roof and walls, even as we have to snuggle together for warmth." She whispered in his ear. "I promise to never take you for granted. These years without you, living in constant fear, have convinced me that we must live in the moment." She leaned in to kiss him, a kiss that he happily reciprocated. "Will Elros and Elrond come for Yule? Elrond would be much happier celebrating the holiday here with us than among the wary Forest Folk. The guards they assigned us seemed more to be protecting their people from our presence rather than vice versa."
"You may be more than partially correct, although their Lord and Lady were most gracious and welcoming." Ereinion laughed. "But I have sent a carefully worded request to their King to allow Glorfindel and Cirulian to retrieve Elrond before Yule."
"Glorfindel may gain a warmer welcome. I had the distinct impression that they were more than familiar with him."
"I believe our Lord Glorfindel is much older than he acts."
***Among the Avari in the forest***
Elrond glanced quickly around. The trees murmured that the coast was clear. Thanks to the aid of the wind and trees, he had once again succeeded in covering his trail. He slipped into the hole headfirst. It was only slightly wider than his frame. A short crawl later, he emerged into the comforting solitude. Here, a gentle, accepting calm encircled him. During these weeks of mediation, his mind began to gradually sense the thoughts of others. It was not that he could truly hear their silent comments, but the feelings and colors their spirits emitted when they looked at him were most unsettling. There was little doubt that many looked upon him with a disgusted curiosity. These foul thoughts weighed heavily on his mood and obscured his attempts to listen to the healing songs of the Ainur. He preferred the company of the Herutaurë and his family, for he could feel their genuine concern and growing acceptance.
"Greetings, child." Warmth enveloped him as the soft song caressed his mind. He forced himself to remain calm and listen, his body merely an extension of the song. Melodies rose about him, swirling like eddies around his soul, eliciting questions from deep within his being. His heart offered them up slowly.
"Who am I? What am I?"
Xxxxxxxxxx
"Herutaurë! I have lost track of the peredhel, and it is nearly nightfall." Kalmë's voice was worried.
"This has happened before?" The King of the Avari was surprised, for Kalmë was the best of his guard.
"He has become more adept at slipping away from me, though I keep closer tabs on the youth each day. But always he returns well before dusk, dusty as if he had frolicked like an elfling in the dirt."
"Have you spoken with the trees at the last place you saw him?"
"They consider the young one their charge and will not willingly tattle on him."
"I would not wish to tell Gil-Galad or Finarfin that we lost Elu's heir, when they released him to our protection. Perhaps his tent holds some clues." The Forest Lord and guard crossed the meadow to Elrond's tent. The healer met them outside.
"Might you know where the peredhel is? I usually stop before the evening meal to check on him."
"He is missing. We were going to look in his tent for clues." From the entrance, the tent seemed spartan. A cot stood in the middle, and in front of them were a few of the youth's possessions and his harp. Hidden behind the bed was a basket of bark and shredded plant clippings. A bowl held a pulpy, watery mixture. A long flat trough and screen were visible, as were sheets of the drying paper. Smaller bowls held crushed plants and colored extracts. Papers were freshly illustrated pictures of the medicinal plants of this area, detailed in Elrond's neat script.
"The young one is very industrious." The Forest Lord remarked in approval.
"I do not see how unless he does not sleep. During the day, he has been on a strict routine to encourage meditation." In frustration, the healer threw up his hands while his King bent to retrieve a closed manuscript. The King flipped through the manuscript with a low whistle of appreciation.
"I believe our charge is underground." He said as he revealed detailed pictures of caverns decorated with dripstones from the ceiling. Stone columns rose like children's towers from the ground. The others gasped at the illustrations. Their Lord flipped back a few pages in the book to a well-drawn map that marked the entrance to the caverns.
"It says it is little more than a rabbit hole, and one must crawl for some span before it opens into the large void."
"My Lord." Kalmë began hesitatingly.
"You have lost your charge. It is your duty to investigate." Herutaurë turned to address the healer. "Your skills may also be necessary. Perhaps you need to rethink methods for treating this patient. Organize some lamps and blankets. Quickly now." In a mere twenty minutes, a handful of the Avari and their King had gathered around the small hole indicated by the map.
"I shall go first," Kalmë announced, not a little unwilling, though his Lord's gaze was all the order he needed.
"My Lord." Kalmë's voice quivered slightly as he crawled on his belly through the tiny aperture. "Surely, he is elsewhere."
"Kalmë," the Forest Lord's tone even at this distance was enough to stop the warrior from speaking further. "Thrust your lamp further ahead. The cavern must be but a little further." Minutes passed before the warrior's voice echoed softly from the hole.
"It is amazingly large. I see him." The King and healer waited for the warrior to report. Finally, his voice carried more clearly. "The youth appears to be asleep, though I can not rouse him. But I am no healer."
"The healer is on his way." The King declared much to his subject's dismay.
"It is a long crawl. Perhaps you should push your healing supplies before you. I will hold the lamp at the end of the tunnel to light the way." As he crawled through the tunnel, the healer flung out curses in a fearful, wavering voice.
"You are doing well. It is but a little further." Kalmë coaxed good-naturedly. "Keep looking ahead. The cavern is large and truly a sight worth seeing." Finally, the healer emerged, and Kalmë helped him to his feet. Two lamps now illuminated the dreamlike cavern. The light glinted and sparkled off the stalactites like chandeliers bejeweling a grand ballroom. Twenty elves laid head to foot might cross its diameter. Slack-jawed, the healer just stood gaping momentarily at the wonder around him.
"Limestone, I believe." Kalmë broke the silence. "Although what force of nature molded them into such exquisite shapes, I dare not guess." The healer and warrior exchanged a long glance before Kalmë motioned to the sleeping peredhel. Elrond was lying near the far side. It was obvious when they approached that this was the spot from which he had done many of the drawings in the book. The healer began to slowly and methodically assess his patient. A contented smile lit the young face, although his eyes were closed in exhaustion.
"Is it a healing sleep?" Kalmë whispered, though his voice echoed in the cavern.
"A deep and rejuvenating one," the healer confirmed as he firmly wrapped the peredhel in his dusty cloak.
"He seems to glow as do his immediate surroundings," Kalmë noted. Were those bands of light rising from the ground into the youth? He prayed to Kementári in thanks and asked Elbereth for insights into the boy's nature. Elrond was surely blessed.
"I do not know what this place is. But it seems he has found a connection to the song here and is drawing strength from nature."
"He shivers, although it is only mild and damp in here. I will retrieve the blankets."
"I believe his mixed blood makes him more susceptible to the elements," the healer said in a derogatory tone.
"Yet, none of the Avari could draw healing strength from Arda," Kalmë noted in awe. The guard was offended that the narrow-minded healer did not appreciate the attributes of his unusual patient. "Can you not use such an ability to augment his recovery?"
"It must be an inheritance from Melian." The healer grunted slightly as he considered the options, and a new and unsettling thought entered his mind. "Perhaps it is due to the mingling of these three bloodlines."