WinterDragon: *repeats after you* I am an awful person. Here's another cliffhanger. XD

In my defense, here are some answers, as well. Enjoy!

Chapter 45

August 19th, TA 3020

The dawn was rising on Mitharlan, as bright and bold as though the nights' events had been naught but a bad dream. With rosy fingers it shook the dew off beech leaves and unfurled the honeysuckle petals as one pries open a child's hand, slowly and with the utmost tenderness. Yet its golden light, so gentle with all things living, only deepened the shadows under Siggun's eyes, and called the roll of empty streets and squares.

"If you're wanting to understand Baeron," Siggun began, pushing her disheveled hair out of her face with the back of her hand, "you'll have to dig beyond the last few months." As the children woke, unaware of what had transpired during their slumber, she busied herself at the stove as though nothing had happened, clanking her pots and pans around, and only the sluggishness of her gestures betrayed how tired she must be. "He's always been a queer one, though it's only recently that I've noticed just how much."

She rubbed her wrist absent-mindedly, as though trying to relieve an invisible bruise.

"How queer, exactly?" Elladan asked from his chair, having claimed one for himself after the departure of Baeron and his men to keep an ear on the house's surroundings for the remainder of the night.

"Solitary. Suspicious. Tight-lipped." Siggun shrugged, meaning to indicate she could go on, and Elladan could not resist a jab.

"Quite unlike yourself, then."

She narrowed her eyes at him, fingers wrapped around the handle of a ladle she held up like a sword. "Laugh all you want, Master Elf but I, at least, don't go running around burning people in their homes."

That last part had been spoken in a low voice, and with a glance to the adjacent room, from where escaped the gentle babbling of the children. Even so, Elladan drew in a breath and looked at Gaerlin, who had returned to the bench he had claimed the previous evening. His shoulders hunched, he was carving out what looked like a crudely shaped bear from a piece of wood, a look of concentration upon his face. Leaning against the wall beside him, Bruiven surveyed his progression with mild interest.

"So, you know what happened."

As the children emerged from their room, surrounding Siggun like chicks around a hen, their little faces puffed up with sleep, she spread out an arm to keep their eager fingers away from the flames and all things hot, all the while grumbling under her breath about stomachs on legs. Once they had been gathered and sent to wash their faces in a basin that stood upon a stool, she turned towards Elladan.

"As much as anyone else, I suppose. There was a mighty racket, the other night, and much shouting from Roben and Aisha's house before the flames became too high to be extinguished. Some have tried to do just that – fearing for their own houses, mind you, not for the lives of those inside." Her mouth twisted in disdain. "You have to understand that Baeron's never been fond of strangers as it is, and with the war, and then the rumors of the plague…."

"Rumors?" Annahad spoke up from a corner of the room, where he and Taniel sat side by side, united in their disapproval.

"Aye. Some folk from Emyn Arnen stopped here on their way to Tharbad, a month past. Said Lord Faramir had received word from your folk –" she shoved the ladle in Elladan's direction – "about a plague raging in Ithilien, and that they meant to flee before it reached them. Now Baeron, having lost a son during birth and almost losing his wife in the process, became afeared of her succumbing for good, this time. Spoke of having a finger in every pie, and all that, going around at night scratching Sauron's eye into the shutters just in case…." Siggun scoffed bitterly as she salted the contents of one of the pots, tossing the condiment in with undeniable fury. "Should've scratched his own eyes out, if you ask me. Or perhaps I ought've done it myself, the first time he laid a hand on me, instead of keeping mum about it."

"Then why did you?" This time it had been Taniel who had spoken, ignoring Elladan's look of warning to point an accusing stare at the woman.

"What?" Siggun exclaimed shrilly, "hold my tongue? I'd like to see you do it, in my position, with a mouth to feed and no husband to defend me. Besides," she added with a grimace, "who would've believed me, a widow he was cheating on his wife with? They'd rather run me out of the village, and then where would I go? No, there's no other choice for me but to do what the others do. Hole myself inside, and hope Baeron succumbs to his madness before we all starve."

The children returned, holding their hands, Sofie's one fair against Halim's tanned skin. They climbed upon their chairs to peer hopefully into the bowls of gruel Siggun set before them. And while the little girl dug in with a hearty appetite, the boy turned up his nose in disgust, toying with his spoon as though delaying the moment he would have to take a mouthful. Elladan could not blame him, having witnessed firsthand how the meal had come to be; yet the grimace reminded him of someone who had once had as little taste for porridge as he, used as she had been to stronger flavors and scents. With a fond smile at the memory of Mehreen's pretty nose wrinkled in distaste, Elladan stretched his legs under the table, and asked: "Halim is not your son, is he?"

"The eyesight of the elves is astounding indeed." Siggun raised her muscular arms towards the ceiling in mock wonder before crossing them upon her chest. "No, Master Elf, he's not mine. It's no reason to surrender him to Baeron, though, and I won't let you. The boy's done nothing wrong, and it's not his fault his skin's too dark for some people's liking." She came to stand by Halim's chair to ruffle his dark curls with gruff fondness. "I found him hiding behind the block of wood in the backyard, covered in soot. Took him in. Fed him. Bathed him. But I can't ask him what happened, and even if I could, I'm not sure I want to know what my neighbors are capable of."

"I may know someone who can."

If anyone would be able to translate his questions, it was Mehreen, but the trek back to Bar-Lasbelin would take another day – and up to three, if small children were to be part of the journey. As for having Mehreen come here….

Elladan did not doubt for one instant that she would, should he bid her to, her gentle heart bleeding for the people of Mitharlan before she even met them, in the same manner than she cared for her flowers and the ragtag gaggle of beasts she insisted on feeding. Yet he shuddered at the thought of risking her life in an infected village, the idea of losing her suddenly as daunting as an eternal night. Surprised by the violence of his fears – for he did not dare call them feelings – Elladan understood that nothing short of a helping hand from the Valar themselves could avoid the grievous setback such a voyage represented.

A help that came from the person he had least counted on.

"My Lord Elladan, if I may?"

He turned to see Bruiven step away from the wall and the seemingly fascinating manner in which the wooden shavings came off the sculpture in Gaerlin's hands. The apprentice bowed his head, his expression contrite at having interrupted the discussion.

"Let me guess. You have happened to learn Haradric in the last fortnight?" Taniel snickered from the shadows.

"As a matter of fact, I have." Bruiven wavered under Elladan's stare, but made no move to retreat. "I have learnt from Mehreen herself and, if you wish and if Mistress Siggun permits, I can speak to the boy on your behalf."

oOoOoOo

"The men came when it was dark. They were angry."

Halim was wriggling on his chair, dangling his legs from the edge, his frightened eyes darting between Bruiven and the rest of them. Siggun stood in his back, a hand akin to a vulture's claw resting on one of his shoulders – a claw she would not hesitate to sink into their flesh, should she dislike what was asked of her protégé.

"They were shouting, and then, they hit my father."

The boy flinched as he said it, the meaning of his words clear even before Bruiven had put into Westron. Tears streaked his face, his lower lip quivering in his effort to do his father honor by telling his story and, had Elladan not felt the urgency of their situation so direly, he would have renounced questioning the boy any further.

So far, he had learnt Halim was the son of a travelling merchant who often followed the Harad road to sell his wares. His mother had died of a banal, if sadly fatal, sickness some years past, the symptoms of which Elladan had had no trouble recognizing from the boy's account. The merchant had had a sister, whom Halim called Amma Aisha, and who had lived in Mitharlan with her husband and their son, Andir.

Andir.

Mehreen had been right. His name came as a relief, filling a void Elladan had not known he had been carrying. By finding it he had repaired an injustice, and now what remained was to discover why he had died. Sparing a thought for Andir, who had been brave enough to make the journey to Bar-Lasbelin alone to warn them, Elladan enjoined Bruiven to continue.

"They hit him until he did not move. They hit uncle Roben too."

Though Bruiven was doing his best to keep his voice even, the effort it cost him concentrated in the clenched fist he covered with his other hand as he sat in front of Halim, leaning forward with his elbows upon his knees. He, who had seen no battle nor taken a life, was forced to draw the story of a murder from Halim's innocent lips. Had there ever been a more hopeless endeavor?

"Then what happened?"

"My Lord," Bruiven murmured in Sindarin, turning away so that Halim would not overhear, "perhaps it would be merciful to grant the boy some rest?"

If there had been a kinder way, Mehreen would have found it, Elladan mused as he fingered the bracelet around his wrist. She had a way of seeing right through people, of finding the right words for every hurt. The manner in which she had encouraged Déordred out of that treehouse was nothing short of a prowess, all the while managing to keep Dúnwen afloat.

But Mehreen was not here, safe in Bar-Lasbelin instead.

"Noon is nigh, and the plague spreads quickly."

"Yes, my Lord." Acquiescing with a rueful shake of his head, Bruiven bore the unspoken command with the stoicism of one convinced he has something to expiate. He turned back towards Halim, what doubts he harbored erased from his face in favor of a gentle smile. "Matha haddata ba'da thalik?"

For all reply, the boy cast him an imploring glance before vehemently shaking his head, his large eyes consuming his small face with the intensity of their terror.

"What kind of importance does it have, what happened?" Siggun snarled, snaking her arm down to draw Halim away from Bruiven, together with his chair. Its legs scraped upon the floorboards, startling Sofie who had been playing with her doll by the stove while purring a nursery rhyme. "They're gone and unless I'm mistaken, there's no cure for being as charred as a coal."

It was a blessing the boy did not understand Westron, for he had jumped from his seat to hide his face into her skirts, throwing his scrawny arms around her legs as if to prevent them from taking him away. Elladan's chest constricted with a compassion he could not afford.

"The gall of your lot," Siggun groused while tousling the boy's black curls. "Coming here, putting us all into danger and tormenting a child. If that's what the fabled elven wisdom looks like, then you can well take it elsewhere, charlatans that you are."

The insult ricocheted off Elladan, though it would not have failed to graze Taniel, and so perhaps was it as well that he had sent her and Annahad to accompany Faineth and Amdirfel and make themselves useful. Having been assured by Siggun that Baeron only ventured outside at night like some kind of cave troll, Elladan had deemed it safe enough to send the rangers out scouting the village, searching for signs of the other inhabitants. He had also instructed them to dispose of Hunter's carcass, should he manage to coax Siggun and her children out to catch some much-needed sunlight, however small the odds of success at the moment.

"Madam," Elladan began, rising, "I must know if anyone, in Mitharlan, is sick with the plague. The boy who came seeking our help, Andir…."

"Andir?" Halim piped up from Siggun's knee level, his eyes searching the room and stopping upon the door, as if expecting his cousin to stride in. A familiar face would help him in the way of forgetting the horrors he had been through; alas, Andir would not come, and Elladan dreaded the moment he would understand it as well.

But the boy's gaze came to rest upon Gaerlin, and the wooden sculpture in his hands.

Relinquishing Siggun's skirts and oblivious of her surprise as the hand that had been caressing his head suddenly found naught but air, he tottered over to where Gaerlin sat to peer into his burly palms, head tilted in wary curiosity. Elladan, who had expected Halim to shy away from a man of Gaerlin's size and bulk, held his breath as the boy reached out to touch a tentative hand to the misshapen little bear.

"Hal sana'atuha liabnik?"

"He is asking whether you have made this for your son," Bruiven translated in a murmur.

A silence fell upon the room, as those who knew of Gaerlin's loss expected his reaction. Elladan had inched closer to the bench, ready to act should the man lift a finger in a manner he deemed threatening – despite Gaerlin being his patient, or maybe because of it – and cursing himself for having allowed the situation to happen in the first place. What had he been thinking…or with what, rather? His own father had ofttimes deemed the gut to be a poor advisor and, in that very instant, Elladan was tempted to concur.

Gaerlin had frozen as well, though he appeared unaware of the attention focused on them both. He lifted his head from his work, the short blade he had used for carving glistening between his rough fingers.

"Ask him," Gaerlin muttered hoarsely, "if he likes it."

As Bruiven complied, having obtained Elladan's assent to do so in the form of a brief nod, Halim bobbed his chin, lips parting in a smile. His short fingers reverently caressed the sculpted fur and touched the bear's maw, feeling its crudely shaped fangs. And Gaerlin…

…Gaerlin had hastily pocketed the blade out of the boy's reach, opening his hands to better let him see, holding them out in a position that could not have been a comfortable one; yet he did not complain, his ravaged face a mix of endearment and pain.

"He can have it," he rumbled.

Upon hearing it, Halim beamed. "Dubi-dubi," he exclaimed and pressed the toy against his chest, his eyes searching out Siggun's approval across the room.

But Gaerlin was not done. "You tell him," he gruffly said, "that we've come to help the people who live in this village. People who may be sick, and scared, just like he is. Tell him that Lord Elladan's a good man, unlike those who have hurt his father. That he's tried to help me miss my family less –" Elladan's throat tightened at his words – "and that he can be trusted with the truth."

As Halim listened, turning away from Gaerlin to watch Bruiven translate, he lay a small, thoughtless hand upon the man's knee to steady himself, but it could have weighed a Mûmak for the wave of anguish that rippled across Gaerlin's face. Yet he made no move to shrug it off, fearing, no doubt, to startle the child. Only the shuddering breaths he sucked in through clenched teeth punctuated Bruiven's speech, along with the shaking of his shoulders.

"Ask him one last thing." Raising a hand to still the string of protest that had been about to spill from Siggun's lips, Elladan came to crouch in front of Halim, finding in him the same selfless courage that Andir had possessed. "Ask him if he has seen anyone being unwell, be it in his aunt's home or elsewhere."

The boy listened. Then he turned to look at Siggun, Elladan and Gaerlin in turn, and slowly shook his head.

A.N.: some clarification about the Haradric in this chapter (again, loosely based on Arabic for the purpose of the story): 'matha haddata ba'da thalik?' would translate to 'what happened next?', and 'dubi-dubi' would be 'little bear'.