It was late, and Maglor waved quietly to Rúmil as they parted to head to their respective barracks. It was inconvenient, being assigned a barracks without any thought given to friendships or kindreds, but he understood the reasoning behind it. Glorfindel was wise to mix the warriors from the differing realms together randomly. Already, he had made a few acquaintances from among the Falathren and Imladhren warriors with whom he now shared quarters that offered the possibility of more friendships down the line.
He was tired from a full two-day shift of paying attention to anything that moved beyond the cleared perimeter outside the wooden stockade, tired and yet contented because the effort was one of his own choosing at last. Still he paused in the middle of the chaos that was the on-going construction of the new storeroom to listen to the music of the night beyond the wooden walls. He could make out the songs of owls in the forest beyond, an occasional chuff from a deer or some other sort of kine, and over it all, the gentle chime of crickets. Avathar was so familiar in the feels of its untouched wilderness, so much like Ennor had been all those thousands of years before.
Yet, in other ways, he found it so different from either Ennor or Aman that it took his breath away. Here he was no king, no noble, not even of noble lineage; here he was Brondur, a simple warrior from Aman, following his orders to the best of his ability and slowly building a new life for himself. The Telerrim, the Valar – all who would see him only for who and what he used to be – he'd left behind, along with the unfortunate history he now deeply regretted. Many of those he spent his hours with now had been born long after he had taken himself into hiding and exile. They, at least, would judge him on who and what he was and how well he performed his duties. And of those who remembered, it was easier to just stay out of their way…
"Once I realized you were here, I was hoping that you would seek me out once things began to settle. But I see I must come to you after all." The voice was soft, but there was no mistaking it.
Maglor's eyes closed, and he steeled himself for whatever might come from this meeting, yet another that he'd halfway hoped to avoid. "You have had enough heartache in your lifetime. You did not need to worry about me before this or seek me out now." He turned and watched Elrond walk out of the shadows of the looming pile of lumber. "I stayed away to give you distance, to give you peace."
"You would have been welcomed at Imladris, you know," Elrond continued on as if the soft answer hadn't been spoken. "I often looked out at the stars and wished that you would find us there, take shelter with us, even if only for a little while."
"I did not belong there, and you know it, Telu." Maglor's voice filled with bitterness, even as the long-disused epessë sprang easily to his lips. "I did not belong anywhere. I had lost that right…"
"You had every right, whether you wanted it or not. You are the only father I can remember," Elrond said firmly and moved into a patch of clear moonlight. "You gave Elros and me more than…"
"Less than, not more," Maglor snapped tiredly. "And both you and your brother had to overcome a good deal of the taint of your stay with us as a result, some of which I hear follows you even now and even here in these so-called 'Blessed' lands. But you were destined for greatness – you both were – and I would not stand in the way of that." He looked up at last and into the face of his foster-son. "Let me go, Telu. I am Brondur now, a simple warrior of Aman. I have a chance to leave everything behind and start fresh. Do not take that from me."
"Do you know that I, too, became a foster-father, many times over? In the end, I raised as my own son the Mortal who was destined to regain the glory of my brother, his ancestor." Elrond folded his hands before him, an old habit that Maglor knew quite well was usually meant to hide some telltale tremor. Of what, he wondered? Fear? Loathing? "As I helped him grow, I often remembered the way you helped Elros and me, just as I remembered your care as I raised my own sons before him. But with Aragorn – Estel – I began to understand how it was to come to love someone as a son who was not born of my body, someone not even of my own kind."
"Are you listening to me?" Maglor's voice was growing sharper, even though its tones had gone low so as not to travel or disturb any nearby sleepers. "You did not need me, and I would have only proven a hindrance to you. Times were dangerous, and you needed to focus on the goal. And now…"
"And now that the goal is achieved, and we both have come to Aman, you would still stay away?" Elrond sounded genuinely confused.
Maglor gave a wry smile. "The Belain saw to it my time was quite occupied of late."
"We have been in Avathar for three weeks, Adar."
"I am not the man you remember, Telu," Maglor sighed finally. "Too much time has passed, and too much water has flowed beneath the bridge. I have no honor, nothing to offer except my rusted skills with this sword." His hand clapped the undecorated hilt. "You, on the other hand, are a fine lord, with sons who are fine lords. You walk among the great of our people and many others, and you walk among equals. Your wisdom is sought from one end of Eldamar to the other, it is said. I have finally realized that I have no wisdom and probably never did. And I realized Ages ago that what honor I ever had was lost to an Oath that should never have been made."
"The Ages have been kind to neither of us," Elrond countered gently, "but thousands of years cannot negate the kindness you showed to me and to Elros when you had no reason to. You were the one who taught us what it meant to have honor…"
"Hypocrisy." Maglor's hand brushed the statement aside impatiently. "The moment I raised my sword at my father's behest, I lost any honor I might have had."
Elrond stepped closer. "Adar, regardless of where it came from, it was your example I kept in mind when teaching the same lesson to my sons."
"Do you know why I am here?" Maglor demanded, realizing that soft words and pleas were getting him nowhere. "I am here, in Avathar, because of the Oath that has caused so much ill to all who mattered to me. Yet again, even at this late date, I find I am driven by it."
"What?" Elrond's mouth had dropped open.
"Well," Maglor hedged, "it is a better part of the reason I am here, at any rate. I have served my sentence with the Telerrim, you see. I am free to move about Eldamar as I choose. And, like it or not, I am very aware that one of the Silmarilli is here, in Aman, as well." He nodded as he saw Elrond's eyes grow round in shock. "Is it not enough that I caused your mother to throw herself into the sea, leaving her two young sons behind to the tender mercies of her worst enemies? Must I endure the possibility that the Oath will force me to try to reclaim the Silmaril from Eärendil as well?"
"But…" Elrond's mouth finally snapped closed. "Even after everything…"
"What did I teach you when it came to giving your word?" Maglor's voice had grown harsh. "And have you not taught that to your sons – and to this foster-son of yours – as well?" He waited, knowing that the nod would come, however reluctantly. Elrond's love of honesty would allow nothing else. "By joining this venture, I have put myself in a position where I will most likely never be tempted to act on my knowledge of the location and current possessor of that cursed jewel. Here, I am Brondur, a simple warrior, determined to make a new life in Avathar."
Oh, he could tell that his insistence was not sitting well with his foster-son. Elrond's loyalty to all whom he called 'family' was famous; and, it seemed, that loyalty still extended to him. "Will you not at least come back to my quarters with me, and share a cup of wine?"
Slowly Maglor's head shook. "As much as I appreciate the offer, I genuinely am tired, Telu. The guard shifts are a full two days on alert, with a single day's rest before reassignment. And for me, a good deal of that rest time must be spent in retraining myself to use a sword, as I had not touched a weapon since the day I tossed the Silmaril into the sea."
"Perhaps another time, then, when you have rested and have been released from duty." Elrond insisted. "Whether you wish to believe it or not, I am not ashamed of you, or the time I stayed with you all those Ages ago. I would have my sons know you, and you know them. We are family."
"You would be better introducing them to Eärendil. He, at least, is their true progenitor."
Elrond scowled. "I have, for what little it has mattered. True progenitor he may be, but he is no more content to stay and get to know his grandsons – or even me – than he was to stay and help my mother raise Elros and me Ages ago. He gave me life, but you were there, in the way I tried to be there for my children. They are good men because you taught me to be a good man, and I would have them know you."
"We shall see," Maglor sighed. He had forgotten, over all those centuries, just how stubborn and determined Elrond could be when he made his mind up about something. It was a trait that had probably served him well, but now it was proving a nuisance. "I will wish you good evening, then."
"Until the next time." Elrond stuck out his hand and clasped Maglor's in a warrior's clasp. "I am certain we will be seeing each other again." He turned and headed back in the direction of the cabin he shared with his sons and Glorfindel.
"You are a fool, my son, a sentimental fool," Maglor whispered, turning his steps toward the barracks.
oOoOo
"After all these years, I never took you for a dedicated star-gazer." Glorfindel commented dryly from where he lay sprawled in his bunk, his arms folded behind his head. "Or did someone need a healer at this hour? You are rather late getting in, old friend."
Elrond gazed at the two empty bunks. "Where are the Els?"
"It is their turn at guard duty. We will not have to bear with their brilliant repartee for the next two days."
Elrond smirked. Sharing quarters with his sons had been an eye-opening experience. The two of them were still close enough that, when the mood struck, they could finish each other's sentences so smoothly that it was frightening. Elladan, always the quieter of the two, now had a maturity about him that Elrond assumed came from nearly three ennin of marriage to Celebriel. Elrohir, on the other hand, had yet to be tamed by Linnaew. Two nights without those two chattering and bickering would be quite restful.
Glorfindel's voice broke through his reverie. "But you did not answer my question. Were you out singing to your athelas plants again, or…"
"I had something I needed to see to," Elrond hedged vaguely. "Someone, actually." He sat down on the edge of his bunk and began removing his boots. "Were you aware that Maglor Fëanorion had joined our venture?"
Glorfindel rolled up onto an elbow. "And if I were to say I was?"
One boot dropped to the packed dirt floor with a thud while Elrond stared at his roommate. "You knew, and yet said nothing?"
Ice-blue eyes glittered in the light of the single candle on the table. "Yes."
It took Elrond a moment for his mind to process what had seemed impossible: that others who knew his history might have known of Maglor's presence and deigned not to tell him. "Why?" he asked, not entirely certain he wanted to hear the reason.
"Because after Thranduil told me about it, I then spoke with Maglor myself. He made it very plain that it was his wish. His motives for coming to Avathar were as clear as the skies on the day we left Alqualondë: he wanted a new start, where he could make a new life for himself. In leaving his old life behind, he wished no shadows of it to follow him. He said that if it became necessary, he would speak to you himself, but for us to remain silent on the issue otherwise."
The information fell on his ears like blows from a fist. "Thranduil knew too?" Elrond swallowed back bile. His relationship with the Elvenking had been rocky in Ennor, but he had thought much of that had settled in the years since Thranduil had arrived in Aman.
"Círdan knew as well, as Maglor came to him first." Glorfindel pushed himself to sitting upright and then rose to head to the small table and chest that sat near the single window near the doorway.
"And Círdan," Elrond repeated, the task of removing the other boot utterly forgotten.
Glorfindel opened the chest and tinkered with something, then turned about with a small glass in hand, filled with a clear liquid. "Here," he said, holding it out, "you look as if you could use this."
"Did Elladan and Elrohir know as well?" Elrond demanded, ignoring the offer.
"Drink first, then we shall talk," Glorfindel growled and frowned until Elrond finally reached out to take the glass from him. "To answer your question, however, no. Círdan knew, because he was the one Maglor came to practically the moment his service with the Telerrim was complete. Thranduil knew, because Círdan would not allow Maglor to join without presenting the possible consequences to him, and he would not allow Maglor to join until he had sworn fealty to Thranduil. I knew because I am Thranduil's Battle Master here, and responsible for maintaining military readiness. But other than the three of us, no one else knew. Maglor chose an epessë for himself, and I issued him armor and a sword, and then found him an empty bunk on the Gwaelaer. He answers to Brondur, son of Nauron now."
Elrond closed his eyes finally and tossed back the miruvor, feeling the taste of sunshine and subtle fruits relax much of his tension, and yet still reeling from the apparent betrayal. He knew his reaction was childish; after all, he was a respected member of society, fully capable of handling his own affairs. Yet discovering his foster-father to be hiding among the warriors and knowing three of his most trusted friends and colleagues had known about it was distressing.
"I take it you spoke to him this evening?"
Elrond opened his eyes and saw that Glorfindel had moved one of the two rough-hewn stools to sit not that far away. He nodded heavily and let his hand with the glass dangle between his knees. "He wants me to leave him alone."
"Are you really surprised?" Glorfindel's voice was gentle. "He is much changed from the man I remember before I joined Turgon in Gondolin. Back in those days, he was a very cheerful fellow for the most part, and quick to break into songs that were exquisite. Surely you remember how often he would sing." Elrond nodded. Those songs had soothed him almost from the first moment of discovery in the caves after his mother's desperate leap took the Silmaril she bore out of the reach of her enemies forever, and they had been part of what he had missed the most during his first months with Círdan many years later. "He claims that he can sing no longer, Elrond. His ennin in service to the Telir at the order of the Belain have nearly destroyed him."
"But I do not ask much of him," Elrond complained softly, finally moving to remove his other boot. "Is it so wrong to just wish to spend time in his company, to introduce him to my sons? He does not need to sing, just…"
"Right now, it very well could be more than Brondur is capable of. I am sorry."
Once more, Elrond found himself staring at his old friend in complete disbelief, finding no comfort at all in those intense blue eyes.
"Have you never wondered why I remained with you and Celebrían when I arrived with the Els and Celeborn instead of staying with friends and family from Gondolin at first?" Glorfindel leaned forward and put his elbows on his thighs. "It hurts to see them as I am now and know that they do not understand me anymore. I am not the same man I was back in those days, and there is no way I can separate myself from all that I have been through since then to be who they want me to be."
"I thought it was because your wife has not been released from Bannoth as yet."
The golden head shook slowly. "My wife is no longer in Bannoth, Elrond. Laernel was re-housed long ago and has chosen to retire to Lórien when she found out that I had returned to Ennor rather than staying to wait for her. What is more, my children are quite put out with me for allowing the Belain to, as they see it, destroy our family. And that is the point, you see. I am no longer the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, nor do I wish to be; although it is who and what I once was and is still a part of what makes me who I am. Yes, I spent my time in Bannoth, as my wife and children did, but I then spent over an Age back in Ennor again, seeing to your safety and that of Imladris, even to the very last. These are experiences that my wife, my children, and my old friends from Gondolin do not share and cannot appreciate. Brondur's ennin of solitary exile in Ennor and then his ennin of indentured servitude to those unlikely to feel any compassion for him at all have also altered him in ways that you do not share and cannot appreciate."
"But…" Elrond struggled to put his objection into words. "I guess I thought… Perhaps, after all…"
"What?"
The miruvor had at least provided him with a clearer head. "You know that I have very little to do with Eärendil, or with Elwing. My father has changed little, except that the sea he loves is now the darkness between worlds rather than the Belegaer. His ties to kith and kin are as loose as they ever were. And my mother…" Elrond's shoulder lifted in defeat, and Glorfindel understood his reluctance to say more. Elrond's relationship with his mother was a strained one, even though he had forgiven her for leaving him and Elros behind. She had spent too much time as a bird, and remained far too needful of Eärendil's attentions to have much to do with either him or his sons since their arrival. "Maglor, no matter what else he may have done, is the only parent I truly remember. I owe him a son's fealty."
"Elrond, I know how strongly you feel about the bonds of family, and why. But Brondur simply isn't ready for any of that, and may not be for a long time. You will need to give him the room to rebuild himself in this new land, and to make peace with this new identity." Glorfindel's hand landed gently on his shoulder. "Look at it this way: neither of you are going anywhere in the near future. Be patient, and take comfort from the fact that he is here rather than in Ennor or Bannoth, and that he is willing to speak to you – however briefly – when the need arises. Let time and a little bit of anonymity heal him at least superficially before asking him to reach back into a past he only wishes to forget to claim a son that isn't really his."
Elrond knew he was hearing wisdom, and he nodded heavily despite his entire being wanting it otherwise. "If that is what he wants, then I shall see it done." He grimaced. "I will keep his secret, and only name him as Brondur when I have reason to speak to him directly or in front of others. The Els will not know he is here until he chooses to reveal himself to them." He looked up into Glorfindel's face. "And what about you and your family? Would it not be better for you to try to reconcile at least with your children? What are you doing here, in Avathar, anyway?"
Glorfindel sighed as heavily as Elrond had nodded. "I am giving them time, just as I recommended you give Maglor time, and for much the same reason. They need to see me as I am before any reconciliation can take place, just as you need to see Maglor for who he is now before you can attempt any reconciliation. Besides, my time in Ennor taught me that sitting quietly and waiting Ages for one person's faer to heal is a very lonely and unproductive way to spend time. I will not allow their censure to prevent me from acting in accordance to my own wishes or principles; or from continuing to watch over you as directed by the Powers. I have left word where I have gone, should they ever choose to contact me again."
"No wonder we all are happier here in this wilderness than in the promised peace of Eldamar. Our time in Ennor and experience with Mortals has made our perspective quite different," Elrond mused after a long silence. "Even though we maintained our own lifestyles and a certain sense of timelessness all along in Imladris, we could not help but be influenced by the Mortals around us."
"I had not considered that, but you are quite right. You always welcomed any and all who sought your aid, and your sons rode and fought with the Dúnedain for so long. An Elf of Aman would be content to wait until Ambar Meth for a loved one to return their affections again, where we Elves of Ennor are not quite so patient anymore."
Elrond grunted as he finally pulled off the other boot and then sighed as he stretched himself out on his bunk. "I suppose that, too, is what pushes me to try to connect with Maglor again: the sense that time and carelessly misspoken words can cleave two who care deeply for each other apart so easily and finally. I cannot help but remember with much regret my last words to Gilraen, and I take responsibility for the damage to the relationship I shared with her that I never had a chance to repair before it was too late."
Glorfindel was silent for a long time, and Elrond chastised himself mentally. Gilraen's departure from Imladris had had a marked impact on his friend, and remained a topic carefully avoided for the most part in the centuries since. The one time Elrond had inquired after her, after Glorfindel had visited her in her Dúnedain home in the Angle, his friend had flown at him in anger and then not spoken to him for weeks after. Decades later, however, Glorfindel himself had initiated a very brief discussion of the lady that had gone a long way to ease the extreme grief that arose in Elrond at the mere mention of her name. But by merely mentioning her now, he knew he was treading on ground that remained very tender and treacherous between them. "Be grateful Maglor is not mortal, as she was," Glorfindel commented at last, returning to his bunk after stowing both the flask as well as the small glass.
"This is true. Very well." Elrond sighed, grateful that his friend was still speaking to him after his misstep. He would remember that Gilraen continued to be a very touchy subject, best avoided if possible. However… "You have convinced me to practice the patience of the Edhil, and hope that in the end, I might be able to enjoy closeness with him again – not to mention give my sons another bit of their family history." And he silently promised himself that once he was back in Eldamar, that he would send a message to Lórien. It just wasn't right that Glorfindel had not found at least a small share of peace with a reunion with his family after all he had done for so many.
oOoOo
"I will be so glad to have my feet on solid soil again."
Silivien nodded at Faerlin's earnest statement. For all that she had spent her entire life next to the sea, and her husband had ever made a life for them both from sailing and harvesting its bounty, she too had had her fill of being onboard a ship. If she never had to do it again, she would be happy. "Do you think they have someplace for us to stay now, or will we be in tents?"
"The houses for all of our families and the married lords are finished," Dinenon declared from beside her, shipping his oar as the surf caught at the longboat and did the work of moving them towards the beach for him. "The only ones who still occupy the tents are the warriors. The stockade walls and guard posts were finished first, so that anyone staying in the settlement would be as safe as possible in tents or actual huts until we get stoneworkers here. And if you look beyond there," he said, gesturing with his nose, "you can see the beginnings of the storehouse. It will serve as meeting hall as well until that gets built next."
"Oh! Look!" Laeriel gasped and pointed. Silivien twisted and then smiled. There was a small group of men standing at the very edge of the surf, obviously impatient for the longboat's arrival. With the exception of one man, all of them wore wide, welcoming smiles.
She turned and saw that Linnaew's face was folded into worry. "Is your husband there too?"
"My betrothed," was the quiet answer, barely audible over the rush of the water.
Silivien let go of Breglim's hand long enough to pat the lady's hand. "I would imagine he will be just as glad to see you as Laeriel's husband is." It didn't take much to recognize that Laeriel's wave was being vigorously answered by a tall, golden-haired man in the very midst of the group, as well as another who stood at that one's side. "Is that your husband and son?" she asked the Queen in astonishment.
"Yes." Laeriel was completely focused on the shore, and pointed with her nose. "Thranduil and Legolas."
"See?" Silivien patted Linnaew's hand again. "Just you wait."
Linnaew shook her head. "He wanted me to stay behind, but I could not. My father…"
"I remember the tale you told. But can you not see that is behind you now? Make your peace with him, and all will be well. Perhaps we can celebrate this landing with a wedding, eh?" Silivien grinned at Manadheth and Nellwen, who grinned and nodded back.
"He looks angry, even though his father does not."
Yes, come to think on it, the dark-haired man standing next to the very serious one did resemble his companion, and looked far more welcoming. "Just remember," Faerlin said kindly, leaning forward to Linnaew, "it is easier to be ceded forgiveness than permission, especially in cases like this. And do not forget that there is no means to send you back at this time. If he loves you, it should be enough to assure that you never need return."
Silivien almost laughed aloud at the desperate hope in the face of the fine young lady who was otherwise dreading her meeting with her betrothed. So life wasn't all ease and tranquility for those of noble line either, eh?
The keel of the longboat ground against the fine sand, and Dinenon and his comrades immediately leapt into the shallow surf to drag the boat further onto the beach before turning and holding out arms for bundles first, and then people. Her husband took their son from her first and handed him off to another fisherman, and then reached for her. "Welcome home," he said softly and brushed a kiss across her cheek before depositing her onto the firm sand.
She reclaimed her son and then waited at the water's edge for Dinenon to finish helping the others out of the boat. She couldn't help chuckling as Laeriel flew across the sand to leap into the arms of the tall, golden-haired man who wore, oddly enough, a circlet of leaves and flowers. So that was the new King – Thranduil – and she realized he was wearing the circlet of greenery like a crown. Her attention shifted when Faerlin, too, was quickly caught up in an embrace by one of the silver-haired men, who twirled her about with ringing laughter.
Silivien then turned and watched as Linnaew walked slowly over to the somber-faced man and his companion. She must have said something, because suddenly the man lunged forward and caught her close, burying his nose in her hair. Evidently pleased, the other dark-haired lord grinned widely, pounded his son on the back and then stretched out an arm to enclose the couple together.
"What do you watch?" Dinenon said, coming up on her elbow. He chuckled when she pointed out the fine ladies and their reception. He took a gentle but firm hold on her elbow. "Come along, and let me show you our new home. You will not believe what has been given to us, and to all of us who chose to bring our families and take our chances in Avathar."
Silivien eyed the sturdy wooden buildings with approval and surprise. "These are bigger than our hut back ho… back in Avallonë!" she exclaimed.
"Wait until you see!" Dinenon grinned. "I did not think that…"
"Silivien! Wait!"
She turned to see Laeriel walking toward her, arm in arm with her husband and followed closely by her son. The closer the men drew, the more Silivien realized the sense of power and authority that the taller man – Thranduil – wore about him. The moment she saw Dinenon give a deep bow, she dropped into the most graceful curtsy she could while holding a squirming child. "Sire."
She found herself caught by orbs the color of new leaves in Tuilë. "My Lady-wife was determined that I should make your acquaintance," the King said, his voice deep and melodious, his Quenya bearing the same accent as Laeriel's. Silivien was astonished at the kindness that shone from his face. And, amazingly, Thranduil put out his hands to her son, who had no qualms whatsoever at going to the tall man with the hair like spun gold. "And who is this young adventurer?"
"My son, Breglim, Oh, no!" She worried as the child reached for the twined circlet. "Sire! I am so…"
"Think nothing of it, Lady," Thranduil chuckled, easily deflecting the boy's reach and getting his interest shifted to the beads that decorated the collar of his tunic. "They will always reach for that which is new and different." His large hands cradled the boy with the ease of practice. "I am glad to make your acquaintance, Lady Silivien."
Silivien blushed. "I am no lady, Sire, only…"
"Peace. There will be time enough for me to sit upon a throne which sits on a dais that puts me above the rest." Thranduil's smile remained kind, and he trailed a finger down Breglim's cheek.
"Meleth, Silivien tells me that her people have never had access to simple necessities of life such as healers before." Laeriel spoke up, her voice hard with disapproval. "I gave her my word that I would speak to you about this."
If there was any doubt that this new King might have a temper, it was put to rest by the cloud of almost feral rage that passed over Thranduil's face, to be dismissed only with effort. The Elf-lord took a steadying breath. "This situation will not continue here, this I swear to you."
"My lord, we are grateful." Dinenon surrounded Silivien's shoulders protectively. "Already your Lady-wife has saved my son's life."
Thranduil looked down into Laeriel's face. "I shall bring this to Elrond, and we will let him address the situation." He then looked over at Dinenon and gave a smile. "And now I would imagine you would like to show your Lady your new residence, would you not, Master Dinenon?"
Dinenon smiled at the King confidently, and Silivien marveled that her husband felt so free about these great people. "Aye, Sire, that I would."
"As would I my own Lady," Thranduil confided, leaning in a bit closer to Silivien in order to transfer Breglim back into her care before facing Dinenon directly. "Do you go out again in the morning?"
"Yes, Sire. You wish us back in by eventide again?"
"Thank you, yes. Although I believe Círdan is hoping to loosen my control over you and your fellows in the near future." The King put a hand on her husband's shoulder. "But we shall discuss this another time, methinks. Go you now and introduce your lady to her new home, and I shall do likewise."
"Sire." Dinenon gave Thranduil a deep bow, surprising Silivien with his willingness to show the man such deference without being forced to it. "A good day to you then."
"And to you, Master Dinenon. Lady Silivien."
Silivien stared as the King – an imposing figure – pressed his hand to his chest and bowed his head to them and then, surrounding Laeriel's shoulders in much the same way Dinenon had hers surrounded, led his family to the left.
"Come, meleth. Our new home lies in this direction."
"You like this new King," she said softly, following close upon her husband's heels.
"I think we have made a good choice," Dinenon said evasively. "And I see that you are no stranger to his Queen."
"By their choice! Those ladies are nothing like those we knew back… there." Silivien hesitated, but was more than ready to call this 'home' now. "They were friendly and willing to learn of the tasks that the rest of us needed to do. The Queen herself became quite adept at mending the nets."
Dinenon blinked at her in surprise. "Did she? Did she indeed?" His smile grew. "And when you see our new home, I think you will be more than well pleased."
Silivien followed his pointing thumb, and her mouth dropped open.
oOoOo
Linnaew waited until Elrond had graciously bowed and excused himself from the hut that, evidently, was to be her new home before turning back to Elrohir. Since he had come forward to give her the tightest hug she'd ever experienced, her betrothed had not said a word; Elrond had filled the gap with welcome and explanations of how she would be living here, in this hut, by herself until becoming Elrohir's wife.
"I know you are angry with me…" she began lamely.
"Father tried to explain to me your reasons," Elrohir answered finally, his voice soft and distant, "but he could not understand, so I could only await the moment when you could tell me why you are not at Barvedui, as we agreed."
"I could not stay in Eldamar, Elrohir. My father was getting ready to send me to my aunt and uncle inland while he finished making the arrangements for my marriage to Minaringwë. He locked me in my room the night before I was to be taken away, and I climbed out the window." She walked a few steps closer, but hesitated when his expression had yet to clear. "I would have gone to Barvedui, but my father would be certain to look for me there first. I did not wish to make trouble for your lady-mother."
"You would have been protected there…"
"But the chance still existed that I would have been returned to my father. You should have heard him, Elrohir, the night he came for me from your house. When I told him we were betrothed…"
Elrohir looked up. "He still intended to marry you to another, despite our betrothal?"
"He told me that no daughter of his would ever be the wife of a mongrel." Linnaew stuck her chin out, but her lips trembled. "He told me he did not care if I screamed to the peak of Taniquetil itself, but I would wed Minaringwë as soon as he could arrange for the dowry payment to be made."
"Surely Minaringwë would never…"
She finally closed the distance between them and put an imploring hand on his arm. "Elrohir, listen to me. There have been rumors that Minaringwë has accumulated some gambling debts with some of the Telerren lordlings that he has been keeping company with of late. If the trouble that surrounds him is real, then he would be needing the kulustar that my dowry would bring him just to keep him from being 'convinced' to pay up."
"It seems inconceivable that Ingwë himself would allow such a situation to continue," Elrohir blurted, shaking his head in disbelief.
"It is said that neither Finwë nor Arakáno knows of this either. Whether Minaringwë's father or grandfather know anything is anybody's guess," Linnaew said dryly. "Besides, I would imagine, Minaringwë has done as much as he can to make certain that word of this travels no further than absolutely necessary." She wrapped her arms around herself and walked over to the hearth that dominated the room. "Attô knows, of course, because he knows the fathers of those Minaringwë runs with. Among the Midhrim, the tales of the scandals caused by the youngest great-great-great-grandson of the High King are many, and Attô is not above using the situation to jockey himself closer to the corridors of real power."
"And now that you are here, the entire question is made moot. I have to admit, you have solved your troubles quite neatly."
"Please." She turned quickly and walked back to Elrohir to place her palms on his chest. "I did not wish to be sold into a loveless marriage after we had just agreed to our betrothal. And I would not bring trouble to your lady-mother's doorstep. I had no other choice but to…"
Elrohir's hands finally landed on hers and held them in place. "Peace, Laer nîn. I did not know your father was so desperate, or that his prejudices against my family ran so deep, that he would ignore one betrothal to force another. And as much as I believe you would have been safe with my mother, I can appreciate your desperation." He patted her hands comfortingly. "I am curious, however. What said Thranduil when he learned of this?"
Linnaew's face filled with chagrin. "He was rather shocked. Did no one in Ennor do such things?"
"Not often, if ever, in my lifetime," he replied with a shake of the head. "Neither my father or grandparents would ever have stood for allowing such to take place in their court, if they found out something like this was going on; and Thranduil, for all his love of pomp and authority, would most likely never allow it in his realm either, if he could help it. I am actually surprised and a little disappointed that my many times great-grandfathers – much less the Belain – stand for it at all here."
"And so…" Linnaew took a step closer and pressed herself against her betrothed. "Now that I am here…"
Gentle fingers lifted to tuck a tendril away from her face tenderly. "And so, now that you are here, we shall wait until the time is right to celebrate our marriage – and I shall have to write the notes of explanation to my mother and sister-by-marriage, both of whom will be livid that they did not have any opportunity to pamper and spoil you beforehand. My tent, the one I share with my brother, father and Glorfindel, is not far away; so you will be safe here by yourself until that day." Elrohir bent and deposited a very soft kiss on her cheek. "I will ask Thranduil to set the date for the celebration, as he will be the one to officiate the public ritual." His serious face finally broke into a whimsical smile. "We shall be the first to wed in this new land, evidently."
"Are you so unhappy with me, then?" she asked, her heart in her throat. "Have I truly displeased you?"
"Nay, Laer nîn. If your being here now means that I need never have to regret not being around to rescue you from an eternity in a loveless bond, I am well-content."
And then he bent to kiss her more thoroughly, and Linnaew felt all of the weight of her worries and despair lift from her shoulders and fade away.
oOoOo
The shrieks and sounds of despair from just beyond the stockade drew everyone not already in the vicinity. Celeborn, catching sight of the gathering party and seeing what was happening, turned and bellowed for Elrond and any other healers before trotting out to watch as the warrior in front of the small group of gatherers carried the limp body of a woman into the settlement. Behind them, the group of women carrying baskets that were only half-filled with berries and fruit and herbs moved slowly and huddled together, three of them supporting another woman who looked distraught and sobbed loudly.
"What happened?" he heard Elrond demand abruptly, approaching the warrior with the injured woman and immediately checking for a pulse. Celeborn held his breath as he saw the woman's head loll bonelessly, and yet her open eyes reflected an almost unbearable terror within them. Caught in her hair and on her clothes were what looked like tendrils of thread of incredible diameter, threads that had obviously been torn or cut away, for the most part.
"Spiders," another warrior said with a shudder of either fear or loathing, "bigger than I have ever seen in my life."
"How big?" Thranduil asked in a tight voice, pushing through the crowd to face off with the warriors that had been the group's escort.
"Their heads were as least as high as ours," a third warrior exclaimed breathlessly. "Larger than war-horses…"
"Not exactly," yet another interrupted, "but bigger than the ones that used to plague the Greenwood, Sire."
Celeborn closed ranks with Thranduil as the King moved to face the more knowledgeable man. "You are certain, Brogion?"
The man nodded grimly. "What is more, they made a clicking sounds and whistles between them, and their attack seemed almost coordinated. The ones back home tended to be lone hunters, building webs across game paths and narrows in our roads and trails. These three seemed to be hunting as if in a pack, and moved much faster than I've ever seen large spiders move. They took Eirien by surprise when she was separated from the rest of us, and it took all five of us to drive them away from her before they could wrap her in their silks and carry her off! As it was, we very nearly lost her."
Legolas pushed through with a frown. "Clicks and whistles – and hunting in a pack? Are you saying that these spiders could be more intelligent than those sent to us by the Dark Lord?"
"Well, the wound this woman has suffered is different, that is for certain," Elrond stated, rising, and then pointed. "Take her to the Healing Hut and try to make her comfortable. Let the mother accompany her daughter." He reached out his hand to the older woman who had yet to stop from sobbing. "Go with your daughter, lady. I shall follow shortly." He looked out at the very worried faces that surrounded him. "As for the rest of you, I will have more news for you later. Please, go about your business."
"Different poison, you say?" Thranduil asked softly as the crowd slowly disbursed.
Elrond nodded. "In fact, I would hazard to say that she was stung rather than bit, which means that it is possible that the poison is different as well. There is a single puncture wound on her back, and I am certain you remember the results of spider attacks in your forest in Ennor."
"Always two wounds, close together," Legolas said under his breath, and saw Brogion nod in agreement. "And usually, those bitten by the spiders back home would foam at the mouth, and their limbs would twitch endlessly, not simply fall limp and utterly unable to respond. So these must not be the same kind of creatures as those we have known after all?"
"Actually, to be honest, this looks very much like the wounding that Frodo suffered from the daughter of Ungoliant, the one some named Shelob," Elrond said thoughtfully. "Aragorn told me of the recurring episodes that the poor hobbit had to endure following the quest, and I had to assist him myself through his occasional relapses even after he came to Aman; but then again," he continued, looking about and no doubt seeing the looks of horror that Celeborn did, "Frodo did not receive medical attention until many other insults had been inflicted on his body, any one of which would have been seriously debilitating on its own and possibly made any spider bite more dangerous. In this case, the young woman in question is in good health and will receive attention immediately. However…"
"However," Thranduil finished the statement for him, just as Celeborn had done mentally, "of more urgent concern is that there are spiders in the forest close enough to the settlement to be a threat, and that these spiders do not fight in the way that we remember from Ennor. This means…"
"This means that we shall have to go out deliberately to find and see what it will take to kill one of those things," Celeborn added, finishing the thought.
"I shall take a squad of those experienced in fighting spider back home…" Legolas began, and Celeborn immediately started shaking his head.
"With all due respect, I would take a few more men than that, and have several among them who need the hands-on training," he said quietly, and yet his voice effectively interrupting Legolas' strategizing.
Thranduil turned to him with eyes wide. "Are you including yourself in that number, cousin?" the King asked incredulously.
"I am," Celeborn responded calmly and grimly. "It occurs to me that what we are looking at is an infestation of those like Shelob – genuine daughters of Ungoliantë herself – rather than the great spiders bred for size and twisted to the Dark Lord's will that you knew before. No matter what they are, however, they pose a threat that we all will be facing long-term if we hope to settle here; therefore, the greatest urgency lies in training all of the warriors here in handling themselves with these spiders as quickly as possible. If what Brogion states is the truth, your previous experience may very well count for little in the end; we shall have to develop new techniques suited to the creatures we will face here. Until we have that new technique perfected, our best strength will be in numbers."
At the low murmur that rose, Thranduil frowned. "Remember, we all knew that this possibility existed; the risk was never hidden from anyone. The Belain have left this land untended for Ages, which is plenty of time for the daughters of Ungoliant to have prospered."
"Faeldir, we will need a company of the best from Eryn Lasgalen, if you please," Legolas ordered, his blue eyes catching and holding those of his old trainer. "Glorfindel, select ten more of the most flexible warriors from the other realms – those who have caught on the quickest with the practices we have held on fighting spiders to date – and meet me here at the gate in an hour." Legolas turned to his father. "And if we find a nest?"
Thranduil winked at his son. "I haven't had steamed spiderlings in butter sauce for a long while, and would relish the change from fish. Would you not as well, my son?"
Legolas grinned. "I was hoping you would say that…"
oOoOo
Less than an hour later, Legolas looked over the thirty men who had gathered at the gate. Of those standing before him that he had known in Ennor, all were excellent at battling the wily spiders there. Many of them carried not only their swords and armor, but long spears, which had been previously used to catch the spiders as they prepared to strike and then tip them onto their backs, making them easier to kill quickly. Legolas whispered a soft prayer that such a strategy would work in this new place as well.
Of the others, two faces were familiar: Celeborn, who wore his sword with the ease of long use and looked genuinely delighted at his inclusion, and Olórin. "I did not know that you were a warrior," Legolas said, motioning the former wizard aside.
"I have been known to be useful with a sword from time to time, if you remember, young one," Olórin said, smirking at him in a manner that reminded Legolas greatly of his old companion, Gandalf. "And it would be well to have me along when you encounter these creatures. If nothing else, Manwë would like to be informed as to exactly who and what dwells just on the other side of the Pelóri from Oromë's peaceful woods."
Legolas' eyes narrowed. If there was one thing he remembered from speaking to Gandalf over the course of the Quest, it was that he never mentioned anything lightly. "Are you expecting us to encounter trouble, then?"
"Expecting? No," Olórin replied gently. "I simply remain open to discovering whatever there is out there. In that way, I shall not be disappointed with whatever we find, and Manwë can get an objective report on the subject when the time comes for me to return to Taniquetil."
"Did you know Ungoliant?" Legolas waited, and eventually Olórin's head nodded. "Do you remember her?"
Olórin's gaze darkened. "I do indeed.
"Good. Have you any theories about what we can expect from her daughters?"
"She was sensitive, withdrawn, and loved the darkness," Olórin remembered grimly. "And, believe it or not, back then the darkness was not as… fearful or evil as you might imagine; and it definitely suited her. Most of the rest of us preferred the light, however; so she ended up with Melkor, as he was the only companion who would tolerate the darkness with her. Many of our brothers and sisters mocked her ceaselessly for her odd tastes and for remaining close to Melkor after the first few episodes of dissonance from him, myself included, much to my regret." He blinked and seemed to awaken once more to his surroundings. "Her daughters, if they are anything at all like her, will be quick, intelligent, sensitive - and most likely preferring the darker corners of this land. They will want to dwell in the denser forests, and perhaps caves."
"But the attack on our gatherers happened in broad daylight, and in an open meadow," Legolas complained.
Olórin nodded, unsurprised. "Just because they prefer to dwell in the darker corners does not mean that they are not prepared for and willing to hunt in the light for suitable prey. And remember, the daughters of Ungoliantë were never twisted by either Morgoth or Sauron, so they will not feel 'evil' to you."
"They attacked an unarmed woman, Olórin," Legolas stated coldly.
"For all we know, they saw her as food," Olórin fired back. "Do not automatically assume evil from a creature merely because it has eight legs. Do not make the same mistake my brothers and sisters made, and judge before understanding."
Legolas turned to Faeldir. "Are we ready?" He had lived too long with the shadows cast by creatures with eight legs to be very forgiving. At his captain's brusque nod, he called out "Forward!"
"Do you even have any idea where to go to look for these creatures?" Olórin refused to be ignored completely.
"We shall return to the meadow where the attack earlier took place," Legolas replied without turning. "From there, we will simply follow any trails that they might have left for us." He pressed forward until he was walking side by side with Faeldir, grateful when Olórin didn't insist on joining him.
Spiders large enough to kill a man were unquestionably evil. Centuries of battle had taught him this. They were a plague to be eradicated and, in the process, eaten and enjoyed; and that was all there was to it.
Vocabulary
adar - father
Ambar Meth - lit. "World's End"
Bannoth - Mandos' Halls
Belain - the Powers (Q. Valar)
Belegaer - the Sundering Sea
edhil - Elves
ennin - "long-years", periods of 144 years
faer - spirit, soul
Gwaelaer - Windsong - a transport vessel
kulustar - gold coins
laer - song
meleth - love
nîn - my, mine
Valar - the Powers (S. Belain)