Princes Three: Darkness Unforeseen

Chapter 11

Tiriadon deflected the half-hearted blow, a worried frown

wrinkling his forehead as his own return jab went unanswered.

Stepping forward, he easily evaded the next offensive, the attack

sequence as stale and tentative as if the gleaming white blades

were wielded by a new recruit. Moments later, he disarmed his

opponent with frightening ease, breathing a sigh of relief when one

empty hand immediately went up in a sign of surrender.

Legolas retrieved his lost knives with a rueful grin, sliding

them safely into their sheaths before dropping to the ground beside

his friend. “’Tis a good thing you meant me no mischief, is it

not?” he snorted, but his captain was little amused.

“It is a very good thing,” Tiriadon agreed soberly. “Had I been

set on harm, you would be thrice dead.” Pausing to study his

liege-lord, he said, “It has been many years since we ended a bout

thusly, yet I have trounced you twice in as many days. What ails

you, Legolas?”

The prince did not answer at once, his gaze straying to the edge

of the field where Elladan and Elrohir stood, deep in conversation

with Glorfindel. “I am well,” he replied at last.

Tiriadon turned to see what so interested his friend before he

spoke. “The twins seem hale enough these last days,” he offered,

choosing not to address the patent untruth of his companion’s

remark. “It cheers me to see them together once more, as they

should be.”

Legolas nodded, though his smile was strained. “It cheers me,

as well. I feared for them, Tiri. But they have come far in a

short time. All will be mended.”

“Yet you still pass your nights in your brother’s suite. Is

Anteruon’s company so dear?”

“Do not meddle, my friend,” Legolas warned, a touch of reproach

in his tone.

“Do not forget whose meddling once saved your arrogant hide,”

Tiriadon retorted without malice. “You are too proud and stubborn

by half, my lord.” A pause. “As is Elrohir.”

Legolas’ eyes narrowed. “What of it?”

Red-gold braids swung as Tiriadon shook his head, meeting his

friend’s gaze squarely. “I am not a fool, Legolas,” he chided.

“The tension between the twins has faded, that is clear to see, and

there seems little strain dividing you and Elladan. But anyone

with half an eye can see that there are still words unsaid between

Elrohir and yourself.”

“Or, perhaps, words said in error,” Legolas sighed, his

expression darkening. “I would take them back, if I could. But I

cannot.”

“You cannot,” Tiriadon agreed with depressing haste. “The Valar

know I have often enough wished to retract my own fumblings. But

you can offer your remorse and ask forgiveness...you can face your

mistakes.”

“And his mistakes?”

“Have obviously been forgiven,” the captain retorted, an edge to

his voice that took Legolas by surprise. His tone softening,

Tiriadon added, “They have made their peace. You did your

part well. Be glad of that, and let it go. Absolution was never

yours to give or withhold.”

Legolas nodded slowly. “How did you come to be so wise?”

“The company I keep, I daresay,” Tiriadon chuckled, rising to

his feet and offering a hand to the prince. “Will you join us in

the bathing pools?”

Legolas glanced at the other members of his guard, most of them

already headed for the rocky pools, then back to the twins and

Glorfindel. Elladan raised a hand in greeting and, after a

moment’s hesitation, Elrohir followed suit. The prince waved in

answer, then turned back to Tiriadon. “I would gladly join you,”

Legolas replied, drawing a deep breath, “but I fear I have a most

pressing engagement.”

********************

Anteruon studied his host unobtrusively, the niggling worry that

had begun to rear its head from time to time solidifying into real

concern. Elrond remained tired and wan, despite the rest forced on

him by his family and staff. The Lord of Imladris would now sleep

nowhere but beside his lady, thus his nights were interrupted

repeatedly by her vivid nightmares and heartbreaking cries. The

crown prince turned his gaze to the narrow bed, his heart aching

for his friends, for all they had endured and all they had yet to

face.

For Celebrían was fading.

Even as her body healed, her spirit waned, shattered beyond hope

or help by all that she had endured at the hands of her captors.

Elrond and Elladan refused to acknowledge the reality, searching

feverishly among the tomes and scrolls for some potion, some

herb...some miracle. And Celebrían humored them, swallowing the

foul tonics with nary a grimace, spending her precious strength to

smile and grip hands and stand unsteadily, soothing her frantic

husband and son with her usual grace.

The other healers spoke in whispers and dark looks, unwilling to

openly question their Lord, watching the slow decline with

sympathetic horror. Anteruon found himself besieged with pleas

from his colleagues, held as the voice that might end the madness

if only he would speak with the Valley’s lord. ‘But I cannot,’ he realized with crushing finality, his

eyes straying to Celebrían’s restless form. No matter the

certainty of his knowledge nor the righteousness of the cause, he

could not be the one to tear the last shreds of hope from Elrond’s

desperate grasp.

“They think me foolish, do they not?”

Anteruon brought his wandering gaze back to his companion.

“My lord?”

Elrond sighed and pushed himself away from the game board, his

eyes clouded and dim in his drawn face. “I am beaten, I fear,” he

said distractedly, then turned his full attention to the crown

prince. “You think me foolish as well, though you are too well-bred to voice such thoughts.”

“I do not think you foolish,” Anteruon began carefully, reaching

impulsively for Elrond’s hand. “I think you a determined healer

and a devout mate. If I hold my tongue it is out of affection and

respect for you and your family...”

“I cannot let her go,” Elrond broke in hoarsely. “I will

not.” His voice breaking, he rasped, “I cannot survive such a

loss again. Not again.”

Anteruon tightened his hold without speaking. He knew well the

story of the Peredhil, the long history of loss and pain that was

embodied in the elf before him, but the tale had always been remote

somehow, a romantic echo from ages long gone. For the first time

it was borne home to the crown prince that Elrond had suffered it

all, just as he himself had suffered the loss of his mother...that

what had always seemed a tale for the minstrels and scribes was the

personal tragedy of his host. Surely no more would be asked of one

who had already sacrificed as Elrond had.

Eärendil, Elwing...his parents gone, then Maedhros and Maglor,

who he had come to love. Elros, perhaps the greatest loss of all,

if the bond between Elladan and Elrohir was testament to that of

their father and his twin. Then Gil-galad...friend, lover,

confidante, king...gone in a rush of fire before Elrond’s very

eyes. Gone, perhaps, as was Elros, until the worlds were bent and

time herself remade.

Surely no more would be asked, yet Celebrían faltered more with

each passing day, weakening despite the energy her husband gave too

freely, sapping his own body and spirit to bolster her dwindling

strength.

“What of the Lady Galadriel?” Anteruon said suddenly. “Surely

she has counsel to offer?”

Elrond smiled sadly. “Both counsel and strength, and she has

given them freely. But Celebrían cannot travel to the Golden Wood,

nor can Galadriel leave Lórien undefended without much forethought.

And even Galadriel cannot bind her spirit if Námo calls.” Looking

to the bed where his Lady lay, now sleeping peacefully, he added

quietly, “I have dreamed...but I will not share a fool’s hope. I

will await Círdan’s reply.”

Anteruon’s eyes widened as he struggled to take in all that the

uncertain hope might mean to his own family. Círdan’s reply.

Círdan...

Elrond would sail.

**************************

Glorfindel listened in silence, his appraising gaze moving from

Elladan to Elrohir and back again. The days just past had brought

a welcome change in the twins, their renewed bond visible in each

shared touch, audible in every word. But the reconciliation had

brought renewed resolve, as well, and eyes that had so recently

been shrouded with guilt and grief now blazed with vengeful fire.

Glorfindel feared careless rage might fell them, where sorrow

had failed.

“Ada counseled that we delay a fortnight. Nearly a moon has

passed,” Elrohir said stubbornly. “It is time.”

“What of your mother?” Glorfindel demanded, willing to tread

dangerous ground to keep the twins near. “You are needed here.”

Elladan’s eyes flashed in warning, though his voice was soft.

“Anteruon is here to aid Ada, if aid be needed.”

“But you are her sons...”

“And we will see her avenged,” Elladan hissed, stepping closer

to his former mentor, “if it takes our very lives.”

Elrohir laid a calming hand on his brother’s arm. “Easy,

tôren,” he murmured. “He but worries for us.”

Glorfindel, shocked by the apparent reversal of temperaments,

raised a hand in parley. “I am sorry, ‘Adan,” he said sincerely.

“I meant no offense, only to remind you of the sorrow your questing

so soon will cause those left behind.”

“There is no peace for Nana in our presence,” Elladan sighed,

his anger gone as quickly as it flared. “I fear there is no peace

for her in this world.”

The captain opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced by the

shake of Elladan’s head. “She wanes before our very eyes,

Glorfindel, like a bloom withering after frost. Do not pretend you

have not seen.”

“What of Elrond, then? And Arwen? Would you have them mourn

you as well?”

“If need be, aye,” Elrohir answered grimly. “But we do not seek

death. Only revenge.”

“Do not leave in haste and unprepared, or death will find you

nonetheless,” Glorfindel counseled soberly. “There are many who

would hunt with you, such that you need not risk life and soul

alone. Gildor and his band would gladly go, as would the Dúnedain

still encamped. Vengeance belongs also to the warriors who lost

their comrades, does it not? I would see my Lady avenged, as

well.”

Elladan nodded reluctantly. “We did not mean to belittle the

losses of others. There is always room for another bow or another

sword.”

“And what of Legolas?” Glorfindel prodded gently, pressing his

advantage. “Will you leave him behind so soon, with things yet

unsaid between you? Deny him his place at your side, should he

wish to ride?”

Elrohir looked away without answering.

“You speak of things that have no bearing...” Elladan began.

“They will have bearing if you fall,” Glorfindel interrupted.

“And if you set out with impatience, led by anger rather than

wisdom, he will light your pyre ere the moon turns. Would you have

him suffer such grief with a spirit still shadowed?”

“Nay,” Elrohir whispered. “I would not.”

“Then stay yourselves but a few days,” Glorfindel urged. “Speak

with those who might join you and plan wisely.” He paused,

catching Elrohir’s reluctant gaze. “And share what is in your

heart with those who love you.”

*~*~*~*~*

tôren – my brother