Far Horizons 19: Seeking  

Minyariel gave one shuddering sob and went limp.  Tarannon grabbed hold of her and held her to him, swinging her into his arms before lowering her gently to the green silk-covered sofa. ‘Naneth?’ he said, hovering over her anxiously.

‘Leave her,’ his adar said harshly.  ‘There is nothing she can do, and, frankly, I do not need her screaming at us right now.’  His eyes burned into his son accusingly.   ‘What have you done, Tarannon?’ he asked.

‘Why do you accuse me?’ Tarannon hissed, glaring up from his naneth’s side.  ‘What makes you decide that I am at fault?  Do you not think that it might be your own stupidity come back to haunt you?  I am not the one who has been interfering in the markets to increase the value of my goods.  I am not the one who has been demanding trade restrictions.  I am not the one who has been stirring up -.’

His adar leaned towards him and back-handed his son, striking him across the cheek and knocking him off-balance to fall against his naneth. ‘You will not speak to me like that,’ he told him menacingly.  ‘You will keep your mouth shut, now more than ever.  We are going to have the High King’s investigators poking their noses into every aspect of our lives – and you will remember that you know nothing!’

‘Leave him alone!’ Minyariel demanded tearfully.  ‘He will tell what he knows, Artamir.  He will tell the truth!’

‘You!’ her husband growled accusingly.  ‘Do you wish for your other whelp to bring my house down?  I should never have wed you,’ he said bitterly. ‘I do not know why my adar decided you would make me a suitable wife.  You have brought me nothing but trouble.’

Tarannon took his naneth’s hand in a clear offer of support.  Artamir looked at them both disdainfully and insisted. ‘You will both keep your mouths shut.  Whatever the investigators ask you – you do not know the answer.  You will send them to me.  You will look stupid, but that is appropriate, for you are.  Do you understand me?’

‘I understand you, Adar,’ Tarannon said bitterly. ‘I may be stupid, as you say, but even I can understand that much.’

Artamir looked at his son as he perched on the edge of the sofa and put his arm round his naneth, then turned and walked out of the room.

Minyariel clasped his hand.  ‘No matter what he says, my son, take this opportunity to tell the truth.  You owe it to Nessariel.’

Her son swallowed convulsively as his stomach rolled.  Little though he liked it, he was very much afraid that his naneth was right.

***

Elerrina ached for his absence.  Nessariel’s heartbreak and death had made those left behind take comfort in the closeness of their own love.  Even Lady Galadriel, Elerrina thought, whom she would never have dared accuse, even in her head, of being sentimental, had sat with Lord Celeborn’s hand in hers.  But Legolas was not here to hold her and reassure her.

Of course, he did not need to be there, she told herself fiercely.  She could feel him within her, his love twining with hers, one with her as she was one with him; her lover and husband, the father of her children.  But she still wanted to hold him, feel the tension in his lean body, smell the fragrance of his hair, hear his reassurance.

Her view of the world was changing – life was no longer an easy stream, flowing between flower-studded meadows through long bright days: there were rocks and rapids and falls and swirling whirlpools – and she needed to be strong.  This world contained danger and betrayal and death – and she could not believe that she had ever been naïve enough that she had not understood that.

‘You must not let it remove your faith,’ Sirithiel told her gently.  ‘Most of us remain what we have always been.’

Elerrina sniffed and put her arms round her friend.

‘You need to grow up a little,’ Miriwen suggested.  ‘You are a naneth now – you will be the protector for Galenthil and Eleniel – you need to know from what they will need protection.’  She smiled kindly.  ‘One problem you have is that Thranduil is as determined to shelter you as ever your parents were.  You might have to put your foot down, Elerrina.’

They kept an eye on their elflings as they played in the secluded garden.  Miriwen glanced up, aware that, in the trees beyond their seat, an armed warrior was watching for any threat.  She sighed.  It was necessary, she supposed, but she had hoped that never again would she see elflings confined by the fear of danger.

‘Elerrina,’ Sirithiel said suddenly.  ‘I have something to tell you.’  She blushed.  ‘I would have said something before, but Elrohir went away – and there has been so much happening.  It is becoming more and more difficult to speak of it.’

Miriwen’s smile widened.  She had found it most entertaining to watch Sirithiel as she tried to find some way to tell her husband’s family news of which they had already been aware.  In the end, Elrond had asked her if she had been thinking of any names for the babies.  Sirithiel had looked amazed – and she had been even more astonished when she realised that he knew she was carrying twin ellyth without even examining her.  She had been inclined to believe that Celebrian had informed him, but they had convinced her that the presence and growth of the elflings was clearly apparent to any who possessed a modicum of healing talent.  Or, Miriwen thought, eyes.  Sirithiel had mourned the delayed arrival of an elfling so clearly, that the euphoria of becoming pregnant had lit her from within like a flame.

‘Oh, Sirithiel,’ Elerrina said, bursting into tears.  ‘It seems meant to happen at this time.’

‘A gift,’ Miriwen nodded.

‘Although I do not know how you can do this without Elrohir to give you strength.  Do you not need him here?’

‘He will return as soon as he is able,’ Sirithiel said sturdily.  ‘And I would rather have him safe.  I have plenty of support around me – and Elrohir is always with me.’

***

‘You have put him to train with your Guard?’ Elrond sounded mildly surprised.  ‘Does that not strike you as a rather dangerous move?’

‘In what way?’ Thranduil countered.  ‘Because they will beat him to a pulp, or because it will make him more of a threat?’

Elrond smiled.  ‘Both, I suppose.’

‘The brat needs training,’ his friend said, leaning back in his chair.  ‘There is no point having him act as a guard to the elflings if he is so unfit and incompetent that any elleth could walk past him.  And he needs discipline.  What better way than having him spend several hours each day on the training fields?’

‘I am not denying that it will do him good,’ Elrond acknowledged.  ‘I just wonder whether it will make him more of a threat to have around.’

‘It was Hithien’s recommendation,’ Thranduil told him. 

‘Ahh,’ Elrond said.  ‘Well, I suppose she knows him best.  How is he taking to it?’

‘Better than I thought,’ Thranduil conceded.  ‘They are making him work hard, but he is getting no sympathy from Hithien, who tells him that these are lessons he should have learned years ago.’  He grinned.  ‘Surion is impressed by the sword he now carries, but Calion apparently told him that any fool can wear feathers, but it will not help him fly.’

‘I think I could learn to like Calion,’ Elrond reflected, ‘unlike his adar.  Artamir is apparently being as unco-operative as is possible.  He is both offended and defensive – which suggests he is hiding something, but I suspect he is concealing a multitude of unpleasant activities none of which is strictly criminal.’  He turned his wine glass between his fingers, a frown on his brow.  ‘Finarfin’s lieutenant said he walked in on a scene with Minyariel half-fainting and Tarannon wearing his adar’s hand-print on his face.  And Artamir has been doing his very best to keep the investigation away from his wife and son.’

‘All the more reason for carrying it straight to them, I would have thought.’

‘So would I – but Finarfin’s investigators seem rather hidebound.  They seem to doubt that dependents have anything to say that might outweigh the word of the head of the house.’

They both laughed.  ‘Have they met my naneth-in-law?’ Elrond wondered.

‘Or, come to that, our sons?’ Thranduil added.  ‘We will have to ensure that someone speaks to Minyariel and Tarannon as soon as possible – and in the absence of the obnoxious Artamir.’

‘I will see to it,’ Elrond promised.

***

Ancalime continued to sob helplessly and the pain of her grief filled the small room. ‘I should never have let her come here,’ she wept. ‘I wanted her to stay at home, but she was so enthusiastic – she wanted to see more of the world – and I thought we had kin enough to keep her safe here.’

Celebrian patted her shoulder, glancing helplessly at Macar.  ‘You cannot protect them, Ancalime,’ she said.  ‘In the end, they have to make their own choices. Love is not something we can control.’

‘She would never have met him if I had not let her go,’ the bereaved naneth wailed.  ‘She would have been at home dreaming of happiness. She might even have married Falastur as we wanted.’

‘As you wanted,’ Macar corrected her bitterly. ‘And why do you think she left?  She was sick of being pushed together with that ellon.  She did not want him, but you would not see it.’

‘Did she write to you?’ Celebrian asked, intervening.  ‘Tell you of her life here?’

Nessariel’s adar spread his hands.  ‘She wrote – but there is nothing there that would be useful.  She only hinted at him – enough to drive her naneth wild with the desire to know more, but nothing you could use.’

‘May we see her letters?’ she asked Ancalime gently.  ‘Just in case there is something that might offer a clue.’

‘I will get them,’ Macar said, as his wife nodded.

Celebrian followed him, placing a gentle hand on his arm.  ‘Do not hurt each other,’ she murmured.   ‘The blame does not belong with either of you.  Be strong for Ancalime and let her comfort you – and in time acceptance will come.’

‘And you would know this, would you, my lady?’ he asked, his voice hard. 

‘Yes,’ she replied simply.  ‘I would know.’  Her shining eyes met his as a single silver tear welled and fell.  He handed her the packet of letters and watched as she turned and walked away.

***

Galadriel and her daughter sat with the letters spread before them on the table.  They had both read each letter several times, and, on the whole, had to agree with Macar. Nessariel’s letters contained little.

‘It is astonishing,’ Celebrian observed, considering the rather immature writing, ‘that she can have covered so many pages, whilst at the same time conveying so few ideas.’

‘Gowns and parties,’ Galadriel agreed. ‘It is little wonder that so many believe ellyth to be mind-numbingly shallow.’  She bit thoughtfully on the end of her thumb. ‘Perhaps if we were to look at them in a different way,’ she said.  ‘Where do there seem to be gaps?  Places where she is suddenly reticent?  Parties she was desperate to attend – and others where she was indifferent.’

Celebrian nodded.  ‘It would have been much easier if she had just given his name,’ she sighed.

‘That, too,’ Galadriel added.  ‘Whom does she mention?  Perhaps we will come to notice others whom she does not.’

They began to read again more carefully, seeking between the lines for those things Nessariel had never intended to say.

‘Tarannon is mentioned several times,’ Celebrian remarked.  ‘At first, because she knew her naneth would like to hear of him, and later, because he had become a friend of sorts.  Then – his name seems to become a code.  There are layers of meaning beneath it.  Do you think he may have been her lover?’

‘Or known who was, perhaps,’ her naneth mused. 

‘Why,’ Celebrian suggested, ‘do we not talk to Calion before approaching Tarannon?  We know he was involved in this at some level – we saw him.  And he will surely be at least as informative as these letters.’

‘Come,’ Galadriel said with sudden decision, ‘let us put our pets on their leashes and take them to Thranduil’s house.  This is a discussion that does not need to be delayed.’

Her daughter giggled. ‘I hope our guards do not know you look on them as lapdogs, Naneth.  It would hurt their feelings.’

‘We will smile at them sweetly, my love, and have them eating out of our hands.  They will do whatever we wish.’

‘Except leave, of course,’ Celebrian stated. ‘They are very loyal.  Just like lapdogs – they have been told to guard us and guard us they will.’ 

***

A certain tightness about Calion’s eyes told Galadriel that he was grieving.  He was flushed and smiling when they entered the nursery, until Nisimalote drew away the elflings to play in the kitchens with pastry and cake mixture, but Galadriel could feel a sadness in him.  Hithien looked at the lady and raised her eyebrows, but a quick shake of the head invited her to remain.

Calion sobered and stood stiffly, uncertain of the reason for their arrival, but cautious.  He bravely met Galadriel’s eyes, squaring his chin and swallowing down the nervousness her presence made him feel.  ‘My lady?’ he said enquiringly.

‘I know Lord Thranduil has questioned you about the various schemes and plotters,’ she said sympathetically.  ‘And that you have said little.’

‘There is little for me to say, my lady,’ he interrupted.

She shook her head.  ‘You know more than you would think,’ she told him.  ‘And you may be more willing to share it – in the light of what has happened to Nessariel.’

He winced and dropped his eyes. 

‘You met,’ Galadriel told him, ‘in the woods – you, your brothers, several of your friends – and one other.  Slightly older, very dark – hair black as a raven’s wing.  He said little, but he had a presence.  He gave the name Minastan.  The rest of you I have seen since, at receptions or under the trees, coming from the training grounds or frequenting the shops.  I have never seen him.’

‘Him?’ Calion shivered slightly.  ‘Not seeing him is to be preferred, my lady.  He became friendly with Tarannon – and then my brother started coming out with all sorts of foolish ideas.’

‘How long has your brother known him?’

‘I do not know,’ Calion admitted.  ‘I have spent the last several years with my naneth’s family.  When I came back last winter, he was there.  I have seen him occasionally, but on the whole I tried to avoid him.  He made me uncomfortable.’

‘Might he have been Nessariel’s lover?’

Calion’s eyes grew vague as he picked through his memories.  ‘It may be so,’ he admitted.  ‘I saw them in the same place only once or twice, and he did not speak to her, but her eyes followed him.’  He hesitated.  ‘Lady Galadriel,’ he said, ‘I do not believe that Minastan is his real name.  He conceals everything about himself.  He would not admit to something so revealing.’

Galadriel nodded briefly.  ‘I am of the same opinion,’ she told him.  ‘Would your brother know more?’

‘He might.  Whether he would say anything, I do not know.’

She smiled at him kindly.  ‘Sit down, Calion,’ she instructed, seating herself opposite him.  ‘Hithien will send for something for us to drink, for your throat will be very dry.  You are going to talk to me – and you will tell me absolutely everything you know.  You might as well relax, for this is going to take some time.’

By the time the lady had finished with him, Calion was limp and shaking.  He was not entirely sure whether he had just undergone the most intimidating experience of his life – but if it were not, he did not want to think what could be worse.  He had felt her there; not pushing, but on the edge of his consciousness, listening intently to every word he uttered and weighing them up.  He was only glad that he had never for a moment thought of lying to her, for, without doubt, she would have known.  Every question she had asked, he had answered, without hesitation or evasion.  The Lady Galadriel was not, he had discovered, one with whom you could refuse to co-operate.

Hithien looked at him and poured a glass of wine, placing it in his hand and closing his fingers round it.  ‘Drink,’ she commanded, and he obeyed, supporting his trembling hand with the other.  He closed his eyes and attempted to steady his breathing.

‘Did you discover what you sought, my lady?’ Hithien asked.

Galadriel smiled.  ‘You are right, Hithien,’ she approved.  ‘He is not a bad ellon.  Impressionable – but they tend to be at that age.  He has said some things that have interested me, although there is still much to be learnt.’  She looked at him critically.   ‘He will probably need to rest before he is fit to resume his duties, but he will feel better tomorrow for having spoken.’

She rose and drifted elegantly towards the door, turning as she opened it to pass through.  ‘And, by the way, you are right, Hithien.  He did not shoot Legolas.’

***

Minastan ran through the list of those who knew him by this name, the name he had given to her.  There were not many, he thought, who knew either name or face.  Ideally, he would remove them, but he did not believe that any could harm him.  Except, perhaps, one.  It might be wise to see what he could do to ensure that Tarannon was no longer able to reveal the little he knew.

It was a shame that it would not be easy, as it had been with the elleth, but he had never had a need to develop any kind of bond with this one.  Something he should bear in mind for the future.  But just because it would be difficult did not mean it should not be done.

He pushed his midnight black hair back from his face and began to consider ways in which he could eliminate the problem that Tarannon represented, without having to reveal himself.

***

Celeborn stepped up to Finarfin’s lieutenant, looking down at the determined face.  ‘I have the High King’s consent,’ he said patiently.  ‘I am going to talk to Minyariel, whether you are happy about it or not.  And when I have finished, I will see Artamir’s son.  What you will do, lieutenant, is ensure that Tarannon remains guarded in a safe room until I am ready to join him.  I do not want him speaking to anyone and neither do I want anyone to speak to him. 

The slender elf nodded reluctantly, unwilling to accept this silver lord’s interference in his questioning.  ‘You may accompany me,’ Celeborn conceded, ‘but I ask you to remain silent and out of sight as far as possible.  This will be more successful if it is handled sensitively.’

‘Handled sensitively,’ the officer thought with some bitterness.  Those were words he had heard before.  They usually meant that some young aristocrat had behaved atrociously – in a way that would be soundly punished in the son of an ordinary family – and that the young puppy was just about to be let off with a warning and a suggestion that it would be preferred if he did not repeat the offence.

Minyariel sounded tired when she admitted them to her room.  She looked at them both in silence for a moment before waving them to the chaise longue by the window. ‘My husband would tell me not to speak to you,’ she said indifferently.  ‘He says I am to remain silent.’ 

She had become frail-looking, Celeborn thought with some alarm, and there were shadows in her face that had not been there a week before.  ‘Have you eaten, my lady?’ he said gently.

‘I cannot remember,’ she shrugged, ‘but I do not believe that is why you have come to speak to me.  Ask me your questions, Lord Celeborn, and leave me to mourn.’

He looked at her seriously.  ‘I will not allow you to die, Minyariel,’ he told her.  ‘You would be missed.’

Her mouth twisted.  ‘By whom?’ she asked bitterly.  ‘What is the purpose of your visit?  Artamir’s activities?  Or Tarannon’s?  Or do you perhaps wish to speak to me of my lost child of whom my husband forbids me to speak?’

‘Other questions may come, my lady,’ Celeborn said steadily, ‘but I wish to know about Nessariel – and that means I want you to speak to me of Tarannon’s affairs.’

Minyariel closed her eyes, but two tears forced their way past the guard of her lids. ‘My son says that it was not he who drove her to her death.’

‘Do you believe him?’

‘I do.  He is afraid – but he fears another.  He would not tell me who.’  She shot a sharp glare at the tall lord.  ‘I believe he thinks that this creature caused Nessariel’s death.  Is that possible?’

Celeborn returned her stare.  ‘It is possible.’

‘I may live to thank Finarfin for locking us in this house with my husband and no diversions,’ Minyariel said dryly.  ‘It may be the only thing that has preserved my son’s life.  Tarannon is of the opinion that he is the only one who might be able to identify Nessa’s lover.  I think that is a very dangerous position in which to be.’

‘I would speak longer, my lady,’ Celeborn apologised, ‘but I am sure that you will see that the sooner your son tells me all he knows, the safer he will be.’

‘Protect him,’ she whispered. ‘I would have been so happy if he and Nessa had wed and given me little ones to love.  And now I fear that I will lose them all.’

She kept her eyes closed as they left the room, but as the door shut she murmured again, ‘Protect him.’

‘Where is Tarannon being held?’ Celeborn asked.

‘In his room,’ the lieutenant shrugged.  ‘He is the heir of an important house, my lord.  We could hardly imprison him in the cellars.’

‘Come in,’ Tarannon called, as they tapped at the door, but Celeborn felt he could hear the fear beneath the bravado.

‘Do not tell me,’ Celeborn told him as they allowed the door to close behind them. ‘Your adar says you are to remain silent.’

Tarannon bowed his head.  ‘That is exactly what he said,’ he agreed.

‘I wish you to tell me about the elf who gained Nessariel’s love,’ Celeborn said mildly.  ‘I fail to see how that might incriminate your adar – I see only that it might remove a very ruthless person from the circle of your acquaintance.  I do not see that as a bad thing.’ 

‘Adar is too self-centred to realise that there might be problems to consider other than his business dealings,’ Tarannon said wearily, turning to the window.  ‘I will tell you anything I can.  I liked Nessa – and I did not want any harm to come to her.  He gave his name as Minastan – no more than that.  She became obsessed by him from the moment she saw him – why I do not know.  He always seemed to me to be rather alarming. 

‘He was here infrequently, until recently – and it all seemed rather more exciting then.  Rebelling against authority, acting against the influx of elves from Arda, demanding independence – it all seems rather infantile now.  These past months he has been staying around here – before you ask, I do not know where – and his demands increased.  He would say that we were too deeply involved to refuse to do his bidding. I refused to act, more often than not, but I was too scared to try to get away.  It was his fault that Calion was taken, but even then I was afraid to say anything, despite what it did to Naneth.

‘Did he involve Nessa in that abduction attempt?’  Tarannon turned to look at them.

As he moved, the lieutenant called out briefly and surged forward to grab Tarannon’s arm and tug him back from the window.  The time was too short for him to make more than a hairs-breadth of a difference, but the arrow sliced through the air no more than an inch or two from Tarannon’s chest to strike his shoulder with a sickening thud.  Tarannon flew backwards, hitting the floor with his uninjured shoulder, the form of the lieutenant landing beside him.

Celeborn leapt to his feet, calling for members of the guard to race towards the origin of the arrow, but he was not at all surprised to find that, by the time they reached the well-sheltered branch from which the assailant had struck, the bowman had long gone.

With well-remembered efficiency, Celeborn grabbed and wadded a length of clean fabric and began to staunch the bleeding.  ‘Send for Elrond,’ he instructed the lieutenant sharply.  ‘And ensure that no-one disposes of the arrow.’