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Far Horizons  by Bodkin

Far Horizons 20:   Mirrors

‘He will survive,’ Elrond stated calmly.  ‘The injury is a little more serious than the one suffered by Legolas, but it will not cause any lasting damage.’  He completed the bandaging and stepped back to look at the elf leaning back against his pillows.

Tarannon pulled a face as he sipped at the fluid offered him by the healer.  ‘It hurts,’ he said plaintively.

He was conscious of several pairs of amused eyes off-setting the anxious stare of his naneth and shifted uncomfortably.

‘That is, I am afraid, predictable,’ Celeborn told him.  ‘Arrow wounds do tend to be painful.  It will hurt less if you drink Elrond’s concoction – and if you do not keep moving, but you will, nevertheless, be in some discomfort for a few days.’

‘I would suggest, Minyariel,’ Elrond added, ‘that your son’s room should be changed and that he should be carried to the side of the house that overlooks the inner court.  You will not want to leave him vulnerable to another attack.’

She looked at him in thoughtful silence before sliding her eyes to her son.  ‘I will see to it,’ she nodded.  ‘You will not be wanting to slip out at night in the near future, my son,’ she told him, patting his hand before stepping briskly out of the room.

Tarannon flushed.  ‘You have no idea how impossible it can be –,’ he said and allowed his voice to trail away.

Elrond raised his eyebrows.  ‘I have sons of my own, Tarannon, and I recall how difficult it was to ensure they remained in their beds as they grew older.  However, by the time they were your age, they were permitted to come and go more or less at will.’

‘However,’ Celeborn informed him sternly, ‘house arrest means just that.  You will move to a safer room – and you will give me your word that you will remain within the house until you are permitted to leave it.’  He waited expectantly until the young elf muttered his promise, then looked him over, noting his sheet-pale cheeks and drooping eyes.  ‘I will return,’ he said, ‘to question you further when you are feeling better.’  He turned to look at the lieutenant.  ‘Tarannon will remain in his room,’ he instructed, ‘and Artamir will not be permitted to see him.  His naneth, on the other hand, may visit – but she may not remain with him unsupervised.’

‘Lord Celeborn,’ Tarannon said, opening his eyes.  He hesitated.  ‘I know little more than I have told you – but, since I spoke to my naneth –,’   he paused again, ‘I have a small amount of talent with my pencil – I have made a drawing of him.  It is in my top drawer.  If you would find it of use, you are more than welcome to take it.’

***

Celeborn drew the arrow out and placed it on the table before his cousin.  ‘Here,’ he said, ‘is the arrow that shot Tarannon.  I would like to compare it with that which injured Legolas.’

Thranduil examined it critically.  ‘It looks similar,’ he said, going to a chest and opening one of the drawers.  ‘Of course, the one that wounded my son is no longer in one piece, and some parts of it were discarded, so we cannot compare length.’

‘You have the head, though?’ Celeborn asked. ‘And I particularly wish to compare the fletching.’

‘It may not be as informative as you might hope,’ Thranduil sighed.  ‘Apparently few of the local youths are trained to make their own arrows.  They buy them – and it is unlikely that we would find a style peculiar to only one elf.’

Celeborn nodded.  ‘Yet if the fletching is identical in the two arrows we have, it will be suggestive,’ he said. ‘And it might be possible to identify the maker.’

Thranduil set the pieces of the arrow next to the other and they looked at them carefully.  ‘They look very similar,’ he commented.

Leaning closer, Celeborn studied the feathers, examining the colouring, the angle of the cut and the twist of the thread before inhaling carefully to absorb the scent of the glue.  ‘I would say that they were made by the same hand,’ he said.

Thranduil prodded the heads with his finger.  ‘These, too,’ he said.  ‘Although I daresay they are produced by the bucketful.’  He looked at them meditatively.  ‘I will have enquiries made among the local fletchers,’ he said.  ‘It will do no harm.’

‘But subtly,’ Celeborn sighed.  ‘This person is determined to remain in the shadows and will not hesitate to threaten anyone who is able to reveal him.  I do not wish to see another naneth weep for her child.’

‘He must be found,’ Thranduil frowned. ‘I will not allow my family to risk themselves while he is still at large.  Legolas should be safe enough where he is – if I have to pack his wife and elflings up and take them beyond the reach of this danger, I will.’ 

‘We cannot be certain that the forest will be any safer,’ Celeborn pointed out wearily, ‘and at least here we have walls that can be patrolled and doors that can be locked.’

‘I will not have him turning us into prisoners!’ Thranduil exploded, slapping his hand down and making the pieces of arrow bounce. 

‘The enemy within,’ Celeborn mused, eyes half-closed.  ‘It is hard to know which way to look, is it not, my friend?  Have we lost our touch for the intricacies of internecine dispute in centuries of dealing with the straightforward hostility of orcs and Nazgul?’

‘What does your lady have to say?’ Thranduil enquired, leaning back in his chair.

His cousin smiled and genuine amusement filled his voice.  ‘Are you suggesting that the artfulness behind cunning plots and ruthless self-protection would strike a chord in Galadriel?’

Thranduil spread his hands.  ‘I have never denied that she is clever,’ he said.  ‘Or that she has remarkable insight.  I just do not appreciate her practising her skills on me.’

‘Have you seen a kaleidoscope?’ Celeborn asked with apparent irrelevance.

‘A tube – with mirrors and coloured glass beads?’ Thranduil asked. ‘I believe Galenthil has one.’

‘It works by reflection,’ his cousin observed, ‘and every slight change alters the pattern – but you cannot see what is behind the mirrors.  My lady says that we are part of such a design – and that it is changing as the beads move.’

Thranduil looked at him with exasperation.  ‘Can she not just use simple, easily understood sentences and say exactly what she means without wallowing in mysticism?  It would make conversation with her much less irritating.’

‘Perhaps you should point that out to her,’ Celeborn commented.  ‘It should prove an interesting discussion, though you will excuse me if I choose not to take part.’

Thranduil grinned.  ‘Perhaps one day,’ he said.  ‘When my escape routes are clear.’ He paused.   ‘You say that Artamir’s son produced a sketch?’

‘Elrond took it.’  Celeborn steepled his long fingers.  ‘He thought that my daughter should see it.  She has been in these lands longer than any of us and probably has the widest acquaintance.’

‘Yet Tarannon did not know him until quite recently?  That suggests that he is not part of the normal social circle of these families.’

‘But he is able to appear among them without them finding him out of place.’

‘Minastan,’ Thranduil said slowly.  ‘If that is not his name, why would he choose it?’

Celeborn raised his eyebrows.  ‘If we could answer that, we would be far closer to the solution, my friend.’

***

Calion curled his arm around the small figure sprawled over his lap and rested his cheek gently against the blond head.  Galenthil shifted in his sleep and grabbed the tunic’s sleeve, bunching it up in his hand and slipping the fingers of his other hand into his mouth.

‘At last,’ Hithien said softly.  ‘I nearly sent for you to come from the training field, but I decided it would not do a lot for your masculinity.’ 

‘I would have come,’ Calion protested. ‘I do not like to see him so distressed.’ He stroked the pink cheek carefully.  ‘What has upset him so?’

Elerrina looked at him sharply as she rocked Eleniel in her arms.  ‘He is teething,’ she told him.  ‘Do you know nothing about babies?’

‘Nothing,’ he answered simply.  ‘Does he need a healer?’ 

Hithien smiled.  ‘We have a paste to rub on his gums, but it takes time to work – and all he knows is that he does not care for the taste.’

‘He misses his adar,’ Elerrina said wistfully, before snapping.  ‘And for some reason he seems to think that, when Daeradar is not available, you make an adequate substitute.’

Calion prudently decided against replying. 

‘Oddly, Calion is good with elflings,’ Hithien remarked. ‘He takes them seriously and listens to what they say.’

‘They are interesting,’ Calion said mildly.  ‘And Surion makes me laugh.’

‘He was telling me some long involved tale earlier,’ Elerrina said, shaking her head. ‘All about a creeping shadow that followed him through the market and played tricks on him.  He had to avoid stepping in the shadow – and had to escape from the traps it put out for him, so that it could not catch him.’

Hithien stilled.  ‘Did he say anything about when this happened, Elerrina?’ she asked softly.

‘While Nisi was looking for silks,’ the chestnut-haired elleth replied casually.  ‘She took him with her because Eleniel and Galenthil were fretful and Surion was becoming bored. I suspect Nisi found him to be little help in her selection.’  Inspecting her daughter, she took her through to her bed to tuck her in for a nap. 

‘An elfling’s vivid imagination?’ Hithien murmured to Calion. ‘Or something to worry about?’

***

‘Walk with me, my daughter,’ Finarfin demanded as she stood gazing at the play of shadow and sunlight beneath the twining roses growing over the arches.

‘By royal command, Adar?’ she enquired, tilting her head to inspect him.

He smiled. ‘Paternal command,’ he amended.

She took his arm and began to pace by his side along the broad stone terrace. ‘My lord would tell you that I do not respond well to being commanded.’

‘You never did,’ he laughed.  His step slowed and he stretched a hand to remove a wisp of hair from her cheek.  ‘It has been a long time, my daughter,’ he sighed.  ‘Your naneth has grieved for the loss of her children over several ages.  She lives in hope that your brothers will return to us in time, but she has you here now, whole in body and mind – do not leave her to mourn you again.’

Galadriel took her adar’s hand.  ‘We will never be divided again, Adar,’ she said with certainty.  ‘Apart, yes, but not divided.’ They resumed their walk.  ‘I did not realise,’ she told him, ‘until I had my own daughter, how cruelly I had treated you both.  Then, when Celebrian was injured and took ship, I felt an emptiness and a pain, different from any other – I thought of naneth, of you both, watching us leave in our youth and arrogance, not knowing if you would ever see us again.’  She stopped speaking and closed her eyes briefly.  They descended the shallow steps and their robes brushed over the short turf as they strolled in step with each other.  ‘And yet,’ she said, ‘I cannot regret that I made the journey.  Had I remained here, I would not have become the person I am today – and I would not have met my lord.’

‘One of the duties of a parent,’ Finarfin told her regretfully, ‘is to be left behind.  But you never lose the desire to protect your offspring – and any hurt to them is a greater injury to you.’  They moved into the walled garden, seating themselves where they could admire the wide flower beds.  ‘I am afraid,’ he continued, ‘that your naneth and I will shortly have to gather up our collection of sycophants and return to our usual round of activities.  I am loath to remove the protection I can offer before this – miscreant – is found, but we have already lingered longer than we should.’

Galadriel shook her head and smiled.  ‘It has been a pleasure to spend time with you both and to see you come to know my family as your own, Adar, but you have duties that constrain you.  We will be safe enough.’

He took her hand between his.  ‘Visit us, my daughter,’ he said firmly.  ‘And bring your husband with you.  Any elf who can command your respect and affection is a worthy recipient of mine.’ 

***

Elrin crouched down in the shallow stream and moved some more pebbles in an attempt to stop the water bullying its way through his dam.  The flow slowed down, but not enough to enable the small pool to grow in size.

‘It is difficult, is it not?’ his daernaneth sympathised. 

‘If I moved those rocks,’ Elrin said thoughtfully, ‘maybe I could build some rapids – and then I could race things down them to see which were fastest.’

‘That would be fun,’ Celebrian agreed. ‘Shall I help you?’

Her daerion looked up, his nose streaked with mud and his dark, shoulder-length hair bedraggled, and gave her an impish grin.  ‘But you would get wet,’ he pointed out.

‘I have got wet before,’ she told him with amusement.  ‘I have not yet melted.’

Slipping off her shoes and kilting up her skirts, she paddled into the water and started moving rocks at Elrin’s direction.  He picked up ideas quickly, she decided, and it had not taken many minutes before he had absorbed all she could teach him about dam construction and water flow.  Not that it mattered, she thought, laughing as he slipped and sat in the water.  They were having fun together – and she knew now to treasure these moments with her sons’ children.  She quickly stripped off his wet clothes and spread them over a bush to drip.

The two guards allocated the task of keeping them safe could not help grinning at the sight of Lord Elrond’s wife, damp and muddy, racing sticks along the stream with Lord Elladan’s son, but they kept careful watch nevertheless.  They may be within the patrolled grounds of a secured house, but that did not mean they wished to take any chances.

The sound of an approach had them stiffening as they prepared to step between their charges and the arrival, but they relaxed as they recognised their lord.

‘What do we have here?’ he asked with a wide smile. ‘A pair of mudlarks!’

‘Why do you not join us in our play?’ Celebrian suggested, straightening up.

Elrond ostentatiously admired her long bare legs, making her flush and giggle.  ‘I would,’ he said dolefully, ‘but I would get my fine clothes all wet and dirty.’

‘You could take them off, Daerada!’ Elrin suggested, jumping in the water to see how big a splash he could make.  ‘Daernana said it was all right for me to be all bare, because I am an ellon – and you are an ellon, too.  Daernana could put your clothes on the bush to keep them dry.’

Celebrian grinned.  The look on Elrond’s face was beyond price, she thought.  ‘You could,’ she agreed seriously.  ‘If you were all bare, your fine clothes would stay clean.’

In the trees, the guards were hard-pressed to control their hilarity.  Elrond’s eyes slid to the areas of cover where he knew they would be watching for trouble and their wish to laugh left them.

‘Another day,’ Elrond suggested to his daerion.  ‘We will go to the bathing pool where they do not permit the ellyth to peek at us and we will swim.’

‘Soon, Daerada?’ Elrin begged excitedly.  ‘Soon, please.  Naneth said I cannot go until Ada comes home, but if you will take me, she will have to say yes.’

‘Soon,’ his daeradar promised.  ‘But now we must go back to the house – your naneth will be looking for you and I need your daernaneth.’ 

Elrin opened his mouth to complain that he was not yet ready to leave the pleasures of playing in the water, but, catching his daeradar’s eye, decided against it.  ‘How shall I get dry?’ he asked instead.

‘Let the sun dry you,’ Celebrian said easily.  ‘You can slip on your tunic in a while – that is only a little damp.’

Elrin skipped on ahead of his grandparents, enjoying the silky feel of the warm breeze against his skin.

‘You are a very bad elleth,’ Elrond murmured confidentially in his wife’s ear.  ‘Teasing those poor guards like that.  How do you think they would have reacted had I thrown off my clothes and jumped into the stream with you?’

‘I do not know,’ she laughed, ‘but it would have been interesting to find out.’

***

‘Does the sketch mean anything to you?’ Celeborn asked her as they gathered in their private sitting room.

Celebrian continued to look at it. ‘Tarannon does appear to have some talent,’ she said critically.   ‘It looks like a real person rather than a simple collection of features.’  She hesitated.  ‘It reminds me of someone.’ 

‘May I see it?’  Earwen took the drawing and considered it thoughtfully.

‘I do not think the memory belongs in these lands,’ Celebrian mused.  ‘It seems to be more bound up with my youth – I will think about it.’

‘He is, I think, too young to have been there when you were an elfling,’ Galadriel told her, thinking of the elf she had seen with Tarannon and his group in the woods.

‘I have seen him,’ the High King’s wife stated firmly.  ‘Not since we have been here – some years ago.  I do not believe he served at court.’  She closed her eyes in an attempt to place the face.

‘In my opinion,’ Elrond remarked, ‘we should see that copies of this are circulated to all those who are seeking him.  It is, as yet, the best information that we have – a name that we believe is not his own, and this sketch.’

‘If he discovers that we have this, it will drive him underground.  It could be that it will not just make him harder to find – it might drive him elsewhere.’  Celeborn argued.  ‘I do not want to him to leave now – we will have no chance of finding him if he decided to lie low.  What we need,’ he suggested, ‘is a trap.’

***

He paced.  He was so close.  It would be iniquitous if he were forced to abandon his scheme now.  He had them just where he wanted them, looking in five directions at once, unsure quite whom he was attacking, confused as to his motives, running in circles, only aware, in reality, of where he had been.

He had rid himself of the elleth – and she had been his biggest danger.  He had held his breath then, for a moment, but she had clearly left nothing that led towards him. Not that she would.  He smiled briefly at the recollection of the lesson he had taught her about obedience.  She had loved him, but she had feared him too – and wisely.

Tarannon – it had annoyed him to miss again, but he had certainly reinforced his message.   He doubted whether Artamir's son would tell what he knew.  Minastan considered briefly whether he should make another attempt to eliminate him, but discarded the idea.  He would be too well guarded now and, even if he were dealt with successfully, it would be difficult to get away cleanly.

Focus, he told himself; focus.  They were not close to him.  He could make one more attempt before cutting his losses and withdrawing.  He did not want to have to do that.  It would take decades to build up another house of cards as good as this one – and perhaps centuries before he would be in such a good position to complete the vengeance he had promised he would exact.

He needed to think of something: he could not let them evade him any longer.





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