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Far Horizons  by Bodkin

Far Horizons 22:  Hunted

‘The ill-feeling seems to have diminished,’ Finarfin agreed.  ‘But can we be certain that what we have been left with a single schemer?   It seems too grandiose a design for one elf to put together – and I can see no purpose behind it.  I am not happy at the idea of leaving here before, at the very least, we know the identity of the one we seek, but there are tasks that cannot be delayed much longer.’

‘I am beginning to receive reports,’ Elrond told him.  ‘Once we started to look for him, we began to find traces.  It is easy to remain invisible when your existence is unknown – but he is not as clever as he would like to think.’ 

‘Where is he?’  Thranduil leaned forward, a dangerous look on his face.  ‘I want him, Elrond.’

‘He settled here last year,’ Elrond informed him.  ‘He said that he was from further south and that he was on his way to visit kin.  He had spent previous visits cultivating acquaintance here and sounding them out.  Tarannon told us that he had been around before – on the fringes at first, but soon manipulating people so that they did as he wished.  Those who were more resistant were discarded, until he had a core group of those who would follow his instructions without question.’

‘Not a bad idea, if you want to ensure loyalty,’ Celeborn commented.  ‘And I suspect he was not looking for those of intelligence and independent mind.’

‘Tarannon is perhaps a little brighter than was truly necessary,’ Elrond admitted, ‘but his social position made him essential – and he has not been brought up or educated to think.’

‘He picked up a few things that perhaps Minastan did not realise he was revealing,’ Celeborn added.  ‘Some few from what he said – and others from what he did not.  Minastan was not born here in the Blessed Realm, but he was brought up here by his naneth’s parents.  He is fuelled by a tremendous anger.  He hates the house of Oropher, Thranduil – he bears your family a particular grudge, which probably accounts for the two attacks on your family.’

‘Anything that will help us find the son of an orc?’ Thranduil snapped. ‘It is all very well knowing his inner thoughts, but we want to be able to lay hands on him and prevent any more incidents.’

‘Tarannon has no idea what he does between his appearances to work up and organise his underlings,’ Celeborn informed his cousin, ‘Or where he lives.’

‘But I,’ Elrond announced softly, ‘have.’

***   

Earwen stroked the pale velvety petals with a gentle wistfulness.  So much time apart, she sighed, and so little together.    You learned, she decided, to wait for that for which you yearned – but the rewards often seemed doled out so parsimoniously, while the penalties were heaped on you swiftly and generously. 

‘Naneth?’ 

Earwen lifted her head to see her daughter framed in the arched doorway that led from the wilder garden into this area of fragrant flowers and she smiled.  ‘Join me,’ she suggested.  ‘I am enjoying the fleeting beauty of these buds – and reminding myself that in their time they will become full-blown and set seed, but that next year, if I stand here, there will be flowers again.’

Galadriel slipped her arm around her naneth’s waist and dropped an understanding kiss on her cheek.  ‘I will miss you,’ she said simply.  ‘Adar says that you must both leave us soon to resume the business of kingship.’

Turning from the flower bed, Earwen ran her fingers down her daughter’s cheek.  ‘Your eyes are bright again, my love,’ she said.  ‘Last time I saw you, Celebrian and I were both worried at the grief your husband’s absence caused you.’

‘You must come to us,’ Galadriel told her.  ‘When we have settled in a new home, you must both come and spend time among the trees.’

Her naneth smiled mischievously.  ‘What is a sensible elleth like you doing with a husband who cannot be happy away from trees?  How many centuries did it take you to learn to love them?’

Galadriel laughed.  ‘Probably as many as it took you to learn to be happy away from the sea,’ she admitted.

‘There are still moments, then -,’ Earwen said, letting her voice trail away and her daughter looked at her ruefully and nodded.

‘Celeborn has endured many long years dwelling in stone towers at different times,’ she pointed out. ‘To be fair.’

‘And your adar has grown pale and wan on the decks of many a sailing boat while pretending he enjoyed the restless shift of the waters.’

‘I did not think that you were that fond of sailing,’ Galadriel observed.

‘I am not,’ Earwen grinned wickedly.  ‘But I would not like him to feel that his sacrifice was in vain.  I do enjoy it when he sails with me – just not, perhaps, in the way he intends.’

Their eyes met and they both laughed.  ‘Our poor husbands,’ Galadriel said pityingly. 

‘Have you learned yet,’ her naneth said, ‘that it is easier to get what you want by subtle means rather than by confrontation?  You were always rather too inclined to take up a battle axe rather than ask for a favour.’

‘Blame it on my brothers.  They always insisted that I proved myself worthy of their attention.  They did not care for weak ellyth, who wept and fluttered their eyelashes.’

‘Not in a sister, perhaps,’ Earwen conceded.  ‘I suspect they preferred to romance ellyth who were gentle and pliant and co-operative.’   They sat on a stone bench in an arbour shaded by the nodding stems of old roses.   ‘Do you always wear white and leave your hair unbound?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Generally.’  Galadriel raised her eyebrows.  ‘Do you not approve?’

‘It is rather affected.  There is a point when affectation verges on the ridiculous.  And personality becomes self-parody.’

Her daughter regarded her for several moments before replying.  ‘There is no-one like your naneth,’ she observed, ‘for voicing the unpalatable – or for putting you in your place.’

‘Is that the reason you have spent so little time in our company since you returned to your birthplace?’

‘No!’ Galadriel replied indignantly.  ‘No.  At first I was – in too great a need of time and space.  I did not need politics.  Then, later – I could not settle.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Although I admit that I do not enjoy being made to feel an elfling among adults.’

‘Nor do I.’ Her naneth returned her smile.  ‘It is inevitable among our race,’ she pointed out.  ‘Despite my antiquity, I too am, on occasion, only my adar’s little elleth.  One grows accustomed to it.’

Earwen took her daughter’s hand and ran her thumb over the palm thoughtfully.  ‘Your adar still feels guilty,’ she said, ‘that he chose to stay here with me, when your path led you eastwards.  He feels he let you and your brothers down while doing what he believed was right.’

Galadriel closed her fingers around her naneth’s hand.  ‘He was right to make the choice he did – and courageous,’ she said.  ‘And there were times when I wished that I had seen it then.  It is hard to remain behind – harder than being the one who treads strange paths.  You had duties that kept you here.’

‘So your adar could be High King,’ her naneth said, pursing her lips with distaste.

‘My half-Vanyar Adar and Teleri Naneth ruling the Noldor,’ Galadriel smiled.  ‘I hope the irony is not lost on them.’

‘Any more than the presence of a Noldor princess is lost on the Sindar and Silvan elves she leads?’

Galadriel shrugged.  ‘We pay too much attention to race and clan,’ she observed.   ‘It is about time we outgrew such childishness, for even if race turns out not to be the reason behind these present troubles, it is the perception that some have of our differences that has fuelled the disturbances.’

‘Perhaps,’ her naneth said thoughtfully, ‘it is time for us to do something about it.’

***

‘My lord,’ Calion said respectfully, standing straight and tall before the gleaming desk.   He had not been informed why Thranduil wanted to see him and he was conscious of a twinge of nerves.

Thranduil inspected him carefully.  The ellon looked better, he thought.  Not just fitter and more adult – he seemed to have more of a sense of purpose.  Once again, he told himself, a clear indication that the young needed direction and discipline.  He hoped Calion would listen to what he had to say, but he did not feel that he could rely on him having developed that level of maturity.  It would be a shame, really, to let this one be spoiled – he had a potential that should be encouraged.

‘Lady Galadriel has spoken to me,’ Thranduil said.

Calion remained silent.

Thranduil lifted an eyebrow.  ‘Do you not wish to know what she said?’ he asked

‘If you want me to know, my lord, then you will tell me.’  He swallowed as Thranduil’s piercing eyes held his.

‘She told me that she was certain that you did not shoot my son.  That the circumstantial evidence that convinced everyone of your guilt was wrongly interpreted.’  He looked with interest as Calion stiffened.  ‘Why does that worry you?’ he asked with interest.

‘What do you think of her words, my lord?’  Calion asked huskily.  ‘Do you think that Lady Galadriel is right?’

Thranduil smiled.  ‘I will believe her, when I disregarded your word? Does that upset you?’

‘No, my lord,’ Calion said stolidly.  ‘I would not expect you to take my word for it.  But I could not bear to have my hopes raised only to have them dashed again.’

‘I believe she is right,’ Thranduil told him wryly, ‘it is a habit of hers.  But I have a request to make of you. It is up to you to decide whether or not to grant it.’  He looked at Calion with interest as he absorbed the information. 

His cheeks flushed and he squared his shoulders.  ‘I will do what I can, my lord,’ he replied.

‘You have every right to demand that we take this information to the High King,’ Thranduil acknowledged, ‘and to have your punishment set aside – but I am asking you to wait.  The search for the one behind this trouble is continuing, and to have you vindicated now might well drive him underground.  He is responsible for Nessariel’s death – and for trying to abduct the elflings.  I do not wish to do anything that will make it possible for him to escape – I want him neither to carry on this campaign, nor to endanger anyone else.’

‘I will wait, my lord,’ Calion answered him immediately.  ‘I would do nothing to hamper the search for this evil one.  I would choose to stay here and protect the little ones even if I were able to walk free tomorrow.’  He hesitated.  ‘And there is no guarantee that the High King would change his mind.  Lady Galadriel’s opinion is not proof, my lord.’

‘If in my opinion you are innocent,’ Thranduil told him dryly, ‘then I will not have you treated as a criminal.’

‘When you were convinced I was guilty, my lord, you would not have me treated as a criminal,’ Calion countered, his voice ringing with sincere appreciation.

Thranduil rested his chin on his hand and considered the elf before him.  ‘If you are willing to remain in my household and help us in this matter,’ he said, ‘I will see to it that the High King hears your case again as soon as is possible and I will ensure that you receive acknowledgement of your service.’

‘My lord,’ Calion said seriously, ‘you did not need to speak to me – to ask me to do this.  I am your son’s bondsman until such time as the sentence is either reversed or served in full – in his absence, I am obliged to obey you.  That you should find it necessary to ask increases the respect I have for you.  Knowing that you think me innocent will make it easier to continue as I am.’  He paused.  ‘It is just – if you feel it would not be too unwise – could you speak to Elerrina?  She dislikes having me near the elflings – if she were to know, my task would be easier.’

‘Would you say my daughter-in-law can keep a secret when necessary?’

Calion grinned.  ‘I believe it has been known, my lord.’

Thranduil inclined his head.  ‘I will speak to her.’  He leaned back in his chair.  ‘Is there anything else that you would like to say?’

The silence drew out, but Calion did not move.  Thranduil watched him debate with himself, until finally he said in a rush, ‘May I join your household when you journey to the new lands, my lord?’

‘I do not know what your adar -,’ Thranduil said slowly.

‘I will ask the High King, should he rescind his sentence – and should he not, it will not matter, for I will be serving in your household anyway.’  Calion’s tone had taken on an eagerness that he had learned recently to suppress. 

Thranduil gave a brief nod.  ‘If it proves to be within my power to arrange, Calion,’ he decided, ‘it shall be so.’

***

He had been seen.  Of all the foolish mischances, this was something he could happily have avoided.  He had been seen, standing at his window and looking down into the market.  He had noticed the face of the one who looked up at him – not a young elf: one dressed unobtrusively, pale and dark, his eyes shadowed, but one who had clearly recognised him and not been able to conceal his reaction. 

He had been tempted to rush down and ensure that the one who watched him was never able to report to anyone again, but caution had compelled him to resist.  There were too many people around for him to do anything so foolish.

Minastan looked around.  Well, he had little here.  It had been a useful place to lay his head while he moved his plans forward, that was all.  It was not as if this was his home.  It was not as if he had a home.  He had always been on the outside, living on sufferance, watching through the window as others received all the things that should have been his.

He grabbed his pack and began to fill it with essentials; the few things he could not leave behind – some clothes, anything on paper, the paltry mementoes of an empty life.  The rest he could leave.  It meant nothing.

As evening fell and the shadows lengthened, he took advantage of the bustle in the market place and joined the elves taking their goods out towards the farms or back to their small houses on the outskirts away from the aura of wealth that hung around the great stone mansions.  No-one would mark him, he knew, as he drew around him his cloak of insignificance.  No longer the charismatic friend of the rich, he took on the role of nobody in particular and headed off with the casual air of easy purpose that was, he knew, quite unnoticeable. 

***

Artamir scowled at the young guard.  ‘Let me in,’ he commanded.  ‘This is my house and he is my son.  You have no right to exclude me!’

‘Lord Celeborn has said that you are to remain without, my lord,’ the elf said stoically, standing between Artamir and the door.  ‘If you wish to change the order, you must speak to him.’

‘That Sindar!’ he hissed.  ‘You will not be able to secrete yourself if there for ever,’ he shouted.  ‘You will have to admit to me what it is that you have done to draw the High King’s attention on my house and I will see you pay for it.  My business dealings are in ruins because of you!  I can wait until we have my house to ourselves.  I will be back, be assured of it.’

In Tarannon’s room, the silence hung heavily.  Tarannon stretched out his hand to grasp his naneth’s, a look of pained acceptance on his face that surprised the lieutenant. 

‘Do not worry, Naneth,’ he said gently.  ‘He can do nothing.’

Minyariel opened her eyes and smiled wryly at her son.  ‘You should go and stay with my parents once we are allowed to leave.  Your adar will not forget this grudge for a long while.’

‘Only if you come, too, Naneth.  There is no reason why you should stay here to be made miserable any longer.’

As he watched them, the lieutenant was aware of a warm wave of gratitude for his own less exalted, but far happier household, in which the members cared for one another’s well-being above the cold appeal of wealth and power.

***

Galadriel looked at herself thoughtfully in the mirror.  She was not at all sure about this.  It did not feel right.  Come to that, it did not look right.  She smoothed the fabric and adjusted the cuffs before turning slightly to look over her shoulder.   She really did not know why she had allowed those few words to affect her – it was ridiculous.

Her husband returned from the bathing chamber dressed in his leggings, using a towel to rub the water from his silver hair.  She looked at him appreciatively, enjoying the disruption of his presence and the warmth he brought to the clean white lines of the room.  Perhaps her naneth was right.  Perhaps you could have too much white.

‘We will be late,’ she observed.

‘It will not take me long to dress,’ he said impatiently.  ‘And I can do my hair in my sleep.’

‘But then it looks as if you have slept in it,’ she pointed out.

‘Then my loving wife can do it for me,’ he grinned, turning towards her and dropping the towel on the chair.  He paused and raised his eyebrows. ‘This is a departure,’ he commented.

‘I am not sure,’ she said, looking again in the mirror.

‘I am,’ he informed her.  ‘It suits you.  The silvery-blue enhances your eyes.  And I like the braids in your hair.’

She took one last look and turned away from the mirror.  ‘Well it is too late to change now,’ she told him briskly.  ‘I just hope nobody laughs.  Come and sit down and I will do your hair while you tell me what you have learned that kept you out so long.’

As she drew the comb through his long damp locks, he closed his eyes.  ‘I think I have missed this more than almost anything,’ he sighed.

‘Really?’ she asked, making her voice deliberately sultry as she trailed her fingers briefly across his unclothed back.  ‘I must try harder.’

He looked in the mirror to meet her sparkling eyes.  ‘Well,’ he conceded, ‘I am not going to argue about such an ambition.’ He flinched in mock pain as she used the comb to rap his head.  ‘I have spent the last hours meeting with those who have been examining all the information that could be found about Artamir and his house.’

‘What have they found?’ she asked, her fingers rapidly twisting his hair into its customary braids.

‘That it is difficult to prove a negative,’ he said. 

‘So there is nothing that connects him to the plots?’

‘Well – he is involved in assorted intrigues, but they are nothing to do with this,’ he said, making an enveloping gesture with his hands.  ‘There is a trace or two – but they point in from the outside: there is nothing at the heart.  Either he is very skilled at hiding his tracks – in which case there should be no traces of any schemes at all – or, more likely, there are no tracks to hide.’

‘That would seem to confirm that our quarry is an outsider,’ Galadriel’s busy fingers slowed.  ‘If he were part of Artamir’s circle, he would not have found it difficult to incriminate him.’  She fastened the braids and smoothed his hair.  ‘There.  Dress yourself – we cannot be late.’

‘I suppose not,’ he said regretfully, turning as he rose to take her in his arms. ‘It is a pity.’  He dropped a gentle kiss on her lips. ‘I can think of things I would rather do this evening.’  He released her and went to put on the silver-grey robe she had set out for him.  ‘I see I am set to highlight your beauty,’ he remarked. ‘I am to be cloud to your sky, moonlight to your dawn.’

She laughed.  ‘My naneth tells me I am becoming a caricature, my lord.  I am counting on you to give me confidence to prove her wrong.’

‘I am glad to see you in something other than white, my love,’ he commented.  ‘It reminds me of our younger days.’  He slid his hand down her back, lingering over her hips before presenting his arm for her to take.  ‘Let us join your parents, so that we might discover what else has been revealed.’

***

They were too late.

Elrond ran through the sequence of events that had brought them there.  He could not see how they could have allowed him to escape.  Only yesterday, Minastan had been seen here.  The agents working in the market had watched him return to his room and had, at different points of the day, caught glimpses of him as he paced the floor.  How had he managed to get past those watching him? 

‘He saw something, my lord,’ one of his agents apologised.  ‘I think he grew suspicious – there was someone wandering the market who seemed to be seeking something.  He was nothing to do with our operation, but that would not matter to the one we watched.’

Elrond closed his eyes.  He was growing very irritated by this one – not just because of the plots for which he appeared to be responsible, but due to his infuriating ability to keep one step ahead of those trying to find him. 

‘Have you found anything here that will be helpful?’ he asked, forcing himself to speak reasonably.

The agent looked at him swiftly.  His lord was clearly on the edge of showing his teeth, he thought.  ‘He has taken any written record he may have kept,’ he stated. ‘There are clothes – but there is little that is of use.’

‘Gather every speck that you can that might lead to him,’ Elrond instructed, ‘and bring them to my house, together with every speculation that you can dredge up. I want this one found and I want him found soon.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ the other agreed.  ‘We will do so immediately.’

Elrond took a last look around the room and swept out.  It was at moments like this, he thought, that he wished that he had not sent Rindor off to explore.  He would be far more use at home. It was not that those remaining to him here were incompetent – far from it – but Rindor had the inspiration that could take a dozen tiny implications and turn them into a pattern.  He sighed.  They would just, he told himself firmly, have to manage. This was not a time for failure.

 





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