Far Horizons 26:  Sprung 

‘We have read Rindor’s report of your interrogation, Neldin,’ Thranduil said coldly.  ‘You have not attempted to deny your part in trying to sabotage the expedition.  You caused deliberate harm to Haldir, you damaged food supplies and lost vital equipment.  Your reasons sound – nonsensical – to me.’

Neldin scowled. ‘Typical arrogance,’ he muttered. ‘You just think you are better than the rest of us. You keep us Silvan elves in subjection and exploit us.’

Thranduil opened his eyes wide and stared intently at him.  ‘What are you talking about?’ he asked incredulously.  ‘Who has been putting stupid ideas in your head?  I have devoted my life to doing the best I can for my people – in what ways have I been exploiting anyone?’

‘Leave it for now, Thranduil,’ Celeborn said in a voice tinged with amusement. ‘What is more important to learn is who has been influencing this fool.  Describe him to us.’

Neldin refused to respond.

‘You said his name was Camentur Taryaturion,’ Celeborn prodded. 

A sullen growl was the only response. 

‘Is this he?’ Celeborn pushed Tarannon’s sketch across the table.

Neldin stiffened and flicked a quick glance at his inquisitors.  ‘I am saying nothing,’ he insisted uneasily.

‘You already have,’ Elrond remarked quietly.  He looked at the bound elf coolly.  ‘He has been using you,’ he added.  ‘He has no belief in the cant he has been pouring in your ears: no wish to set the world to rights: no desire to change the way we live.  His only desire is power.  He has not even told you the truth about his name.  Even there he was using you to make someone else suffer.’

‘If you have nothing to add,’ Thranduil told him, ‘you can be returned to your cell until we decide your fate.  I have nothing I want to say to you.’  He looked up at the guards and waved his hand.  They stepped forward and took Neldin’s elbows, leading him from the room.

Finarfin stepped forward from the place where he had been standing in shadow.  ‘I am not happy about this malefactor using politics to manage people’s minds,’ he said.  ‘Even here in Valinor there are those who are susceptible to manipulation – and politics can be complicated enough.’

‘He will not be doing it for very much longer,’ Thranduil told him grimly.  ‘We will cut off his plot just behind the head – I think we will find that once the head is separated from the body, this snake of corruption will die.’

Finarfin laughed unexpectedly.  ‘I am sorry, Thranduil, but you are so like my son.  You have his attitude to life.’

‘Which son would that be?’ Celeborn asked with feigned innocence.

‘Orodreth – did you know him?’ 

Thranduil scowled as Celeborn grinned at him. 

‘Galadriel caused several ages of annoyance with a similar remark,’ Celeborn informed him.  ‘I have never understood why – although I admit that I found Orodreth singularly irritating.’

‘I expect he relished it,’ Finarfin admitted. ‘He loved to provoke extreme reactions in those around him.’  He paused.   ‘What do you intend to do with this one?’

‘It is difficult to decide,’ Thranduil admitted.  ‘He is a talented and useful elf – just wrong-headed.  There is a lot to be said for the punishment you inflicted on Calion, but I do not want this fool anywhere near me!’

‘I will take him off your hands,’ Finarfin offered.  ‘Put him to work for a period and see how he responds.  We have developed ways of working with those who cannot live in a community.  Violent retribution may be forbidden here – but sometimes one must do something.’

‘I do not believe you will find him as satisfying a case as young Calion,’ Thranduil told him.  ‘Who is, in my opinion – and that of Lady Galadriel – innocent of any wrongdoing.’

Finarfin nodded. ‘I thought he might be,’ he remarked, ‘despite the evidence presented.  You have come to like him?’

Thranduil stared at him coldly.  ‘You have been using me?’ he enquired.

‘In a way,’ the High King sighed. ‘Your son gave me the opportunity to enable you to know Calion.’  He smiled.  ‘I have been High King since before you were an elfling, Thranduil.  I have come to know something of guilt and innocence, as well as the difference between guilt and culpability.  I have known those come before me radiating innocence, who were culpable and merited punishment, as well as those who felt guilt and were not to blame at all.  Calion felt to me to be indignant at having been accused of shooting Legolas – whilst being undoubtedly guilty of ill-wishing him.  It seemed a good idea to allow both sides to learn how wrong they were.’

‘Not, I think, a method we can use with the one who put these schemes together,’ Celeborn commented.

‘No,’ Finarfin said regretfully.  ‘Here, I am afraid, we will have to resort to penalties I am very reluctant to impose.  We will see.’

***

Ancalime waited patiently.  There was no need for haste.  Her daughter had no need of her now and she had scarcely seen Macar since the funeral.  It was probably as well.  Some emotions cried out to be shared, but she did not feel that rage and despair were among them.  In time they would speak of her and gain consolation from each other, but at the moment they were better off seeking their own understanding.

She looked round the elegantly decorated room.  Lady Galadriel’s embroidery frame stood by the long window, next to one of a set of chairs with tapestry seats.  A polished table held a vase of dried leaves and seed heads.  The colours gleamed in the barred sunlight and the room smelled of the soft fragrances of beeswax and lavender.  Everything was beautifully made and arranged with care, but Ancalime was surprised at the simplicity of the room.  It would seem, she reflected, that Lady Galadriel was not, perhaps, as self-important as she had thought.

‘I am sorry that you have had to wait so long.’  The voice was soft, but assured.  ‘I am told you wished to see my daughter.  Celebrian will not be returning until later, so I hope I will do.’

‘It is not important, my lady,’ Ancalime said with a remote indifference.  ‘My daughter left diaries and other items with me of which I am sure her killer did not know.  I have thought about it – it does not matter to me what happens to him, nothing will bring her back to us, but I know my husband would rather you were able to lay your hands on him.  I have brought them to you.’  She indicated the two slim volumes on her lap, resting her fingers gently on them, stroking the covers delicately.  ‘She put them with her other journals – hidden in the open among the possessions she left at home.’  She looked up and met Galadriel’s gaze.  ‘She feared him,’ she said abruptly, ‘but she could not help her love for him.  I think, perhaps, she wanted him found.’  She proffered the books.  ‘Take them, my lady.  But once you have discovered what she has to tell you, let me have them back.  The pictures and the hair you can burn – I want nothing of him in my house.’

Galadriel took her hands with the journals between them.  ‘You are not forgotten,’ she said sincerely.  ‘We know what it is to grieve for those who are lost.  Let us help you both, Ancalime.’

‘My daughter betrayed you, Lady Galadriel,’ she replied bluntly.  ‘Why should you care what becomes of us?’

Galadriel smiled wryly.  ‘If there is one thing that I have learned over many long centuries, it is that bitterness and revenge are not worth the suffering they cause.  Few truths are absolute, Ancalime.  Nessariel suffered just as surely as any other victim of these schemes – and I would not have her loss lead to another age of hatred among my kindred.  My daughter was – damaged to the point where I expected to learn of her death.  Only hundreds of years here in the Blessed Realm served to heal her.  My granddaughter chose love and death over immortality.  There are few elves who have sailed here from Middle Earth who are unaware of the pain of losing loved ones.’

Ancalime looked at her coolly.  ‘Does it diminish the pain, my lady, to share it with others?’

‘Only time serves to bring some acceptance,’ Galadriel admitted.  ‘The pain is always there – but it helps to know you are not alone.’

Silence drew out between them.    Ancalime broke eye contact and lowered her head.  ‘You may be right,’ she said.  ‘I do not know.  But find him, before Macar does, for I think that my husband would care little if he were to be killed in his attempt to make her betrayer pay for her death – and then I really would be alone.’

***

Earwen put the journal down and picked up the painting.  ‘Nessariel painted well,’ she said.  ‘This is much better than Tarannon’s sketch.’  She looked at the image carefully.  ‘I am sure that I know his face,’ she mused.  ‘I believe he came from the south – looking for a position at court.’  She looked helplessly at her daughter.  ‘There are so many of them – all of them convinced that once they are seen, they will become indispensable.  I only recall this one because he was so angry – he could not see why he could not step over those who have served at court for centuries.’

‘I cannot imagine that he would have been prepared to serve in a menial position for very long,’ Galadriel said thoughtfully.  ‘He would have looked for some way to climb to a position of power.’

‘That is so,’ Earwen agreed.  ‘I think he wanted to marry into an influential family – in fact, I believe that he may have sought to wed Minyariel – or, perhaps, her sister.  Her adar was furious – he said it was out of the question.’

‘Understandable, I think,’ her daughter remarked.  ‘Minastan’s was not a happy background.  I doubt he would have made a good husband.’

Earwen pulled a face.  ‘It would have been one thing if he had been rejected because he was not right for Minyariel – but her adar really meant that he preferred to marry her to that dreadful Artamir, who came from a wealthy and noble background.’  

‘Would you have permitted me to marry anybody I chose?’ Galadriel asked curiously.

Her mother laughed.  ‘I doubt we could have prevented you, my daughter.  But I cannot imagine that you would have chosen to wed a farmer or a cook – he would not have suited you at all.  A sea captain – perhaps.  But suitability is not really bound entirely in ancestry – Celeborn would have been a match for you even had he not been a Prince of Doriath, whereas Thranduil, charming as he is, would have been a disaster.  I would not have wanted you to bond with one like this.’  Earwen tapped the painting. ‘But not for the same reasons.’ 

‘I can see why his rejection might have made him attempt to incriminate Minyariel’s sons,’ Galadriel sighed.  ‘And his mother brought with her a hatred of Thranduil.  But why now?  What made him choose this moment to seek to harm them?’

‘Convenience, perhaps,’ her naneth considered.  ‘They are all in the same place at the same time.  And settling so many scores by playing them off against one another might have given him some gratification.’

‘We are close to him now,’ Galadriel said. ‘There is a satisfaction to that – but I cannot help but feel sad for him.’

Her naneth looked at her.  ‘You have learned compassion,’ she commented. ‘As an elleth you would not have felt that – everything was black and white; right or wrong.’

Galadriel smile wryly.  ‘Maturity seems to come in shades of grey, Naneth.’

Earwen laughed.  ‘Like your gown,’ she remarked.  ‘It is pleasant to see you in colours, my daughter, even if they have the subtlety of a hazy dawn.’

***

Thranduil poured himself a goblet of wine before sitting at his desk.  It had been a long meeting.  He leaned back and enjoyed the silence of the large room.  It was not as good as being outside among the trees, but it was better than listening to the endless discussions involved in coming to any decisions. 

He had to admit that he was glad that Finarfin had offered to take on the task of dealing with Neldin.  His own instincts were to come down on him swift and hard, but punishments appropriate in time of war seemed excessive in this peaceful land.

He took a sip of his wine and closed his eyes.  It would seem that he needed to give some attention to developing a system of justice to take with them to their new lands. What they had at the moment was a mishmash of conventions from a range of elven lands – and a reliance on the fact that elves generally needed little imposed discipline.  Which was all very well, he sighed, until you came upon a case like this.

‘May I come in?’ His daughter-in-law smiled at him from the doorway.

‘Certainly, my dear,’ he raised his goblet.  ‘Would you care for some wine?’

‘Stay where you are, Adar,’ Elerrina said. ‘I will pour some.’  She drifted elegantly across the wide floor, collecting a tall glass as she came to sit down opposite him.

‘What can I do for you, my daughter?’ Thranduil asked, looking at her with some amusement.  ‘I feel sure there must be some purpose to your visit.’

‘Am I that obvious?’ she smiled at him saucily and he grinned at her.  ‘I was wondering if you had any idea how long it would be until Legolas returned to us.  We miss him.’

‘We do indeed,’ Thranduil sighed. ‘I do not know – a week or two, probably.’  He watched as her face fell and stood.  ‘Come and sit with me.’ He put his arm round her as they settled in the window seat, dropping an affectionate kiss on her gleaming chestnut hair.   ‘This is the first time you have been parted since you were joined.  It is hard, I know.  I remember the first time I had to leave Legolas’s naneth at home – I was very short-tempered, and in the end, the captain of my guard, whom I had known since we were ellyn together, told me to get myself home before I had a mutiny on my hands.’

She giggled.  ‘He must have been very brave.’

‘He had rubbed my nose in the mud often enough not to be terribly impressed by the mithril circlet,’ Thranduil told her, resting his cheek on her head.  ‘Legolas is always with you, you know.  Distance and time only separate your bodies – he is here and here.’ He touched her chest and brow gently.  ‘Feel his song within you.’

She turned slightly and put her arms round his waist.  ‘Do you still feel Legolas’s naneth?’

‘More and more strongly,’ he admitted.  ‘For a time after she was killed, it was hard to find the echoes of her song – but since I arrived in these lands, it rings in my bones.  I long for out reunion.’

Elerrina hugged him.  ‘I hope it will be soon,’ she told him.  ‘You deserve it.’

He looked down.  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I do not know that deserts have much to do with it.  I live in hope.’ 

A tap at the door caused them to draw apart.  ‘Come in,’ Thranduil called.

‘Lord Celeborn is here, my lord.’

‘I have received the reports from the fletchers,’ Celeborn said, entering the room on the heels of the servant.

Elerrina rose and brought him a goblet of wine, as Thranduil took the papers from his hand and asked, ‘Do they have anything of interest to say?’

Celeborn shrugged.  ‘Every item of information coming in provides confirmation of what we know.  It is one of the most infuriating things about searching for answers – once you know them, everything agrees.’ 

‘And in what ways do they agree?’

‘The arrows were made at the same time, by the same elf, probably south of here, but not necessarily since feathers are not difficult to carry with you.  They were not bought from any of those who sell arrows to those who will not make their own.  And that means that Calion is even less likely to have been Legolas’s attacker, since he always uses blue-fletched arrows, which he likes to have adorned with a small carved acorn.’

‘He does not any longer,’ Thranduil remarked.  ‘And he can shoot a good deal straighter, too.’

Elerrina laughed.  ‘Hithien has him giving some basic training to Surion – and she has insisted that he does it properly.  It is so funny to watch her telling Calion what to do.  He is very amiable about it – even though Surion keeps telling him that he not very good compared to Legolas.’

‘He is coming with us,’ Thranduil told them both.  ‘Even if I have to petition Finarfin to allow him to come against his adar’s will.’

***

‘Hithien,’ Calion said tentatively.

She looked at him and frowned.  He was pale and there were shadow under his eyes. ‘What is it?’ she asked.  ‘You look as bad as you did when Lord Thranduil first brought you in here.’

‘I have remembered something – I am wondering if I should seek Lord Thranduil out.  Or maybe Lady Galadriel.  It was something Surion said the other day – it started me remembering some things that happened when I was very young.  I do not know if it means anything.’

‘Tell me.’  Hithien sat down and looked seriously at his face.  ‘Here,’ she said, extending her hand.  ‘I will let you know if I think you need to take it further.’

He linked his fingers with hers and allowed her to pull him down beside her.  ‘It was something I heard – and saw – at my grandparents’ house.  We used to spend our summers there in their house beside the sea.’

‘And?’ Hithien asked as Calion hesitated.

‘I think I remember Minastan,’ he said.  ‘I cannot be sure, because I was very young, but I seem to recall his eyes – watching us.  Daeradar would not let us roam freely – there were always guards.  It did not strike me as strange at the time, but now I come to think of it –,’ he paused, then continued.  ‘There was one time when I wandered off and ended up getting lost.  I went into a small house – there was an older couple – they were very wary and suspicious of me, even though I was quite small.  When their daughter came in, I could see why they did not want visitors, for she was very odd.  She screamed when she saw me and begged her adar to get me away from her – she said I was bad luck.  I wanted to run away, but her naneth said that she would walk me home – she told me quite seriously that it was not safe for me to be out.  They were looking for me – by the time we were halfway back to my grandparents’ house, we came across search parties.  Daeradar grabbed me from her – she told him he should keep a better watch.  He was very angry with me and I remember my naneth weeping with relief – even as she slapped me.  Nobody ever explained anything to me, but I think it was to do with him – the one who watched us.’

‘You need to tell Thranduil,’ Hithien said seriously.  ‘It might help them to find him – or at least give them somewhere to look.’

Calion hesitated.  ‘Do you think he is a danger to my naneth?’

‘I think he might be a danger to a lot of people,’ Hithien told him.  ‘You, not least of all.’  She frowned at him.  ‘Perhaps we need to set you up a guard of your own,’ she said.

He raised his eyebrows.  ‘Do I not have one, Hithien?’ he asked softly, lifting her hand and kissing her fingers gently.

Reluctantly, she detached her fingers from his.  ‘Stop it,’ she said firmly. 

‘If you insist,’ he smiled. ‘For the moment, anyway.’  He stood and sighed.  ‘I will go and tell my story to Lord Thranduil.  I just hope it does not make him think I am any bigger a fool than he does already.’ 

‘Your naneth slapped you?’ Hithien asked with apparent irrelevance.

‘She was relieved to have me back undamaged,’ he shrugged.

‘I can understand that,’ she nodded, meeting his eyes briefly. ‘Go. We will talk later.’

***

Minyariel’s face was flushed with fury.  ‘I will make you pay,’ she hissed.  ‘You condemned my son for something he did not do!  Do not expect me to let this lie – I will go to the High King!’

‘It was the High King who convicted him,’ Celeborn corrected her. ‘And I do not believe your son will support you in any attempt to stir up trouble.  It was he who gave us this information – but he understood it only as an elfling would see it.  You are able to explain what happened.’

‘I want my son back,’ Minyariel told him.  ‘His adar disowned him and said his name was not to be mentioned.  I want him back.’

Celeborn hesitated.  ‘I doubt that he will want to return to his adar’s house,’ he said gently.  ‘He is worried for you and for his brother, but he finds his adar’s disavowal of him hard to forgive.’

The colour drained from Minyariel’s cheeks.  ‘I can understand that,’ she murmured, her throat stiff with pain.

‘Why did you wed him, Minyariel?’ Celeborn asked.  ‘Did your family push you into a marriage with one whom they deemed suitable?’

She sighed, a deep shuddering sigh of surrender.  ‘No, not really.  They thought he would make a good husband – and he might have done, I suppose, to another wife.  I cannot regret the match, not entirely.  I would not have borne Tarannon and Calion had I not wed Artamir – and I would not want to live without them.’  She sat heavily on the chair by the window and the light revealed the shadows under her eyes and the hollows in her cheeks.  ‘I did not know that Calion was aware of the tensions at my parents’ house.  I would have thought he was too young to remember.’ 

She looked up and met Celeborn’s eyes unflinchingly.  ‘I married Artamir because I thought it would protect me from another who sought to wed me.  This other’s attentions had flattered me when he first showed interest in me – he was handsome and charming and he made me feel good about myself.’  She smiled.  ‘I was never the most beautiful elleth,’ she admitted, ‘but he made me feel as if the stars shone from my eyes.  My parents did not care for him – he was not wealthy or high-born – but that would not have mattered to me.  Only – I began to fear him.  He was – controlling.  It was as if I could not breathe without his permission.  I told him that I would not see him any more – I was a coward,’ she confessed, ‘and told him that my parents had forbidden me to continue seeing him.’  She stopped speaking for several minutes.  ‘He would not let me go.’

Minyariel stood and turned to look out into the courtyard garden.  ‘He followed me – his eyes were everywhere watching every move I made.  He made no threats – but his sheer existence was like a knife against my throat.’  She swallowed.  ‘My parents said that, once I was married, he would have to leave me alone.  And in the end, that was enough to make me agree.’  She shrugged.  ‘For a time, it appeared to be true.  But it did not last.  His presence was always there, even when we could find no evidence of him – and every now and then he would make sure that I saw him, watching my sons.  But nothing happened, and after a while I became less careful.  Is he the one, then, who is behind this?’

‘What can you tell me of his family?’

Minyariel closed her eyes, recognising his question as agreement.  ‘It is my fault, then.  All of this – the harm done to my sons.  Little Nessa’s death.  The attack of those elflings.  Even Artamir’s troubles with the High King.  All of it, my fault.  If I had not been afraid to tell him why I would not see him any more – then maybe none of this would have happened.’

‘You give yourself too much responsibility,’ Celeborn told her kindly.  ‘Nothing you could have done would have changed what has happened.  This one was damaged before he was even born – and what happened to him in his earliest years set him on his way.  If you had joined with him, you would have been miserable – and it would not have stopped him.  Tell me what you know of his family.’

She drew a deep breath.  ‘He lived with his grandparents in a small house not far from the shore.’  She shrugged.  ‘They lived a simple life, growing their own food, keeping a few animals.  His grandfather would take a boat out fishing.  He would help, when he had to, but he preferred to study – he was determined to be successful.  He always felt that his adar’s death had robbed him of his chance to be someone.  His naneth lived with them, but she was – quite strange.  She did not seem to recognise him as her son.  Sometimes he would appear with scratches on his face and arms as if she had attacked him, but he never said anything about it.  Some years ago, on a stormy night, she walked into the sea and let it take her.’

‘Does he still visit his grandparents?’

‘I do not know,’ she said.  ‘After their daughter’s death, they left their house.  They could no longer endure seeing the flow and ebb of the tides.’ 

***

Minastan slid through the shadows to approach the door.  There was no-one there with any interest in him.  He had watched long enough to be sure of it.  The sun had slipped behind the houses across the square and the stallholders were busy packing away their goods in the grey dusk and complaining to each other of poor trade caused by the wet weather.  Better to move now, he thought.  The quietness of the dark hours was tempting, but even a mouse stood out in the silence of the night. 

On the rooftops not one of the watchers stirred.  They had the patience to wait until he was in their trap.  There was no point letting a moment’s restlessness warn him of their presence.  They were all in place – they had been waiting since before he slipped into the square and they could outwait him.

Across the square, Macar raised his chin and let his wet hood slide down his head.  As soon as the scum was in the alleyway with his attention fixed on the door, he would be able to get close enough.  He flexed his stiff fingers and loosened his long knife.  It should not be hard to butcher somebody, not if you did not care whether you escaped or not.  He had bled enough pigs to know where to cut this one – and before he left him with his blood draining into the gutter, he would be sure to let him know why he had been chosen for this fate.

A sudden burst of laughter made Minastan turn his head to glance at a small group of the market sellers as one of them dropped a crate of fruit on to the wet cobbles.  Apples rolled drunkenly across the square and he froze briefly before continuing with his deliberate movements.  One of the sellers made an unheard comment that made the others laugh again, before they kicked the bruised fruit to one side and trundled their carts off towards their night shelters. 

The quiet of the square intensified, becoming almost tangible as the shadows lowered.  Minastan approached the door casually, fitting his key in the lock and pushing it open while being at the same time prepared to run if anything should strike him as odd.

Nothing stirred. He glanced quickly behind him and stepped forward to enter the building. 

A sudden faint pattering alerted him too late to the elf racing into the alley, but he turned swiftly enough to raise his arm and intercept the blow.  The sharp blade sliced through cloak and tunic to bite into the flesh of his arm.

‘You killed her,’ a voice hissed, ‘just as surely as I am going to kill you.  You murdered my daughter.’

The sharp metallic scent of fresh blood made his head spin as he looked into the angry face, but instinct made him clutch at the wrist of the hand bearing the wicked blade stained red.  ‘I do not know what you are talking about,’ he said faintly.

‘Liar!’ shouted Macar, attempting to wrench back control of the knife.

The watchers came out of the dark before either of the combatants realised they were there.

‘Thank the Valar,’ Minastan said piously as two of them pinned his assailant’s arms and disarmed him.  ‘I have no idea why he attacked me like that – as you can see, I am quite unarmed.  He could have killed me.  If you take him away, I will see about having my injury treated.’

‘I am afraid that it will not be that simple,’ the leader of his rescuers said politely.  ‘The High King requires your company – and he is not fond of waiting.  I am sure that you understand my position.’

Minastan’s eyes sought escape, but he could find none. He growled in helpless fury, before rolling up his eyes and falling heavily to the ground. 

‘That will not work either,’ the captain informed the apparently unconscious elf.  ‘Bind him securely – and then tie something round his arm.  The High King will be most displeased if we allow him to bleed to death at this point.’

Macar spat viciously at the body on the ground.  ‘It is too good for him.’

‘You may consider yourself lucky that we were here to stop you doing too much damage,’ the captain told him sympathetically. 

The look of bitter desolation Macar turned on him made him catch his breath.  ‘Why should I care what penalty the High King chooses to exact?’ he asked.  ‘The Blessed Realm would be a better place without this son of an orc polluting the air.’

‘It is not your decision to make,’ he answered.  ‘Wait and see what the King decides before you throw away your own life.’  He turned to his men.  ‘Keep firm hold of him,’ he said.  ‘We will need to take him with us.’ He prodded Minastan’s body.  ‘This one is not going to get away.  Linion,’ he instructed, ‘borrow a cart from someone in the market – we will truss him up in that until we get him locked safely away. Keep your weapons ready.  Now, please.’