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Far Horizons  by Bodkin

Far Horizons 12: In the Open      

Calion eased himself to his feet.  If the contact of his head with the wall had not partially stunned him, he did not think he would have been able to endure this beating without at least attempting to fight back, but, as it was, all he had been aware of was the pain.  They had been gone some time now, he thought, snatching the muffling cloth from his head as they went. 

This was not the first time and it would not be the last, but it had definitely been the worst – so far.  He was not surprised that the loyal members of Thranduil’s household found him despicable, or that they wished to ensure that he suffered as much as possible, nor was he surprised that senior members of the staff were apparently happy to turn a blind eye to what was happening.  His possessions, few though they were, were regularly damaged, his bedding left dampened, his food, until he had learned only to eat what he had taken from communal pots, adulterated in one way or another.  He had learned to bathe and clean his clothes only at times when he could be fairly sure the facilities would be either completely empty or occupied by those whose presence would be some guarantee of safety.

He allowed the wall to support him as he caught his breath.  His ribs ached, but not, he thought, enough to any to have been cracked.  His hand, however, was another matter.  He was fairly sure that there were some broken bones there – although he suspected any such injury was unintentional. It would be hard to conceal an inability to use his fingers.

The spinning in his head steadied and he pushed himself upright.  The stables, he thought somewhat muzzily.  He was to go to the stables.  He followed the corridor to the garden door, stepping out into the bright sunlight.  His eyes closed involuntarily as the bright light sliced into his aching head, then, with an effort, reopened them and began to walk along the path connecting the house with the training yards and stables.

Had he not been concentrating so hard on reaching his goal, he would have observed that the Woodland King was in the courtyard.  He hissed to himself as he stopped by the door to the tack room and attempted to sidle in surreptitiously.  Thranduil, he suspected, would be only too happy to add to the beating he had just received, and he had done his best to avoid putting himself anywhere where the prince’s adar might see him.

Thranduil caught the movement.  His first thought was that someone should teach the brat that sometimes boldness was less noticeable than subtlety, but his second glance brought a frown to his face.

‘Stand still,’ he snapped, stepping towards the stiff figure.  He took Calion’s chin in his long fingers and turned his head.  ‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘I fell,’ Calion replied stolidly.

‘Of course you did,’ Thranduil agreed, amused at the lack of originality.  ‘Now remove your tunic.  Now!’ he commanded, as Calion hesitated.

Only as Calion attempted to obey did he realise how extensively he hurt.  He managed to draw the fabric up, then found he could not move his arms to pull it over his head.  Thranduil gave a brief grunt of irritation and grasped the tunic, pulling it free, then took a sharp breath at the evidence of abuse before him.

The fresh injuries were bad enough: red, swollen, raw-looking welts and patches across Calion’s back, arms and belly, but even more shocking to the king were the bruises in various stages of fading that told him that this had not been an isolated incident. This was not fighting.  This was bullying.   He had wanted the lad to suffer, he thought with some guilt, but not like this.  This, he decided, was appalling and would stop at once.

‘Come with me,’ he ordered.

Once he had Calion in the healer’s hands, Thranduil descended on the members of his household like the wrath of the Valar.  Galion sent messengers scurrying round to drag every possible person into the Hall to hear what their lord had to say – and none of it was pleasant.  He made sure that his audience cringed as his disgust at the treatment of his son’s bondsman was made clear and he made a point of spelling out in simple clear language that henceforth Calion was to remain unharmed and be treated with the same level of courtesy as any other member of the household. 

‘He is to be left alone, do you understand me?’ he concluded.  ‘I will be watching and listening to ensure that is so.’  Thranduil’s contemptuous glare seared those present. ‘I will not ask who is responsible for this – because Calion himself asked me to leave it. This,’ he hissed, ‘is not a sign of approval from me, and it is certainly not a sign of weakness from him.  You know who you are – and you may consider yourselves fortunate.  Any further incidents will impel me to seek you out – and, if Calion has been indentured to my son for deliberately causing him harm, then I will make a point of inflicting a similar punishment on anyone who chooses to injure him.  You would not enjoy being condemned to the service of Lord Artamir – I would guarantee it.  Remember that.’

He swept from the room and made his way to the nursery, where Elerrina’s nursemaid was stitching at a small dress as her charges slept.  Thranduil watched her for a moment as he continued to fume.

She pushed the needle through the fabric and put it back in her sewing box before standing up and bobbing a curtsey.  ‘My lord?’ she said enquiringly.

‘Hithien,’ Thranduil said.  ‘Tell me that you did not know how that ellon was being treated.’

‘Ahh,’ she replied.  ‘Your staff were generally of the opinion that, since you had not intervened, you approved of their conduct.’

‘They have been disabused of any such ideas,’ he said bleakly.

‘Then they will not do it again,’ she remarked.

‘I want you to watch him,’ the king told her.  ‘Keep him safe.  No-one suspects you of being anything other than an innocuous elleth.  One who is not very good at sewing,’ he added, looking at the smocked dress she had set down.’

She grinned.  ‘One cannot do everything well,’ she answered primly.  ‘You will have to assign him to the duty of guarding your daerelflings, my lord,’ she said.  ‘I cannot be in two places at once.  And I think that you will not find it easy to persuade Elerrina to consent – she is of the opinion that no punishment is too bad for him.’

‘That opinion may change when she sees his injuries,’ Thranduil commented grimly. ‘He needs to be set other duties until he heals, so it will not seem strange to send him to the nursery.  And Elerrina has been raised to be obedient to authority – she might not like it, but she will not refuse to do as I say.’

Hithien nodded.  ‘I will keep an eye on him,’ she agreed.  She looked at Thranduil quizzically.  ‘He seems to me,’ she said, ‘to have a fair amount of courage.  He has been spoiled, of course, but he is not beyond redemption.’

Thranduil raised his eyebrows.  ‘I am not terribly interested in his ultimate fate,’ he told her.  ‘But he will not be abused while he is in my charge, of that I am determined.’

***

‘Perhaps,’ Minastan said smoothly, ‘your adar was right to disown your brother.  After all, we really do not need to have suspicion put Artamir’s way.  And even I find it incredible that Calion can have done something so stupid.’

‘My brother,’ Tarannon scoffed, ‘was, is and always will be a complete idiot.  I am not in the least surprised that he shot at that Sindar – I am only astonished that he managed to hit him at all.  He is about as useful as an elleth with a bow.’

‘It is not impossible that he could be of more use to us where he is now,’ Minastan mused.  ‘With the High King resident in Elrond’s house it will be almost impossible to get at any of them – there are simply too many eyes.  Thranduil, on the other hand,’ he considered, ‘has no extra guards on his family.  Have you made any effort to contact your brother?’ he asked briskly.  ‘It might be useful to have someone on the inside.’

‘I am not having anything to do with him!’ his brother exclaimed. ‘Adar would have kittens – he will no longer acknowledge him as a son.  He said that he will not have a son serving as a bondsman to anyone.’

‘This is more important than any of that,’ the older elf insisted.  ‘Remember that you are doing this for the cause.  These Moriquendi are taking our birthright – they think they can come here and take over – that yellow-headed moron came swanning in and took your promised elleth.  We cannot allow that!  It is up to us to show them.’

Tarannon shrugged. ‘I am still not going to have anything to do with Calion,’ he said. ‘He is a disgrace to our House.  If you want his help, you will have to sort it out yourself.’

Minastan sighed to himself.  It was like trying to run in treacle, he thought.  Every time he thought he had stirred up Tarannon and got him moving, he would slow down and stop again in a lump of false pride and injured dignity.  Although, perhaps, he was not the right one to contact Calion.  After all, he considered, if his own brother were to come up to him after abandoning him to this humiliation and ask for his help, he knew what his own answer would be – and it would not be polite.  He cast his mind over the others involved in the conspiracy and allowed himself a mental roll of his eyes.  The trouble was – they were all morons. They were the sort of idiots quite happy to chase at shadows and bark at blowing paper, who were incapable of adding two simple digits and obtaining a correct answer.

‘If you are afraid -,’ he said, flicking Tarannon with a lash he knew would be likely to get him to jump.

Tarannon stuck out his jaw, but refused the goad.  His predictability was only outweighed by his obstinacy, Minastan decided.  In fact, the whole family was obnoxious.  It was a shame, he reflected, that it had been Calion who had been caught out, since he was the only one who showed a glimmer of intelligence – although, under these circumstances, perhaps intelligence was the last thing he should want.

‘Very well, then,’ he shrugged.  ‘I will speak to one of the others.  This is a chance to make Thranduil’s House pay – and we would not want to miss it through cowardice.’

When even this comment failed to rouse Tarannon from his huff, Minastan dropped the subject.  There would be time later, he decided, to try another tack.  If one thing was certain, it was that Tarannon and his like were no match for the wiles of Minastan Terendulion.

***

Celebrian joined her daughter-in-law in the arms of the stately beech at the edge of the lawn.  Their eyes met and Celebrian laughed softly.  ‘Hush,’ she said.  ‘I know I am not dressed for climbing trees, but I am sick of being granddaughter to a king – and I have decided to hide for a while.’  She drew a breath of air scented with the fragrance of growing wood and green leaves.  ‘Adar and Elrond know where I have gone,’ she added guiltily.  ‘It is not Daeradar, or Daernaneth,’ she sighed after a while.  ‘I would be happy to spend days in their company – it is the rest – courtiers and officials and sycophants.’

‘Did you not grow accustomed to it in Imladris?’ Sirithiel asked softly.

‘Not really – Imladris was always more of a home than a court,’ Celebrian sighed, ‘and I am delighted to say that Elrond was always more a healer than a king.’  She opened her eyes and twinkled at her son’s wife.  ‘Even Naneth is becoming irritated,’ she said gleefully.  ‘Sparks will soon be flying, I have no doubt.’  She settled herself comfortably in the welcoming embrace of the tree, stroking the rough bark with her fingers.  ‘What drove you to take refuge up here?’

‘Oh,’ Sirithiel replied, a slow flush colouring her pale cheeks, ‘I was just thinking.’

Her naneth-in-law focused on her and a warm smile spread over her face.  ‘Elrond said that you were worrying too much,’ she beamed.  ‘All we had to do was discover a conspiracy, have Legolas shot at and bring the court of the High King to our home – and you were distracted enough for nature to take its course.  Does Elrohir know?’

Sirithiel nodded.  ‘He knows – but I do not want to tell everyone just yet.  I would rather be sure that all is going well.’

‘I can understand that, my daughter,’ Celebrian agreed, taking Sirithiel’s hand and patting it approvingly.  ‘I will say nothing without your consent.’

‘There is just one thing,’ her daughter-in-law said anxiously, drawing the hand closer and placing it over her womb. 

‘Oh, my dear.’ Celebrian concentrated her attention on the song within as it harmonised with Sirithiel’s own life force.  ‘My dear daughter,’ she continued, ‘you are quite right.  You are expecting twins.’  She leaned closer and hugged her daughter-in-law.  ‘Twin ellyth,’ she said.  ‘What joy you have before you.’

***

If Galadriel were one of the wildcats that had been found in the warm grasslands of Arda’s southern lands, she would be lashing her tail, Celeborn thought.  And any sensible prey animals would be getting out of her way.  Unfortunately, he sighed, the sheep surrounding them were not sensible and they had not had his years of experience concerning her moods. 

‘My lady,’ bleated one of Finarfin’s Council, ‘I am sure that if you had more experience of how things are done in these lands -.’  Celeborn almost winced – patronised for her gender, accused of ignorance and reminded of her millennia-long absence.  Not bad for half a sentence.   ‘You would understand that we cannot interfere in the internal workings of a great House.’

Galadriel turned to inspect him.  It might have worked, her husband decided, if the Councillor had been possessed of enough intelligence to spot the warning – but then, had he any sense he would not have started this in the first place.  Finarfin, he observed, was also watching his daughter with interest.  It had probably been some time, Celeborn reflected, since he had seen one of his advisors go up in smoke – but entertaining though it would be, it would not be a tactful move.

‘If you are prepared to allow noble houses to foment rebellion purely because custom prevents you from interfering, my lord, then you are a fool,’ Celeborn said coldly.

Finarfin glanced at him with amusement, which went some way to countering the sharpness of Galadriel’s glare. 

‘I, however, my son,’ he stated gently, reminding his Council of Celeborn’s status among them, ‘am not a fool – and I do not hold to custom when it is clearly to the disadvantage of all.  My great grandson has provided enough detail for an investigation to be started and started it shall be.’

The discussion drifted on to topics which Celeborn found to be of little interest.  He suppressed a sigh.  Courtesy compelled him to attend these meetings here in Elrond’s house, but his heart carried him outside where his daughter was enjoying the brightness of the day. 

‘You do not have to stay,’ Galadriel told him silently, ‘Finarfin would not object if you were to ask to withdraw – I think he is only testing you to see how much you will endure before you snap.’

Celeborn smiled inwardly.  ‘You have recovered your temper?’

‘No thanks to you, my lord,’ she replied with a mental toss of her head.  ‘I looked at him and thought that at least I would never have to endure his company again once we have established our new home.  He is not worth my wrath.’

‘That has never stopped you,’ he reminded her.  ‘But I thought your adar would be shocked if he saw you rip his advisor to shreds.’

‘Probably,’ she acknowledged. ‘I was much younger when my brothers and I left – and although not exactly an easy elleth, I was certainly much less practised in the use of power.’

They rose as the Council bowed and withdrew.  ‘At last,’ Celeborn sighed as Galadriel smiled.

‘The announcement of the opening of the lands will be made at tomorrow’s reception,’ Finarfin remarked.  ‘I think you had both stopped listening by that point.  You, Thranduil and Elrond will be given the right to accept or decline to take any who wish to apply for leave to go – at least in the early stages until you have established yourselves.  Thereafter, I suppose, you will retain the right to refuse to accept into your lands those whom you feel will not be suited to live among you.’

Galadriel lifted her eyebrows.  ‘I admit my attention declined, Adar, but I am certain that the endless discussion such a decision would have needed would have penetrated my boredom.’

He grinned.  ‘I confess that I am lying, my daughter.  That decision was imposed on my Council before we arrived here.  I did no more than remind them that tomorrow is the date upon which we settled.  Your naneth has been busily supervising the arrangements for the large public gathering at which the formal declaration will be read and my consent given.  All you need to do is dress up and attend.’

***

Nessariel waited in the shade of the small stand of young birches.  He was late.  He had promised that he would meet her here, but, if he were much later, she would have to go back, or she would be missed.  He would be angry with her if anyone realised that she was not where she was expected to be and there would be a penalty exacted for her carelessness.

‘Please come,’ she breathed.  It would not be the first time he had left her standing and waiting.  She had told herself time and again that she should not indulge him and that, as long as she remained in hope of his eventual arrival, he would take her for granted, but she could not make herself leave.  Every time she stayed beyond hope: sometimes he came and more often he did not.  And every time she meant to tell him that she would not tolerate it any longer – but she knew she would.  He meant more to her than she did to him, she admitted.  She would take whatever terms he offered; however few the minutes, however grudged the time – and whatever he demanded of her, she would do. 

‘You are still here,’ he whispered disapprovingly from the dark, as if this was a test she was bound to fail, either by leaving before he graced her with his presence or by remaining when caution would have sent her home.

‘I was just about to leave,’ she apologised, longing for the sweet moment when he would take her in his arms and press his kiss on her lips.

He touched her, trailing his fingers down her cheek and lingering on her mouth before brushing down her throat.  She shuddered, a moment of ecstasy to reward her for her hours of tedium. ‘I am glad you waited,’ he said, taking her head between his hands and leaning in to take possession of her mouth.  ‘I need more information,’ he told her, moving back and gazing at her, even as his hand ran down her back and pulled her close to his warm body.  ‘I have a task for you.’

She shivered.  Every caress had a price, it seemed, but it did not matter.  Whatever it cost her, she would pay. 

 





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