Healing Hope

Chapter Eleven

A Looming Threat

“When did the future switch from being a promise to being a threat?” Chuck Palahniuk

The Hall of Fire in Imladris was as welcoming a room as was ever crafted by elven hands.  Born during the dark days of war and siege, when it did double duty as an infirmary as well as a meeting place for warriors and a makeshift cafeteria, over the years it had grown from a rowdy place of chaos to the peaceful gathering space it was now. 

Elves from all over the hidden valley would often dine in the Hall of Fire, chatting with friends, catching up on news, listening to musicians, poets or storytellers, or just sitting amicably in the presence of the Lord of Imladris himself.

This night, as always, cheerful flames danced and crackled in the huge fireplace which dominated one wall of the hall.  The light from the blaze was augmented by flickering torches arranged around the walls, casting deep shadows across the ceiling.  Scattered in small groups, the elves from Rivendell and those from Mirkwood lounged, ate, or talked softly.  In the corner two musicians strummed lyres and sang an enchanting melody. Their beautiful voices brought peace to the hearts of all who listened as a warm breeze caressed the gathered elves with the delicate scents from the flowers outside.

To the Silvan warriors of Mirkwood, who were used to the dark and dangerous forests of their homeland, this seemed like a small slice of Valinor itself.  It was not that the warriors did not love their home, for indeed they fought daily to defend her and to keep the evil from encroaching any further with its life sucking tendrils of darkness.

In Mirkwood the King’s palace and the residences of many of the elves was within a huge cave system.  Oh, it had been enlarged and skillfully crafted, as only the elves can do, so that its great hall resembled Greenwood the Great and so vast were the ceilings of the great hall that you could almost believe the sky beckoned from above.  The palace was as open and airy as possible, but it lacked one very important thing that Imladris had in great abundance…accessibility to the stars and soft, refreshing breezes.

So as the visiting warriors chatted amiably with the Noldor elves they relished the sweetly scented breezes and often stole outside to the terraces to gaze contentedly at the starlit night.

Accompanied by Falathar, Thranduil strode into the Hall of Fire with all the grace and assurance that only an elven king can possess.  This night the king had chosen the colors of Mirkwood itself in which to dress…the cool shades of greens and brown that symbolized the forest of home. His only concession to a different color was the sky blue under tunic visible only at the neck and sleeves. His cloak of deep green was secured at the throat by an emerald clasp and his mithril crown was dotted with emeralds (his signature stone) and andalucite, the warm brown stone found near the sea shores of Gondor.  His boots were brown suede that appeared so yielding as to be the next best thing to wearing nothing.

Immediately all of the Silvan elves rose from their seats and took a knee.  Their heads were bowed as the king entered.  The elves of Imladris, unused to such formality, were never-the-less aware of protocol and out of deference to their guests rose and bowed their heads in respect.  However, they did not take a knee, as that obedience would belong only to the Lord of Imladris, should he ever require it.

Once the king was seated at the head table all the elves retook their seats.  The musicians began to play again, having stopped in confusion at the grand entrance of the King of Mirkwood.  Not even the Lady of Light and Lord Celeborn received such obeisance when they visited, for they were family.  It was their daughter Celebrían who had life bonded with Lord Elrond and was the mother to Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen, who now resided in Lórien with her grandparents.

All of Imladris had loved the Lady Celebrían for her grace and gentleness, her generosity of spirit, and for the peace she brought into the life of their Lord.  When she was taken and put to the torment by orcs it was a bitter blow to the peaceful valley.  That she could no longer find any peace on Middle Earth and was forced for her own sake to sail to the West cast a pall on all who lived here…none more so than the beloved Lord of Imladris himself, Lord Elrond.

Even for beings so inherently merry as elves, it had taken many years for joy to return to the valley, and many more for the family to find any semblance of peace.  In the last four years, particularly, the rage that seemed to have overtaken the twins had abated as they focused their love and attention on Estel.

Estel, a cheerful bundle of energy had entered their lives in the middle of a bleak mid winter’s night, wrapped in a blood stained cloak carried by Elladan to his father.  The twins had been spending more and more of their time with the Rangers as orc attacks increased in frequency and ferocity.  In his foresight, the Lord of Imladris had seen that the evil one was rising to power again and seeking to destroy the line of Eärendil.

The child was given sanctuary here to be raised and cherished as a son of Elrond, and cherished he was, by all who came to know him.  It was Estel that brought life and laughter back into the Last Homely House as he taught the ancient, fair beings how to find joy again in such simple things as butterfly wings and lady bugs…in robin’s eggs and kittens, milk mustaches and the buttery softness of a sunshine blankey.  Estel was curious about everything and found joy in all as he explored life in the hidden valley.

Aware that he held the attention of all, Thranduil reclined as servers appeared with goblets of wine and platters of fresh fruit, cheese, and hot bread, fresh from the ovens.  Falathar sat by his king’s side, ever alert for signs of anything amiss.  A slight stirring from the gathered elves caught the king’s attention and he turned to see his son entering the room.

The sight of his green leaf brought an indulgent smile to the king’s face.  While Thranduil might be considered by many to be the most beautiful elf in Arda, Legolas had a beauty that was all his own.  It was the beauty of innocence and wonder, of loyalty and the compassion that marked his tender heart, and most of all, of the warmth of a fire on a winter’s eve.  To Thranduil, he was the living image of his lady mother, his beloved queen who had been consigned to Mandos’ Halls the very day she gave birth to their much anticipated green leaf.

Ah, thought Thranduil, ever the bitter sweet was embodied in his Legolas, for the king could not gaze upon his son without being touched by the bitterness of loss, and yet that same son brought such joy to his heart that he swelled with pride at the mere thought of him.

Following Legolas was Erestor.  Thranduil’s eyes narrowed as he considered the haughty seneschal.  What a warrior he had been!  What I could do with a warrior of his experience in Mirkwood, he further considered. 

Then the king noticed that Erestor was escorting a lovely elleth…a very lovely elleth.  She was a bit shorter than the average, but exceedingly fair of face, with shiny dark brown hair falling in waves to her slim waist. 

For the evening meal Sariboril had chosen a soft, shimmering gown of pearl grey with tiny embroidered roses in mauves and pinks accenting the neck and sleeves. The daringly low cut gown show-cased her creamy skin, and the form fitting cut accented his slim curves. The inside of the deep sleeves were a burgundy and that color also peeked out form the hem of the gown.

From around the room “ahs” of admiration could be heard from the gathered elves, particularly those of Imladris, for the feisty healer rarely bothered to change from her shapeless healing robes or loose her hair from the tightly woven and practical bun she customarily wore.

Thranduil’s eyes widened as he beheld the beauty that graced Erestor’s arm.  Gallantly he rose from his seat, causing Legolas nearly to trip from surprise.  Of course, once the king had risen, every warrior from Mirkwood sprang to his feet.

A slightly raised eyebrow was all the indication Sariboril gave that she had even taken note of the reaction to her arrival.  By her side, Erestor was nearly choking from suppressed laughter.  Oh but he would delight in regaling Glorfindel and the twins with this story.  He had never seen that haughty Thranduil’s beauty be outshone by anyone and yet here was Sariboril brining him to his feet like a love sick puppy.  Sariboril!

For his part, Thranduil relished surprising those around him and keeping them off their guard in so far as his actions were concerned.  His heart was still bound, as it always would be – for elves bonded for life – to his fair queen, but he could still enjoy the company of a beautiful elleth and actually enjoyed the chance to be a gallant dinner companion rather than the irascible king he might be at other times, for Thranduil Oropherion was a complicated being, his wit and natural personality had been honed early by bitterness and loss.

When he had assumed the throne upon his father’s death, he was forced to put aside the carefree tenderness of youth and don the demeanor of a fierce king, for truly his people were on the verge of collapse and had not he ruled with a will of iron, Mirkwood might not have survived.  Over the years he had simply grown used to the extreme formality his office required, as had his people. In truth, he rather enjoyed it now, and what was the harm…it served its purpose.

All this and more flashed through the king’s mind as he watched the arrival of Legolas and this beautiful elleth.  That she was being escorted by the seneschal was a minor inconvenience.  He bowed graciously to the lady, ignoring the look of astonished amusement on his son’s face.  “My lady.”

Erestor was turning an interesting shade of puce.

Sariboril dipped her head to the magnificent king.  The healer’s eye noted the fairness of his countenance.  So the rumors of his beauty had not been exaggerated.  She was greatly amused by the expressions of awe on the faces of the elves of Imladris.  She had, after all, lived here for centuries.  Oh, I really must come out of healer’s mode more often she thought, only to veto the idea a second later as frivolous.  She had found her niche here and she liked it.

“King Thranduil,” said Erestor, “my I present Sariboril.  She will act as hostess this evening in our Lord’s absence.”

“My lady,” said the king again.  He took her arm and led her to the seat beside him, effectively nudging Legolas – to his great amusement – one seat over.

Sariboril smiled.  “Please call me Sariboril, your highness.”  The mellowness of her voice was musical to the ear. Beside her she could hear Legolas choke on his wine.  Normally, of course, she would never bother with a title, but she was rather caught up in the delight of surprising those elves who had known her for so long.  There was far more to this fair being than the feisty healer they were accustomed to and perhaps it was time she show them.

“Sariboril,” echoed the king ignoring Erestor, “a beautiful name for a beautiful elleth.”

Oh, this was too good, thought Erestor, who seemed completely forgotten.  As much as anything was his astonishment at the apparent change of the normally acid tongued healer - the terror of the healing wing - into this mellow and deferential hostess.  If he wasn’t seeing it and hearing it with his own two eyes and ears, he would never have believed it possible.

O-o-O-o-O

Upstairs in the family healing rooms, Elrond sat in a rocking chair holding his sleeping child.  Elrohir had brought Estel’s sunshine blankey and draped it over the boy’s sleeping form.  Elladan and Glorfindel sat on the end of the bed nearest to the rocker.

“How is he, Ada,” asked Elladan.  “What injuries does he have besides the arm?”

Elrond gifted his youngest with a kiss to his forehead before answering. “You were correct that he has broken ribs. I have bound those, but they will be quite sore for some time to come.  The arm, of course, was the worst injury.  He has numerous cuts and bruises, but we are fortunate that he survived falling into the Bruinen. 

Elladan sighed.  “What about the mud?”

Elrond considered his answer.  “Estel is at risk for infection from the mud, it is true, but he is healthy and should be able to fight off the infection with our help.”

Glorfindel sat nodding beside Elladan.  “Until Estel came here, I never appreciated the risks taken by the Edain warriors who fought beside us in the war.  Not only did they face the same enemy as we, but their bodies were far more susceptible to the privation and filthy conditions than ours were.”

The admission brought a smile to Elrond’s face.  “I remember the first time Elros became ill after choosing the way of the second born.  His first mate sailed into the port at Lindon almost frantic to reach me.  Elros had never before been ill and was certain that he was dying.”

Elladan perked up at the smile on his father’s face.  “Was Uncle Elros very ill, Ada?”

“No,” laughed Elrond, “he had a head cold.”

The trio shared a fond chuckle at Elrond’s memory of his brother.  It was good to see him be able to share such a memory, for it had taken many centuries for Elrond to recover from the choice of his twin to follow the way of the second born and the severing of the bond between the twins.

“Look,” said Elladan suddenly.  He gestured towards Estel’s eyes.  Behind his closed lids the eyes were moving back and forth.”

“He is dreaming,” responded Elrond.  “It is nothing to fear.”

O-o-O-o-O

Inside his dream Estel found himself once again in fog…or clouds or mist, he wasn’t sure which.  This time he remembered his Ada’s words and did not fear the mist.  His kittens were with him in his dream.  He could hear them purring as he tickled their soft, furry tummies.

“Aragorn”

Estel raised his head from where he played with the tiny felines.  It was the same voice he heard before, but why did it call that name?  It was a similar to a name he had heard his gwadors use, but not the same. 

“Aragorn, where are you?  Tell me where you are that I may come for you.”

Estel wondered if he should respond.  Perhaps he could help the voice find the one it sought.  He started to answer, but something held him back. 

The voice seemed to move closer, surrounding him.  “Are you Aragorn?”

Estel did not answer but felt a smile from the voice, which was very confusing, for how did one feel a smile?

Yet, impossibly, the voice did smile as its owner felt the truth revealed to him.  This was the heir, even if he did not confirm it.  The brown robed one felt a bolt of excitement shiver down his spine.  He had done it.  How the master would reward him!  Now, he must find the location…he must!

“I have been looking for you Aragorn…”

“Estel, awaken son.”  A gentle and much loved voice penetrated the fog.  “Estel, you are dreaming.  Awaken.”

From his Ada’s arms Estel began to stir.  His eyes blinked sleepily as he awakened to the softness of his blankey and the strength and protection of his Ada’s arms.   

“Welcome back, Estel,” Elrond smiled.  “You have had quite an adventure.”

Estel stiffened as the memory of his fear returned.  “The bad elf, Ada.”

“No Estel,” assured Elrond. “The bad elf did not return. It was Legolas and his Adar that you saw.  They rode in with many of their warriors.”

“Hello, tithen pen,” said Glorfindel. “I am most happy to see you awake.  You must trust your Ada when he tells you that Quenthar will never return from Mandos’ Halls.”

Those impossibly silver eyes regarded the golden warrior solemnly.  “You did.”

Glorfindel gasped in surprise.  It had never occurred to any of them to explain the extreme circumstances of Glorfindel’s return….indeed had not occurred to any of them that Estel would fear the same for Quenthar.  No wonder he feared all blonde elves.  “Oh Estel, forgive me. I had forgotten how literally a child sees the world around him.”

“What’s lit-trl,” asked the boy sleepily. 

“Never mind that now,” said Elrond.  “Just know that Quenthar will never return.  Never, Estel.”

“Hello, little love,” smiled Elladan, reaching out to stroke the child’s cheek.

Estel’s face clouded and his eyes grew red with tears.

Elladan was stricken.  “Estel, what is wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Dan.”

Elrond, sensing the emotions within Elladan, stood and shifted the child into Elladan’s arms.  “I must see about some tea for this young one.”

Elladan sat down in the rocker and regarded his brother seriously. “Tell me, little love.  Why are you sorry, and why do you look so sad?  You are safe and that is all that matters.”

“C, Celos,” sniffed the child.  “It’s my fault he’s dead.  He fought the boar to save me, and I saw what it did to him.”  He turned his face into his brother’s chest as the tears began to flow in earnest.

“Estel,” Elladan said gently, “Celos is not dead.”

Estel turned watery eyes to his brother’s face.  “He’s not?”

“He’s right in the stable with Celon,” said Elrohir, who could not stand to remain quiet any longer and wanted his chance to soothe his little brother.

Estel turned his head to smile at the twin.  “Really?”

“Really,” assured Elrohir.  “When you are stronger we will take you out to see for yourself.”

“In the mean time, I want you to drink this,” said Elrond, who was just walking in from his adjoining apothecary.

Estel’s eyes grew wide and he quickly turned his head back into Elladan’s chest. His little head shook back and forth.

“I’m afraid we won’t be able to convince him that Elrohir made the tea this time,” laughed the twin, referring to their long standing way of convincing Estel to drink Ada’s disgusting tea by putting lots of honey in it. 

“Don’t want it,” said the stubborn little voice, muffled by Elladan’s chest.

“Estel,” said Elrond, “I put honey in the tea, and I want you to drink it.”

There was no mistaking the tone of that voice, so Estel reluctantly turned back to accept the tea.  Elladan helped him to sit up and held the cup for the boy.

In between sips, Estel remembered to tell his Ada what he had forgotten.  “The voice came again Ada.”

“What voice,” said Elrond patiently as he watched Estel to be sure he drank all the medicated tea.

“The one in the fog…”

Elrond had forgotten the voice that Estel had mentioned from his fever induced nightmares while buried alive.  He had assumed that it was all a figment of the raging fever that had gripped the child.  “What did it say, Estel?”

“It was calling for someone…someone named Air-gorn.”

Elrond’s blood ran cold at those simple words.  He exchanged a quick look with Glorfindel.  The name Aragorn was not one that Estel would ever remember being called.  So how did he now hear this name in his sleep?

“What did you say?” questioned Elladan, who had also realized that Estel would not recognize his Edain name.  For his own safety they had never used it.  The evil one ever sought to end the line of Eärendil…had sought to destroy the line for years until the Rangers could not even keep a permanent encampment but rather had to continually live on the run.  The last permanent encampment of the Rangers had been the one led by Arathorn, Estel’s biological father.

“Air-gorn,” repeated Estel, unaware of the terror his words had struck into the elves.  “The voice kept asking for Air-gorn and it …it smiled and it asked me where I was.”  Estel had forgotten that part until just now.  He yawned hugely as the tea began to work its magic.

“Let’s get you into bed,” said Elrond, seeing the yawn.  He nodded at Elladan to cut off the question the twin had been about to ask Estel.  “We will speak more of this when the child sleeps” he added softly so that only the other elves could hear.

Elladan rose and laid the boy on to the soft sheets of the adjoining bed.  Elrohir had pulled back the cover and now tucked the child in.  Elladan also layered on the buttery soft yellow blanket that was Estel’s favorite.  “I will stay with him,” he volunteered, though he really wanted to hear the discussion that was about to take place, he knew that Elrohir would tell him all that was said.

Elrond nodded, too preoccupied by his thoughts to even respond.  In truth, fear had entered his heart…fear for Estel.  Evil was afoot, and Elrond needed to find out from what source it came.  The shadow of threat was growing in his mind.

TBC