Chiaroscuro - AnnEllspethRaven - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

{1 Laer Imladris, May 23 Gregorian, T.A. 3017}

“What shall we do together?” Nenni asked Amaranthine. Holding her daughter, they stared together out the double doors sealed tight – magically tight even, for some days the King had odd feelings and forbade the opening of them to stand on the balcony and she did not protest.. The clutches of winter seemed to have little intention of releasing their grasp on the forest outside at times, but inside Galion had been instructed that no chill should come upon the room. Later Glorfindel and Erestor would join them here for lunch but right now it was mid-morning. Thranduil wished to be King today; she might be Queen tomorrow, such activity had helped with regaining a sense of normalcy after far too many unfortunate interpersonal occurrences. Right now, though, was their special time.

“Wanta draw.”

“An excellent choice. Are you hungry?”

“Liddle.”

“Soft fruit, or milk?”

“Milk.”

“I can do that.”

Amaranthine giggled. They both thought it funny, when a breast was brought out of the soft fabric of her tunic. The child always was gentle, which seemed so different than the horrifying things she recalled hearing about human kids. ‘Nipple biter’ was ….no. Just, no. There was ‘biting the hand that feeds you’ and then there was that . Well, anyway. The kid was her kind of weird, thank Varda and all of her stars. And she knew how to properly nurse. Was this the start of that thing where every mother thought their kid was the most talented at everything, up to and including farting? Hopefully not.

By the time the snack had been accomplished, so had been gathering up art supplies. Nenni no longer fretted about the use of some paper, now that she had become passably good at making their own for playtime or their own art fun.

“How do you want to draw, Cheshire girl? Are you driving?”

“Nuh-uh. You, Nana.” Amaranthine struggled with the coordination to make certain sorts of art at this still very young age. Some days she wanted to take the brush or pen or whatever and make the markings; other days she wanted to tell Nana what to do, like conducting a musical performance. Nana would try; it wasn’t like she was exactly Michelangelo herself. It hardly mattered; they enjoyed the effort.

“Mmmmmkay. What is your vision today? Colors?”

“Nuh-uh. Is ‘Restor vizshun. No colors cuz he can’t see ‘dem.”

“We are going to draw with...charcoal? So that what we draw is like how Erestor sees? Shadows? Shadows of things?”

“Yeah.”

“I like it. Something new!”

“Uh-huh. Diizziz down da Rabbid Hole.”

Uh-oh. The Rabbit Hole could get really goddamn weird. But this was how it had been, even before Amaranthine could talk. When one day she told her about Wonderland, both found themselves together in a place of complete clarity. Because that wasn’t worrisome, or anything. “What am I drawing?”

“You. But not you. Gots to be like the odder you. Like when you look in the looking-glass real long, you see the other (she slowed down to enunciate very carefully, here) you. You never do dat?”

“Ohhhh I think I understand. Okay. Um…’kay we might need to go stare in the glass?”

“‘Kay.”

Returning, Nenni took the charcoal and drew, and smudged, and drew according to her daughter’s indications. Amaranthine pointed, made small comments. Both finally regarded the strange creation.

“Is that it?”

“Yeah. Dazzz it. Dazzz da way. You hafta go dere.”

Nenni blinked. “What good does it do?”

“Dazz how ‘Restor sees. Dazz how evvyone sees.”

“This looks like Jabberwocky.”

“She kills da Jabberwock. But dere’s problems.”

One of the terrible, soul-freezing sensations that had settled on her at punctuated times in her life was trying very hard to do so now. f*ck off. It had worked before. However…

“What kind of problems?”

Amaranthine peered up at her. See da scratches, an’ see no eyes? Things happen. Da Jubjub bird, an’ da Bannersnach.”

Staring hard at the drawing that had all the cheer of a Käthe Kollwitz portrait, an attempt was made at clarification. “You mean, the Jubjub bird and the frumious Bandersnatch get her?”

“Yeah. Dazz right. But she gets help. Dere’s two vorpal swords. Two’zz bedder dan one, right, Nana?”

“Yes. Two is better than one.”

The latch clicked in the outer room. Had that much time gone by? Crap. “Hîradar is here, I think. Shall we greet him?”

“Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Shrieking, the child climbed off her lap and ran from the room as if the previous conversation had not happened. Nenni gave the artwork a last glance, and made the split-second decision to turn it upside down. This was something no part of her wanted to explain to Glorfindel. Whether she wanted even to discuss this with Thranduil remained to be seen...it needed to settle. More than anything, she needed to wash her hands, which were black with charcoal.

Once she had departed the room, Beren raised his head and slithered off of what had long, long ago been Nenni’s bed. Now it was Amaranthine’s bed, but really every bed was his bed, who was anyone kidding? Using his nose, he nudged the paper off of the desk and onto the floor. Wagging, he pinned it with one giant paw and proceeded to tear it into tiny, tiny little bits. Plott hound confetti. Once it was roughly one hundred-fifty three bits of soot and cream paper with slobber on top scattered all over, he sauntered off to see if Erestor had brought him a tidbit. His work here was done.

{11 Laer - 29 Laer Imladris, June 2-20 Gregorian T.A. 3017}

Everyone could agree the celebration of the King's aur en onnad marking the start of spring had been splendid. The day of treats and fun seemed never ending, possibly because of the small princess stealing hearts and sighs every which way. His daughter riding the hound proved more than Thranduil could have hoped for because the giant dog refused to misbehave. No running nor even a trot; only the most sensible of behavior from Nana's best friend. In this way Amaranthine could show Erestor all the special flowers and delicacies, just the two of them, and chatter perhaps a little too noisily about her present for Ada that Nana helped her make -- an Ada picture on a tray made of fresh vegetables and fruits, and he could eat it when he was done looking at it. The expression on her husband's face...surely Glorifindel had it in his powers to share the image with Erestor, or life would simply have been too cruel.

Spring wore into a familiar pattern of days in which after an initial flurry of excitement to return to Imladris, Erestor sobered and settled, having discussed at length with both Glorfindel and Nenni together the merits and potential pitfalls of a proposed return. This also included private communication with Lord Elrond and only the ellyn. Nothing that reached her ears indicated that anything said encouraged Erestor’s return to the valley. If anything, the kind Elflord seemed more than willing to let the nonsense that had ensnared almost all of his family and his heads of staff play itself out, with the understanding that should matters remain the same as autumn time approached, that his sons would at least return to the valley. There was quiet discussion of Legolas potentially joining the twins should this eventuality manifest itself, to offset at least some of the loss of personnel. It was also thought a good opportunity, perhaps, to give the prince exposure to a different form of military thinking; Imladris was wholly different terrain than their forest.

All of it seemed moot, however, when Erestor had decided to stay and Glorfindel with him. That is, until he did not. Mid-May, strong melancholy possessed him and he became mired in thoughts of being a burden and needing to return some, seemingly out of nowhere and for no reason. The cautious optimism Nenni had oh-so tentatively allowed herself to try on for size, (all the while having punctuated arguments with the Little Voice about the vanity of it all that at least ended in stalemates), retreated behind a heavy curtain of characteristic non-emotion. In her private retreat with Amaranthine and Beren, thought, Glorfindel’s advice was taken. The rich fantasyland of her mind opened to her daughter. Stories, tales, rhymes and music; nothing was particularly omitted save the parts that fell under shadow. Sometimes Thranduil or the others joined them. Thranduil believed that Amaranthine understood innately what his wife did not reveal. Glorfindel for his part noted that the child was ‘unusual.’

Thaliel...that was more complicated. Thranduil had been right, as he so annoyingly often was. Adonnenniel admitted she battled demons of irrational (or not) hurt and betrayal on two fronts. That while it was grossly unfair to hold one misplaced speech against her gwathel to such extent, the Chameleon was alive and well. Thranduil knew, Thaliel did not. To Nenni’s mind it was a cruelty she could not control and there was a hope that with enough time it would bleed off, just as the ire with Glorfindel had been slowly doing...something...to account for the reality that these were still her loved ones and not the spectres of her past. So Thaliel saw whatever act Nenni wished her to. Enough of the ‘real her’ to make it seem as though all was well enough. ‘Bonding with her daughter’ but the trips to the edge of the Galaxy and the sensual garden and the hunter’s mind...oh hell no. Glorfindel saw as well, and dared not interfere because he for once fully comprehended he had not the foggiest idea how.

It seemed so godawful to say but...Amaranthine was not what she expected. Yes there were ways in which she was just...a child. Ada’s girl. And all the joy he had hoped for was his, once again. But she had another facet, all of purple and however one wished to say it, it had a channel set to her frequency. That this had come to be was beyond her wildest hopes, and more. Then, what was her routine burned on a silent pyre; the day came for Erestor’s departure.

Dawn broke with no reason for joy. Glorfindel, the twins, Legolas, and Nenni with Erestor seated behind her moved in near silence through the early morning mists. Thranduil had seen them off, holding their sleeping daughter. She, Legolas, Beren and the few extra Woodland guard chosen for the assignment had been gone for weeks; they would see their extended family safely over the Anduin before returning home. The most precious one, Erestor, had resolved not to remain as 'a burden' from which erroneous belief he could not be dissuaded. While neither Glorfindel nor Adonnenniel understood his sudden urgency to depart when not so long before he was determined to remain and see them reconcile baffled them. Father and daughter had managed to come to a peace of sorts and now Erestor would not stay....and it was agreed neither would Glorfindel, though Erestor would not learn that until at the edge of the forest.

Of course she had her father had spoken of it. Deep inside, uncertainty ran amok. Was this better, or worse? A part of her did not want him to leave at all, another part did not wish him to stay, and a vast swath in between vacillated more than the pendulum in a grandfather clock. All of it took place amidst a sense of emotional desolation. Every glance at the great grace and beauty of Glorfindel still could not erase the knowledge of having been so disregarded and overrun.

Conversations, conversations, too many goddamn conversations, thank f*cking all the Powers for the moment when she could pull on the trappings of returning to motion. The black clothing, leather and armor, blades strapped in place, pausing for her husband to work her hair into a suitable fighting style before adding the diadem that declared her rank.. Bare necessities were stuffed into a satchel that would attach to Tálagor's saddle; food and water skins traveled in like manner.

Erestor stood taller, thus their arrangement on Tálagor's back. Nenni insisted that Erestor have a hand at all times on something -- the leather straps of her scabbards, belt, holding her outright around the waist, she cared not so long as the counselor had some secure attachment to her at all times. Fortunately, previous mishaps had cowed him into a disinclination to protest even before his present misfortunes. He did not resist, but seemed to take comfort in holding onto her. Often she would hold his hand or arm in turn as her mood blackened with the passing leagues. Her little family; everything had been so wonderful until it was not. What else was new? Just as well she could spend these days casting her mental venom to the forest, where hopefully she could leave it. Going home would be to husband and daughter, how strange that still sounded. Little lamprey liked her, and she liked little lamprey. They understood each other in some way, though what kind of parent she was or would be...still very uncertain.

Had Glorfindel really done so much bad? Sure, he'd been a total dick (may the Valar pardon her assessment of their blessed Emissary) but he had genuinely been one from a place of love, not narcissistic self-absorption and because he was a lying, entitled sonofabitch. He was paying for what That Asshole had done, that piece of work that believed he had the right to take away my identity, my family, my place in this world not for a short time but for all time. But you didn't win...you only thought you did...

"Adonnenniel?" Erestor whispered. "Is everything well?"

"Fine, why?"

"Your whole body, you were becoming so stiff...."

"Oh, I am sorry. My mind drifted." Nenni grasped his hands. "Teach me something, Erestor?"

"Oh no. I do not think so. You teach me something. Tell me of the animal life of your world. What of creatures that live in very cold places?"

"Uhh....alright, Master. There are leopard seals...." Because of course you would think of something that was a gaggle of teeth with fins attached. And connected to the Shackleton Expedition, the sh*tshow of all sh*tshows.

So it went for the days needed to reach the edge of the forest and near to Anduin, the Great River. This was the end of the Elf Path, where they turned south and followed the forest's edge for many leagues until they intersected with the Old Forest Road not far past Rhosgobel. That road would take them in turn to the ruins of the ancient bridge that once brought the armies of Gil-galad south to Mordor. Now it was but a ford -- Old Ford -- and still the only crossing for a very long way. Then the road up to the High Pass which at this point in summer would have been long open. At least travel at this time eliminated any chance of the much longer and circuitous journey south to the Redhorn Pass. For their sake, with Erestor in their care, all would pray that their travel was swift and uneventful.

The shadows lengthened toward dark and the time of parting was drawing near. Glorfindel told them to stop and make camp; they were very close to the Old Forest Road. Tomorrow those going to Imladris would ford the river early and attempt the climb into the mountain passes. With a sense of heartbreak, Nenni held more tightly to Erestor's hands. Pull yourself together, goddammit. You cannot do this to him. She knew that Legolas...knew. Had watched and waited patiently, and would be a comfort for her on the return home. No, he did not understand every complexity of her trouble with Glorfindel or her closeness with the Scholar. It was not necessary, in order to see strain and conflict. One shared glance of understanding between her and her son; that was her last clear memory.

They came from nowhere; seemingly from the earth itself and there were a great many of them with a well-planned strategy. Tethered together, Erestor and Nenni were struck by several small darts. There was no time to do anything, think anything. Her vision blurred at once, sound distorted, The elk moved away swiftly, and there was noise...

**

" FIND THEM!!" Glorfindel roared.

"Hîradar with respect, she is my mother! Do you imagine I am not working to that end?!" Legolas returned, wholly exasperated. For two hours now since the brief, intense and confusing skirmish, the Prince and the Woodland Guard that had traveled with them had retraced every step, studied every print and sign of passage. Elladan and Elrohir, with their not inconsiderable tracking skills, had done the same while working even harder to evade the Elflord's ire. None of it would change the inevitable conclusion. Elk, hound, Queen and Counselor were as vanished as if they had never existed. Finally the sons of Elrond said what no one wanted but someone needed to.

"We know this is difficult, but we think it wise to take counsel. Our efforts here are unlikely to have any different result."

"Do you mean give up on them?" Legolas asked angrily.

"No, but we cannot continue to do this and expect a different outcome," Elrohir pointed out. "Beren vanished. Was he killed? Knocked out? Left in pursuit? A dog has senses we do not. We have no birds or beasts to help us. Tálagor is gone; also strange. Did he carry them to safety elsewhere in the forest? It is a very large forest. Better than anything, the elk knows the way to the Halls and to safety. For all we know they are all racing there as we speak."

"That....is possible," Legolas admitted. "And Beren would have stayed with Nana."

"It is just as possible that they were captured and spirited away," Glorfindel pointed out. "And you are forgetting the hound cannot be killed."

"Always Lord Cheerful," Elladan grumbled under his breath.

"What did you say?" Glorfindel asked.

"Nothing."

"Do not lie to me, Elladan!" the sapphire eyes flashed, gearing up for a worse tirade.

"Stop! Please stop!" Legolas pleaded. "She did not want to show it but it broke her heart that you all were going home. So would this conversation, hearing this fighting and bickering among the people she loves most. Can we not do better than this? For her?"

Elladan looked away. "I apologize, Glorfindel. I did not really want to return to Imladris yet but I wished to make Lord Erestor happy. I know you are hurting too and I am sorry."

Glorfindel nodded and to everyone's surprise, went to Elladan and held him close. "I am also sorry. Please...make camp. There are some other things. Both my daughter and Erestor can speak to me at a distance. That they are not doing so leads me to believe they cannot. They are either underground, unconscious, or both. Either way they cannot help us find them and without Beren as well we have no current solutions until daylight can yield more information. There is only informing Thranduil and Lord Elrond of what has happened."

"No," Legolas insisted. "Not yet. Let me be there for my father. I am afraid....I am afraid he will feel like it is happening all over again."

"What do you mean?"

It was as close as Legolas ever came to snapping at Glorfindel, but his patient calm stopped that from happening. He had never seen. "You did not know my father in the many years of his despair. When my mother was lost the first time I was about the same age Amaranthine is now." Turning away, he searched out wood for a fire. His heart told him there was little need of caution. Those who had come had taken what they already wanted. A numbness had settled over him. No, he was not stupid -- he knew what had happened to the mother of Elladan and Elrohir but this was not that. It could not be. Nothing about this made any sense. Nana, there was just something about her and....she needed to be alright for his father's sake. Surely the Valar could not be so cruel? He would have to do more, much more; he would give his best.

**

Daylight brought no better counsels and their searches still proved in vain. The three younger elves waited for Glorfindel to admit to the obvious. Four of the most skilled trackers of their people could not find a trace. After the lesson of the cavern all of them felt little doubt that caverns were how this had been accomplished, but without the senses of a dog how were they to have any chance? The nearest dogs were back at Thranduil's Halls, days away. Days for the trail to go cold and yet they must still try. There was nothing else for it. "Go," Legolas told them. "We will do what we can. Please give our regards to Lord Elrond; we will reach out to you when we learn of anything at all, Glorfindel. May the rest of your travel be swift and safe."

"My plans have changed," the golden Lord regarded Elladan and Elrohir sadly. "I am sorry but while they remain missing my greater fear is for Thranduil. I do not rightly know what I am doing but I also cannot return to Imladris with Erestor lost. I could not live with myself."

"We understand. We will tell Adar, Glorfindel. If you wish it we will remain with you."

"I thank you but No." Each of their foreheads was kissed in blessing.

"That is a beautiful stallion," Legolas remarked.

"He is," Glorfindel smiled weakly. "A most generous gift from your father."

"Has he a name?"

"Asfaloth."

They were just about to mount their horses when they heard elven-horns blown on the other side of the great river, and saw the banner of Imladris carried.

"What on earth...?" Elladan asked, seeing the first horses step into the ford.

Glorfindel too frowned mightily. "Those are Lord Elrond's personal guard. I would know..." His words cut short. "Elrond knows. He foresaw." May he somehow pardon me , was what he could not speak aloud.

"They are coming to meet us," Elrohir observed, deciding they might as well walk nearer the river-ford.

"We will linger back here," Legolas offered courteously, waiting with those under his command. "Fare well until next we meet." Still his sharp eyes peered in all directions for any hint of where his mother or Erestor or Beren could have vanished to without success. So intent was he that he barely remarked when Glorfindel did not return alone. An eyebrow raised.

Glorfindel's expression seemed quite pained, as though he had eaten far too much fruit and now could not cope with the ensuing onslaught of flatus. "Prince Legolas, may I introduce to you the esteemed ellon Lord Elrond has sent to be an aid to the Woodland Realm in this difficult time. He is expert at a great number of administrative functions and excels at the most exacting work."

"We gratefully appreciate your assistance, Lord...pardon me, I was not told your name?" Legolas returned.

The ellon bowed, very properly. "Prince Legolas Thranduilion. I am Thanadir Feredîrion, and it is my privilege to serve you. I was sent with letters of greetings and explanations to be tendered to his Royal Majesty Thranduil Oropherion, ruler of Greenwood the Great. It was his wish and mine that everything be found to be as seemly as possible." Another bow.

"Thank you, Thanadir," Legolas held his hand over his heart in their traditional greeting. "You will find us somewhat less formal outside our Halls, especially at this exact moment. We were ambushed last night at dusk and intend to hasten back to take counsel with my father. At least, if Lord Glorfindel concurs."

Thanadir's eyes lowered. "Please accept my sincere condolences. Though I am often used for administrative assistance my blade is also at your service should the need arise, Lords." Only then did they notice that he wore simple armor of leather under his outer clothing; presumably a weapon hid somewhere as well.

Glorfindel had grown impatient with the niceties. "We ride. Now."

Chapter 2: The Spire of Isengard

Chapter Text

"...couldn't stop, didn't have time..."

“What do you mean, you didn’t have time? Were you or were you not hours and hours on the river?”

“Yeah, but...there were...reasons.”

"You kept them under for more than five days without letting them wake? No water at all? You miserable, snivelling fool!"

"Got them here, didn't we? Nothing wrong with 'em, so give them some water if it's a problem, see?"

Cursing in a strange tongue, sounds of an altercation in the near distance, yelling, ‘you’ll pay for this!’ to which all the nascent thoughts of an addled mind could respond were, sure f*cking hope...rot...all of you falls in the partsa… images of men walking filled her mind that walked but their limbs disarticulated and decomposed as they moved. Hatred, hatred for them roared...

In a deep haze, Nenni felt the burn of water running up into her sinuses then down her throat the wrong way, struggling to cough but nothing worked,,, the ringing sound of a fearful yell, a blow falling hard, noise, sounds bent like funhouse mirrors. Fat and thin the weird little tinkerings were maybe the choking tasted better with jingle bells, so hard to tells... a swell passed through just then and lifted up the ship, but at least the sea was not choppy today. There was only the thirst, becalmed for seventy days and the water cask run dry.

Strong hands turned her so the water drained away back out of her head and nicer hands had a wet cloth soaked in clean water and it was placed in her mouth. Over and over, and that had to have been the most ice cream ever eaten in a single day. Seriously, mint chip, the entire gallon, and none saved for anyone. Suck suck swallow suck suck swallow and every now and then there was a way to nibble a bite of the sugar cone. All this naturally was exhausting but finally when the mint chip was done she could move on to the real deal, milkshakes. Except some of the haze lifted and the lovely triple chocolate mocha mousse turned out to be a crummy bowl of water someone was holding for her. Water. Four gallons might not be enough; how she thirsted and so ill. The water had to come faster but it could not. Not just dehydrated but sick with drugs and sick and disoriented and "Reshtor?" she called out.

"Quiet," Whoever had the water kneed her, but not too roughly. No part of that held any meaning save the absence of Erestor.

"Errshtor?" Another louder attempt, the bleat of a goat how could that be? ugh, and there might have been another Quiet, did it matter? Maybe he was not close enough, and could not hear her. Singer Think. Singer thingers. Overfilling her lungs with air in protest against all the drugs given to keep her unconscious, Nenni projected an ugly sounding name through bone dry sinuses with resonance that cracked and wavered but in no way lacked for volume. An oliphaunt would have been proud: "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRREEEEESSSSSSTOOOOOOOOOORRR!!" Moreover, her ears thought they caught the softest moan in a familiar timbre not so far away.

"Bitch! I said quiet! Shut your worthless mouth!" A hard slap fell against her cheek, one side then the other. The force of it moved her head easily from side to side, and like a spark to a keg of powder exploding the ammo depot soon followed. Now she was the child being slapped across the room because DumpsterDad was pissed about something he...whoa on the reasons, those were for making sense. Drugged, delusional, the sheer anger forced her eyes open for the first time to blurred images of a barely lit dark room. Where her assailant even was, who knew.

A feral sound grew out of the unlocked cellar of unrequited rage; a snarl followed by animal wails of pain escalating rapidly to screams well beyond the top of her singer's range. Had the Úlauri come? They tore at her throat, and a certain pleasure came to her in noticing that somehow they rang, echoed, reverberated in a way they should not have. Where in hell were they, for that to be acoustically possible? The pain of the sound pierced the thirst and somehow this made something worth something triumphant. But the thirst. And Erestor…the man shook and slapped at her more; further provocation but then he dropped her.

For reasons inexplicable the Little Voice said, stop screaming.

How could it possibly be heard with all that racket? No idea.

Light, more light came in, a door opening? For a moment she returned to speaking queries badly spoken "Errrrrstr"s, oblivious of her condition until a copper salty taste that must be running from her nose provided more liquid on her parched lips and tongue. Every uncoordinated effort was made to lick it away.

"Erestor is here," the most musically elegant voice ever to grace her ears told. "Something my witless servant could have told you, but it appears he lacks basic manners. I do apologize for this inexcusable circ*mstance. Is that why you shouted? Because you wished to know the whereabouts of your companion?"

At once she nodded to the voice and the spinning room, knowing she maybe should not talk or be contrary or...something? A voice, a voice, so pleasantly able, like a hundred of Thranduil on a summer’s day with wine. Breakfast wine, not the other such musical magical mystery able table gable fable Only one voice could be so able… oh sh*t. A single shock of terror passed through and departed just as quickly...what now? The wizard had finally won, somehow won somehow won somehow howitty how wow wow brown cow. Too bad he'd gotten the booby prize, Nutsy Nana. "Please, let me take care of him." Which of course came out as, "Plzsh lme takkrev imm." Long fingers turned her head up; blurred and dessicated eyes blinked against the sight of white.

"You two. Bring the other elf to be next to her. Then they are to be given water then food until they are recovered. If I find they have been mistreated there will be my displeasure. And you are to come along, and explain how it is that you could not manage something so simple as aiding rescued captives? Do you know who she is, you colossal fool, that you have raised your hand to her? There are times when I -- ." The heavy door shut.

Like I believe you you you kangaroo, Nenni thought, but nothing mattered when moments later the slumping form of Erestor was propped against her and she could place an arm around his shoulder, attempting to support him. What seemed like a long time later, hours on hours from the feel of it, during which small spoonfuls of water were almost constantly given to each of them, she graduated to having the strength to drink from a small cup needing constant refilling. Still too parched to talk aloud, she at least had her brother. Are you alright?

Getting better. Thank you for what you are doing.

Much of it is not me. There are two older boys. Teenagers. Fourteen years I would guess? They have not yet grown facial hair but will soon. They seem afraid. Not of us. Of everything.

I do not know what to say. I feel exhausted. Thirsty and hungry but so much more thirsty.

Something went wrong. We were abducted. I believe we are in Orthanc, Erestor. Prisoners of Saruman though some nonsense was said about us being rescued captives. I heard someone say we were kept drugged for five days.

But...we are not drugged now? Surely we can call Glorfindel, he will hear us? Someone will come?

Silence.

Adonnenniel?

This...my head...not clear at all. So maybe...not the right time to discuss this. But...you were all going to Imladris. Him too. All the things...still not right, between us, Glorfindel and I, reached a sort of an...imperfect repair concerning his actions toward me. It is indescribably hard for me to turn to him in some ways right now. I was doing better toward him and then you were all leaving. I became upset again. Because... She stopped, feeling sadness and upset wash over her. Not now.

I know all that is not rational. There is more though; in my heart I believe we could not succeed. We are in the Wizard's Vale and I just do not think the message could get through, so to speak. Maybe I am wrong but if I were Saruman I would be jamming all the signals. He is powerful, certainly he should be aware of Glorfindel's abilities. Then again maybe it is not possible to jam the signals. What do I know? Nothing stops you from trying, Erestor. You are older, and probably more practiced at skills of thought than me; anyone should be.

Erestor considered this. Or tried to. He had, he suspected, possibly received less of the drugs than his companion and under the steady intake of water felt not well but better. I will need some time to think. You will need to be my eyes. These young men, they are still bringing water to my mouth; it is embarrassing. I can drink on my own if someone fills the cup...

Let them do as they are. Pretend you are weaker than you are. For now, until we are alone. They do not know that you lack sight. Not yet. I do not want them to know. I am afraid for you. I want them to believe you are able to defend yourself physically. Maybe I am babbling. I cannot think straight...

There may be some merit to what you say. Certainly there is no harm. How do you feel?

Dessicated. Like I may never be able to drink enough water.

One young man took up the cloth that was in use earlier by the one that had earned who they believed to be the wizard's displeasure and carefully began to clean Nenni's bleeding nose. "I am so sorry," he said in the barest whisper. "I will care for you as best as I can. Gríma is heartless and will have us punished for any reason. The wizard is very powerful but we are nobody, beneath his notice. Still we are careful when he is near. We try to think of nothing but how great he is."

Nenni did not respond. Is it a trick?

I think you can trust him, Erestor told. We have no allies here. They are prisoners too. Compulsory servants. A nice word for slaves that are treated well. It may aid us to appear weaker than we are. Let them care for us.

"Thank you," she whispered thickly. "You are kind."

The heavy door opened again, beckoning, and one of the two young men hurried over. "Well? How are you faring?" A voice that neither was harsh nor coddling asked. The speaker's voice was soft indeed; too quiet to hear – had their captives been human.

"We are still giving them water, Sir, a little at a time. We have asked if they wish for some food and they nod. Still they thirst."

A heavy sigh came. "Pack of morons; hired men always are. Elves are strong but that is too many drugs for anyone, and the dark-haired one is lightly built. I will have food sent, with a hot broth. Find out who they are to each other, that he is so important to her. " The door shut again and the youth returned.

Nenni held Erestor tightly. "Brothrr."

The two young men looked at each other, rather disbelieving that, yet arguing was not exactly an option.

"You gain favor with him, if I...answers." Still her words rang as if spoken through cotton in her own ear. "We are family...adoption. Not related by blood...pledged to each other. He is my brother." Blinking furiously, trying to force the blur from her eyesight, frustration mounted. "Please, water."

A ceramic cup was filled from a pitcher of the same before being offered to her; Erestor felt both in body and mind Adonnenniel's struggle to rid herself of the influence of the drugs and elegantly slid his hands to steady her own.

Irritable memories of needing the same kind of help not really that long ago grated but not a word would be said, not when the drink was so badly wanted. Slowly, steadily six cups disappeared of her own consumption; Erestor took his own by trading off with her. Sharing the same cup slowed them down from taking the liquid too fast or greedily to slake their burning thirst.

Gradually hydrating eyes made out that this appeared to be, as she ever would remember it, 'the nicest hybrid between a guest room and a prison cell.' A bed that Earth would have termed 'queen sized' commanded the most attention. It seemed well-appointed and comfortable from the small distance away. The coverlet of black and white appeared elaborate and described strange designs. Runes, maybe? This was an unfortunate gap in her knowledge that was not likely to improve anytime soon. Knowing that a seamstress must have produced this work by hand beggared belief. Surely that represented hundreds of hours of labor; it was in quilt fashion with many, many individual pieces of fabric.

Further objects fixing their attention were the small, unadorned table of a polished ebony-wood, the matching bench on which they now sat, the locked entrance to this room. A window, not very large but one that seemed to open and close. Heavy candelabras bolted to walls of blackish stone waiting to be placed into service once daylight failed. Nenni rubbed her eyes, disapproving. All in all it appeared as though the local Goth Club had been turned loose on the interior decorating with a no-limit credit card. There was not even a potted plant to provide a sign of actual life.

That became a moment of realization, too. The familiar twirl of ivy always worn at her wrist; absent. Taken away, fallen off, who knew what, but gone now. One more annoyance in this....whatever this was. A curtained area caught her eye. Perhaps where whatever passed for a lavatory was located? Ugh, she could only guess. Probably little better than a seat and a chamber pot, and these two unfortunates likely were assigned to deal with the wastes of this and many another room here. Well, better than pissing in the corner on the floor. Then again, who knew? Though, probably that much would have been literally sniffed out if that were the case. Saruman probably had some standards, at least inside his own tower. How did he tolerate the reeks and filth of orcs? The slight upturn of her nose crinkled with dismay. Just, ew.

More noises at the door. The sounds of metal trays placed on a table, the whispers of the young man revealing what Nenni had told him. Then, something more chilling. "And how did you persuade her to tell you?" The voice had an edge. Testing. Probing.

"We were talking about family, Sir, after she thanked me for being kind to them. Should we have said more, sir?"

Such a swift and elegant answer. Neither a lie nor a whole truth. Really it was nothing at all; it was a non-answer and a smarter man might have seen that. But this was not a smart man, merely one who wanted these two younger boys to know their place.

"No. This was well done. Keep me fully informed and I will see to it that your work is rewarded. Feed them, and see to their necessities for tonight. Brother and sister, I am certain they can manage to share a bed this large," he chuckled.

"Yes, sir." Whether feigned or real, the oblivious innocence of the young man garnered the same effect -- an eye roll from the guard, who suddenly had better things to do than speak with this hopeless ingenu. The boy did not fully mask his relief that they had been left alone.

"What is your name?" Nenni asked.

"Léofa," came the hesitant and quiet answer.

"Nenni." A nod from Léofa indicated he understood her gesturing at herself; his lips formed the syllables but did not sound her name.

Frowning with an unintentionally charming pout, her arm flailed all around to indicate the entirety of the place Léofa focused attentively. An earnest expression worthy of a lucrative financial exchange settled over her. Glancing right and left around Erestor, Nenni leaned toward him a little and asked in the barest conspiratorial whisper, "Is the food here okay?"

Somehow, Erestor remained still throughout all this minor lunacy, pretending exhaustion still claimed him.

Startled, and having expected something with a far greater subversive content, Léofa blinked. "It is good. You are special people, I think? Probably they gave you very special food, like what is served to the Lord."

Léofa's companion had lifted the lid from one container; seasoned broth with an egg drop sort of addition to it (or so she guessed). Ladled into cups and held to assist them to drink, this simple soup seemed like the most exotic offering of the King's table. Despite how strong the desire to guzzle it ran, common sense kept either of them from doing so. Next a porridge of peas, lentils, cornmeal, and other wholesome grains and legumes, with minced pieces of what she guessed were fowl or pork. The boys fed it to them slowly, with lightly sweetened tea and warm bread and steamed greens until they felt they should have no more.

"We were told you must be allowed to rest, that the drugs they gave you would still be affecting you," Léofa said quietly. "Everything you need is in the room. Is there anything else we may do for you?"

Throughout consuming the food, Erestor was in an agony of indecision. He needed the toilet very badly, and had two choices. Ask for help from the youths and reveal his blindness, or wait for them to be alone and require help from the Queen, something unimaginably...unimaginable. Some fear told him it would be best to conceal his defect as long as possible though he could not find any logic to this.

"No. Thank you very much for the food and your assistance," Nenni answered, somehow wanting very badly to be left alone even if she was not fully certain if she could make it from table to bed adequately. Almost Erestor's shoulder made a terribly comfortable (if slightly bony) pillow...the door latch clicked...

PLEASE I NEED THE TOILET HELP ME!! rudely jolted her wide awake, heart racing. Lurching to her feet and taking him with her, they moved quickly to the facility screened off in a corner of the room. This was little better than a sort of privy with a bucket below containing litter.

What do I do? How do I help? Do I need to help remove your clothing? Guide you to sit?

Off, yes, I....sit? His mental voice had the edge of panic.

Nenni assessed the space and about despaired. Insufficient room existed to do as she would have liked altogether. I am going to move you backwards, Erestor. Hold my shoulders. You will feel me undo the laces on your trousers. If you are able to push them down on your own, great, if not I will assist you, but then you are going to sit as does an elleth. Sit back in the seat, and use one hand to ensure your penis aims downward then relieve yourself as you always do. There is not the room in here nor the time for me to assist you to eliminate standing up as you usually would, I am so sorry. There is no urinal or chamber pot that I can see. I looked under the bed. Her own thoughts did not seem so calm either.

He knew how crimson his burning cheeks must be, the heat radiating off his skin was palpable. I cannot do this on my own. I can manage my own body parts but I am wholly disoriented. Humiliation laced his thought. I am so sorry, to ask this of you.

I, uhm, don't particularly care? This is not embarrassing to me, Erestor. I am struggling because you are upset and I would give a lot for you to be at ease. Is it because I am a woman? I am sorry, I cannot help it. You manage your personal anatomy, I will manage the rest of you. Before he knew what was happening, the poor Elf found himself pantsed, bare below the waist, seated, and being visually double checked as to whether or not he was aimed properly before being encouraged to go, to his great relief. Suddenly her voice came from another place in the room while the bed received an inspection. "This is nice,"

In the initial moments, the sheer physical relief of voiding dominated Erestor's thought but as his bladder finally emptied the strain finally enveloped him. I cannot even know my circ*mstances, whether or not to stand and raise my trousers.... Hot tears streaked down his cheeks. And there she was again, reassuring.

Erestor, I am going to remove your boots. And trousers, fully. There is clean clothing. With your permission, there is a cloth and water. I could help you wash, at least somewhat. We both need more rest.

Mutely, he nodded, taking the cloth from her at the end to wash his intimate places but otherwise allowing her to care for his back and extremities, knowing she could do so faster. Bewilderingly quickly, he was reasonably clean, his hair combed and re-braided and dressed in soft, loose clothing that felt like nighttime attire. In this strange bed, knowing it was not Glorfindel who would sleep with him, tears came anew. This is all my doing. All because I wanted to go to Imladris. A foolish, prideful choice and now look what has become of us. You are taken from your husband and new child, our loved ones will not know or understand...I was to serve the Valar, aid Glorfindel and my fears concerning my blindness grew to an obsession. Please forgive me, Adonnenniel. I am so sorry.

In the middle of scrubbing her own skin with the damp cloth, Nenni stared in disbelief. Her own black clothes were stripped off; with some trepidation thoughts flitted around having to do with the risk of relinquishing them and whether they would be returned. Anything could be taken from them while asleep; they were in their captors' control and she was not buying the 'rescued guests' routine for one moment. What difference did it make? Black clothes, their clothes...though, these were custom made for her body and she would hate to lose them but..she could also wash the parts of the clothes ahem likely to be the most objectionable, wring them out with a towel and sleep in them to dry them. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing she’d done, not hardly. Yeah. Keeping clothes, adding the other stuff on top.

Disappointment flooded her. There had to be a way to get out of here. What was anyone going to say to Amaranthine? That Nana abandoned her? The thought sent her reeling. No. Cannot think about that. Doing what she wanted and then swiftly donning the same clothing as was provided to Erestor she found him silently weeping and drew him close. Both were exhausted, both fell quickly asleep facing each other with their forearms interlaced.

{28 Ethuil Imladris, April 2 Gregorian T.A. 3017}

Aran Thranduil.

Lady Galadriel? The King's head snapped around though he knew the voice was from within, not without.

Yes. Elrond has not heard from Glorfindel, and wishes to know if you have.

No...should I have?

The answer to that is a matter of perspective; I will not presume to know his thought. But it does fall to me to tell you what Elrond believes you should be told; I felt it would be kinder. Glorfindel is returning to you, with Legolas and another ellon Elrond is sending to offer assistance. Their party was attacked in a well-planned sortie that apparently disappeared Erestor, Adonnenniel and her hound as good as into thin air, and we are doing all we can do to discover what is afoot, though, we believe there are a limited number of viable conclusions.

Please, can I have a moment? I need to have someone come care for Amaranthine.

Of course.

Numb, Thranduil rang the bell for Galion; he needed his daughter minded until he was able to come for her. Tinivel had jumped at the chance to serve as one of the child’s nannies, and they got on well...though no one was exactly suited to his little girl for she was too much like her mother. He scooped his precious child into his arms, marveling at every inch of her perfect skin.

“Amaranthine, Ada has business to mind. I will be back as soon as I am able. You will be kind for Tinivel?”

The child tilted her strawberry head. “Truth is greater than kindness, Ada.”

“It is?” he asked. She was doing it again. Amaranthine would say things. Adonnenniel called them Things from Wonderland by her Cheshire Girl and he was still trying to work out what it meant. She had explained it, but...it did not help.

“Uh huh, But truth is not always kind so we kindly do not always speak truth.”

“I...Ada loves you, sweetheart.”

“Love you too, Ada. Ada, don’t worry ‘bout Nana. Nana manages.”

Thranduil sucked in air, hiding it. “What do you mean, sweetheart? Why would Ada worry about Nana?”

Amaranthine pirouetted. “Cuz Nana went through the looking glass but s’ok. They’re all mad in there.”

“And that’s why Nana is going to be okay?”

The little head shook slowly. “No…that’s cuz the mome raths outgrabe. Big time,” she nodded soberly, next laughing and skipping in circles. “Don’t mess with my Nana!!”

At that moment Tinivel knocked and entered, whereupon Amaranthine shrieked her name and wanted to go play with clay, so the pair waved good-bye to a stunned Ada. Ahm...Lady? I do not suppose you heard any of that?

Your daughter has some kind of gift herself, Thranduil, though its precise nature is veiled to me. Obviously she is very attuned to her mother.

What is it you both believe happened?

The last time anyone failed to contact Glorfindel it was because they could not. There are a handful of circ*mstances we know of that can render that possible, and they would need to affect both Erestor and your wife. Except this time it was no accident; they were the ones targeted. We all agree that poor Erestor was unlucky enough to be traveling with your wife, quite literally tied to her so that he could not fall. I do not believe he was wanted. Your wife cannot be dead, but she can be underground, insensible, or, walled away by a more powerful mind.

A more powerful...you...you cannot be serious...are we back to him again? What is the matter with him? I thought he was on our side? A servant of good?

Well, so did we. I do not know what to tell you, or what he thinks he is playing at. But that is our very good guess as to where they were taken.

Wonderful. Safe and sound and in the Wizard’s Vale in a fortress I have not seen with my own eyes but I have seen drawings. Am I to send some patrols to the door asking for my wife back?

No....but you may not have to.

What do you mean?

Our most distant patrols have seen a strange four-legged creature. It is nearly the size of a young Warg but not one. Most peculiarly, it wears armor of elven make...were it not for this the animal would be nigh on impossible to see even for elven eyes, it blends in so very well. My Galadhrim patrols are under orders to leave him meat if it can be spared. Sometimes a strange singing cry is heard. Elrond tells me this can only be one thing; your wife’s hound Beren. That he circles Nan Curunír is the other reason for our deduction.

Beren indeed. I will convene my Commanders at once, though obviously given that my son is one, full counsel must await his return. Then we can plan our strategy.

Strategy for what? You do not seriously mean to assail one of the Istari inside his own fortress?

A flash of terrible anger washed over him, then a numb resignation. No. Pardon me. I was speaking from a place of...of…

You need not say the words, friend. My heart is with yours in this time of trial. I will not tell you do not worry...and yet your child does not seem to believe you should. You know you cannot lose her. Strange things are woven about your family, which has become Elrond's family, which is my family. In these latter days, we are more together than apart.

Thank you for your words. But...one thing does not make sense. If Glorfindel is returning, surely he could have told me? Why you, Lady?

Can you not guess, Thranduil?

The King gazed out the balcony doors and into the distance away east. I can. I would feel a terrible weight of misery and guilt, though I might be blameless. Please, I need to think.

They will be home soon.

That is why I need to think.

You are loved, Thranduil.

Chapter 3: Help Wanted

Chapter Text

Grey dawn lightened the room incrementally, bringing that particular dread they struggled to place because it should have no place. Another day in this place; their future uncertain, bodies revived but spirits uncertain. Erestor struggled to stave off guilt and self-pity to use his powers of reason productively but with little success. Nenni agonized. Were she to reveal to Erestor all of her knowledge chances were he could help her a great deal more...but she had sworn to keep this dangerous awareness of the future secret. Her own salvation out of danger was no reason to reveal these things. No. Out of the question, and yet temptation was named thus for a reason.

Deeper under the covers she huddled, feeling the warmth of Erestor’s back against hers. The gratitude for his presence was...there were not words. The comfort of family so near while the inevitability of another day in this cheerless monolith settled over her felt like all she had, for sleeping and feeling rested were not the same thing.

Frustration seeped through every vein. With her mind, she had reached out, feeling. The same block she suspected was in place to prevent them trying to communicate with Glorfindel did something else, once the drugs cleared from her mind enough to think clearly. Her gift had a distance of leagues; this was known. But when she bent her will toward the forest she knew surrounded the Wizard’s Vale, nothing. There was rock, yes, but she should be able to look beyond that. Forget the forest! Not a shrub nor even a blade of grass could be seen with her other sight and the irony was not lost on her. Blind. Did it matter? Did any of it matter?

Amidst these thoughts the tremor against her became noticeable. At first perhaps she imagined it but her attention turned fully to Erestor until it was a certainty; he was shaking. Probably crying, feeling alone and lost. Valar, she prayed though she did not particularly know how, please...I do not know how to pray to you. Or if I am to pray to you at all; perhaps it is a sin and I am only to pray to Eru. In all that time I never once asked Glorfindel, who could have told me so easily. Maybe Erestor could as well but...then he would know what it is I ask, which is for Erestor. I have to get him out of here. There is no fixing me. Let them have me and regret it! What do they want, more lunacy? Grow the world’s biggest mushroom in the middle of this...oh. OHHHHHH. Thank you! There is more than one kind of plant, is there not? But I was talking about Erestor, Lords or and Ladies? I have to get him out of here. Please help me. To get him out of here. He is afraid. I beg you, do not put him through this. He needs to be cared for and is not made for what is happening here. Let the worst of this life fall on those of us already used to it. What is more? Send it to me and spare him….

Turning, she embraced him from behind. “It will be okay.”

The slight body cried silently, turning in her arms. “I am just so sorry,”

I know you want to believe this is your fault. But...did you capture us? Um no, I think not. You are upset, and not thinking clearly. Please, Erestor. I need you. We are in this together. I need your mind. Mine is in Wonderland half the time and if you are going to be so sorry, then so will I. You would never even have been in Eryn Galen were it not for me, and therefore would not have had to be traveling home. None of this ever would have happened to you, you would be in Imladris and life would have gone on without disturbance and–

“No!” came a little groan. Please no…you win...I just…

I know. Turn around and I will hold you.

Is...that...you are sure that is alright?

Uh...is there something about holding you that is un-alright?

Forgive me. I have only ever shared a bed with Glorfindel. You are a King’s wife and I…

Ah. Well, I can see that there are some who would find our position...worthy of gossip. But I know, you know, and the Valar know that we are doing nothing unchaste. Therefore I do not give a rat’s posterior what anyone thinks. My husband will at some future point understand and not feel slighted; you are accepted as family. What he would not want is knowing that we are both distressed, and foregoing holding each other because we are lying down in a bed instead of standing up.

Erestor crossed his arms over his chest. This is how Glorfindel holds me, he said meekly. Is this okay?

Yes. Ada is smart, I would not have thought of this. I am not pinning down one of your arms in this position, I guess he did not go to lessons just to eat his lunch.

Why does anyone eat their….oh. Is this an earth idiom?

You betcha.

Adonenniel...your world must have been terribly strange, but you lighten my spirit.

Do you like that? Then I will save them all for you, dearest brotherish unit, who I cannot have appearing like death warmed over so let me dry your tears and later I can sing the blues away. The dog days will be behind us, and if we are very lucky we will not have to see more of Gríma, who could not manage at the House of the Rising Sun with a thousand dollar bill, nor our host, whose face could halt a Mack truck.

I….feel like there is so much there and I am not certain all of that is entirely seemly.

That...is possible. As we are not in my Kingdom I reserve the right to invoke the Fifth Amendment.

The what? Erestor asked helplessly.

It was one of the rights guaranteed in the place whence I came. The right not to incriminate oneself in matters of jurisprudence.

The only reason one has to avoid incrimination is if there was something incriminating, Erestor grinned.

Ha! Shows what you know about the American legal system, but see? You are feeling all better. Now please take that fabulous intelligence of yours and do something for me.

What?

Tell me everything you know about this place, no matter how stupid or insignificant the detail. Tell me if you know how the toilets work. Who built the toilets. Everything.

Oh! Well, maybe not the toilets, but I do know some things. He snuggled into a comfortable position, relaxing more. Aragorn’s ancestors built it. A little over three thousand years ago, in the years before we all marched south to Mordor and to war. They built so many things in those times, and with urgency. It was when they were placing the Seeing-stones, you see.

The Palantíri?

Yes. And this tower was to hold one of them. As was the tower at Amon Sûl, as was one at Emyn Beriad, as was one in Gondor, on and on. I need not babble about all that. Suffice to say that this place was and is a mighty fortress. It is very tall…more than eighty ells. Eighty two, perhaps? And it is a fortress inside a fortress, arguably. A ring of mountainous rock surrounds this tower creating a natural vale. The only way in or out is by a tunnel cut through the stone, it is written. Iron gates of great construction close off each end. Massive, yet so admirably well hung that even a weak person could open or close them with ease. It is said that the distance across the vale is one-third of a league.

An entire mile? That’s like...Burning Man. Dang.

Burning what? Burning Man? What is that? In her arms, Erestor tensed again.

It is an event. An art festival. No one was harmed or burnt except idiots that managed to utterly fail to exercise personal prudence and safety.

What?? Why do they call it something so awful?

Erestor, we are going to add that to the list of long conversations I will explain to you another time. You were focusing so well on Nan Curunír.

Uhm...a river flows through here. Sîr Angren.

Is there any more about the inside?

Considering, Erestor shook his head. Not really. There is some means to get to the very roof; a platform is said to be atop it. Obviously there are places to live within it, for here we are. I do not believe it can be assailed from without.

No. That can be done only from within, of course.

Pardon?

Oh. I am just babbling and I am still tired. I wish I could sleep a little more. I had felt a little cold.

Me too though I cannot say why. I–

Sleep, Erestor. Nenni held him close, glad to have learned to do this even if half the time she did not do it very well. Thaliel would be proud. In a few more minutes, lulled by his warmth and regular breathing and the information percolating in the back of her mind, she joined him in further rest.

*****

{Whatever day, in the midst of so much cheer...}

In grim silence, the party returned to the Woodland Realm's stables, at long last seeing familiar paths and trees. Though in many ways Legolas had more reason to allow emotion to overcome him, he wore his ever-impenetrable expression of contemplative consideration even now. Which was why he noticed what Glorfindel did not, and lingered back to fuss over his mount while the stormy Noldo immediately left Asfaloth with a groomsman and marched off into the Halls – where two extremely attentive guards stood watch, unhappily comprehending even in their lowly station that Lord Glorfindel was supposed to have departed and that this boded ill.

Legolas walked further on, after caring in basic manner for Féla, to observe Tálagor contentedly munching some hay.

“A Rhovanion elk!” Thanadir whispered reverently, a little behind and to the side of the prince. “I have heard of these but never hoped to see one.”

Pricking his ears, the huge animal walked to Thanadir, sniffing the astonished (and incredibly honored) ellon thoroughly, at the very last of it touching his velvet nose to that of the elf. Then he resumed attending to the provided food.

“You are held in high esteem, Lord Thanadir,” Legolas complimented. “Tálagor for the most part ignores strangers as if they do not exist.”

“I cherish beasts and birds,” Thanadir said quietly.

“He seems to know. He is my father’s mount, often.”

“Aran Thranduil…?” Thanadir tried to process.

“Yes. The Queen also. She was riding him, with Erestor, when they were captured,” Legolas said quietly. “So I am relieved to see he is unharmed...but I have questions. We must go. There are introductions to be made, and for all the turmoil, you must be made welcome. I welcome you, Thanadir, to our home and to my father’s Halls. Whatever you find inside, I plead for your forbearance in this difficult time.”

“Of course, Prince Legolas. Anything else would be inexcusable on my part. I was sent to help you, not to be another burden.” A little bow was given, though Thanadir felt surprised and gratified. The days between their meeting and this moment had been marked by a general fear to disturb the brooding...no one could quite be sure of the best adjective by which to describe the powerful seneschal on leave from Imladris, but none of them would be ones of cheer nor conviviality. In fact it was with distinct relief that Thanadir had seen him march off.

Legolas took the measure of this odd elf, the likes of whom he had never encountered. In their days on the road he had watched him carefully. Always he deferred to their guard, acted the role of a lettered ellon, but he was not good enough to fool everyone. At least, not those who were actually paying any attention. He mounted a horse too easily. The sword at his side was as good as a part of him. The long, endless hours in the saddle did not cause a hint of the pain Erestor suffered on rides such as this, though admittedly Erestor had been in exceptionally poor physical condition. Also he kept himself alert. Everything about him spoke of an old and seasoned fighter that for whatever reason had turned to calmer pursuits.

Well, now to test his words. “Then it would not cause you to feel slighted if we dispensed with the ordinary courtesies and formalities that would usually attend on the arrival of a guest of your station? To be formally received by my father at his throne, with the occasion recorded by our scribe, but possibly to wait some days upon the ability of my father to hold such an audience given the nature of what has befallen us? Then the formal welcome at our Dining Hall and presentation to the nobility and commoners alike, being shown the caverns, assigned your desk in the office which...hmmmm,” Legolas mulled over an idea. Awful as it was, his mother was not going to be using her desk for at least a while…

“If you please,” Thanadir spoke when a suitable lull occurred in the discussion. “To disturb His Majesty in that manner during such a trying time would be quite unseemly. It may be that I could be of value to him…” Thanadir lowered his eyes. “Might we speak privately, please?”

“Of course.”

Well out of earshot, Thanadir continued. “I am not wholly unaware of why I may have been sent here. I have an ability that is a gift, a curse, maybe both, so I will take a risk and be as forthright as you have been with me. Even by the standards of our people, I have a very exacting memory. I am able to recall long discourses and write them down without error. I have value to those who wish for a flawless scribe. I am anathema to those who would rather have ill-chosen words be forgotten. This...is also given another dimension by my tendency to be overly preoccupied with protocol, rules, formality. I have angered those I have served by errors in judgment. Saying the wrong thing. Lord Elrond is very kind but there was a blunder on my part not so long ago. It may be that this was a way to allow me to do some good and save me from the shame of dismissal. Again,” he added softly.

“Why tell me these things, Thanadir?”

“You were forthright with me. Honesty, concerning my faults and what I believe I am good for. I do not wish to pretend to be more than I am.”

“Alright. Thank you. Follow me, please. I will show you to your...I will show you to our guest quarters until I can find our Steward, who will prepare a home for you here swiftly. This is a large place but it becomes familiar soon enough. I will take you through my father’s Hall so that you see it; it is something of a hub or at the very least a central location that is harder to miss...except, this is one time I cannot wait to report to my father…”

“I will wait wherever I am told, your highness. I am at your service.”

“I will think of something, between here and –”

“Legolas!”

Rounding the corner, Legolas found himself taken off his none-too-clean booted feet by the powerful arms of his father, whose flaxen hair tumbled down his back. “You are alright?” he whispered in a near desperation of emotion he struggled to contain, remembering not to hug the breath out of his son.

“Yes,” gasped the reply. He had...forgotten. This was the first time something had threatened him since their relationship had truly changed and he saw what his father no longer hid. “I am fine. Adar, I do not have words…”

“I already know. I was told.” Legolas was returned to his feet, still embracing his father albeit loosely.

Thanadir had stepped back and turned aside, looking down and closing his eyes to afford them what privacy was possible. Also to govern his feelings, for what he witnessed touched him deeply.

Legolas’ head gestured to indicate the other ellon.

His father’s brow raised in query. After a moment’s hesitation, Legolas tapped the side of his head. Adar? He is upright, honest. Maybe too honest. Maybe he tries too hard? He told me he has been dismissed from other places. That he is gifted but makes mistakes. He would explain openly if asked. I believe he wants to please and fears himself most of all.

Thranduil stared hard, and nodded. Please make an introduction. And welcome home, son. I love you. We will speak more later. Glorfindel…

...is a mess, Legolas grimly completed the sentence.

A curt nod from Thranduil was all the agreement necessary.

“Thanadir,” Legolas’ voice broke the silence. “This is my father, Aran Thranduil Oropherion of Eryn Galen, ruler of this realm. Thanadir Feredîrion has come to us from Imladris to be of assistance by the courtesy of Lord Elrond.”

Bowing would have been sufficient courtesy, but Thanadir went down on one knee, lowering his head as much as possible. Elves had a language of gesture just as elegant as speech; this could be interpreted as an unspoken plea. When given to one so high as a King, it went without saying that the choice to acknowledge it or not rested with the monarch.

“What is it you would say, Thanadir?” Thranduil rumbled, finding this to be very odd at a time when his mood was at best...volatile.

“Only, Sire, that I truly will do anything to please you.” His body trembled though he managed to govern his voice. He had no other means to say I have nowhere left to go save the West and I cannot go there alone.

“Anything?” Thranduil extended his hand to the ellon, who grasped it lightly as though he expected it to be made of hot steel. Swiftly he was pulled to his feet. “Then my command to you is this: You will follow me, doing exactly as you are told. Above all, you will not speak unless you are spoken to. Legolas, I would like to have you at the evening meal in our quarters. Thank you.” Turning, he walked back up the corridor, with a hapless Thanadir hastening to follow, wondering if he had just angered the King.

Up, up, through some curving passages, and stairs, through a door and...he sucked in air to find himself in the most opulent quarters he had ever beheld. Ahead of him, the King stifled a smile of amusem*nt and worked his way around to pull the bell for Galion. Where Glorfindel had gone, he was not certain. Hopefully the garden, to cheer himself a little.

The butler appeared within minutes, during which time Thranduil poured wine and studied his new...someone. Much worth knowing tends to inscribe itself on a person’s face. His son was right; initial impressions were favorable.

Galion’s arrival allowed a few thoughts to coalesce. “My Lord?”

“Meet Lord Thanadir, my new assistant from Imladris. He will require quarters, preferably in the family wing if any remain? And a wardrobe, he can tell you his preferences of colors. But if clean clothing could please be brought now so that he can avail himself to bathe here and be shown where the supplies are, I will be away for an hour. Tinivel is still alright with Amaranthine?”

“Yes, Lord, all will be as you wish.”

“Also please a platter as he just missed luncheon?”

“Of course, Aran Thranduil.”

“Thank you, Galion.”

“My Lord.” The latch clicked a moment later.

Thranduil walked to the window to look outside. “As you have I am sure discerned, Thanadir, this is my home. I share it with my wife, my daughter, and my wife’s very large hound. My son is old enough to live on his own. Wife and hound are not with us just now. I am told that your being here can help, in some way. You see, outside these walls I must be strong as iron. Inside these walls I have a right to some sanctuary. I have demanded your silence because it is the only way I...can manage with you, right now. It is difficult to hide things from me. Whatever your reason for wishing to succeed here, you want it with something akin to desperation.”

Closing his eyes, Thanadir lowered his head a little. Had he made so many missteps, right at the start? Yet, what irony! His mouth always landed him in trouble and he had been forbidden to speak. Perhaps he had found the right place after all.

“Am I correct, Thanadir?”

“Yes, Sire,” the ellon answered softly but clearly.

“Explain what it is, as succinctly as possible.”

Fighting down panic and wishing he could entirely divest the tremor in his voice, his failures of judgment were referenced as reasons why it was preferred he go elsewhere when he wished so much that he would be taught. He did not want to err and he could do so many things until it was all ruined. And finally, “I am afraid to be cast out but it is not only that. I am faithful. Failure is beyond shame because I am forced to be faithless by my removal.” Returning to silence, he stared down at the floor. Galion returned, drawing a cart toward the sideboard.

“Galion will make you welcome, Lord Thanadir. You are to ask him anything at all you have questions about, until I return. I presume you can remain on the other side of the screen in case Lord Thanadir needs assistance? Also you can explain some of the routines, such as our clock.”

“Of course, Sire.”

“Then I take my leave.”

The King swept out in his ordinary manner of expectation, and Galion saw nothing unusual. The ellon had been introduced as nobility and the rest was obvious.

“Welcome, my Lord Thanadir!” he bowed meticulously. “I am the Head Chamberlain and am to see to your well-being. No request or detail is too small to bring to my attention; my joy is in the service of Aran Thranduil, Bereth Adonenniel and the Elves of this Realm. May I ask if you would like my assistance as valet for bathing? The pool here can be overwhelming to those who have not used it before.”

“Yes please, Galion. Thank you for your kindness. I consider myself overwhelmed.”

“Please, this way…”

**

Fifteen minutes later, Thanadir found himself immersed (quite literally) in the most decadent circ*mstance of his long life, cleansing his hair with a lathering solution of such heavenly, euphoric scent (Galion explained that it was named lemon and was something the Queen produced with her blessed gift) and scrubbing his skin clean after several minutes’ soaking with a cloth of rough linen, oil for cleaning the face and after he emerged, light fine oils mixed with oil scents of his choice to moisturize the skin and hair after Galion offered to dry his hair properly once he was dressed and partaking of food. It was understood that this was not a normal duty, but a special courtesy being extended while narration was given concerning his new home.

Garments dusty from travel had already been confiscated for laundering; these would also be used by the tailor as the template for new clothing. He already stood in soft suede garments of sage greens and browns, the nicest clothing he had ever worn.

“These will have to do until we have more brought to your quarters, Lord; I hope they will suffice.”

Clean, dressed, and with a stomach filled with delicious fare, Thanadir barely knew what to think of his new surroundings, only that his heart felt warm with gratitude for the kindness he had been shown. Every word spoken to him he had committed to memory for….that was how it was with Thanadir. His hair was not placed in braids for he did not present himself as a military figure.

The meal cleared away, Galion departed, and Thanadir gazed all about the room that was silent except for the sounds of water from the pool. The doors and their view could not help attract his notice. He did not feel so bold as to open them, but felt he might look. It was very easy for him to become wholly absorbed in very minute detail, and to be fair, Thranduil was exceptionally silent on his return. Perhaps he was still testing this new acquisition of his.

Whatever response Thranduil expected for his little ploy, it was not the one he received.

The little girl padded silently to Thanadir on the carpet; her mother’s proclivity for moving around in silence was something Amaranthine had copied too well.

Cat-like, she sprang atop the stone table and landed silently on the balls of her feet with balance that surprised her father, who watched this in fascination. Once standing as tall as possible atop the (not terribly tall) construct, she demanded quite distinctly, “MAY I ASK, WHO YOU?”

The startlement that shook him very badly Thanadir betrayed only by lightly parted lips. Turning around, a vision that nearly stopped time itself erased all other thought. A child, a perfect child stood before him, with eyes that were like and unlike Thranduil’s. There was a paler cast to them. He lowered himself to one knee and bowed deeply. “I am Thanadir, Your Royal Highness.”

Amaranthine studied him, carefully. “What, pleez, izza Thanadir?”

Thranduil realized he had not been noticed yet and honestly, this was the most enjoyable thing that had happened to him since this steaming mess began. Every second of shameless indulgence would be used.

“Thanadir is my name, just as I believe you must have one as well. As for what I am, I am sent to serve King Thranduil, who I believe is your adar. To do as he wishes or to work at whatever task may be helpful to him.”

“He has Tweedle Dee. Maybe you can be Tweedle Dum? Want up please.” She reached up her hands in exceedingly obvious request and while taken aback, Thanadir did not feel able to disobey the direct request of the princess, however diminutive. But what in Eru’s name was she talking about? Lifting the child, he held her with perfect security. “Now we can see.”

“Please pardon me, Your Highness, but I do not understand? Is there something you wish me to do?”

“Yes. Adar and Nana say, no going onna balcony unless grown elf holds me. I want to see outside please.”

Thanadir hesitated. “This seems harmless, but I very much wish to be sure for nothing can be more precious than you. Will you be very cross, if we wait until your adar returns so that he may tell me?”

Amaranthine stared at him as though he needed help, desperately, then patted him on his cheek. “Adar, can you tell your Thanadir it’s okay we might enjoy the fresh air please? And after can he take me to the garden? I want to pick Nana’s apples with him. He holds me better than Tinivel.”

“You may take her to the balcony, but first there should be an introduction, sweetheart. He does not know your name because you forgot to tell it to him.”

Paling, Thanadir noticed the King. His eyes lowered in acknowledgement to who he...had not sworn himself, but had made a promise of a complicated nature nearly as entangling.

One little girl noted only that her new elf’s eyes were not focused on her own, but such problems were easily overcome! Two tiny hands grasped each side of the ellon’s chin, and tugged to rectify this inattentiveness. “Adar says I need to says I am Amaranthine.”

Thanadir nodded. “Outside?”

The little girl beamed, missing the catch in his voice or that he held her close and turned away at once to the doors, but Thranduil did not.

The pair stood so that the child could see over his shoulder, held fast with an unimpeded view but Thanadir did not look. For some reason, he turned his face away and as this vexed Thranduil the distance was closed swiftly that he might know why. Some irate speech or other was forming when he saw the elf’s eyes were closed, face twisted in grief, and that his head leaned against the little girl with an expression he wished he did not understand. “What could I do for you, that would ease your burden?” Thranduil asked him quietly.

“Let me spend time with Thanadir, Ada! I like him and you and Legolas are not always here while Nana is gone.” The little voice had answered at once, and...he had not specified to whom he was talking.

The King’s eyes widened, staring helplessly at Thanadir, who wore the same expression, save that tears now coursed down his cheeks. “Please forgive this display,” his voice wavered. “I love little ones...my daughter...it would appreciate so much…”

“Want apples now pleez!”

“We will get the apples. You go on ahead, and we shall join you in a moment. Ada must first tell Thanadir a thing.”

“Okay Ada. Need down, pleez!”

That seemed to break Thanadir’s sorrow momentarily, though in another way he appeared more lost than ever, when he watched the little girl zoom off to the next room and disappear through another doorway, little feet pattering madly. “Amaranthine,” he echoed.

“Will you allow me to help you?” Thranduil asked, extending his hand. “I know the suffering of grief, and for what I will ask you next I wish you to answer with a clear head.”

There was no understanding, but the King seemed to wish it, so Thanadir took the King’s hand. How it was possible he could not comprehend, but the terrible ill feelings were pushed back and the darkness of memory lifted. The hand not held moved over his heart in gesture of gratitude.

“You are welcome. What my daughter wishes, the picking of apples, involves going to a part of this Realm to which only a privileged few are aware exists or have access. I do not know the nature of your future with us, Thanadir, but I am convinced of your personal honor. I ask for your word that what you see and learn of this place, which is the Queen’s Garden, you discuss only with those others who also do. It is a short list, and I can provide it later on.”

“I give it, Aran Thranduil. I swear to reveal this to none except by your permission.”

His head lowered.

“Thanadir...what happened, if I may ask something so personal?”

“You are King, Sire. I was one of Denethor’s people, and wed the bride of my youth.” For the briefest of moments he lifted his eyes a little, seeing in his vision another place and time. “Then the evil of Morgoth came to Ossiriand and...I lost them. Those of us who survived made our way to the protection of Doriath. Some named us the ‘guests’.”

“You are Laiquendi.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“May I ask their names?”

A mist seemed to pass over the other ellon’s eyes. “My daughter we called Amarthaniel. My wife...with deepest respect I cannot speak her name and I beg you not to require this of me.”

A wave of discomfort overcame Thranduil, and any willingness to exercise further tests of obedience evaporated. An immediate and sickening familiarity swirled around the pair of them, though of course this other man, at every disadvantage, could not perceive it. “I would never do that to you, though why would you know otherwise after the treatment you have received from me? I rescind my earlier demand. Speak to me freely, Thanadir, and please forgive my petulance.”

“It is held to no account, Lord. Thank you for what you have given.”

“Follow me, please.”

**

“You’re late! You’re late!” Amaranthine giggled, skipping in circles all around them.

“But we followed you to Wonderland!” Thranduil told her, taking a calculated guess.

“This iz true…” The little girl craned her head up. “Then perhaps you are precisely on time after all but now it shall cost apples and an orange.”

“That was not in the trade agreement,” Thranduil noted, grinning.

“Maybe not in last year’s trade agreement, but it is a new trade year. The contract must be renegossiated.” She raised her arms to Thanadir. “Please, up!” Once seated in the ellon’s arms she continued to regard her father, who had now risen. Thanadir was tall, but he did not have the height of the King.

“But we negotiate our contracts in the autumn-time, and it is spring.”

Her little eyes narrowed. “Oranges are gone before autumn time, and were not accounted for in last year’s contract.” A giant smile covered her face from ear to ear. “I getsa orange and an apple and so does Thanadir.”

“He may not have ever seen an orange, sweetheart,” Thranduil smiled. “You know how your Nana is.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Go on then, and do not make Thanadir eat too much!”

“Okay Ada.” Pointing, she indicated a pathway in the grass. “Over there please? I can walk but I like it when you hold me.” Her little fingers carded Thanadir’s fine brown hair.

“I like holding you,” he smiled. “How is your Nana?”

“Um...indefinable.”

“Oh. I see.”

“No you don’t. No one does ‘cept maybe Beren. People try. Even Nana doesn’t see Nana. That’s why everything’s a mess.”

Thanadir blinked, unsure what to say. He had forgotten to ask Thranduil how old she was, but he felt certain Amaranthine was quite young. Surely not even one year? “What should others do, do you think?”

“Stop trying.”

“To...help her?”

The child was quiet for a moment. “Go over there? Where the flowers are? There is a bench to sit.”

“And you want me to sit in it?”

“Yes pleez.”

They sat amidst a glorious riot or color, the likes of which he had seen in few other places. Here the girl could stand on his lap, walk on the bench, hold his hand; any of a number of poses. “Nana grows everything here. Everything. Nana is magic with every kind of growing plant but she loves flowers most. She tells me things. Where she came from, there was no magic. She still grew plants but to do that she had to know all about how to do stuff and be smart, not just think things and they happened. And she said ‘my little familiar,’ cuz that’s what Nana calls me sometimes, ‘do you know how to grow flowers best of all? That happens when they grow themselves. When you get out of their way and let them do just what they were made to do. When they have all the things they really need, everything goes perfectly. Your job is to watch and figure out what that is, not think you know best and try to impose it on them. Because if you do I guarantee you will make a mess of it every time’.”

The girl stared intently at him, balanced on his thighs. “You understand, Uncle Thanadir?”

“I...am Uncle Thanadir? And… I am not completely sure?”

“I wanta call you that and my other uncle is gone too. Erestor…” her arms wrapped around his neck for comfort. “People are the same as flowers, Uncle Thanadir.”

“Oh...oh now I do see. You may call me that if you wish, Your Highness.”

“My name’s Amaranthine. But I’m notta high anything. I’m not as tall as your knee.”

“You are the King’s daughter, and a princess. It is seemly to use your proper title.”

“You’re not gonna make me order you, right? Cuz we don’t do normal here.”

“Right now...I do not know what to say.” Thanadir held the girl, memories he could not stop coursing through him, knowing he must gain control.

“Den I have an idea. You go ‘head and walk around. I want to pick some flowers. I can yell real good.”

“Okay,” he agreed, relieved. A change, maybe, to purge himself of his teetering emotions. As quickly as he could, he moved away from the child, to where he did not know. His steps led him down a wondrous path surrounded by flowers he had never seen, into a shaded area that seemed almost like a dais of some kind under a great scented tree that shed its purple petals. Here he felt called to prayer, and knelt. Tears of grief and memory for his Amarthaniel flowed, and for his beautiful wife. “Mercy,” he whispered to Eru. “Please help me as I should have asked, so that I may help.”

Wiping at his reddened eyes, he rose, slowly. There were times he felt his age.

“What help do you desire?” A kind voice asked from nearby, startling the wits out of him. But then he understood why he had not seen Glorfindel, whose hair was braided down his back and who wore grey robes that blended with the stone bench on which he sat. The hood that half covered his head ensured his near invisibility to a wholly distracted visitor.

“I…” Thanadir froze, afraid of the capricious and temperamental ellon. “Please, Lord, I have no wish to bother you. I had not realized I was not alone...please forgive what you have seen.”

“No. I must please ask you to forgive me. My behavior these last days was inexcusable. Truly, I am sorry and would make amends. You see, my failure is made all the greater in that I am tasked to serve the Valar, especially Lady Nienna. I am her sorriest vassal, I think, but that is not what I need to burden you with. I would help you if I can. You are in pain, and I overheard your words.” Glorfindel stood now, and came closer to rest a hand gently on Thahadir’s shoulder. “I give my word to keep your confidence.”

“It...it is seeing Amaranthine, you see,” Thanadir smiled. “My Amarthaniel was her age when...I lost my family. I locked it all away and now I find I cannot. She wants to be watched by me some of the time and I cannot be falling apart inside. The little girl is so beautiful, you see…” Fresh tears pooled in the hazel eyes,

“We all have too much in common,” Glorfindel said softly, drawing Thanadir inside his embrace. “I can help you. Close your eyes, and know that Eru has decreed that we Eldar know only a temporary separation. You will be reunited with your wife on some future day, Thanadir. We are Elves and our parting is only temporary.”

“And my daughter?”

“Well, first you have to reunite with your wife…but that is what the spirit-masters do. Guard over us until such time as we may be reborn. In the case of such a young innocent, it is ideal for the parents of that one to renew their love in the Blessed Peace of Valinor.”

A calm, blissful peace suffused him like nothing ever felt before. Unthinkingly, he embraced Glorfindel as the terrible burden lifted that had crushed him for nearly every day of his life. Once a few moments passed, Thanadir regained his senses and fell to his knees. “I do not know how to repay what you have given me! Bless you and those who sent you, Lord Glorfindel, and thank you. I am deeply in your debt.”

“No. You owe me nothing. It is my privilege and my duty to serve.” Glorfindel offered his hand to raise him up.

“That may be,” Thanadir said. “But it is mine as well, and if ever I may aid you it would be my deepest honor to do so.” Bowing, he kissed the back of the hand that held his. “Holiness has touched you, Lord.”

“ThannnnaDIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIR,” came a call with impressive projection, disturbing their most lofty dialogue.

The new elf’s eyes widened at the jarring dissonance, but Glorfindel’s sapphire eyes twinkled. He held up a single finger, formed his lips into an odd shape, and whistled piercingly.

“OOOoooOOOoooOOOOooooOOooeeeeEEEEeeeEEE!!!” screeched at once, until the bounding leaps of enthusiasm brought the elf child into view. “Hîradar! Hîradar!! Did you meet Thanadir? I’m keeping him.”

“Are you? Sweetheart, did you ask him if he wants to be kept? He is his own elf, you know.”

“Nuh-uh. He came for the Tea Party, Hîradar. He just didn’t know it.” Amaranthine turned to Thanadir. “Up please.”

Thanadir stooped to obey the request. “I have been learning a great deal today. About how not to grow flowers, and what Nana says. Thanadir promised to help the King, you see. And so it would seem that he is kept, for...as long as he…” the elf trailed off and smiled, but this time there was no sign of strain. Only joy, as he held Amaranthine. “We shall see.”

Glorfindel listened wonderingly, and watched more so as a tempest brewed on the teapot of his granddaughter’s face.

“NOT GOING ANYWHERE!” the child bellowed in his ear. “MY THANADIR!!!!” Tears were not far off, though the girl was not usually prone to crying.

Right away he for once understood, blessing his Lady that perhaps some small layer of his perpetual obtuseness might have fallen away. “Sweetheart, he did not mean that he wants to leave, only that he serves at the will of the K– “

“Lord Glorfindel.” Thranduil had come to see how Amaranthine and Thanadir were faring with each other and now held up his hand. “Thanadir is not going anywhere.” Have they not both lost enough? Have we not all lost enough? Whatever flaws he may have, I will manage them.

“Forgive me,” Glorfindel apologized to Amaranthine. “I did not mean to...I am sorry.”

“I got you yellow flowers,” the girl said, now reaching for Glorfindel. “S’ok. Still want my apples anna orrange.”

”It would appear there are unmanaged tasks still to conquer,” Thranduil smirked (only a little).

“Ada, dese tings can’t be rushed.”

“But I am always told I am late, I am late!”

“Only when you’re bein’ the White Rabbit.”

Glorfindel wore an expression that indicated perilous waters, and poor Thanadir was simply lost.

“Then I will let you two make a proper job of the fruit, while I gather some flowers of my own,” he smiled, waving with his fingers while he retreated.

“I still do not understand this ‘orange,’ Thanadir frowned. “It is a color?”

“Come this way.”

Soon the three sat on a log where Glorfindel remembered very vividly an orange being sectioned for him, just as he sectioned one for Amaranthine to offer Thanadir. The little girl giggled when she fed him the first slice, to see the expression he wore change to astonishment and pleasure. “Orange.”

Giggling more, Amaranthine ran off and soon returned with a small orange zinnia to tuck behind Thanadir’s ear., which looked lovely in his hair. And another for Glorfindel, but his was mostly yellow with just a bit of orange. Hers was purple.

While she was away, Thanadir took a moment to say, “I am sorry for your loss. What has happened here; they are also your family.”

“Thank you,” Glorfindel answered, not looking up. “What has happened here is the result of what my foolishness and failures set in motion. I grieve, but all the more so that those who should not be suffering...Thranduil, Erestor, Amaranthine, and of course Adonenniel, pay for my sins.”

“Surely we are more than our mistakes, especially one who has done such noble deeds as yourself?”

“Are we, Thanadir? It is all in how one chooses to view a life, is it not? I am struggling to unlearn thinking that was wrong. I would very much like company along the way. I am an inconvenient friend, as is Thranduil. You can deceive yourself, but not us. So I will labor to be more than my mistakes, if you will.” The sapphire eyes peered up at him.

“She said you ‘do not do normal here.’ Is this what she meant?” Thanadir mused, considering the ellon so great in stature that he was not much shorter than Thanadir whilst still seated.

“Oh. You have not seen the half of it,” Glorfindel shook his head slowly. “My daughter…”

From across the garden the two of them heard: “Brain the size of a planet, an’ all I get to do is open doors!”

Glorfindel shrugged helplessly. “That.”

Thanadir resumed his seat next to him. “I am not under any illusion that this will be easy or that I will not stumble. I have lived in fear of failure and...I come here and in one day have been asked to reveal what has been my private sorrow of Ages. There is something about this place, and my having been sent here. The King, the princess, you...your invitation is not one I am likely to receive again. And the effort to try to better myself in this manner...it is seemly. I accept, Lord, with thanks.

Smiling, Glorfindel rose, gesturing for Thanadir to do the same. “It is time for apples.” Mirth played about his eyes.

Thanadir pondered, considering, then... “APPLES! Slice ‘em dice ‘em run it’s fun to PICK ‘em!”

A squeee of happiness called back from elsewhere, and Thanadir folded his arms and arched his brow smugly at Glorfindel, who genuinely was taken aback.

“You know,” the blond smiled, “I think we shall be good friends.”

Floored, Thanadir’s artifice was lost. No one, ever, had said something like that to him and he felt moved at the core of his being.

A large hand laid on his shoulder. “Smile,” he whispered. “All will be well, and here she comes.”

Sure enough, bounding through the grasses, all smiles and strawberry blond hair on her little legs, the little bullet of Amaranthine beelined for him with outstretched arms and a violet-hued rose grasped in one little hand. “My Thanadir!”

*****

Chapter 4: The Slave

Chapter Text

{66 Laer Imladris, July 18 Gregorian T.A. 3017}

The bleak day began with the bleakness of any other bleak day, in their private Gothic studio. Each day, Nenni had twisted her mind toward all the mental rollercoasters of the old world, insisting that Erestor disgorge the minutiae of his life. The reasoning seemed transparent and no attempt was made to deny it; first, this distracted him. Second, she learned more of her brother-by-agreement. Thirdly – which she did not speak to Erestor for it was critical she keep this as walled off in her own mind and lost in the corners of the Crazy Closet as possible – ruminations on anything about herself ground to a halt. The rationale was simple; why not assume she was being spied upon so offer platters of regret in exchange for the trouble. What in hell did she care anyhow, it wasn’t like Anything About Herself was anything other than Platters of Regret for her either, so she was at one with her inner Mr. Gradgrind: Efficiency! And how fitting, in this Blarghy Bleak House.

Léofa arrived with the morning meal, along with his companion whose name they had at last learned: Éostan. They brought news conveyed in the barest of whispers while serving food; the two Elves struck up the inane courtesies they used to mask what soft speeches of real worth might be slipped in the spaces between. Erestor had said at around day ten that he wished to risk trusting the boys, at least a little, with the offer to do what they could if and when it became possible.

“Something is happening,” Léofa said in the barest whisper to Nenni. “Someone has come here. Someone important. They will ask for only you after this meal.”

Erestor’s mental panic rocketed as a wordless wall of emotion before he could contain himself.

Do not fear, Erestor, Nenni lied through every tooth in her mouth. I have planned for this since we arrived. But it means telling Léofa the truth now, about your eyes. I still want as few as possible to know. Please trust me. Deep down, somewhere, came thoughts grimmer yet she did not let Erestor hear: Trust what I will find a way to do to the one that harms you.

I...alright.

The important thing was, he believed in her. Thranduil was right. All the King and Queen stuff...it worked. It worked because it had to. The rallying cries, the fearlessness in the face of probable death cray cray (sometimes defined as courage)... people were shored up that otherwise would go to pieces even when that was the sensible thing to do. I’ll take it, she reflected.

“Then we beg your help,” Nenni whispered back. “We have tried to hide that Erestor is blind. Sees people as moving gray shapes. If they want what I believe they do I will bargain for his release and yours, so that you may care for him. Do you understand? If I succeed you must do exactly as Erestor tells you whether it makes sense to you or not. Your lives and freedom will depend on it.”

“No!” Erestor hissed. Adonenniel you cannot!

I can, and how well did it work out the last time you thought you knew what to do better than I did, Erestor?

“I understand,” the boy answered, barely audibly. “I will tell Éostan.”

“I heard,” the other murmured, ‘accidentally’ dropping a lid and begging pardon for his clumsiness so that the others had to make a show of reassuring him. “My sire is blind and I know how to help. I will do all I can.”

It having been discerned that the Elvenqueen was supremely uninterested in donning gowns but would deign to wear something like robes over garments similar to the ones from which she refused to part, these were provided for warmth but not, apparently, without considerable anger from Gríma who understood one kind of female dress; that of the women of Rohan. Apparently enough days had passed since whatever sort of verbal dressing down he had received from the wizard that his mouth ran again, freely complaining about an assortment of topics.

Really he thought the fuss about her and the place being turned upside down on account of her could not be done with soon enough. ‘Nutritious food.’ ‘This and that clothes.’ ‘Clear out the wing so no noises from other...undesirables...could possibly reach her ears.’ The last one, though, that had pushed him too far. He had a few foibles he entertained in this forsaken place (and deservedly so, to give so generously of his talents and insights to the Lord Saruman) and this was his collection of greenery. Potted plants. The Wizard had lost his lore-laden mind and ordered every bit of living everything plant-ish taken out of the tower until further notice. Even the grasses had to be removed from the periphery of the four adjoining towers, none touching the stones at the base. When asked why, all Gríma received was another supercilious, arrogant, non-answer: “Precautions.”

But this new arrival...while Gríma was curious, he would be curious from only the sneakiest of corners. No good ever came of anything from Mordor.

The heavy door opened while Nenni and Erestor nursed their tea and played Rock, Paper, Scissors. He had become very good at this without his sight; all that his opponent needed to offer was the small motion of their choice to allow him the perception thereof; then of course he could determine the round. If it felt ominous that both ended at a draw with rocks, neither said so but they dissembled as this was to appear as a total surprise.

“The Lady,” Gríma unhappily forced out the words, “is to please accompany me. Lord Saruman requests an audience with you.”

An eyebrow quirked. Lady? The turd knew perfectly farking well who she was. It probably would put too much of a twist in his nuts to have to speak the words, though, and as he barely seemed to have any in the first place, fair enough. Courage, Erestor. Do not forget that I love you.

Let the games begin?

That’s the spirit!

A completely amused smile spread on her face because for whatever reason, a memory from childhood zoomed onto her mental screen. Maybe I was seven, or eight, in the car on the way to school? Ringling Brothers, Barnum & Bailey Circus! Come One, Come All to the Big Top! The thrills! The chills! Oh sweet Eru it needed to shut up or there would be unhinged laughter here and now. And then that music, that earworm of the music…. Her eyes widened as it rolled through her mind like a bad calliope....it lent (with interest) the chutzpah to walk up the few stairs, past the greasy little excrescence without saying a word and pause, waiting, while he of course had to lock his other ‘guest’ back in. That earned a head shake and an eye roll.

“Is there a problem?” A baritone voice behind both of them spoke that did not belong to Saruman.

Which was why she was altogether too quick to snark, Do you want that list alphabetically or numerically, and clearly you do not reside in this fine establishment do you good sir? Before turning around.

At once Gríma fawned and...what else could one call it besides repugnantly grovelling, she had no idea, but it took all her trying to connect the battery cells not to react to that. “No, Lord, nothing wrong, coming, coming, Gríma hurries…”

But the stranger never even glanced at all that; Nenni saw his eyes locked on her and that a brow had raised, and the tiniest smile pulled at the corner of his mouth when she thought her opinions of... he heard me, burble burble with you, and he’s so much closer to ten feet tall.

“Good. I would hate to name thee to my Master as causing the delay. He can be terribly impatient. Lead on?”

Nenni enjoyed seeing all the blood drain from Gríma’s face whilst trying to keep up. A second look at this...whoever…seemed to reveal him as an elf but...he could not possibly be saying what he seemed to be?

Further attempts to observe the newcomer were ruined by his walking behind her but that was okay, the expression on the overgrown weasel’s face plus the circus music made up for all that. The problem here kind of was, she ought to be afraid out of her wits because more than a small idea of what was coming raced the Indy 500 at the Oort Belt of her personal solar system and there was proooobably no way she was a match for that level of mental power? Unless being crazy was like a booster card in one of those games that would give her a one-time temporary...um...make her into temporary Eru’s Mini-Me or something.

Down stairs they walked, which amused her to note. It meant that someone had carried them up stairs. Surely Grimy here lacked that kind of strength? How had Men of the West built this monument to depression? It seemed more like something the other team would go in for, kind of thing. Maybe Lord Elrond knew, and if she survived to ever ask, it would make for a good...historical query. Nothing about it particularly made sense, but what did when a person was on the Other Side of...something…

“Located,” New Elf Person told Sauruman. “I assume thou hast explained to the Queen the nature of this discussion?”

“To what discussion might the gentleman refer?” Nenni asked flatly, not about to miss an opportunity to be at least mildly difficult.

The dim light of sconces and flames left the subtle expressions of eyes difficult to detect across this room of surprising size. This appeared to be the Wizard’s own chamber. Not for sleeping, but at least where he spent much of his time. Books, scrolls, writing supplies, unlit candles, some things in jars, gems, a few tables, a throne-like chair clearly too refined for Grimy, a fur or three that served as a rug. Clearly he did not heed the luxuries of this world, and equally clearly he badly needed an interior decorator, all seeped into her awareness from her peripheral vision.

“It seemed better, rather than to cause needless agitation, to wait for the most advantageous time to raise these matters. We are, after all, dealing with the sensibilities of a Lady,” Saruman replied in a voice that could persuade a snake it did not need its skin... if only the contents of the speech were not complete and utter horse sh*t , the Little Voice weighed in.

Now? Seriously?

I thought you could use a hand. Can I be the Mad Hatter? The Voice sounded hopeful.

Um, you know what? Why not. This isn’t going to get less weird.

“Thinkst thou speakst to some orc, sent bearing a letter? Thy task could not have been simpler. I grow weary of thee and have only just arrived. Here. Thou mayst explain why thou mad’st alterations to the most basic of instructions.” Striding toward the center of the room, the stranger (who she could now see seemed to share her penchant for generally black armor. Strikingly thick, raven-dark hair was worngathered up in a high ponytail) swiped the cloth off of a bowling ball that could only be a palantír. “Go on!”

Saruman walked to the Seeing Stone attempting to salvage his dignity. To potentially maintain her skin, Nenni looked away from both males, appearing to be disinterested in Saruman’s humiliation. It gave a little more time to cope with the fact that this inexplicably beautiful specimen of an Elf seemed to very much be in the service of Mordor. Highly placed at that. Which, what? This rated on the List of Dissonant Things.

I’d enjoy this more if I weren’t so up for the lawnmower myself. Then again, carpe diem? Eh,this was the beautiful thing about circular um perspective, it took away any possibility of feeling pity for the traitorous twat. Besides, they were both Maiar, what could one possibly do to the other, deduct Maiar points? Another good question...to which she would never get a good answer because this was all going to be above her pay grade. Poor Lord Aulë, he must be so utterly fed up with these two...the conversation ran in silence and not for long.

When Saruman looked away, he indicated the ellon. “He asked for you.”

Without the least reaction, the other went to the Stone for an equally brief time. When he stepped away, he approached near to Nenni, but not so close as to invade her space. “Majesty,” he bowed his head politely. “My Master wishes to speak with thee, and offers apology that what was intended to be a dialogue of a far different nature hath been so grievously mishandled.”

In disbelief, she blinked at him. “Does your Master have a name?”

A wan smile. “Most would name him Lord Sauron, Majesty.”

For a moment, Nenni said nothing. Then: “May I ask the nature of this conversation?”

“My Master wishes to make thee an offer.”

Silence. And the slithy toves gyred and gimbled in the wabe….gyred and gimbled…. “I will listen.” Like I have a choice, and will any synapses be left when it’s over…

“Then step forward.” He guided her to the Looking Glass, and the slithy toves gyred, though maybe the Ladies and Gentlemen would take their seats soon. Maybe some cognizance existed of the ellon’s hands resting lightly atop her shoulders, maybe not but a moment later the Great and Debatable Oz showed up but perhaps with far less green? “So strong, so strong, like the sea in a storm…”

“Thinkst thou?” The strange lulling speech sounded amused.

“Should I not? You seem to be, and a sailor should never turn their back on the ocean, ‘tis said...but ‘tis doubtful you wish to chatter about the sea…’twas a lot of bother you see, to acquire me…but here I am.”

“Thou hast want of something and so do I. Each hath the other’s lack.”

“What, may I ask, do I lack?” Nenni queried, frowning.

“Thy memories.”

His entertained laughter met her surprised expression and concurrent roil of emotions that she shook off as quickly as possible with determined contrariness. “Your...Thy lack? What could I possibly do that you cannot, when you are...thyself?”

More laughter. “Keep to thine own tongue, else naught shall be said.”

“Mirror mirror on the wall …” she murmured. A grip on her shoulders, just enough to shake her back to minding him, jarred the rhyme from finishing.

“ Thy gift. Many more bellies have I to fill.”

“Oh. That. But of myself I have limits; once weary I am useless until better. I can work hard,” she said with obvious pride. “Straight off of a cliff. Also do pardon me but it seems that there are certain...problematic philosophical issues that lie between us?”

“To the heart of the matter! Perchance thou wilt hear wherefore my choices were made, even those I would were otherwise. There is a reason Melkor rebelled and we ever struggled to remove agency from the other Powers. All war mayhap be ugly, Adonenniel. Mine end doth reveal its foulness in honesty. You all willingly walk into your cage, glad when they close the door. Wouldst thou hear me? Then come. Thou wouldst not be kept against thy will; in this my word is given.”

Her head tilted. “Gyred and gimbled, gyred and gimbled…”

“What means that?”

“That I am considering...I have a question and a condition. The question is, which memories? Those limited to Arda, or all of the ones my fae has ever experienced?”

“ Those of Arda. Only Ilúvatar could give thee the other. What might thy condition be? ”

The bastard actually tells the truth now and again, I guess? She dared to think. Really I thought he would promise the moon.

“That I ask release and safe passage for my brother Erestor and the two boys that fed us to help him along the way. I want my armor and weapons given to them if they will not be restored to me. If payment is wanted for the loss of the boys, I believe the value of the diadem stolen from me compensates ten times over. I will not depart Isengard until I see them released with my own eyes. If this is granted we will have an agreement, Lord Sauron.”

“I do grant it and my slave shall see to all of it.”

“Lord.” A bow of her head acknowledging his words but not fawning, one that kept her dignity, was given. Then her attention wavered. “Gyred and gimbled...some far, deep…”

“One last thing. Thou shalt explain this gyred and gimbled .” A sense of pressure in her mind grew, like diving in deep water. Uncomfortable, her eyes shifted from side to side but she did not associate him with the source of the difficulty.

“I will? No one knows, Lord. The slithy toves gyred and gimbled in the wabe, and the mome raths outgabe!” Nenni pushed back, tossing her hands up animatedly. “Everyone knows that nobody knows, because it is Jabberwocky! I hope you are not going to ask me to explain that too, or we shall be here a very long time at the Tea Party!”

“Enough. Go”. What broke off and released her was...not easy to describe. Not angry, not exactly confused or befuddled, more like, not wanting to take the time.

Thou art very brave, or very stupid, or both, she heard from the stranger, but with a small hint of admiration.

You forgot very bereft of sanity.

Withdrawing his hands, he spoke to the other two. “Her Majesty shall have elsewhere to sleep tonight; no further contact with her brother. Her armor and blades shall be returned to her. A horse and a pony shall also be found and provisioned…”

Nenni listened to the stranger rattle off an extremely succinct list that at no time told what was happening to Erestor or the boys. A few subtle jabs were made to the effect that Saruman had gotten off very lightly, given her decision to cooperate.

“Is it possible I may ask you some questions concerning the nature of my duties?”

“Yes?”

“I should like to be escorted outside of this tower, that we may converse outdoors?” she asked sweetly. “You see, Her Majesty has been locked in a somewhat dim room for over two weeks now as a guest, and elves do so like to see the sun.”

“I advise against it,” Saruman stated quietly. “You do not know what she can do. I am not responsible for what happens outside of this tower.”

“Heute vielleicht nicht,” (maybe not today) Nenni murmured, causing the one Sauron had called his slave to lightly quirk a brow again. Oh, honestly, the guy could not possibly speak German.

I know not what that is, but do know the sound of contempt. Mind yourself. Do not become careless now.

“Until her character is proven false I shall risk taking Her Majesty outdoors. At the moment she is the least of my concerns.”

Nenni’s eyes flared. Holy crap this guy has sass . It deeply worries me that I kind of like him… the world is going to hell. The dude from Mordor seems like he is actually trying to watch out for me. He is secure enough in his whatevers to be flipping Saruman zingers, I just agreed to go to work for Sauron, who in turn seems to have some Screwtape Letters vision of the world to tell me all about (that is going to be good enough to justify why he and his Bossman can’t ever seem to do anything but break everyone else’s toys and play with matches). Oh and I’m also supposed to believe that if I don’t see things his way that I’m going to be allowed to go back home, because he has such a track record of keeping his promises. Whoooaaaaa Nellie and I’m not even taking drugs. Well, that I know about, who can say what they slip into the tea in this place.

“This way.” Down one more flight of stairs in this obsidianish hell, and finally, ahead, daylight. It took a great deal for her not to skip ahead of him like a little kid, but there were allegedly appearances to maintain. Allegedly. Down even more stairs (that someone had needed to carry her up) and all the while she began craning her neck around to take in this ridiculous edifice, sad that Erestor was not going to see this.

“Er…” she asked him tentatively, pointing at his arm.

Amused, he extended it, at which point Nenni held lightly (but enough to keep her from falling down the damn stairs from not looking at where she was going). “What were they thinking? This is ridiculous.”

“Keep Sauron out.”

“Did I miss something and he can grow two hundred feet tall and stomp around with a big hammer?”

“Nay, Lady, yet underestimate his mind at thy peril. Devices of war send burning projectiles so far. And worse.”

“Oh! Right. Ballistae. True, forgot about those. Still it seems excessive but I suppose you make a point…but I’m not sure napalm could touch this place, and that is saying a lot.”

“What is napalm?”

“A weapon where I came from. Imagine something like pine sap that would light on fire, spread, and even burn under water. It was used...um you know what, you are probably the last person I should be telling about this kind of thing. How about, I imagined the whole thing because I am a silly, silly person!” Her finger twirled in the air and she regarded the sky, poking fun at herself.

“Well spoken,” he laughed. “Now. Thou hast questions.”

“First one. Which, would have been more useful just a moment ago. Is it safe to talk to you here? I have figured my mind was being watched, blocked, who knew what by my fabulous host.”

“It is not precisely safe to talk to me anywhere. I...my mind hath connexion to Sauron’s. He can know all my thoughts should he search them. When he is here I can feel him.” Elegant fingers tapped his dark head.

“Because you are his...slave?”

“I am that and also his...creation. Sauron is my sire. Mistake not the word to lend any paternal or filial regard. Our relationship I deem at best adversarial for I resist him...but if he desireth it badly enough he hath the power to force my obedience.”

“Then you are Maiar?”

“No. Only half.”

“Erm…”

“My father appeared as an elleth’s own husband. And they kept her alive by Morgoth’s art once she realized they had murdered and raped to achieve their wickedness.”

“I thought that was not supposed to be possible?” Wheels spun behind her grey eyes.

“A goodly number of things which ‘ought not’ nonetheless manage to be, ere day’s end,” he noted with bitterness in his voice. “I am not supposed to exist. Yet thou seest me.”

“Is that at least some of what Sauron meant?”

“Possibly. Thou wilt judge for thyself. Or not. As for Saruman...what he can or cannot see depends on his mastery of the stone, but no one can see your thoughts...forgive me but you speak as one who lacks understanding of simple matters.”

Smiling wanly but stung from the comment, her reply was slow in coming. “I am not from around here so maybe I do lack understanding of things that are obvious to you. Pardon my deficits.” Her desire to change the subject could not have been greater. “Do you have a name?”

A mocking rasp escaped him. Now that they were past the bottom of the steps he had turned right, to go toward a green area near the River Isen. “Not according to Sauron. I am the Slave.”

“That is not what I asked you.” As they walked on in silence, Nenni grew impatient. “Look at me. Please.”

He did so, surprised at her impertinence, and yet not. And so, she finally saw him clearly in the full light of day. “Ah!” A terrible Cheshire grin came over her. “Those eyes. Now that is unfortunate.”

“Oh, now we are in agreement on a matter. I have wearied of the fawning heaped upon me unwanted thanks to a thing for which I asked not. Didst thou request eyes like the sky on a misty morning? Methinks not.”

“Mmmmmm and yet they are my solution. So, as I patently refuse to refer to you as anyone’s slave you may supply me your name, or abide by the one I will give you!” She crossed her arms over her breasts.

He mirrored the gesture, entertained. “Then do tell, Majesty.”

“I shall tell, but I must also ask… please, once we have departed this place, do not call me that though I thank you for your courtesy. I am not your queen.”

“Fair enough...but then what else do I name thee?”

“My friends call me Nenni, or Adonenniel if they must. And you shall be Amaranth.”

“Amaranth? That is a strange name. Very strange. Why that?”

“Many reasons. It is a flower, and a very useful one at that. Which reminds me, I do hope your Master has rather a lot of seeds.”

“Seeds?”

“Well, yes, for grains, vegetables, and fruits and all that; I may have a gift but I don’t conjure the stuff out of thin air. I must have the starting point, you know. I swear if I was dragged into this only to have to slither back home to get what I need and then break away again to keep my part of this bargain, I shall name the morons who abducted me even more giant morons than I did in the first place.”

His brow furrowed and she waggled her finger at him in warning.

“I still have more questions.” Plunking in the grass near the river, she dug her fingers in until she found the earth beneath, just to feel it again, to feel the green and the soil. “You are to take me...south?”

He nodded, joining her and wondering what in Arda she was doing.

“ Only you?”

Another nod.

“Do you know when we are leaving?”

“Tomorrow. No desire exists within me to tarry in this black spire a moment more than need be. Thy request shall be fulfilled because I shall see to it myself. Thy loved one will be set on his path in safety with thee to witness.”

I need to tell you something before tomorrow, then. And I would really like it if Lord and Master you know, missed this bit. Good time? Bad time?

The purple-hued eyes shifted. Speak.

Out there we may encounter a very large hound of mixed colors. Not so big as a warg but no dog is of this size. Proooobably wearing armor. He is my Beren. We were parted when I was taken here. I… Nenni considered her next words carefully. Something told her that whatever Glorfindel had done to her ? That she could do what no Child of Eru should… would shatter at the least provocation. I cope poorly with anything or anyone that would harm him. Some have told me that this is a vast understatement. So I thought this might be a good time to get that out in the open. The original point being I am relying on Beren to guard Erestor and hopefully reach the elves of L ó rien . Rubbing at her copper hair, she looked all around at the sky overhead. I believe that was a terrible means of saying, please do not harm him and, I am not, uhm...not all the mushrooms are in my basket.

A smile played across his lips. Is this thy means to tell, thy weapons art not ornaments?

I had not meant that so much as, I doubt you are...who you are...without being able to best me – which by the way? I am always an interested learner. I suspect given your pedigree you have advantages I do not.

Did she comprehend her audacity? Or was it audacity? A viper packaged in spun honey? May I ask, what canst thou do that Saruman fears so much?

“The short imprecise answer? Things that grow do as I ask. Tree, vine, seed; so long as it lives I can wish it to behave in ways it ordinarily would not. The complicated answer depends on many details. On whether I have had time to prepare. It is not like I can be brought in just anywhere and within five seconds Bam! Suddenly Nenni is this terror of the...whatever. But...here we sit in...what is this, some kind of thick grass. Is this reed? I will try to entrap one of your feet if you consent. Hold a blade on me if you wish. I give my word I will not try to harm you.”

Despite all she had been told, her wholly sincere thought was not closed to him. How had she survived, crowned, with this appalling level of openness? “We lack the necessity,” he spoke in a level tone. “Thou may’st.”

“Move your legs so that they are not together, please. If I make a mess of this I don’t want you to have to cut both of them free. I’m going to do this slowly, compared to what is possible so it is less alarming.” Focusing, she proliferated mats of reeds over his boot, weaving and tightening, until a thick mass bound his ankle, not quite as quickly as she knew how. Shrugging, she left off. “This is not ideal vegetation but that would, ahm, be a small sampling. Against a stupid orc? Works great. You...are not a stupid orc.”

Amaranth tested it, and found it quite sturdy. Bonds could hold him; they had before. Anyone could be captured given the right circ*mstance and he was no exception. “ Nay, I am not. But neither am I granted my Master’s powers. When I have gained greater conviction of thy faithful intentions toward my Master shall I ask more, for I am weary of incurring punishment for failures. Perhaps thou art deceptive, leaving out matters of great import.”

A projection of asking her to play along permeated his bearing, though the content of his words was not redolent of fabrication. “Oh really?! Well may your cucumbers ever be mushy!” she glared at him indignantly. “I take offense to that. I am not leaving anything out! I can fight, Amaranth, with swords, but I am fairly sure so can you. I have beaten very good opponents in single combat. I have beaten the best I know of. So what? That does not rate against what I can do with a good wisteria in one hand and some ivy in the other. I have seen a map, it is a ways to travel?” There is the matter of my conditions being met. I have reason to fear the boys may be abused even as we speak because now they have been marked as ‘privileged.’ Standing out in any manner is one of the worst things that can happen in this place. They are more or less slaves or thralls; certainly they are not here to enjoy the view. I also have not told you that I need them because Erestor is blind. With their help and with the hound, I think they could get him to safety. A thought caused the grass holding him to be dead and brittle. Dust in the wind.

Simple. The boys shall be sent to me at once in Erestor’s quarters and I shall remain with them until the time for departing.

Amaranth! The room is a prison cell! They can lock you in there!

“Yes, Majesty. ‘Tis some distance. Of course, the delicacy of thy nature will determine how much we are slowed.” I offer thee no mockery, Lady. Inevitable spies watch and to appearances thou shouldst not accept me without suspicion. With regard for thy concern? They would not dare. This connection goeth each way. To my Master I could call with a thought. Think’st thou he would be pleased to hear such tidings?

Standing, a few strides were taken forward with a mein of irritation and Amaranth was given her back. No. Of course not. But...you cannot tell Erestor what I have done. He will not understand nor be able to bear it. I plead with you for this, that he only knows he is to be released. Once we are out of here… “Have you any idea how much food Lord Sauron will wish grown?” ...but I cannot count on being able to just travel all over to go visiting. In fact I would assume not.

He hath overstepped before. My Master fails to keep...how to say it...all the necessary details in mind? Look what he brought down on his head when Númenor was destroyed...though he counted that as small cost to achieve their destruction. He thought himself invincible by his craft in forging the One Ring but did not count on losing his trinket! Gods how I laughed! To be rid of him, if only for a time…

Nenni turned, staring down at this strange man, lying in the green grass whilst clad all in black, pure joy written on his mien as he remembered. Looking skyward now, doubt filled her. Everything she was about to do...none of it was in the books. What if doing it changed the outcome of the War? What if not doing it changed the outcome of the War? Why...Sauron was supposed to be unendurable malice, but she had survived talking with him. Yeah, sure he was full of horsesh*t, that much she was clear on, but it was about getting Erestor out of here at least to start with and maybe also not getting Amaranth here screwed. Was she so wrecked herself that ‘unendurable malice’ didn’t particularly register? Or after like...Adolf Hitler and Josef Mengele was Sauron just unremarkable small potatoes with a really nice stratovolcano?

“A great deal, Lady.”

“I am sorry, a great deal of what?” Her reverie broken, his voice called to mind that she had been conversing.

“Food?”

“Food.” The word rolled distastefully off her tongue, like the lingering mouthfeel of chalky liver or overgrown spinach leaves with their bitter oxalates. “Yes. Sorry.”

Amaranth fixed her with an irritable yet pitying gaze. It would not be the last time.

**

“Good riddance,” Gríma muttered for Saruman’s ears alone from the balcony that overlooked the courtyard below.

Adonenniel stood well to one side, silent while Amaranth skillfully aided Erestor onto the horse without seeming to. The saddle was of a nondescript, specially chosen sort. All of them had travel cloaks and Erestor was told to place his hood right away, to further obscure any oddities concerning his eyes. All told two horses were being sent, both of dubious conformation and stature. Amaranth was clearly less than pleased, but as Erestor and the boys were all slight of build, probably they would manage as long as they did not need to perform any feats of strength. They very much intended that this would not be necessary so, all should be well.

Bitterly, Nenni watched Erestor, and grieved letting him go. More difficult than she had prepared for (or not prepared at all), probably much of the next many days were going to...suck. At least one thing had been an unbelievable stroke of luck. Last night she had been quartered in someone’s private rooms, obviously. Someone who kept oodles and oodles of potted plants, including ivy. That proved to be the holiday come early. By the time she was through, helices of it grew under every part of her clothing that could be managed without offering evidence of its existence. These cords of vine she constantly traced with motions undetectable to anyone not standing within mere feet of her. The life of them she could see in her mind, now outside of that phallic black hellhole, and the focus on it was a lifeline to sanity.

“Don’t know what those morons saw in her, aside from a piece of ass. I’ve known a few crazed women in my time and that one chatters on like nothing I’ve ever heard.”

Saruman stared straight ahead. “It is beyond even your usual crassness to imply improprieties occurred, Gríma. She is an elf.”

“I am not implying anything, My Lord, I am outright declaring. The men were quite clear that they ‘had fun with her’ while they had the two of them drugged for so many days. They are still locked away. Interrogate them yourself if I am not to be believed. Why? What has being an elf to do with it?”

The wizard’s eyes clouded in anger. “If what you have said proves true, they will be leaving not only without pay but owing me . When an elf is raped they die, Gríma. So if they indeed had their way with her, she should not still be among the living. Which I confess sheds some light on why they may have found it appealing to fail to allow their captives to wake for the entire duration of time. Disgusting vermin. It almost makes me want to inform the Slave what was done, and let him deal out judgment. But that would cost me how I shall require them to work off their indebtedness. I am, after all, losing two kitchen-boys over this.”

“And two horses. Valuable steeds,” Gríma opined.

Saruman’s brow raised, for the worthlessness of the referenced animals was beyond question. Knock-kneed and swaybacked, not having to maintain them would be a favor to their stable. Near them stood the Slave’s mount, a fine black stallion of exquisite breeding though a certain element of...wildness...permeated its demeanor.

“Why, may I ask, were her jewels restored to her when she believed them stolen and gone?”

“Because she belongs to Lord Sauron, and it is unwise to withhold from the Master what is his due. His prize should go to him un-meddled with. Though perhaps it is too late for that? Now I must fully inform myself concerning this distasteful matter even though the only rational answer is that...” Saruman trailed off, frowning. He knew the edicts of the Powers, had a recollection of this gift granted to the Eldar. But...what were the limits of it? If the spirit never knew of the defilement of the body because of being unconscious, did it know to flee the body that it occupied? How could it? What if the men knew of the limitation and exercised their lust in some foul manner that....his appearance darkened indeed. Even having to think on these matters disgusted him, deeply.

“My Lord?” Gríma blanched.

“See to my meal, and report to me when they are gone from Isengard,” the Wizard snapped, storming off.

Left to linger for a moment as was so often the case, the sallow man gazed down at the scene far below. The Elvenqueen stood straight, her close-fitting armor and blades making her seem in the distance awash in black and silver. At any other time her hair would be bound into close-woven braids, but just now it was loose, something she would manage to confine later on once they were free of the sight of this hated spire. Loose hair flowing on the breeze with a fortune in diamonds glittering in the bright sunshine, dazzling. Unaware of her deadly beauty, Nenni had eyes only for Erestor, who she knew struggled to project a calm he did not feel. Gríma swallowed hard, feeling himself stiffen at the memory of last night.

The Slave had said to house her apart from Erestor, and there were not a plethora of nice chambers. In fact, the only suitable one had been his own. It had been very risky, adulterating the courtesy tea offered to her at bedtime, but she’d no reason to suspect...and unlike those other fools that had all but drugged the pair of Elves to death, he knew what he was doing. And by the Mearas she had been a good lay when he returned about an hour after to find her slumped across the bed. Of course he had been no fool; not so stupid as to enjoy himself to completion in her body but it had been quite satisfactory enough. Closing his eyes, he could still recall the perfect moist heat of her c*nt, the taste of her, the feel of those perfect tit* hidden under that stupid armor. In and out, in and out...she might be crazy up one side and down the other but he would have something to daydream about until he could figure out how to do the same to the pert little brunette in the kitchen, though dammit all to hell that one was probably a virgin…

Anyway a man had to snatch what compensation he could out of this position but… Turning away from the balcony, he shook greasy dark brown hair back over his shoulders. The old man obviously was not all-wise and knowing because elves most certainly did not die from rape. Then again, how was this rape? She was married, no virgin. He left no seed to cause a child. No bruises, no struggle, no one was the wiser save he’d had a much nicer evening. Rape was an ugly word that meant force, taking something against the woman’s will whereas here, what actual harm was done? That it would rile Saruman so much, that came as a surprise...well, he didn’t pretend to understand him. He just smelled opportunity when it came along, and it sure as horse sh*t wasn’t in Rohan.

Chapter 5: What's In A Name?

Chapter Text

{66 Laer Imladris, July 18 Gregorian T.A. 3017, cont’d}

Amaranth mounted his horse and looked at Nenni expectantly, finally extending his hand to her. They both knew verbal communication was disallowed, and both boys had been strictly forbidden to inform Erestor that Nenni was with them. The Nenni in question was still trying to work out what in hell she was going to do once outside of the Ring of Isengard...one thing at a time. Swiftly a firm grip pulled her to sit astride this impressive horse he sat astride. When his arm came around to pull her back against him the sense of deja vu spun her mind and by no means in a positive manner. In that instance her heart ached for Thranduil, for everything left behind, and the sensation of a chasm opening up before her was overwhelming. That she was held, however briefly, probably kept her in the saddle against the temporary but crippling vertigo. Involuntarily she held his forearm.

Yes? He queried.

N-nothing. Pardon me. It passed. At once she released him, as if he burned.

I do not believe thee.

Then you did not go to school to eat your lunch. Please get us out of here.

Erestor’s horse hath a lead rope; I task thee to catch and keep it.

Easily leaning over, it was no difficulty for Nenni to catch at the extra twined hemp attached to the pitiful excuse for a bridle then draped over the old nag’s withers, never seeing that Amaranth prepared to catch at her waist if she faltered. When assistance proved unneccessary, the barest upturn at the corner of his lips marked approval.

Erestor held onto Léofa much as Nenni before him, using the lad’s belt as a handhold. The bony back of the animal had been cushioned with many blankets, Amaranth had demanded it not for the well-being of the riders but of the mount lest it develop sores. The Master did not say when they must be anywhere, and the manner in which Adonenniel had asked her request was...open to interpretation. If he believed he was receiving cooperation he could be patient to an extent, and for a prize such as her he would tolerate...a certain amount.

A short ride to the edge of the ring revealed the opening of doors so heavily constructed they caused her to pale somewhat. This would be the ‘only way in or out’ Erestor had spoken of...save the unconsidered means from above destined to ruin the old traitor’s fun one future day. The horses stepped into a tunnel bored into solid rock, not entirely unlike the one that led along their cliff-side at home. Never again will I live in ignorance of what it means to be in the Ring of Isengard, nor will I wish to see this place. I care not who built it, to me it is horrible, turned to evil purpose. Defiled. Turning into one of her odd contortions, Nenni stared back at Erestor, cherishing the sight of him on the nearly emaciated horse she hoped would manage to place one hoof in front of the other...but that it was leaving this place seem to brighten the animal’s spirits for it did not drag at the lead. He held onto Léofa lightly, looking here or there. Trying to work out the dimness around him, wondering, but not daring to speak for fear.

Thou surely hast great love for him, to have offered so much? Amaranth asked.

Twisting her lips this way and that, she pondered the best way to answer. Family worth having is worth any price . Family not worth having costs too much. I suspect you well know the latter though I cannot surmise concerning the former.

Many would but answer ‘Yes,’ Lady. Thy words…I think not in such complexities.

I do nothing but think in great messy jumbles all day long, Amaranth. How else is anyone supposed to stay sane in these funhouses?

Pray tell what is a – no, it shall wait. We approach the second gate, and the imbeciles stationed as guards. Hand me the rope you hold; adopt an air of arrogance. You serve Sauron now; those in the employ of Saruman at best rank among vermin capable of speech.

Who knew?

Gods thou’rt scornful.

And calling them vocalizing rats is not? I mean, I might not necessarily disagree…

“Take the reins and hand me that rope. Pretend thou canst ride my stallion.”

Her thought snapped closed against him. That asshole...oh, I’ll ride your stallion alright. Anger subsumed into the recollection of who was at the other end of that lead and the knowledge that Amaranth was needed in order to gain Erestor’s liberty. Then, decisions would be made concerning listening to this insufferable bullsh*t any longer.

So it was with eyes that threw invisible daggers that she asked his steed to prance his finest out the last gate, giving a filthy look to stare down the guard who had just begun to question the extra persons being led out in challenge. Behind her, Amaranth’s gaze stared coldly and without expression. The boys looked down, as did Erestor, and from the manner in which the latter’s hands were holding Léofa’s belt, there was some suggestion that his hands were bound (this was not the case, but it was a convenient illusion the Slave had wished to encourage). Just like that, they were past Isengard.

Ahead ran a road and Amaranth set a brisker pace for a walk. None of the animals seemed to mind and god only knew this rider was more than content to be past what she realized was one final obstacle yet in their path; this was Nan Cúrunir, Saruman’s Vale. Any other time this place would have been appreciated for its quiet beauty, for here were birds, trees, grasses; beautiful countryside along the road toward the valley egress that she knew from long ago opened to the Gap of Rohan. They rode on in silence for what felt like a half an hour, for Amaranth to finally say, “I say unto you, Erestor, Léofa, and Éostan, congratulations! Ye are taken from the fire, but the assurance of safety lies yet distant. Young men, your task is to aid this sightless elf, for he shall be returned to his people. Then will you be returned to thine, unless ye profess some other desire?”

The horses grouped much closer together now, and the boys shot fearful glances at each other, and at Adonenniel. “We...do not know, Lord.”

“I see.” His hand laid lightly atop her shoulder. Pray pardon my impolite words near the gates. For the benefit of the guards they wert spoken, these fear me. I delight to keep them in the belief I am not agreeable.

I think you have managed perfect success. Nenni stared rigidly ahead.

Amaranth closed his eyes. There was not time for such charades and yet…

Adonenniel.

What.

Please. Forgive me. There are matters we must discuss.

Which are?

That which thou hath asked concerning Erestor. His safe deliverance, but never to know thou art near. Days of travel. Around Fangorn forest, then the grasslands between the Limlight and the Great River. Are we not to speak? Shall you remain silent? Manage never to make a sound? He knoweth thou hast secured his freedom. Declare thyself. I have no wish to travel thusly.

I need to think.

Wherefore?

Because you make it sound too simple.

Nothing is complicated, Lady.

IELLIG?? Glorfindel’s voice struck her mind with nearly physical force, causing her to slip back against Amaranth’s strangely supple armor. CAN YOU HEAR ME?? Pure desperation suffused the voice.

“Others can come for us now!” Erestor spoke for the first time, joy and relief in his voice.

But what is this? Whose was the voice?

The complication. Nenni rubbed at her forehead, somehow having forgotten...everything. Erestor will talk to him if I do not. sh*t.

Who?

My Ada. Glorfindel.

Glorfindel wed? Thou’rt the daughter of Glorfindel?

No, and yes. He –

ADONENNIEL! PLEASE!!

Both hands flew up to press against her head, the reins, latched into her pinkie fingers. The sensitive stallion misinterpreted the motion and reared back on its haunches. Without thought she placed both hands on his neck and vaulted off in a twisting motion, flinging the reins back at Amaranth telling: Be back . A very tall tree was not far distant, perhaps a quarter mile, and toward it she ran with all possible speed.

I am here, Ada. I can hear you. We just got out. You have already spoken to Erestor?

Just got out? You mean, of Orthanc? How?

I...Ada, listen to me. Some of this is...a mess. Erestor does not know I am very near to him because I was just about to talk to him about that part before you contacted us. So please do not tell him? All of this is complicated. There are two young boys with us. They are from Rohan, slaves of Saruman. They are free now too. We are almost out of the Wizard’s Vale. I think then I will feel safe. Then I can talk to Erestor and explain what happened...ish. Suddenly something dawned on her. Ada were you hurt? Was Legolas hurt, or the twins?

We are fine, iellig, it is rather more you two I have been agonizing over.

Oh Ada...I am sorry. I...I do not know if we could have reached you. I told Erestor that I thought we should not try. We were watched, all the time. I...could not use my gift in there. Things were not right. Twisted. I did not want them to learn...more. Or maybe I am just too stupid. Does it matter? I did my best to help Erestor and he was very brave.

You are unhurt?

We are fine. Ada how is Amaranthine? And Thranduil? Is...my daughter okay? Please tell her I love her, so much. That Nana is so sorry that she fell down the rabbit hole and misses her and the Knave of Hearts and the Red Queen are disagreeable.

Everyone is...everyone is well, and will be relieved to know you are safe.

Ada, how are you?

Far away, alone in the garden, Glorfindel knelt at the bower, face soaked in tears. I am well, ielling. Well now that I know you are both safe and coming home.

We are safe. But I mentioned this was complicated, Ada. I am going to ensure Erestor reaches safety, for it was what was agreed upon. It was the only way.

The only way for what? What are you talking about?

You knew we were in Orthanc. One does not just walk out of there, Ada. I was the one who was meant to be taken there. Erestor was an accidental captive and would have been killed. I was not going to let that happen if I could fathom a means to prevent it..but you will not like the means. So an agreement was made by which I made an exchange for his safe passage. We were released into the custody of...he will not tell me his name, but it is complicated. Everything is complicated. Except for Erestor. That my brother is going home to you where you will care for him with all of the love and attention you once gave me...that part is very uncomplicated.

Glorfindel lurched up to sit on the bower, his gray cowl slipping back. Cold grasped at his innards as he heard too clearly what she did not say. You have never spoken to the Ainur, Adonenniel. It is not the same. You do not know what you are getting into….

I do not want to argue, Ada. I have before, I definitely have now, and I am aware of my peril. But the second two did not go too horridly even if they are both jackasses who deserve each other. I can only do my best, Ada.

You have your gift. Once Erestor is safe use it. Fight your way free. Do not go. They have no honor.

I will not have Amaranth be punished for his failure to return me. That is what I call him. I do not believe him evil, though forced to serve it. I can feel he is good. Abused. He will not suffer more on my account. I do have honor.

What is the appearance of this one of whom you speak?

Tall, dark hair grown long, gathered high atop his head. Slender but powerful build, elegant of face with strange eyes the color of deep amethysts, maybe violet give or take the light. He says he is the slave and son of the Dark Lord, unhappily.

You are with Vanimórë.

What?

That is his name, or what others in ages past have named him. Vanimórë. And he speaks true. This is both worse and better than I thought.

You know him.

Nobody truly knows him. It is better to say I know of him, as does Elrond. Erestor would possibly recognize him as well from the Last Alliance; whether or not he crossed the paths of those tasked with Erestor’s sort of duties I know not.. He is an enigma...but indeed not evil. Not as I account it. He is not a willing servant of evil...I have seen what he will endure not to serve but even he has a breaking point. That he has come for you tells me enough about your entanglements. Extreme reluctance and angst laced the next words. I know you are acting as you must.

Last Alliance...uhm...this was not a Beleriand thing, right? I swear you had as many wars here as France and England and that is saying a lot. For a brief moment a vision passed before her eyes of John Cleese dressed as a French knight hurling insults pertaining to flatus at King Arthur’s crusaders and wondered what Sauron would do with...well, twentieth-century humanity. Since he so desperately wanted to be ruler of this Middle-Earth, and all. He really ought to be careful what he wished for, he might get it.

Iellig? This is the one where Isildur cut the ring cut off Sauron’s finger at the end of the years of besieging Mordor. The one in which Gil-galad lost his life, and Lord Elrond could not convince Isildur to destroy the ring. The one in which Thranduil lost his father at the outset, and most of your people because of Oropher’s foolishness in siding with Amdír of Lórien.

Oh. Oops. This is a really crap time to not have ever been taught more about that but I shall have to make do. So you fought against him, against Vani...Vanimórë there? That is such a strange name. Lovely Darkness. Yet it fits him.

Despite himself and the heavy burden of mental agony he felt, Glorfindel choked on a laugh. Tangled with Sauron, and Adonenniel comes up with ‘Oops.’ Sweet Valar… Not against him. With him. He walked up and surrendered to us, then later asked to fight at our side. We were told of his circ*mstances.

I will need to return. They are waiting but grow impatient.

What do I do, if anything? Glorfindel asked.

Tell those in Lórien that we are making our way north, maybe? To keep an eye for these two pitiful horses Erestor and the boys ride? I do not know the terrain save...some rivers flow on each border of Fangorn, I believe? Maybe? Vanimórë knows I have spoken to you because Erestor did not have the wisdom to keep silent. I suppose it matters not. Ada, I am wanted to grow food. I do not know where I will be taken. I was promised I could leave after a time; we know what his promises are worth. I do not know anything save that no one will trust me after this, if there is anything left to trust.

What do you mean by that?

What do you think!? I will be tainted! Potentially swayed, influenced, corrupted, deceived. I am sure numerous adjectives will apply. In the distance, she watched Vanimórë growing restless and easily swung down from the tree to return to him at a measured pace. I must return to him now so my time for total privacy runs out, Ada. There is something I must know. Please. I need an honest answer from you.

What?

The Powers that you and Erestor serve. The same ones that blinded Erestor and that wish to see Sauron overthrown and that ostensibly sent the Istari here. Why did they do something cruel to Erestor? Why use him like that?

The sapphire eyes raised to the sky overhead. The simple answer? Because he offered himself to be used.

What is the not so simple answer? For we both know Erestor did not expect to be used in this manner. This is not what he believed he was agreeing to.

This part is less palatable but no less true. They are the Powers, iellig. Granted by the All-Father to know and see what we cannot, and in possession of far greater sight and wisdom.

Yet very clearly fallible. Able to make mistakes, for only Ilúvatar is perfect.

Yes. Able to make mistakes, but...I feel as though I know where this conversation began.

I credit you with significant intelligence. The words rang in her ears. Sharp. Audacious. Would she ever have spoken to her father on earth like that? No, but not for any of the same reasons. Please pardon my words, Ada. I am under strain and taking it out on you. There is no excuse for rudeness. I am sorry.

“Not as sorry as I am,” Glorfindel whispered to the bower. Do not be distressed, iellig.

Thank you. I am almost back. Please comfort Erestor. I will...I guess I can talk to you most any time. Maybe we can talk more later. Tell my husband and children I love them. I am glad they have you.

Have you anything special to tell Thranduil?

Nenni paused, carding her fingers dubiously through her long tresses and their assorted tangles. My hair is an unholy mess. If I am an elf, it did not get the memo. I love you, Ada. Talk to Erestor. I am returned and I will go to him. Catching up to Vanimórë’s horse with an easy, swinging stride, she remained on the ground for a moment, trying to fuss with her hair before deciding it was just as easily done riding.

“Thou’rt back.” Amusem*nt lilted in his voice; the purple eyes swept over her.

“Quite so. A moment first, though.” Stepping over to the other horses and smiling gratefully at Léofa, she waited until Erestor’s face betrayed what messages he received from Glorfindel. When wonderment spread across the beautiful face and his head turned each way, softly his name was called. “I am here, Erestor. My hand is near your leg.”

Trembling, he fumbled for it. “It felt like you were gone for weeks.”

“I know and I am sorry. There will be more to tell later. I have worried about you unceasingly. And these two lads as well. We are in Nan Cúrunir now, and not so far from its borders.”

“Then the...one who will not name himself, he will turn east and then north. There is Fangorn forest. We will cross the Entwash, then go around the forest or through it.”

“I will be the first to know, Erestor. He is our guardian. And I must return. I have cost us enough time.” Tonight. I love you.

“Thank you.”

Those same words she spoke to Vanimórë, and more. “I appreciate your forbearance greatly.”

“Majesty.”

Crossing her arms, she glared up at him. Amused, he offered his hand to bring her up onto the horse. Rolling her eyes, she took it and sprang up to sit in front of him once again, forming against him far more comfortably this time. At once she began finger combing her mess of hair, leaning to the side so as to disturb him less.

“Thou’rt...much entertainment, Majesty.”

“Good. We aim to please.”

“We?”

“Me, myself, and I.”

“Thou hast jest, or art thrice thyself?” he chuckled.

“Yes.”

“No answer and both answers thou givest. The company of elves, this is a rarity.”

It has been a very long time, unless you have had such companionship since the days of which my Ada spoke. The words were a risk. Twisting in the saddle, she looked up at him. He told me your name, which is very...I would like very much to use it. But not…

Irritated at multiple statements in her sentence, he tensed. The sentence, thought, statement, (call it what one would) however, failed to come with an ending. He waited to no avail. The thought apparently had vanished, for she was back to combing her hair. But not what?

What what?

Turning again with an impressively flexible spine, the woman seemed genuinely lost.

Thou saidst thou wouldst like it, the use of my name. ‘But not,’ then no further couldst thou speak, from the sight of it.

Dismay appeared on her face. Disappointment, anxiety. Oh I do apologize...that happens. The thoughts, you see, they disappear. But this one came back. I meant to say, I like your name but you did not want me to know it. So maybe you dislike it or...there is a problem somehow. How you feel about your name matters more than how I feel. Though…

Lady, not again. I do not bite. Speak!

Grey eyes searched his face. Awkward, confused. Of course you do, how else do you chew your food, silly? Anyway I only think it terribly sad that they call you slave but then you do not tell others your name. You should feel proud. Nothing is your fault. You… pausing, she dropped the length of her hair and gently grasped his hand that did not hold the reins. One brow arched, but he did not resist when she tugged in order to take possession and examine it. Because she always did. Hands said everything, after all. And this one was, in the vernacular of her old world, stupidly perfect. If Thranduil’s fingers were finely formed and elegant, these were both those things but also forged and tempered. Both men had hands that bespoke strength and beauty, shape and function, but something extra was afoot here and it was more of an aura than anything in the realm of visual perception.

Walling him out of her private thoughts, Nenni considered. The hand she held was relaxed but also it was not. It was coiled. Somehow she knew that if ten soldiers rose from the earth around this horse, while she was dawdling unawares, he would already have killed them and be cleaning his blades because something in him was always ready. His guard was never lowered, despite appearances. He...no longer knew how, if he ever did. This had been created in him and all in a burst of comprehension she understood. You were given no choices, I think. So there are worse things than being someone’s doll from the toy store.

For many long minutes he stared at the back of her copper head while the finger combing and soft humming continued on, considering all that had transpired.

Speak my name.

Like this, or aloud?

Aloud.

Again, Nenni turned to look at him, noting the peculiar intensity in the colorful eyes. “Vanimórë.” A wry smile danced around her lips. “It is as nice as Amaranth.”

Erestor’s dark head lifted at once. “It cannot be…we are with…?”

“Yes.”

“I saw you once, long ago. From a distance. I...want to thank you for my deliverance, whatever role you had in it, Lord,” Erestor said humbly.

“No Lord am I, Master Erestor. Nor am I deserving of thanks for obeying orders.”

“You have my thanks nevertheless. As do you young men. It...we may converse here? Are we safe?” The conversation had been in very soft tones.

“We ought to be. Only a very great fool would hinder us but...when we reach the edge of the forest I shall feel the most secure.”

“I shall wait, then,” Erestor said, lapsing into silence. “Right after I ask Léofa and Éostan – are you both well? I have worried for you.”

“Sir,” Léofa answered. “We are out of that prison. You have saved our lives. We are wonderful. Now we may have the chance to see our families again.”

Nenni looked ahead. Ms. Chatty Chatter had almost started to say something about being watchful or, find a good hiding place for the next 3 years, reminding herself that none of those things could be said. I maybe have freed these boys only to send them to die in coming conflicts. How sad that would be and yet what else am I to do? I cannot even straighten out my own sh*t. It’s more of a chance than they had before. Suddenly despondent, she returned to trying to comb at her hair again. The bright idea was had that the handle of her knife might work, and fishing that out of her boot the blade was tentatively worked past a clump of tangles.

Oh wilt thou stop! Put that away, before thou ruin’st thy hair.

Her mouth opened, then closed. Fine. Probably one of those sorts that takes offense to using steak knives to weed the garden, aren’t you?

Some sort of comb being used on her hair, swiftly and expertly, was her answer. For the moment. Dost thy query concern the misuse of a given implement for a particular task?

That would be a confining, narrow-minded manner in which to view the matter. I prefer to think of it as creative repurposing of available materials. Besides. Steak knives happen to cut weeds better than weeders cut weeds, so I rest my case, sir...whatever it is I am calling you.

I still have one unanswered question. Already finished, he plaited her hair down singly. Amaranth. Thou hast not explained thy choice well enough. More there is, methinks, than what thou hast told.

Thank you for help with my hair. Yes, you are correct. Someone about whom I care very much is named Amaranthine. The names mean the same.

Who?

Who wants to know? She shot back, agitated. You, or him? Turning, expecting...something, but not the slightly set jaw and the stare off into the distance that too perfectly schooled its expression to be devoid of emotion. Her heart sank.

Why do you always do this? the Little Voice asked. Figured it out yet?

Nenni’s eyes squeezed shut, her hand fumbling to find one of Vanimórë’s that held the reins, covering part of it with her own. I am sorry. I truly am. Please forgive me, Vanimórë. Nenni looked to the side, to the east, just as they passed from the hated sight of the wizard’s valley and its last glimpse of the spire of Orthanc. May she never lay eyes on it again. Amaranthine is my daughter.

Now it was her turn to stare straight ahead. No amount of trying succeeded, every thought of Amaranthine filled her mind and with that the tears overflowing her uncooperative eyes. f*ck it. f*ck all of it. All thought of her little girl she had banished in that place out from the sheer terror of them knowing of her existence, but that little girl was with her father and that counted for a great deal. And did nothing for how much she missed her child.

A breeze blew up the grasslands as their path turned northeast, for now they rode through the Gap of Rohan. The rolling plains glinted every shade of gold under the turquoise sky. The last of the Misty mountains lay to their left and in the far distance, the barest edge of Fangorn forest. The world placed its pageantry of colors on display; a sight to behold. So f*cking what . Nenni’s thought only had to do with the time they had spent together, before this misadventure. It was an afternoon in the garden, just the two of them. A proper tea with apples and plums, fresh water and mud pies. They wore their best Mad Hats woven from straw, and put what flowers they wanted into the gaps they made with the stems.

Amaranthine chose a grand stubby carrot for the front of hers, with the frond of its greens sticking up like a demented plume. Deeply envious and unsure how to measure up, Nenni tried for two bunches of grapes dangling off of each side but the effect was instead more like Eeyore ears. As this was pathetic, they both agreed a large sunflower must go over the top of it all. By the end of it, Amaranthine was declared Queen of the Garden, and Nenni the Goddess of the upper DeNile, because she looked like a terrible version of Isis. That and they were dining near the little stream that ran through, and that was the secret name for it. DeNile. And yes, the child had been taught about Africa and the actual Nile, and denial, and most assuredly understood the joke.

And she would sing, and delighted huge eyes, aquamarine as if someone took her own and Thranduil’s and put the colors in a blender stared back with such delight, laughing. Strawberry curls bobbed…

She’d no awareness her hand was raised until she felt it taken, and came back. sh*t.

How old, thy daughter?

Still a terrible sense of disorientation existed, as when one is woken from a very vivid dream. She had wanted to climb inside of her own memory and had more than halfway succeeded.

Born at the end of Rhîw.

She hath sisters? Brothers?

I...have had a son. She has a brother. But I have no memory of having had him. This body has only had one child.

For a time, soothing came in the form of counting the hoofbeats of the horse, one two three four five six se’en eight nine ten ‘lev’n twelve thirteen one two three four five six…moving air dried tears to a thin crust of salt.

I am sorry, for what hath befallen thee.

Thank you but I desire no one’s pity. Yes this should not have happened, but I am not exactly special. The mothers of those boys had it worse.

Lady, art thou weary? Please, an honest answer.

Yes.

I offer you rest and wish you would’st accept.

You could just make me fall asleep; everyone else does.

Involuntarily he squeezed her hand a little harder. I prefer to ask.

Yes, please. Blinking, she brought one leg over and adjusted how she sat, twisting to lean closer to him and gingerly hold the supple but tough armor of his lower chest. Idly she wondered of what it was made, for even her own was not so fine.

The reply surprised the slave, for a refusal had been expected. After all, he would have refused him. If it is your wish, to you I am Vanimórë. Sleep.

And so she rested by the Tumtum tree… her arms tightened around him in an embrace.

He gave slumber fairly quickly, before her words had registered, and now he must pay the price....or? He caused his horse to fall back.

“Erestor, we have left the Vale now,” Vanimórë spoke softly. “The Lady was most fatigued and with her permission hath rest. A thing was spoken and its meaning is veiled. Canst thou help? What, pray, be a Tumtum tree?”

“A tumtum tree? Adonenniel was teaching me about trees and plants but I never heard her speak of one by that name. I am sorry.”

Nodding, he permitted his stallion, who could not stand to be in the proximity of these two lesser equines, to move forward again but not too much. It could run and have its delight after this duty was discharged. In the meantime he studied the woman held against him. If nothing else, he recognized a fellow misfit. There was much about which to be curious, but knowledge – much less caring – was for him a liability. Then again, father had never had interest in relationships. Not really. The qualities which made a person a person. Information to exploit, now that was quite something else. How large an army might be, what resources they possessed, that certainly excited his imagination. How they felt about poetic words? Not so much. Now, there was an amusem*nt! Father, listening to poetry...a low rumble of laughter rolled through him at the thought of the presumed level of distaste that would entail. Ye gods, would he ever be so lucky...but life was strange, was it not?

Chapter 6: Sniffed Out

Chapter Text

{66 Laer Imladris, July 18 Gregorian T.A. 3017}

“Adonenniel, thou must awaken.”

The crick in her neck needed to be declared unlawful; the muscle had a horrendous, nauseating pull. Because of this, those words seemed immensely distasteful. Big girl pants were once again highly overrated and she had been so asleep and it had been wonderful was this Thranduil this was not Tálagor the hoofbeats felt wrong. A slit of an eye opened. Horse, black. Fuinor? No. There was an energy here, a something, that felt wrong, but there was also no sense of danger. Yeah, that made sense. The habitual sniff, complete with several flares of her nostrils, registered clean grass, horse, and male. Unknown male. The one whose voice woke you up, idiot. Jesus can’t I just go back to sleep…

“Art thou in truth sniffing me? For if so, thou’rt in good company,” Vanimórë laughed.

“Whazzat mean.”

No answer, but more laughter, and a sense that her upper body was being gently tilted somewhat lower. The horse stopped. Next thing, a Hoover of a giant, wet nose was power snuffing along her face (honing in on the eyes, of course) and about two seconds after the equally giant slobbery tongue slurped every exposed molecule of skin. Plenty awake now (and flailing) Nenni would never know how she remembered that wisdom meant not shrieking with happiness for the sake of their safety. Even Beren seemed to know, for he was (by his standards) nearly silent, issuing strange soft whines that really seemed quite alarming. Fluidly tumbling over dog to be out of the saddle, her arms came around him and would not let go save to reposition.

“Uhm...don’t mind us, we’ll catch up.”

“We who?” Erestor asked.

The two boys looked at each other, none too sure this was not some new sort of warg. “It is a funny colored thing too big for a dog but too small for a warg,” Léofa told him. “The Lady is wrestling with it.”

“Is it Beren?” Erestor queried excitedly. “Beren?”

“Go see Erestor, buddy. He needs you. Remember he cannot see? Then again...let me go with you. The youth appear unconvinced.”

“Beren is here, Erestor,” Nenni said quietly. “Young men, this is Beren.”

“What’s a Beren?” Éostan asked, entirely dubious.

“He’s my hound dog, of course.”

“That’s a hound? There are ponies not that size! What kind of hound?”

“A Plott hound! Just a...really big one.”

“What do they do?”

“Hunt bears and orcs. Do they have school, in Rohan? I am concerned that you have not been taught about Plott hounds.” Both hands were on her hips. Even the dog appeared suitably miffed, making one of his myriad Sounds of Disapproval.

“Let me handle this, will you?” Nenni told Beren.

A great, nervous yawn and some more disgruntled sassing trailed out of what one could call the trailing portions of said yawn.

Erestor giggled uncontrollably.

Vanimórë attempted to follow along. One just did not see this sort of thing in Barad-dûr. “As much as thy... conversation... delights, we must press on. We make for the cleft between those hills, not far distant. There we shall eat and rest. More can be explained. By night we will travel.”

The hound left off with Erestor, and came closer to this strange Elf Thing that mistress apparently sanctioned. He had yet, however, to pass hound approval. A terrible retching noise ensued, and a mass of yellowish froth complete with assorted...chunks...was deposited more or less before the strange Elf Thing. At the moment, this was Elf Thing’s rating.

“Oh dear,” Nenni murmured, studying the vomit. “Looks like someone has not been eating enough. Hooves and leg bones. Those always did upset your tummy. Ohhh, mama’s poor baby! I am going to get you some real food very soon. When Vanimórë says we can stop.” Kisses were plastered all over the giant head, with more ear rubs. “Move on, please. We will walk. We have things to catch up on.”

Vanimórë did not know if she was having him on or being touched in the head, or both, so he bestowed that slightly pitying glance and moved his horse forward.

Meanwhile, the dog’s armor was removed and slung over her shoulder. A fury of scratching and grooming went on, that left the two of them rolling in the grass and Éostan and Léofa quite convinced that Adonenniel was entirely mad, however nice she might be. Sometimes long dog legs were in the air, other times they stalked and chased each other, and a few times Vanimórë frowned ever so slightly because they had vanished altogether in the rolling grass. That they did this so well he filed away for reference.

What vanishing was to one person, well, another would call it a few moments of paradise. Curled up with Beren, nose to nose, her eyes studied every hair while her fingers kept exploring. Are you okay, Buddy? Really okay? I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how they got us.

Sniffing, the huge tongue licked salty cheeks and sighed, tail thumping.

Things are a mess, Beren. I need you to help Erestor. I’ll be alright. I had to make a lousy deal to get us out of there and if I hadn’t they would have killed Erestor. He has to be kept safe. The boys are to help him but they live here. In these grassy lands. Erestor must go to Elves who are our friends, then back home. It is a long way and I do not think the young men will not go so far with him. Neither can I. I will have to turn south with Vanimórë and fulfill...how I got us out of Saruman’s tower. I need to know you will stay with Erestor, Beren. Please, stay with Erestor.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Beren!

Leaning up on her elbows, she watched the giant dog. I missed you.

The familiar brown eyes stared back. Every detail, every hair, felt like a balm, down to the white eyelashes that framed his otherwise dark eyelining. God, he was beautiful. A hand laid over the immense paw, and she felt bothersome plant burrs and searched for more. Each one poofed to nothing in her mind. Catching on, a bit of damp on one foot revealed one of these bastard things between his paw pads, just starting to form an ulcer. Yeah nope. Well, with the offender gone it should heal fast enough. When satisfied that no more of those burrs hid in his fur, back on the armor went.

For a few more precious minutes, lying on her back, each of the puffy clouds were appreciated in turn with the huge head resting on her belly. Her hands kneaded the soft ears, reveling in the touch that had been missing for so many days. This was air and water. “I love you, Buddy.” Curling up, a giant sniff of dog...and humus. “You have been in the forest.”

Thump thump thump.

“I want to go there. But...I do not know about Erestor. Those horses are worthless. Better off for you to eat them, the poor things. That was a joke, before you get too interested. I think Saruman’s people starved them. They need to graze, and be treated with kindness. This Vanimórë, his horse is good but it cannot carry everyone. Actually...maybe we should set the boys free on the horses if they know these lands. I can run. Erestor can be taken with Vanimórë. Until he can be sent with other elves. He needs eyes, Beren. Erestor is helpless. He almost got killed because they wanted me. Sauron wanted me because I can grow food, the moron. They won’t understand but I have to go. Agreeing was how we got out of there alive. And if I do not keep my promise I think the new elf will be punished.” All these things were whispered into the fur while the wind rustled the grasses.

“Or we could just take a f*ckitol and forget the world and go home. I want my Cheshire girl who must think I have forgotten her. Does she know I have not forgotten her?” As always, her hands roved his fur. So soft, so silky. Something to channel her anxiety. “Beren, can I tell you something? There are times I feel like Amaranthine is so close. Like there is only a veil between us.”

Sitting up, the great dog tilted its head at her.

Nenni’s expression fell. “I know. It sounds like six impossible things before dinner, doesn’t it?” Peering up from the tall grasses revealed the others seemed some distance away now and the shadows had grown longer. “Guess we had better go catch up to them.”

**

“Thou hast returned.”

This was the extent of his observation as dusk neared. Not eager to come alongside the black stallion, her feet trod slowly after mention of Amaranthine being near. One thought drifted into another as the light slowly faded, and just when she had almost despaired of him ever turning aside to make any camp before full dark was upon them, he directed them into a clever alcove in the rocks that would have been invisible to many.

“Concern thyself with the comfort of the others, if thou couldst give some assistance.”

I have traveled once. Gone one one short military campaign. I do not mean to be stupid. I do not understand what you want me to do. Gather firewood and build a fire? Hunt and feed them? Read stories to the children? Search for water? Can you please be specific?

“Hunt, if thou willst. Pardon my lack of clarity.”

“There is nothing to pardon. Thank you for leading us to this place. I shall return soon.”

Before he had time to mount a response that it was meant in jest she was gone and the hound with her.

“Adonenniel?” Erestor called out softly, still on the horse. The boys had slipped off, having some idea of what to do.

“She will hunt and not linger,” Vanimórë informed. “I shall assist thee from the horse.”

Once this was done, he unrolled a bedroll for Erestor, and bade him sit, but then paused. “Perchance thou desireth relief?”

A face redolent with stress and humiliation nodded, reaching upward for a guiding hand so that he would not manage to pitch into the fire or...something. Never before having guided someone fully sightless, he listened for Erestor to explain his needs, and assisted.

“Thank you, Lord. You are very kind.” Erestor’s grey eyes searched for an outline of Vanimórë though he knew he would find none.

“No Lord am I, Master Erestor. Here, now canst thou rest. Supper shall be soon.” The fire lit, he swiftly dressed the large rabbits that had carelessly surfaced while they waited for Nenni in her conversing with Glorfindel. These had fallen easy victim to thrown knives. There was more than enough food, which was why his ill-chosen humor about going hunting had gone astray. He was unable to fathom that she had not seen them, hanging from the horse.

She was not, in fact, gone long, bearing a small buck. The sight of the skewered and roasting rabbits left her baffled. “But, uhm…”

Beren belched, devouring the rabbits with his eyes.

“Nevermind.” They probably needed three quarters of the buck just for the dog. “C’mon Buddy.”

“Know’st thou how to roast meats? Make sure these do not burn?” Vanimórë asked the boys. They nodded. “We will be very nearby doing enough to the deer for tonight, and will return very soon. I will help thee, Adonenniel.”

“Oh. That is...Beren, would you stay with Erestor? Help him be comfortable? Then I can get your dinner faster.”

Never were such magic words spoken, apparently, for poor Erestor had a backrest so quickly he barely knew what to do but his face shone with delight, a real smile blazing forth for the first time in days. With the greatest difficulty Nenni tore herself from that sight to...cut up deer. Dull, she walked away with it, finding a half-suitable tree.

“I have some rope,” Vanimórë offered.

“Oh...it will just get dirty. But you are much taller than I am. If you help me hold its hind legs up, that would help.”

He did not see how, but he also had not fathomed how she had brought back a deer in mere minutes. Indulging her seemed as though it might provide the most answers. The two of them heaved the carcass up high; in a flash something much like thin snakes flew past his hands, startling him badly. Recoiling, he let go but it did not matter. She did not even seem to notice. The deer was hung by many tight coils of something smooth and strong. “What….?” he asked, hopelessly confused.

Nenni tilted her head. “Are you safe right now?”

Nodding slowly, he eyed her warily.

“Do you want an actual demonstration of what I can do? Why they were all so bothered about me, in Orthanc?”

The question should have worried. But the quality of her voice...so listless. And filled with contempt when she spoke the word ‘they.’

“Very well.”

“Your blades. Do you wish to defend yourself?”

Again, the utter lifelessness in her tone. What was wrong with her?

Swords drawn fluidly, Nenni noted with interest the difference between how he withdrew his blades in comparison to her own motion. That must be...maybe on account of his scabbards? Huh. Courteously she stepped several paces back. “Three, two, one…”

A countdown? Truly? Save the warning did not aid him when a morass of thin vines shot at him in an encircling weave. Instinctively he spun his blades into a protective shield of cutting edges that at first seemed to prune away the attacking stuff, but that caused it to branch laterally, to reach up and over. And around. Flanking. Worst of all, it snaked flat against the ground. In seconds his legs were coiled; from there the vines shot up the trunk of his body to pin his upper arms to his sides. Wrists were immobilized, his blades torn from his grip while the diabolical cords thickened and took command of his own swords, wielding them before his eyes.

Walking to him, not once did she look up. The vegetation delivered the swords to her grasp but instead of taking hold of the grips, the flat of each blade was pinched tightly between thumb and forefinger. They felt heavy, to her. Why are you doing this? she asked herself...receiving no answer. While all the ivy fell away in motes of dust, the swords were maneuvered and swung sideways so that the edges of the grips were balanced atop one wrist, held with the sharp edges facing outward. Nenni pivoted to offer him the grips. “That sort of sums up the nature of their objections. Broadly speaking.”

Vanimórë did not move.

“What is it? Surely you want these back?”

“Thou hast won them fairly.”

“What? Are you out of your mind? That’s my job. Now take these, please. They are heavy.”

“What if I do not wish to?”

Hanger descended like a blinding fog. Not the giant housing for blimps or sundry aircraft, but hunger precipitating anger. Wheeling on her heel, she carried his blades now carelessly in her arms, cradling them somewhat, and stormed back to the buck. When had she last eaten?

“You greedy git!” she whispered under her breath, staring in incomprehension. Well, any thought of doing anything with that hide was gone with the wind. The only reason the hound hadn’t taken the whole thing was, it was still attached to the tree. “Beren! Just because you helped get it doesn’t mean you get to slobber over the whole damn carcass!” Somehow, enough regard was given to Vanimórë’s blades in the back of her mind that they were laid down carefully on the ground off to the side.

“Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

“You will not growl at me, you overgrown bag of kibble! I’m your momma!”

“Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

“Let go of that head! Awwwww lookit, all the blood is on the ground oh that’s just fan friggin’ tastic I’m starving over here didn’t anyone ever tell you Plott hounds are starving in North Carolina??”

“Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

“GOD YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE SOMETIMES.”

Fishing the twins’ knife out of her boot (yes it was not the right type of knife but as it was the only one she had…) every attempt was being made to sever the entire neck and head from the rest of the carcass so she could have something to eat herself. It was difficult, in the crappy light, to find the ligaments and not wanting to dull the blade slowed everything down but at last it was to where the dog could twist it free himself and...be happy.

Finally….meat. The hide was peeled back so that she could slice at the whatever this was muscle. Probably I know the anatomical name but I can’t think, Why can’t I think? I’m so thirsty....

The ascending aorta still dripped blood, she found, and that was the next thing to water. With the vaguest notions that she ought to be ashamed of this behavior but unable to stop against the maddening thirst, her teeth locked around the vessel and found how to draw on it – or try to. Most really was already gone so all she had for her trouble was a very bloody face.

“The meat is very nearly ready and now I –” Vanimórë’s vision bested an elf’s at night and for a moment he said nothing. “Art thou well?”

No. I am so thirsty again and feel I will go out of what is left of my mind. It came on so suddenly. I thought I was hungry but now I am not so sure. I had a little of this, it is good. Is there water nearby? I have to find water. Could you tell me?

Wait here.

Another slip of meat distracted from the duration of his absence though probably it was not so long.

Drink.

This reminded her of before but not as bad, when she had been so thirsty with Erestor. Everything was going wrong. Haywire. I… hands that shook tried to find what it was he meant for her to drink. What is wrong with me?

In the dark his brows knitted. In the space of not an hour, the elleth had gone from seeming to be tiring but able to hunt to experiencing strange symptoms causing her genuine fear? First the drink. I shall aid thee. Bracing her with one arm, the other took control of the waterskin.

I do not know how to drink from this came out in irrational panic.

Adonenniel. I shall not ever harm thee. Only drink. Ease thy thirst.

The next many minutes were an ill memory, later. Of fingers, curling around his wrist to try to follow the movements of his hand. Nearly choking from trying to drink too fast, until he slowed and did not allow so much, which made her feel all the more crazed for water. Humiliation and bitter anger, to be revealed to him in such execrable weakness.

Thou said’st ‘so thirsty again’...

How we came to Isengard… In and out of her head swam a battle against assorted terrors. Beren chewed his food, crunching bones not far away, but in her reacting mind the bandersnatch had come upon her at last, alone and in the dark and there was only the terrible…like Finrod, in the story Ada had told. The bastards had taken her swords… This was worse than bears, how the claws and teeth deeply bit!

Adonenniel!! Grasping her shoulders firmly, he understood something was wrong that ought not to be. “Léofa!” he called, not overly loudly but with command.

“Sir?” The youth appeared at once.

“Thou art not to say a word concerning what thou seest here to Master Erestor but thou shall answer my questions. Dost thou understand?” Vanimórë demanded.

Terrified, Léofa nodded.

“In what manner were Adonenniel and Erestor brought to Isengard, to the best of thy knowledge?”

“Men, were hired, sir.” His voice lowered. “Bad men. To drug them and steal them from sight. I do not understand exactly how. And bring them there. There was a lot of yelling when they came because they gave especially the Lady a lot of the drugs. More than they were supposed to, so that she never woke to have food or water. The drugs made both of them mad for water. Very thirsty. But she had it much worse than Sir Erestor.”

“Why were they kept sleeping?”

“I did not understand that part, sir? But there was much laughing in a way that sounded mean. And Gríma was very angry with them. Livid. He had them thrown into the dungeons for what they had done, said that Lord Saruman would decide…something. I am sorry, sir. I did not understand.”

“That suffices. Thou hast done well. One other matter. Yestereve. Last night. In which place did Adonenniel take rest?”

“I…am not fully certain, sir. But there are few quarters. It is possible that Gríma gave his own room for the Lady to sleep in and stayed elsewhere.”

“I give thee my thanks. This has been most helpful. Is there anything else the drug does besides cause the person to thirst?”

Léofa considered. “I am not exactly certain, sir? But when she first came, she about tore the spire apart screaming for Erestor. Even though he was right near her. Was she confused? I do not know. She has quite a voice, sir. I believe glass could shatter from that sound.” A grin arose from the memory, and the extent to which it had bothered people he could not give two flicks, two flies and a horse sh*t about, as they said back home in the East Wold.

“I shall say this much to thee. Mayhap Adonenniel was given more of this drug before we departed Isengard. She would rather Erestor not worry for her. The worst of the thirst and confusion should pass soon, then I shall return her to the fire. We can insist she was placed under strain, negotiating with the wizard. Thou hast been most helpful.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy scuttled off to rejoin his companion and Erestor.

Vanimórë returned to Adonenniel. Too proud to say it aloud, her eyes screamed for water along with the rest of her, for she had returned to thinking only of what blood might still be in the deer carcass (not enough, most was drained away before this thirst had come upon her). “Let me help thee. Dost thou still have thirst?”

A nod yes brought the water skin back, and it seemed as though she drank forever…another strange, snapshot memory of this time that would never depart. After, Beren left his bones, either having something in his belly to suffice for a time or hearing the strange note in her voice. He washed her face, happy enough to slurp away the mess of deer blood and leave her in a far more fit appearance – not to mention, making it possible for her to be cleaned by a small damp cloth to her face.

“Lady, before we return to the fire,” he spoke quietly, carefully wiping her skin. “I should like to know what thou canst recall of yestereve. Thou took rest in the quarters of Saruman’s servant, I am told?”

“Yes. I cannot say I care much for that man. He was horrid to us when we arrived. I am nearly positive he struck me, though an attempt was made to confuse the issue during the time we were coming out from under the influence of drugs we had been given to keep us unconscious. I remember…I think I remember…a conversation about the drugs being to make us easy to deal with.”

“Little do I think of him either. I know not what Saruman finds of worth in him, save he is a coward easily bullied, who will bully in turn. Thou wert left in peace, then?”

“Yes. He was courteous enough to offer me hot tea to drink before I retired. An unexpected gesture, from someone otherwise so lacking manners.”

“Really?” Vanimórë intoned, trying to pretend he felt any sort of surprise.

“Yes. I did not like it there. I have…I mean not that you need to care about this sort of thing, but I might as well be part dog. I notice scents. Of people, I mean, more than I believe is usual and of course his room reeks of…him. The only redeeming aspect of that entire place was that he kept plants of every description and before I left I recovered some ivy. Don’t leave home without it. Please, water?”

“A little more. Trust me. Thou need’st food, and warmth. Rest.”

“But the deer…”

“I am able. We are provisioned and thy hound hath an appearance of privation…the deer assuredly will help us all.”

Vanimórë’s tone was the perfect balance of not issuing orders but strongly suggesting a preferable course of action. Slowly nodding, Adonenniel offered no resistance to being ushered by gentle pressure to the fire and Erestor, the sight of whom seemed to reset something in her mind entirely. Her greeting brightened Erestor’s face straightaway, causing Nenni immense guilt.

Once next to her beloved companion, he instinctively seemed to know to offer comfort, holding her. The boys had already had some food, and brought more water with some soft words from Vanimórë. Truthfully, Nenni remembered little. Some more water, but she had been brought past the worst of it. As so often happened, what little she had already eaten sent her stomach into a false sense of feeling full, and some cajoling was needed to get even a small portion of meat into her. The rest she refused save for some slices of apple. Fresh fruit was precious…she admonished them above all not to throw away the core, to save it for her. They had already laid out bedrolls…still buckled into her swords, her body slumped against Erestor’s. Léofa and Éostan glanced at each other, watching as the poor Elf tried to manage. Surprisingly, he knew how to slip her sword harness off her shoulders, but fortunately Vanimórë laid the scabbards aside before an accident could happen. Erestor seemed…unable.

The boys rushed over, sensing that it would go badly for them if they failed to discharge their duties. Both feared the tall, dark man who had led them out of Orthanc, not knowing if he was really to be trusted. Little had gone well for them in their short lives, could they be blamed? Before anyone knew what had occurred, there was another in their midst. A giant dog, inspecting all that was being done with intense suspicion, until he saw Nenni’s bedroll and thought it very nice that this had been laid out for him. WHUMP. Stretching with a satisfied sigh, endless dog spread out. Vanimórë stared at him in disbelief, half-holding Nenni up and not knowing what to do. Apparently he need not have been concerned. A half-eye opened, and her arms reached toward the hound. “Pleezzizzablankitt.”

More or less she faceplanted into the animal’s fur, and fell back to sleep. Both of them sort of were on the bedroll?

Vanimórë turned to the boys, who dared not laugh. “Have you…either of you…understood her words?” Like stars his eyes seemed by the firelight, to them.

“Yes, sir,” Éostan replied. “I believe she wanted a blanket.”

“We…it was not warm, in the tower,” Erestor explained with great reluctance, embarrassed. “She would dress me in as many clothes as we were given. Always she feared that her own clothes would be taken away if she surrendered them.”

“Oh, that is why!” Léofa exclaimed, comprehension dawning. “I do not blame her,” he added sadly. “Though, someone was put out, I suppose.”

“What do you mean?” Éostan asked.

“I constantly was being asked if she had changed out of her clothes. Every. Single. Day.”

“By who?” Léofa wanted to know, not having heard this at all.

“The washer-woman. But she let it slip once, well after the second week, that it had been Gríma who was asking.”

“What on earth would he want with a woman’s clothes?” Erestor wondered.

“How would I know?” Léofa retorted, retrieving the desired blanket from their gear. “Who knew anything, with him. Her belongings are well-made, probably valuable. Maybe he wanted to sell them. Master Erestor, shall we help you prepare for rest? Have you had enough to eat and drink?”

“I did not mean to offend you,” Erestor answered meekly, looking down.

Léofa looked up, confused, only to see the expression of horror Éostan wore.

“Y-you did not offend me, sir…I…oh please pardon me! I…somehow I did not realize…I became confused, sir, I believed it was Éostan who asked me that…Master, please, I beg of you not to send me back there…I would serve you in recompense for my mistake than be sold there again…”

“Sold? I thought you worked, served in Orthanc,” Erestor asked, growing upset.

“My uncle had debts, sir. I was sold to work for a period of years and then what he owed was paid off. I may go…back, after.”

“You are with your uncle because…?” Erestor persisted.

“My parents died.”

“How?”

“Our village was attacked, sir. Orcs.”

“And you, Éostan?”

“We are from the same village, sir. There were many orphans.”

“Your relations had debt as well?”

“No sir, they needed to buy crop seed and a new cookstove.”

Even in the firelight, Vanimórë saw the fragile ellon’s face drain of color. “I shall assist Mastor Erestor with his necessities,” the low baritone declared. “Please hang up any food, and go to rest.”

“Yes sir,” both boys answered.

Quite soon, communicating silently by thought, they had returned. Vanimórë did not ask, he dictated that Erestor lie between himself and Adonenniel. Regardless, he would not sleep but would listen for the sounds of the night. For days he could manage without and would wait until they were under the eaves of lands patrolled by the Galadhrim. Here…no. The blankets and in his case hides and furs that were available he ensured covered everyone well enough; still he felt Erestor’s cold. Leave it to blundering Gríma that even a basic ambush with instructions to capture one prisoner could not be carried out…yet he knew well enough the sort of men available in the North. It was not like those from the far south, those he once held as legions of disciplined armies…

For the rage against Gríma…a terrible cold settled over him. What had happened was plain as the moon overhead. Adonenniel did not know, nor did he have the heart to tell her. Many things were amiss, and strange. It was true, he had little experience with other elves, contact had been very limited…but never before had he encountered what today had brought: This elleth had distinctly tried to close her thoughts off from him, to no avail whatsoever.

Chapter 7: Skirting Around

Chapter Text

{69-70 Laer Imladris, July 21-22 Gregorian T.A. 3017}

“I must ask thee something,” Vanimórë broke the silence as they rode toward the rather foreboding treeline in the distance.

“Yes?” Nenni’s thoughts were far afield; everyplace from things left behind, to things left really behind, to Eru even knew what was waiting ahead. As she somewhat shamelessly was being allowed to utilize her travel companion as a backrest, though, it seemed rude to refuse him.

“I have witnessed many things in my years. I have seen wolf-riders in the service of Sauron near their beasts. But I cannot recall anything like…ah, how to say…well, if I may, thy hound, and the manner of his legs when asleep…”

Nenni laughed. “Are you trying to ask me how anyone can possibly sleep with a dog who looks like it is dead most of the night and or tries to use the person for furniture?”

“That…could suffice, yes.”

More laughter. “I really do like you.”

Thou canst not make that mistake. The firm rebuke failed to mask a shade of regret.

Easily turning in the saddle, Nenni regarded Vanimórë, who appeared regrettably destined to sip tea…after all, there’s plenty of room!

The deep violet eyes held hers unflinchingly. Fondness is but a weakness to exploit. Lord Sauron hath mastered this against me. Hand him not the same! Use caution.

You mean…?

I mean, if Lord Sauron wishes to force my submission to anything, most anything at all, he bargains: My obedience, or the torment then slaughter of innocents. If my obedience might spare the other person, no matter the cost to me, I…give it. Now, seest thou?

Considering these words, Nenni grew…unhappy, but deeper down, the anger seethed. The tactics were hardly novel. If you are saying these things, am I right to think you are ‘safe,’ this moment?

As safe as can be. His attention is not upon me.

Is it possible to work out some small tell between us that can inform when he has come? Suggestion: An innocent gesture that should not trigger his awareness? Make eye contact with me. Hold my gaze for a moment, thinking that you believe me wearisome or an addled. Close your eyes for a little longer than one would for blinking and when you reopen them, be looking elsewhere. If I have understood, when next you look at me I will have lowered my eyes and be fidgeting with my fingers if either is an option. With some slight practice these motions could become natural, second nature. Perhaps…? It could serve us.

What on Arda could make thee think of something like this?

Uhm…too much imagination and a childhood spent planning practical jokes?

A faint groan came from him. Thou wilt explain that later. Return please aloud to thy hound.

“Well, see, you do not understand hound dog bed linens, and things. On earth there was an entire line of Plott Hound specific bedding.”

“For the hound.”

“No, no, for the people and the hound. In every place except where the hunters were. See, hunters were the sane people. People that had Plott Hounds for pets or both as pets and working dogs were already lost.”

By now Beren had come alongside and was listening carefully, casting an extremely dubious eye on the present narration. One of Vanimórë’s arched brows lifted. Oblivious, Nenni chattered on.

“Beren had a bed in every room. A dog bed, I mean. But it didn’t really matter, because his bed was his, and our furniture was his, and our bed was his. It did not start out that way but by about the time he was…well, before we came here, any pretense of him not owning all the furniture was out the window and then it took him what, did he even need eight weeks in Middle Earth to own the royal bed – if Aran Thranduil hears I ever said that I will completely deny it for the record but it is totally true just saying.”

On the other horse, Erestor was shaking with laughter and trying to keep himself steady. He remembered his first introduction to the dog and could imagine all these things perfectly well.

“I still fail to understand this special bedding?”

“Well, it is meant for humor. Like, the pillowcase and sheet set that tells that the human gets this much of the bed (her hands described the width of Vanimórë’s slender body) and the Plott Hound gets this much (now her arms reached as wide as they possibly could) so that everyone is clear on the fair allocation of space for sleeping.”

“Rrrrrrrrooooooooorrrrrrr.” Beren sauntered along, scythe tail wagging approvingly. He co*cked an arrogant eye up at Vanimórë to clearly say, I do hope you are listening, asshole.

“BEREN Հինգ եղբայրները գամակ վրա պիտի տամ!!!!!” Nenni snapped, completely annoyed.

The dog ignored her completely, walked ten more paces, and belched loudly.

Appalled, her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose. Yeah. This was why I spent most of my time on the farm not caring if I lived or died, come to think on it. I love him but god what an ass. It’s like living with someone with histrionic personality disorer. The real question is, on the cosmic scheme of things, has anything changed really or is the treadmill just bigger, weirder and now I am on the ride I can never disembark? Fabulous. My life just became Harold and Maude meets No Exit. I think I shall work on a screenplay…no, something changed. In seconds her mind shuttered, her mood fell into utter blackness.

“Going to scout up ahead with the dog,” she muttered to Vanimórë. “You mean to stay on this course?”

“Yes. I dislike thee going on ahead,” he frowned.

“We are downwind. That nose can sweep out half a dust speck of anything that has been anywhere near here for miles, unless it has wings. If something seems even a little wrong, we will return to you at once.” The hood of her travel-cloak was raised over her distinctive hair.

Vanimórë waved her off, guessing at the futility of argument, secretly admiring her fleet and silent stride apace with the hound. They were a very odd pair. Very odd. Deliberately he would be giving no thought whatsoever to the animal, lest somehow his Master gain a hint of it. As the dog was no part of the original bargain nor could any coercion he could envision be brought to bear regarding any change to the arrangement, best dismiss all memories of it. Them. Whatever were they doing?

Following an Elven-scent, of course. A day old. They were being looked-for, perhaps? Which, that seemed like the most encouraging thing in a while though she still did not know how to say to Erestor…what she would say, and clearly their time slipped away rapidly. The track led to within a furlong of the eaves of Fangorn, then turned sharply to parallel the edge of the woods and kept on this way…and this caused Nenni to stop, letting Beren go after a whispered and not so whispered warning. Buddy. Do not go into the forest until I do. Something is strange when an elf will skirt the woods.

Together they jogged to the edge until the massive overhangs were upon them. Hoary, forbidding, and interestingly distinctive in stark contrast to the nearby grasslands. Well, here went nothing. Closest to her a broad oak loomed overhead and this is what she studied before she touched it, closing her eyes and letting her other sight take over. Complexities, that word first jumped into her mind. Deeply tangled ones, at that. With brush strokes by Caravaggio and Beethoven crushing chords in his fist but none of it lacked for beauty while the brooding and darkness swirled through. Ummm, huh. And I thought Eryn Galen was interesting.

A stiffer breeze had picked up, adding more noise. It felt dislikable, making other sounds more difficult to discern amid the relentlessly whooshing leaves. Stay clear of the reach of the limbs, Beren. Just in case there is…weirdness. In a rush she leapt into the tree, quite prepared to exit if it all went to hell…but did not believe it would. Not once she could grasp the trunk, and join her mind to the greater consciousness of what lived here. Such a great, green, glorious symphony! Life here felt whole. Powerful. Irascible, but powerful. Age lay upon it. And….an awareness. Gasping, she withdrew her hands, staring at the tree in wonder. Had that just been…? Something like but unlike her lived here. Not like her as a person. Like her, pertaining to her ability. Something that could see as she saw. Well, you just rang the doorbell, didn’t you now. But the sense of distance had been vast. This forest… her hands again laid on the bark. To cross the distance and converse.

Herself she identified honestly, and told of their escape. That a sightless elf, beloved of the Lord of Imladris, would be sent north with her hound and two boys as carers; their freedom bought with her own mischance who must travel another road. Might she beg their safe passage through the forest to the elves of Lórien? Sure protection from unfriendly eyes and many miles less to walk? The hound would take them…

After the weeks in that pit toilet named Isengard (no she did not care what pedigree of men built it, sh*t had taken up residence so it was one giant sh*tter for all she cared). Frowning, her train of thought derailed against the rough bark. Wait. If she had just parlayed with the sh*t in Chief, where did that leave her in the system of taxonomy…ahmmm…

What passed for a reply distracted from this undignified train of thought. The hound was already known…Nenni squeezed her eyes shut harder. Of course he was… A bargain. Damaged trees were nearby. Branches hewn wantonly by passing foul folk, the wood wasted. Would she help?

Of course. Even were she not asking something in return, that was only decency. Kindness. The trees here were kindred. With heartfelt gratitude, she moved along to find what she had been asked and after the weeks in that obsidian latrine, her feet were bereft of desire to touch the ground. Mostly to keep Beren from any temptations to stray into the actual forest, Nenni kept to the treeline but flew through these trees with elven skills, stretching sinews kept too long idle. Pain for this temporary stupidity could come later; right now the freedom of overexertion felt worth any price.

Possessing half-Ainur blood meant being physically gifted above one of the Eldar, though Vanimórë appeared largely elven outwardly save for his great height and unusual eye color. At the moment, his exceptional sight, which had never left Adonenniel for even a moment, vacillated between begrudging admiration and incomprehension. Why undertake the exceptionally difficult exercise of travel through the canopy of hoary trees at speed when one could as easily run on the clear ground alongside? His wry smile vanished when she missed a handhold…no, not missed, more like her grip seemed to fail…and fell to the ground. Something of a roll had been managed, but if that was intentional then he was a goblin.

That…was really goddamn dumb, Nenni noted, stopping in a crouch on one knee. Her left palm stung like holy hell, and staying there immobile had to do with waiting for the worst part of the pain to pass. Over the proverbial hump, a quick twiddle confirmed nothing was broken but…yeah, slipping like that had caused the bark to chew a mess into the heel of her hand. Beren’s sniffing nose could be heard. Oh, and here comes the cleanup crew. I suppose this is what I get for yelling at you earlier. Well, serves me right. Raising her head, she eyed the huge dog. Who eyed her back. “I could swear to f*cking god you are laughing at me.” Sullenly she let him have her hand, so he could begin slurping it. He was surprisingly gentle, anyway.

“I’m more tired than I wanted to believe, though it was nice while it lasted. I also am not sure I am really back to who I was physically before I became pregnant. Um…how about I am just not.”

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

“Look, don’t take all day. If the bleeding stopped we’re good here and I can deal with the splinters myself.”

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

“Beren. For the sake of novelty can we pretend that I exist and am speaking words?”

Slurp. With grand ceremony there was much lip licking.

“Yeah, well, if I somehow die after all, feel free to chow down. I’d rather have you eat me than some filthy Orc.”

Wag wag wag wag wag wag.

“Jesus, do you have to look so happy about the idea?”

Beren blinked. He had not forgotten being scolded yesterday. Nor that the new Elf Thing had not offered him all the rabbits to eat straight away. Priorities had gone downhill amidst present compant and it was unacceptable. The elves with the yellow hair, all of them so much better trained, had left and he could not smell them no matter how hard he tried…but His Person had said, take Erestor home. Maybe the yellow hairs were at home but Home Home was very far. His food bowl was home. This sucked. Grumbling, he turned and walked off.

“I love you too,” she muttered acidly, now walking to find these trees at a more subdued pace, still waiting for the sting in her hand to fade. Another minute, and looking it over for any embedded chunks of wood would happen. Paying better attention and not sitting out here like an idiot needed to happen. “You know, I could still use you over here so I don’t faceplant walking, dog friend!” Pressing on anyway, she closed her eyes to the ordinary world, hoping that the terrain was enough to be manageable because in her usual state of obliviousness, knowing her she’d walk right past whatever she was supposed to care for – but not like this. Seen with her other sight, an injury to a tree stood out as a visual eyesore; highly noticeable like a completely wrong color in a paint-by-number piece.

So there it stood, all the wrong colors indeed. Walking on, she was likely to fall down again like this and thought she ought maybe to open her eyes again, but the moment she did, the tree started to disappear. Frack muttered as a dog’s growl; too often she imitated Beren’s vocal noises unthinkingly. Visual disorientation, a whine of annoyance, and the big dog precisely blocking her path unexpectedly, taking her legs out from under her. Oh hell no…don’t stick your hands out!! Another fall. Just…this day could go to hell too. When her fingers scrabbled at Beren’s midsection in a useless effort to tumble, two hands suddenly had her sword harness, bringing her back upright.

There everything was again, in her own Weirdscape because of course her eyes had squeezed shut but there was only one person who could have her held upright and awwwwwww snap… “I…um…so that happened.” The heat in her face rose intolerably. He should not have seen this ability of hers, for both their sakes, probably, but he had so…well, what was there to be done about it now? Nothing. “As long as you’re rescuing me from my gymnastic failures, can you help a little longer and, you know, keep me from falling flat on my face some more?”

“Do…I want to know what manner of…seeing…thou seest?” Vanimórë asked carefully.

“Well I was a little worried about that, with ah, your overlord and all. I mean…in a way you’ve kind of summed up all there is to say really. I suppose it’s like swordfighting. Someone can watch me fight and comment, ah! So that’s how she fights. But…it is not like it helps them do it themselves if they have not the skill, the innate ability, the uh…well I suppose the word ‘training’ could loosely apply…” Nenni rubbed at her head until she remembered her palm was scraped. “So sure, this is how I do what I do but does knowing that matter? No idea.” Shrugging, her right foot struck out toward the injured tree that Vanimórë could also perceive both with his own eyes and as his little friend saw it.

“I find this jarring. I understand why thou wouldst have help.”

“I would block me out. I was good at what you are doing, months ago. I would…ugh. There is so much I feel like I should not tell you because of Daddy Dearest.”

Vanimórë could not help it. He laughed. “Thou art very impudent, Your Majesty. As a good servant, I counsel thee to show greater respect. Many have begged for death over less than thou hast now spoken.”

“You have the right of it,” Nenni sighed. “It isn’t so much that I overtly disdain your Lord. If we are going to be on the subject, you should shove the totality of my insane comments into your probably perfect memory. I am aware of the might of the Lord Sauron. Once the Maia Mairon, vassal of the Vala Aulë, master of the forces of the earth. I cannot imagine what your father can do, nor the subtleties of his thought, nor his ancient wisdom. What am I beside him? Nothing. A blurp of pumice out of one of his volcanoes. I do stand in humility before him, while also being aware of his ambitions, his cruelties, his hatreds, his probable obsessive-compulsive disorder. He is altogether beyond…little me. No, I just have problems with parental figures. It really is as simple as that. And so being of generally unsound mind, my stylus skips over the grooves, you see.”

“I am sorry, what?”

“Turntable? Stylus? Those were the names of two of my pet rats, you know…” Nenni tilted her head. “It was an earth thing. A device. And…can we just say that this is another metaphor for how Adonenniel’s mind does not work like all the others do? Eh, does not matter. You should not listen to me, Vanimórë. If you are not mad to start with, tuning in enough to my radio station will get you that way.”

“Hmph. Try me,” he retorted acidly.

They had reached the area where the damage to all the trees was easily visible, even to the sight of Vanimórë. “Orcs,” he muttered. “Wantonly destructive trash, but bodies to fill an army.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Nenni agreed, finding a comfortable stance. “Keep holding the straps please. Going to try something different.”

“What hast thou–”

Adonenniel’s hands arched behind her back, somehow perceiving where his arms were likely to be, lightly grasping them. All of her spine curved back. Her face looked at him, but not with her eyes. Those remained closed. I need you. Be here with me. This is not always easy and I do not feel up to the task but I was asked to fix this. You will see. It’s…why he wants me. Straightening, her arms came off of him while each of her feet peeled her boots and stockings off to stand barefooted in the loam, digging in her toes.

Beren had surveyed his mistress and elected to leave the area near the trees, Vanimórë noted as the hound stood three-quarters behind him, then the oddest thing happened – at least to his perception. The upper body he tethered swayed, with those arms lifted. In her mind he realized that she ‘gathered’ these damaged trees together, ‘holding’ them, but, what on earth? The next part though, caught him quite unawares. Her breathing became suddenly quite focused and to his thinking peculiar, as did her stance and the entire collection of thoughts suddenly overflowing… Oddly childlike song poured out and it could not have been less expected. Not in the sense that it sounded as if a child sang it; no, it was obviously an adult woman with a voice as unclassifiable as its owner. His ears noted clear high tones, strong low ones, missed notes and skips; quite a gamut but the overall effect pleased. The singer had no affectations, using her body with little self-awareness. Almost, elements of an invisible Song-Battle existed here and there…whatever she pushed and pulled against with her flattened hands, he had no idea.

We're floating in the moonlit sky

The people far below are sleeping as we fly

I'm holding very tight

I'm riding in the midnight blue

I'm finding I can fly so high above with you

Far across the world

The villages go by like trees

The rivers and the hills

The forests and the streams

Children gaze open mouth

Taken by surprise

Nobody down below believes their eyes

We're surfing in the air

We're swimming in the frozen sky

We're drifting over icy mountains floating by

Suddenly swooping low on an ocean deep

Arousing of a mighty monster from its sleep

We're walking in the air

We're dancing in the midnight sky

And everyone who sees us greets us as we fly

All the while, the trees groaned and strained, pushing out new growth in place of what had been lost. The damaged places forcibly extruded what had been taken away; growth sealed and mended what had been torn and twisted. These trees presented difficulty, though. They held such age, and hoariness. Nenni felt resistance, as though they resisted the help – which baffled her. Well, maybe resistance was not right. More like, they were so lost to time that the life in them did not know how to bear the concept of doing anything quickly; therefore gift or no gift her work had all the ease of walking through a tar pit. Maybe a lyrics revision had to happen…

It’s millions of years ago, and I’m a thirsty mastodon,

I’m looking at the water I’m about to tread upon.

I step into the lake, the mud is very soft and black

I try to lift my foot but it’s not coming back…

Rising onto her toes and giggling madly, her head shook. Bad bad bad bad stooooooooooop…. Back on the ground, whump onto her heels. “Well they look better, but they don’t look my idea of good.” How embarrassing. But it is all I can do. I am too far gone, and if I do anything else you will end up carrying me. More giggling, because the idea of the tar pits was too funny… Trapped in the laughter, her hands held her head now. This never ended well.

Beren rushed forward, knowing that his person had trouble again. Blocking in front of her, he pressed his substantial nose up against her throat to try to distract her out of this state of mind.

No tangible means existed by which Vanimórë could make heads or tails of what he saw, but he never could have come so far without being able to make educated guesses – she was in some kind of distress. The grasp he had on her harness kept her from being knocked over…but her balance did not recover. One hand shifted to her waist, to help right her but it seemed to be like trying to aid someone who had become passive dead weight.

“Aurghghhhhaaaaaaa yuuuuuuck Beeeeeren!!” came the vehement complaint. “Oh my god that’s disgusting!!” All laughter had ceased; a huge stream of drool coated her mouth, cheek, chin and throat. Slime everywhere. “Just, what? Freaking gross!” Both hands sluiced the offending substance off her face, trying to fling it back at the dog with no success at all; Beren happily sat out of range smiling at her. Asshole.

In return came that growl grumble yawn thing he did that ran on for about fifteen seconds (and basically meant yeah f*ck you too in PlottHoundese).

Only now did something feel… “...Vanimórë?” a small voice murmured, because there were trees…and there was slobber…and now there were hands…one of which she laid her own hand atop and lightly grasped. Which way was up? Why weren’t her feet properly under her? Because you just had to try that last little bit, didn’t you…

“Thy voice is…” The baritone behind her cast about for the right word. None really suited. “Lovely.”

“Oh. Thank you.” I sang about tar pits. Seriously? Resolute insecurity lurked in every corner, armoring against all praise.

“What needst thou?” The fingers at her waist spread open. “I cannot follow all that is in thy thought.”

Eyes closed, the image of the still partly damaged trees in front of her clear in her other sight, a complicated frown appeared on her face. Sometimes all the stresses and strains created the sense that the ground moved very fast though logic said, it stood firm and still. You can’t ask him warred with Tell him, he asked you. Then it moved on to, since when are your hangups more important than Erestor’s safety. The voice said it was a bargain. You have to do this and how can you without his help, idiot?

Oh not you again… Nenni groaned audibly. The Little Voice was as welcome right now as carcass stench. “Power,” came the dismayed confession to Vanimórë. “I am limited, alone. I work with my father or husband who have great spiritual power, and can utilize theirs in order to keep exercising my gift. Otherwise, the only solution is time. I am, ah, infamous for overdoing it. I apologize. I am in very poor condition at this moment…but we could rest here. I could explain…we wouldn’t be harmed. I think,” she frowned.

Both of the dark brows shot up. Vanimórë elected to turn them ninety degrees, allowing him to keep eyes on trees and the plains both. Reducing some of his towering height, he aided her to kneel while he remained crouched, alert, though he could see the hound felt at ease. Wonderful, except that he would sort this out to his own satisfaction before feeling at ease himself hound nose or no hound nose. “Lady, thou’rt several puzzles all at once. I may elect to help you. Or not. But first I will fully understand. Did you parley with someone? Repairing these trees was the price?”

“Yes. That.” Adonnenniel held onto his forearm for balance, having collapsed into a splayed posture more often seen with children; it had been kneeling, save that by continuing to yield to gravity her hips had splayed. Each leg had gone to its respective side, knees folded, and now she sat with her seat bones touching the earth (if anything more comfortable than a moment ago). A strong impression existed that without him, she would fall to one side or the other and lie on the grass uncaring. Gray eyes lifted to speak to purple ones. “There is a Power here. A Guardian. Someone like me but different. Someone I talked to. This forest is old and upset and unyielding. It hates the creatures of…uh, sorry…our current employer…but let’s just avoid that topic…I was honest and said who I was and how I could find them. Asked for safe passage for Erestor and the boys and Beren through the forest to their destination. I was asked to fix this.

“But I would have fixed this even if the answer had been No, because this is wrong. Even though I know I can’t repair a fraction of what has been done…this is all I have to give, Vanimórë.” Tears brimmed in her eyes. “Look at me. I’m a disaster. I just want to do good things and make a difference where and when I can.” Her head turned. “I know I am too trusting. But my husband said this forest is ancient. It feels that way, too. Immutable. I couldn’t do this because the goddamn trees fight me even to be healed!” Frustration choked her voice as words of accusation hurled at the boughs in front of them. “This should have been as simple as walking along but now I’m exhausted with the job half done? Why?! What’s the matter with you lot?!? Why am I yelling at an oak that looks like a troll sat on it?” Nenni trailed off in a whisper, slumping against her dark companion.

Vanimórë remained silent for a time. “If thou art a liar, thou art a most esteemed liar. I am very difficult to deceive. I will help thee…though I am not certain how.”

Nenni’s face darkened and her eyes opened, for they had closed for a time. Almost she had drifted to sleep. Twisting around, both hands held onto his arm and stared at him in barely contained rage. “It so happens that I am an incredibly good liar. I am one of the best that you will ever meet and even though you can read my mind I could still take you for a ride if I chose. I also vow that I will never lie to you. It’s never good to conflate having an ability with the willingness to use it. I hope you can understand that.”

“Dost thou often succeed, then endanger thy victory in this manner?” his head tilted in some combination of irritation, amusem*nt and defied expectations.

“First, it wasn’t a contest. Second, I just told you I wouldn’t lie to you…so consider Not Lying to include not hiding things from you when you wrongly assume something about me. Third…” A few blinks followed. “Sorry. Third left.”

“Left?”

“The thought is gone. I can’t remember. It’s lost now. It went to the Tea Party. It happens.” Dejected, at a loss, what else was there to do except wait for the mother ship to send a transmission? “Can I sit here for a little while? Sometimes I will hear what to do next.”

“Whence?”

“I really can’t explain. Out there.” Her arm described a circle overhead.

Behind her sentences Vanimórë perceived a churning chaos of disconnected, fragmented topics she struggled to order. Items she wished to consider and organize but the effort was destined to be in vain. A little like a pot of boiling broth in which things rose to the surface and disappeared again with no reason…though this image of a great silver vessel, high overhead, covered with many lights…a mother ship? His brows knitted together. Even holding onto what they were discussing right now demanded effort. Some theories formed… “Thou need’st Power.”

“Yes…”

“The others that help thee, in what manner do they act?”

“They…” Frowning, the remembrance of Glorfindel’s powerful hands on her shoulders sent a pang of sadness through her. Why, Ada? Why? “They stand behind me? And I feel power from them moving into me, replacing what I spent? Then I just keep doing what I do. If something weird is going to happen, like I would need some ridiculous amount, I would tell the person. I don’t think I am able to draw from the person at all. It has to be given. At least, that is my sense of what happens.”

“I…am not good at anything like this.”

“Erm, hm. But elves can help me, and you are far more than an elf. This is up to you. If it does not feel alright, we cannot really have a campfire and we will not have traveled anywhere today, but I am not leaving until I fix this because I said I would.” This changes everything, do you understand? We will not go with them. This will be where we part ways. No reason exists to take them through Fangorn; they will be protected in there. Beren can take them straight north to the other side; then they are within sight of Lórien. I will tell Glorfindel what has happened. Someone will tell those who need to know. I feel confident they will be safe. You and I then may…you may carry out your orders. Something in her mental tone wavered.

Thou art unhappy.

I do not know how to tell Erestor I am leaving him. I do not want him to know that his freedom was bought like this. He will not be able to bear it.

Then do not. How to say this. I am under orders to escort thee. That can relieve thee of any…responsibility.

You want me to have him believe you took me prisoner or something? How’s that supposed to work? Her brows arched.

Thou canst hardly stand. Thou canst not possibly wish me to elaborate on the means I have at my disposal for taking thee captive.

Try me. Nenni folded her arms and glared. Everything to do with Erestor transformed her into a porcupine. With fangs.

Alright. Vanimórë gently wrapped his arms around her shoulders and lowered his head to rest alongside hers. If thou willst not keep thy silence and let me speak to him, he will not feel nearly as convinced by my words. I care not if he hates me. I need neither his love nor his affection. From him, I require nothing. On the other hand, if thou art false, breaking thy promise and choosing to escape – I am not naive, thou hast powers and means to elude me – I must still return to my Master. For my failure to carry out my orders, first I will be chained and lashed until my bones are laid bare. I heal from physical injuries very quickly, so I shall not perish but will receive all the pain of it. Next will I be given over to an ample number of sordid perverts for the enjoyment of their…pleasure. Must I elaborate? My mind will be overruled; I will be forced to submit. Then follows imprisonment. Since I can remain alive without food for a very long time, who can say how long this will last. I will be…” suddenly the narration of horrors stopped, breaking off to continue on a different tangent. Whether I am beaten and violated more, left imprisoned, or personally punished at the hand of my Master all depends on his level of anger and whether he believes I wanted to follow his command. When he tears my mind apart and sees I had any pity for thee, what thinkst thou will follow? Thou promised. Adonnenniel…please?

Miserably, her head sank forward onto his forearms, bereft of will. What had made her think any of this was in her league? You don’t have a league. You only have a Tea Party, came the bitter reminder. For some reason she would not have guessed that he would know how to coerce like this…but why in the world not? Had he not mentioned it was used against even him with great success? Hello. There were more swords in this world than the ones he wore strapped to his back…and he had struck deeply, incapacitating his opponent in one move. “It will all be as you wish. You win.” The words were soft yet clear. “Whatever you want. I will do it.”

He loathed to have spoken that. The words had been base, low, exploiting the goodness that should not be held as a weakness….and yielded a bloodless win against a woman able to fight better than most men. The hurt in her bearing radiated. Better this now though; leaving her to believe the choices were removed from her (which, really they inevitably were) than agonize over Erestor who would almost assuredly have the better outcome. Better the responsibility fall on his shoulders, sparing her the bitter weight. What strength she possessed would be needed elsewhere and could not afford to be squandered on something so tender as love.

“We shall stay here the remainder of this day, under the eave of the forest; I shall trust thy arrangement with these woods is as thou hast spoken. Soon I will go to the others, and find a place to cook tonight’s meat. I deem it inadvisable to leave traces of our entry into the forest canop–”

“Fangorn. It has a name. Fangorn,” Adonnenniel interrupted unhappily, not having moved. A few unseen tears dripped to the ground through the small gap between his arms. “And I told you, I would never lie to you.” The rebuke held no emotion; the tone lacked any life. Lifting her head, inward curses for sheer idiocy bounced around inside her skull. “Why don’t you go ahead and take care of the others. I have work to do here anyway. It will take time.” The same dead voice.

“Adonnenniel, I did not intend to imply…you have misunderstood my words,” Vanimórë rebutted evenly.

“Then I apologize to you.” The same dead voice. Ivy vines shot out from coils around her wrists and forearms up into the higher branches of the nearby tree, yanking her up and away out of his very light hold. An aggrieved sound escaped her; really this was…needing solitude and having her head planted next to a tree so why not grab for both at once. “I will be exactly here when you return, Lord.”

Black booted feet remained rooted to their position.

Her lips pressed together thinly with sheer aggravation. God, where are the tranquilizers in this world? You’re supposed to be some sort of plant genius, figure it out. “Vanimórë,” she tried again. “I’m not right in the head and you’re my escort, not child daycare. If you stay here and don’t give my mind time to…fix itself a little…you will only make more work for yourself of the frustrating and needless variety. I don’t recommend it. I would get away from me. You have no idea how much I’d like to walk off on me, but I haven’t figured out how to do it. Yet. Not while awake anyway…Obviously I can’t make you do anything, so the Monopoly dice are back in your hand.”

Now his arms crossed over his chest. “Pardon, the what?”

“Monopoly dice. Monopoly is a game, ahm…they play it where I come from. It’s about…” sh*t. Mildly panicking inside, the sudden inability to frame this one evasively enough overwhelmed…how in f*ck did one explain board games about real estate? Or board games at all? Being vague about hailing from some odd portion of elvendom or having some mysterious story was one thing, but board games were the sort of thing that… “it’s about trying to own the nicest house. Houses. Er, hotels. It’s kind of hard to explain. It’s actually about who can be the greediest. Can we just delete that comparison and please, could you carry on with the things you mentioned you need to do? It would be for the best. Right now I don’t want to be out of my tree. The tree. This…tree.”

If a large looking-glass could be suspended mid-air, Nenni might have understood why Vanimórë vaguely waved in assent and walked away. It had nothing to do with her hoped-for imaginings; that the sum of the inane persuasions had convinced him. No…she would have seen something too pitiable by way of her own reflection, a person having suffered defeat not being forcibly kept at the center of attention. The facade that she was not falling to pieces inside he left undisturbed; this afforded her a shred of dignity. Whatever the circ*mstance, the black-clad figure calmly followed the forest’s edge. Eventually watching his retreating form grew wearisome, like the unwelcome reminder of the future that it was. Closing her eyes, the greater problem of this recalcitrant forest and its nearby occupants loomed larger. Why were they like this? It was…it was like they were opinionated, wanting to be left alone even by someone with a blessed gift, and this made no sense at all.

The shape of this unfortunate tree was both broad in addition to being tall but not in a pleasing manner. The appearance reminded Nenni of something caught in a vise; it had not grown round but strangely elliptical. Visualizing the entirety of its life proved a challenge…perhaps it would prove beneficial to step out onto a limb? Sighing deeply, her feet tracked along over hoary roots with Beren at her side. Colors, colors, but not the right colors, strange colors…more than once she utilized plain old cheating, deploying ivy to help her climb more easily and then… “what in motherf*ck is that??” At once her hand clapped over her mouth. “Your language has become completely atrocious. Really. Beyond. You’re going to end up teaching Herr Vanimórë earth languages and is this the sort of thing you want him spouting to…it? Pfff. Does it matter?”

Staring at the colors flowing before her, trying to make sense of what she saw, the realities of her new…unclassifiable companion for now…filtered through assorted mental spaces.

A child arrived on a long lost day

I doubt he came here in the typical way

Whoever heard of a boy grown to be a man

Never loved, never cherished only part of a plan

And he became a thing to trammel and you named him the Slave

He’d say “I’ll never be like you, dad’

“You know I’ll never be like you”

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon

Little boy blue and the man in the moon

“When you coming home, son?” “Well, you’d know when”

We’ll get together then

Father Dear will have a good time then…

Pale grey eyes opened. “Nenni…you’ve…really got problems.”

“But…I didn’t even have to think about the lyrics, and the rhyming worked.” The coppery head tilted.

“If you ever sing that to him so help me, I’ll find a way to deck you myself. Nevermind that I am you is me.”

“Mmmm. Maybe he’d save me the trouble and finally slice and dice me…but first he’d probably gain that look and ask why the cat was in the cradle and then I’d have to undo bootlaces to even start to explain the whole thing and…well.” Unthinking, a graceful left arm reached over and drew a sword, tapping it against the troublesome anomalous color, because on some level it needed banishing. Of course she would not hurt the tree… clink.

WHAT. That couldn’t be right… Tap tap, clink clink… there’s metal in the tree? “Out. Out and stop making both our lives difficult; I’m on your side.” Re-sheathing the sword, the slow and steady effort to open the tree and extract this overgrown splinter began. “What do I sing to you? My mood is as rotten as yours…ah. Silly me…if it was good enough for Mozart to lay down his quill, who am I to question these things?”

Lacrymosa dies irae, qua resurget ex favilla, judicandus hom*o reus, huic ergo parce Deus, Pie Jesu Domine. Dona eis requiem. Amen.

Tears flowed, but somehow the flow of intense emotion shunted into the tree, bypassing her body which otherwise could not have continued to sing. The tree became pliant, now yielding easily. We all shed tears, do we not? Is that what you wanted? Grief? I can give you all you could ask, my leafy friends. It is a day for tears. He will send my Erestor away and how to do this has been taken from me. I feel tricked…I do not think I should have agreed so readily. I was willing to go with Vanimórë and now I…now there are ashes alright, except I am not rising out of them. I’m more likely to wade into them. Ex favilla, my ass…oh, Erestor… The greater her mental pain, the swifter the repairs to the injured trees. Questing fingers reached toward an ugly piece of metal that now was exposed and actively being expelled. A large hand grasped her wrist and pulled backwards, millimeters before making contact. Still she sang, but a single word had been spoken into her ear: “Poisoned.”

When you are just about to lose your stuff…all your stuff…but your mind is crammed in the Requiem, what’s a girl to sing… Hostias et preces tibi Domine, tibi Domine laude offerimus, tu suscipe pro animabus illis… force it out, force it out… this was working, the extraction of the metal (some kind of blade?) had almost been accomplished. The hostias was about to be in short supply but eh if it was going to be for Sauron who gave two flips anyway. The moment the foul object fell away, the tree appeared so much healthier. Now it could restore itself. Maybe they could leave her there to sleep for a week…did anyone have a gallon of water? A great quiet settled over everything and the world barely existed…a light breeze, the rich smell of the earth, so much peace…

QUARUM HODIE, HODIE MEMORIAM FACIMUS blared inside her skull as a chorus of two hundred voices, causing her to scramble to her feet. Both swords drawn, Nenni violently tumbled away from her current position to resume her footing several meters distant, in perfect fighting stance. Wide-eyed and searching for the opponent…something wasn’t right. A blindingly quick pirouette revealed no one behind…wait…. Sword-assisted cartwheels still held fast in her muscle-memory but…for what reason…

“I cannot say I have seen the like,” Vanimórë spoke, approaching from straight ahead, no weapons in his hand. “Unexpected, affording some advantages. But thou wilt dull thy blades.”

The forest melted away, and all around her was home. The familiar cavern walls surrounded her; the soft rug of their chamber lay underfoot. Thranduil’s rich voice spoke in good humor, chiding her in so many words when he informed her that he had sharpened them to a keen edge for her. Again. Exhausted, delirious, her chin trembled. Both swords dropped when Nenni stepped forward to embrace a husband only imagined. Instead of strong arms, the room spun…

Vanimórë grasped her arms tightly, sparing her from crashing onto a stone had he not broken the fall. Insensible as a shot bird, her form hung limply. Annoyed, almost angry, he tossed her over a broad shoulder. “Gods, what is amiss within thee? Thou wilt not accept our realities and what I must do, if I am even able. But I shall try. I cannot watch thee self-destruct before the real journey hath even commenced. Hate me if thou must, but thou shalt bend to our Lord’s will and arrive fit for his service.”

*****

What in hell even was that smell…two wrong smells had converged into the same smell and the result so intrinsically displeased, suck it up cupcake. The pull of sleep warred with I am so thirsty that my eyes might be glued shut. Gross. Then, the fearful registration that no warmth lay pressed against her. Beren’s comforting weight…absent. Now most of the senses flared to life, gathering information. Someone was cooking; the scent could only come from food being cooked…a porridge or pottage or similar. The faint pop of a fire but no whiff of smoke; probably a very tiny fire to produce the least evidence of its existence to the greater world. No other detectable sounds at all. Wait... A horse, swishing its tail. Deeper unease washed over her.

Trying to summon suppressed yawns, forcing something out of tear ducts that did not want to cooperate, pale eyes met early morning light though it just as easily could have been twilight, so thoroughly had Nenni become disoriented. Slowly sitting up, something indeed cooked on a nearby fire and…only she alone seemed to be here. Well, Vanimórë’s horse grazed just a few meters distant. The animal made eye contact, and they each regarded the other with what could only be described as mutual disdain. Slivers in the palm of her hand felt like sh*t, festering somewhat from yesterday’s fiasco. Without thinking her hand moved to the reassuring knife handle made by the twins which…it seemed amazing that the goddamn Orthanc bastards had actually returned all of her possessions.

The only thing the f*ckers hadn’t originally removed were her clothes and her marriage rings, and why this occurred she couldn’t fathom. Did they try, and the markings underneath scared them? Did they understand elven marriage rings and consider something in this world sacred? “Pfffff” escaped derisively between her lips, rather softly, as the tip of the blade deftly wound into what ought to be the correct spot…though maybe this was doing things the hard way…

“May I aid thee?” a soft voice asked from behind.

“Mmmm, possibly,” Nenni answered distractedly. “After you are so kind as to inform me where the others are.”

“Presumably somewhere northwest of this location. I sent them onward several hours ago. Thou more than fulfilled thy part of the agreement and earned their passage through Fangorn forest. There was no need to delay their journey.”

“I see.” The knife handle was offered to him, waggling back and forth. Crouching down allowed him to utilize her bent knee as a steady surface. “Did it occur to you at any point in time that I might have wished to communicate with my Beren before they all departed?”

“Thy hound and not Erestor?” he challenged by way of riposte.

Using her free hand, fingers rolled up and down the bridge of her nose. “You made it abundantly clear, Lord, that I was not to interfere in your designs. I am a Queen who spent most of my time here in subjection to every whim of her King and her father, so I think I know what it is to obey even when I loathe what I am being asked to do.”

Now her eyes fixed on him. “Apparently we are back to this again; you are incapable of believing I will keep my word to you. Fine. I cannot hold it against you; I shall simply have to consider that to which I am certain you are accustomed.”

Anger flared briefly, subtly, in his eyes and the set of his jaw. “That is not the reason. Believe what thou wilt, but I have a duty to perform. No one is served in thy deterioration by distress. I have watched thee, and…I believe thou wert stronger once. The capture, perhaps, hath proved too great a strain. Ordeals are a trial for anyone; thou’rt managing well thy limits near with little chance for recovery. I made a decision meant to keep thee from further grief.

“So you were trying to help.”

At that moment, the tip of the knife produced a decent sized splinter. “Yes,” Vanimórë answered, pleased with the result.

“Thank you, I think there is a smaller one here,” she pointed to a different place on a finger. “While the thought is full of merit, you left something out of your consideration, Mister Vanimórë. You do not actually know what causes me grief,” Nenni concluded darkly. “It is very hard to know what hat I will have on at the Tea Party on any given day and there was a phrase whence I came: Sometimes help is really not helpful.”

“Tea Party.”

“Mhm. We are all mad in here.” Smiling prettily, she tilted her head at him. “Do you like throwing knives? These are my favorite, what is in your hand. They were a present from my brothers. I collect family. I will collect you too, you know. Your family sucks. You need new family. Just so you know, you are going to fall down the rabbit hole also in the end.” Nenni leaned forward, too-intense grey eyes inches from purple ones. “It’s the very high cost of coming between a girl and her dog,” she whispered, before booping him lightly on the nose with her finger. “Naughty!”

At once he released her hand, glaring at her and handing back the knife. “Thou mayest address thy last splinter thyself. I shall not listen to such nonsense, lady. I will attend to the food.”

With legs like springs she followed him, catlike, to the fire, where she crouched, continuing to dig at the splinter happily. “Thou absolutely shall listen to all the nonsense, because it is not nonsense. If thou wilt hear nonsense I shall recite Jabberwocky for thee…seriously, how do you speak like that all the time? It’s quite difficult to remember to change the words around…”

Vanimórë stared at her, exasperated yet a bit endeared as well. “This food has cooked enough. Now it must cool.”

“What is it?” Sensitive nostrils sniffed suspiciously.

“Grain, meat, water, and salt. I am afraid this is not the fare to which thou’rt accustomed.”

“Hmmmm. And how do you know the fare to which I am accustomed, eh? Did you go to sea and eat the cooking of Dan, who couldn’t manage bloody bean soup? How about food from a dumpster? The stages of rotten? Do you know that the white mold is usually okay, the black mold not so much and the green….depends?” Nenni fished in the small hidden pockets of the garment she would not give up for laundering for any reason. After some difficulty, during which Vanimórë watched her struggle with amusem*nt, a small seed was finally between her fingers. “I need somewhere the soil is at least slightly damp.” Craning her neck up, it seemed clear he was expected to do something about this.

“For what?”

“Well, do you want a better breakfast? Help me out here.”

Shoulders sagging, he surveyed the surroundings. “Over there,” he pointed, and sure enough, there existed a depression with soil that was borderline mud. Nenni had guessed he must know how to track, find water, survive outdoors, and all sorts of things she did not particularly know how to manage with any particular grace beyond basics.

Placing the seed just into the soil, the poor tree was brought into being by O Fortuna, velut luna, because that was the sort of week it was shaping up to be…but in a stunningly short time, enticing apples hung everywhere on the brand new tree. “Ta daaaaaa,” she smiled. “Breakfast just got better.”

“Thou’rt quite handy,” Vanimórë marveled, tasting a fruit.

Watching, Nenni couldn’t help but think that chomp had marvelous form for singing high notes. ‘Bite the apple’ – the perfect facial posture.

“What?” he laughed at her. “What think’st thou now? Dost nothing normal pass through thy head? I bite the apple well?”

Nenni shrugged, pondering his regrettable possession of testicl*s. What would his appearance be, as a woman? Look what trouble green eyes gave you. “If only you sang soprano.”

Shaking his head, Vanimórë gazed upon her sadly. “Really, thou’rt quite half-insane. Thy pack is with the horse, inside is a bowl.”

“Acknowledged. But…that means the other half is sane, and who can say which half is at the Tea Party, hmmm?”

“Eat thy apple.”

Viciously bared teeth bit into the fruit, ambling toward the horse. A guttural growl emitted, perfectly imitating that of a large dog, but not for terribly long. Only enough to express disdain at being ordered to consume her own fruit thanks so much you exceedingly attractive version of Lurch. Even if you’d do better cast as Morticia. Then again…no, too tall for Cousin It. Eh. Bowl now in hand, she stood idly chewing at the horse’s side. Having remembered Thaliel and the Addams Family almost simultaneously yielded a conflated result; the film score’s waltz and visually clear, emotionally muddy memories of the woman she called gwathel.

Reaching around, the large stallion exploited her inattention to relieve her of the apple, appearing smug.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Nenni retorted acidly to the horse, waggling her finger. “If you only knew.”

“The music in thy head,” Vanimórë asked, a hint of wonder in the question. “What is that? I have never heard sounds such as those.”

“It’s…that is a kind of tune written to match a particular sort of dance. Though, sophisticated versions, like that one, can be enjoyed as compositions on their own merit, no dancing need be involved.”

“Canst thou dance?”

“I…could maybe get better now? I wish I knew more,” Nenni answered slowly. “I remember how to do this one, from the music. This sort is called a waltz. But what difference does it make, when there is never anyone to dance with? Ah, even now I would probably have to figure it out all over again. Though, it is simple enough.”

“Dance with male and female together, closely connected?”

“For some kinds.” Abandoning the traitorous horse, a fresh apple was procured and assailed. Through the crunching, the discourse continued. “Ballroom, square dancing, ice dancing, ballet, those all require contact with partners. There are many ethnic dances in which the sexes do not mingle. Some dance is for anyone, easy to master and participate in. Some dance requires years of training and incredible artistry. On the grand scheme, I’m really terrible at it but I liked to watch professional dancers so much.”

“For what reason?” This sudden, enthusiastic narration intrigued him.

“They tell stories through movement and music. Because their expression is uninhibited, sensual, revealing all the human form can achieve. A man thought to be a great poet once wrote, ‘What a piece of work is man… how infinite in faculty, In form and moving how express and admirable.’ I opine there are few places this is more visible than dance.”

The bowl was taken away and filled.

“Ank oo.” The polite thanks he received upon handing her a bowl of food (apple stuffed in her mouth) caused another pained expression.

“Umfing wong?” Nenni sniffed at the concoction while trying very hard not to be appearing to sniff at it, and the apple had to be removed. Unless she were to make something, there would be no utensils which, so what. Though, chopsticks or similar were beginning to sound like a bright idea about now. “Is the Queen of the backwards empire reflecting poorly on the Realm, Vanimórë? I’m happy to do all of that acting that most everyone prefers to see if it would set your sensibilities more at ease. I’m used to it, very used to it.” Blowing across the liquid, testing the temperature, she smiled sweetly. “I can be anyone at all.”

Vanimórë ignored this narration. “Who is she? The woman with the emerald colored eyes, in thy thought.”

“Oh. Her. One of our Healers. Aren’t the eyes lovely? I told you I collect family. You know, I never quite thought about it before. Everyone I collect annoys me. Or wait, is it, everyone annoys me, and then I collect them? I’ve such a difficult time keeping it straight. It only just occurred to me. I’ve got emerald eyes, sapphire eyes, aquamarine eyes and if I could have you there would be…hmm what are they. Amethysts, I guess? What a portrait you would all make, with a bowl of lemons and oranges in the middle, now wouldn’t that just be a sin against the color wheel? What do you think, hmmm?”

“Some advice, Lady. Thou hadst best learn silence, whither thou goest. The outspokenness…much will go awry for thee. I am a slave. What favor thou wilt be accorded by my Master I know not, but what he giveth, he can taketh away. I do not believe thou art well, though I do not understand thy affliction.”

“Do you not?” Nenni drank all the liquid in the bowl in one go, then licked her lips. “Mmm. This is your lucky day! Enlightenment costs less than apples. You were there when the bargain was struck. Our Master promised to give back my memories. Now where did they go in the first place, eh?” Picking out a piece of venison with her fingers, a fell gleam came into her eye while she chewed. Placing apple on top of food, several twisting motions removed her wedding rings. Her branded hand revealed to him, the fingers swayed lightly back and forth before his eyes. “My affliction is that I had a dragon problem. Now do you understand? Except it would seem the joke was on the dragon, in the end. The moral of the story is, and this is very important,” leaning forward, her mind carefully focused on six impossible things during breakfast, “Karma knows where everyone lives, and she is always a bitch. By the way? I did not burn in that hell to learn silence. There are worse things than dying.”

Having nothing further to add, aside from “I appreciate this food very much, thank you for having prepared it,” she went silent.

*****

Chapter 8: Changing Scenery

Chapter Text

{70 Laer Imladris, July 22 Gregorian T.A. 3017}

For many minutes, Vanimórë lingered without speaking, eating slowly and watching his charge make a peculiar display, apparently desiring to consume every molecule of food in the bowl and obviously uncaring of his gaze. Really the dog could hardly have done better; repeatedly a moistened forefinger swept a small section of the vessel and this would be sucked clean. ‘Twas licking by proxy, and whether he found this amusing or appalling he could not decide. “If thou’rt yet hungry, more hot food can still be had.”

“No thank you.” Instantly her thought traveled far away and vividly immersed in memories. At home if I have my own way I do not eat in the morning. I only want tea. If the mood strikes me I might eat a little fruit, usually because I like how the tree appears in the morning light. With that she abandoned the bowl in favor of the apple that had been placed on her lap.

Vanimórë saw that her mind wanted to shutter, close off. Were it against someone besides him, perhaps it would even succeed…

It was time to close the curtains… Nenni shrouded her thought in wide veils, gradually, having practiced this. It wasn’t as if her withdrawal would not be noticed, but it seemed less rude – the difference between pulling a door closed slowly, soundlessly and slamming it shut. Really, this was another of her goofy extrapolations; it wasn’t like she ever had gotten around to asking about this. The person who could best answer her was the person who had instigated most of the door-shutting. Ada. Unhappily, for a fleeting moment Nenni wondered if he was well, and if he had been able to reconcile himself to her circ*mstances.

Fascinated and disturbed in equal measure, Vanimórë perceived that though her eyes were open, they did not see; an inner vision dominated her attention. Through her he beheld a vast garden of extraordinary beauty and innately comprehended, this was her true realm. Here, she reigned second only to the gods…and much if not most of what he saw she delighted to provide for others. Finishing the fruit, she rose in a fluid motion, sparkling diadem askance on her unkempt hair. Upon returning to the real tree superimposing onto her illusory vision and plucking another apple, the memory dissolved. In its wake, Vanimórë sensed profound alienation. Disappointment. Apathy.

Methodically Adonenniel bit into this next one, regarding the core of the previous in her hand. Under her gaze, it diminished to dust except the seeds. All the fine particles were borne aloft by light puffs of moving air. Suddenly disinterested and listless after one bite, the apple was methodically dismembered and the process repeated save that the horse gained the fruit’s flesh. The saved seeds went into a pocket.

The music returned to her mind…a waltz. How did this go again? Something about a box, and one two three. Step forward, step sideways, step together? Who in f*ck calls that a box when clearly it is a triangle…frowning deeply, biting her lip tore away a hefty piece of skin while booted feet tested out the theoretically remembered instructions from the godawful mandatory grade school physical ed classes whose idea were those things, anyway?

Forcing a pack of twelve year-old boys that would sooner die than learn ballroom dancing [especially if it involved being paired with any of the class ‘unpopular girls’] had been a recipe for yearlong social humiliation at best and misery at worst – and this was without the memory of the disco steps. Which had just been remembered. Holding the sides of her head, an involuntary shudder coursed through her as a stray Bee Gees song Stayin’ alive! Stayin’ alive! temporarily battled for supremacy with Morrissey crooning the death of a disco dancer, well it happens a lot ‘round here…”oh god no!” escaped her lips in a soft, desperate whisper…thwacking her own head two or three times brought the waltz back, thank the Powers…

Almost the cooking pot had been cleaned, with one amethyst eye kept peeled on the peculiar antics, until the antics escalated (or so it seemed) to hitting herself.

Mid-waltz, Nenni found her arm seized. Why was he so absurdly tall? “Had you wanted to dance too? I’m not sure I’ve entirely worked it out, and it’s not…well it could be roomier in here.”

“I most certainly do not! Thou wilt not strike thyself. Stop that!” Vanimórë insisted somewhat forcefully and definitely brusquely. In fact, it was just this side of yelling.

What the hell? “It didn’t hurt, and you don’t seem to understand the crisis of unwanted disco! If you’d ever seen a lime green leisure suit, you might have a grasp of these matters.” His tone had jarred, startled. “Can I help you in any way?” Her voice had softened, and then, very quietly, “If I have offended you, I…” Then she recalled, what is the point? What is the point of any of it? Looking down, she lapsed into silence and waited; it was impossible to go anywhere in his grasp unless she wished to wage a greater battle with him. And she did not.

“Prepare thy things for leaving,” he instructed in a completely neutral timbre, releasing her arm.

Nenni did not look up. However. “Prepare my things for leaving, yes,” was echoed very clearly before a step was taken. I can even do ship’s chores today, she thought morosely. The question is, will the bo’sun assign Guilt, Blame, or Responsibility?

Vanimórë continued to monitor her as she completed the task and attached her few items to the horse where they had been previously; no longer was she oblivious to his gaze upon her. Presumably he knew that if he wished her to do something else, that was merely a request away. Given this day would likely be spent stuck in a saddle…and many days to come…wherever in hell they were going…might as well take advantage of every last second still on the ground. The maps had been studied carefully and everything at all was hundreds of miles sorry leagues distant. Unless he meant to murder both her ass and the horse, this was going to be a long while…then again who was to say he didn’t?

“Art thou ready?” A tentative hand laid on her shoulder.

Briefly pondering the many possible layers of interpretation for that question, Nenni choked back the narration it would have been so tempting to give, reminding herself that he had no choices…therefore neither did she. Turning her hand to grasp his, she held it for a moment. Much like with Glorfindel, her hands and body seemed child or doll-like by comparison. “Yes.”

“Then, may I dance with thee?”

Heat began to pour off her cheeks. “You may,” came the strained answer. “But Vanimórë…I really cannot dance. I was young when I learned how and have forgotten. I’m not good at…no, that’s not saying it right. I’m horrible. I don’t know why I said that earlier. My mind was somewhere else.”

Cat-like, he stepped around to face her, not ever releasing her hand, and crouched down. When he did this, instead of towering over her by fourteen inches, their disparity reversed. “A troop of orcs could come across the plain and thou wouldst feel only eagerness for battle – minding that they would obey me and are no longer thine enemies – but the thought of a dance fills thee with dread.” He shook his head, amused.

Now that he had spoken this way, her face reddened more but this did not stop the sarcasm in the riposte: “I see no problems here.”

“I can dance well, but it is not the dance I see in thy memory. I am a slave. I would be glad of the chance to experience something so…dignified. But a partner is required. Yes?”

It would appear my chore is Guilt, Nenni thought absently, hoping he could not perceive the heaving sigh escaping behind her saddle-pack. “Then I shall do my best. I am sure you already worked out the rules. I’m also horrible at following my partner’s lead since I have all the sensitivity of a rock so I’m counting on your strength. You know, this could be really functional if I had a good pair of stilts.”

“Stilts?”

“Thou art too tall,” Nenni complained.

“Hast thou ever considered, mayhap thou’rt too diminutive, Your Majesty?”

Nenni grimaced, peering up at his rising form. “I grew since I came here, you know. This much.” The span of her hands indicated the disparity from her mortal height. “So be thankful, it could be worse. I think I can still reach your shoulder. If not your shoulder, your arm will have to do. We shall manage. Er, I hope.”

“Thy confidence overwhelms.” Acid practically dripped off his tongue.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” A forefinger rapped against his impervious yet slightly yielding armor (what was that stuff?). “It isn’t you, it’s me. I’m awful. You know not the awfulness, alright?”

That garnered a slight pacification, apparently. “Then perhaps you know not my ability?” Challenging confidence from those disturbing eyes pinned her down with no hope of graceful retreat. Defeat had been won…again.

“I…do not.” Suddenly weary of games and contests, the road ahead felt too long.

Smiling with practiced ease, she held out her arms to Vanimórë, who had not only gleaned the pattern of the steps, but understood the reversal of the male and female roles…which was more than she could say. He patiently guided her through the pattern over, and over. And over and over, not allowing her to look down at their feet.

You’re worse than bloody Glorfindel deciding I have to spar past dinner with a pack of recruits that don’t know which end is pointy if I may take a private moment to air my grievances, she thought to herself while maintaining her best sweet and innocent expression toward her dance partner.

Verily? Came back at her. Then shall I spar with thee past supper as well, lest thou feel slighted?

Horrified, Nenni stumbled backwards, but could not fall from the hold of someone with such quick reflexes. Confused and intensely upset, in a pitched battle to remain outwardly calm, the train barely held to the tracks. For some time, not crying and remembering the steps required all she had. For whatever reason, he did not speak, but only continued the box step. It had become more automatic now, and after who knew how many minutes, the overwhelming panic ebbed. The feelings, though…he had thrown a javelin through defenses that were supposed to exist. Shattered a boundary, a protection. It was both very little and an immense blow…as well as another matter. Not trusting herself to speak aloud, at last this was managed: I apologize to you. That was not intended…I believed you could not hear me. How can… Please pardon my rudeness. Her mental voice wavered, neither could she look at him.

“Adonenniel. Calm thyself. I have taken no insult.” Surprised, fascinated, seeking and sifting for any sign of deception and finding none (but always her words about being a skilled liar lingered in his mind). These battled against a measure of cautious concern and dawning awareness of the state of her; his greater consideration for women was an exploitable vulnerability. Sheer instinct told him that he was not witnessing theater.

Nodding, the heel of one hand pressed against an eye. Everything was feeling all stirred up again, worse than ever. What was going to be left of her head when this was over? Or was that the wrong question altogether? Was this the sort of agreement anyone actually ever came back from, so was it going to matter? Ada, why did it all have to come to this? We were all so happy and then…What was the use. Spilt milk didn’t go back in the container. “May we please try the dancing again later on?”

“I have a curiosity,” Vanimórë asked quietly, but with an undefinable edge to the question. “what thou wouldst say should I answer ‘No’ to you?”

Nenni’s expression did not alter, but a careful observer would have seen the extra intake of air and corresponding exhalation. “As I cannot outmatch you physically, I would find a way to keep dancing. Still, her gaze averted. “I have a curiosity too, though it does not really matter if I ever hear a response. A part of me wonders if you ask something like this to find out if I will resist you. After all, here we are. Me, mentally unstable royalty from the most peculiar of the Elven Realms capable of doing Lord Námo knows what, and you, de-facto captor whose five week mission is to boldly go where no one has gone before; single-handedly having to bring me to somewhere you know I do not want to go. Probably a little nerve-wracking? If not, I’ll wrack them for you, I can get on everyone’s nerves including my own.”

The face of Vanimórë appeared considerably less pleased after this speech. He did not respond, save for eyes fixed on her like twin daggers.

A sane person would probably be feeling nervous about now, Nenni pondered. Mm. Her head tilted. “I’ll run through it again, in case it was a concern. Out here, I am the sworn Queen of Eryn Galen…and so what? Do I see an Eryn Galen? I do not. Do I see a subject of Eryn Galen? I lack a mirror and cannot see myself, so once again, I do not and even if I could what is the point of ruling over myself? Outrageously boring, do you not think? In conclusion, then, I will follow any orders you give, like a common soldier. I will offer the best cooperation I am able…but I won’t make the mistake of pretending I can manage what you can.

“Before I became pregnant I went on a campaign under Glorfindel’s command to root out a large number of orcs backed by …whatever your side calls a large group that fights with wargs. We were gone for a little under three weeks and it really was difficult for me.” A harsh, rasping laugh accompanied the admission. “Never mind why it was difficult, the reasons don’t matter. A campaign is a campaign, there’s no room for whining. I learned it isn’t so simple, is what I’m trying to say. You are obviously an accomplished fighter. I respect you and I will obey you. I hope that helps, somehow. So if we are yet dancing, give the word, I will find my inner, uh…” oh god no not Dancing Queen…

Covering her face with her hand, the ABBA song was willed straight out of her mind. No. No no no no no no no. It was not 1976, this was not the car on the way to school with the AM radio blaring that admittedly catchy tune with the perfectly harmonizing voices singing about the pretty older girl who got to go out on Friday night. Presumably her parents didn’t get in the way of her flirting with all those different men (obviously they weren’t Catholic)…even now the memory was so vivid, so arresting. That girl, whoever she was, could have fun. Was free, full of exuberance and joy, shining like a star, admired. No one shut her in a cage, youth and passion overflowed to the beat of the music and under bright lights, she was desired and unavailable. Because she was not there for men; only for herself. That she set them aflame passing through…well, that was their problem.

“”Did the words go away again?” Vanimórë disturbed the incomprehensible (and yet informative) memory.

Coming out of a fog, Nenni regarded him, grasping to recall the conversation and latching on again. “Yes, they did. I am sorry.” A crooked smile appeared. “I was…taking a long road to asking if that was indeed your response?”

“It is not.”

“Then, thank you for what I…think is my being allowed to place the lesson on hold.” A sigh escaped her. “I do not think you will run me down if I admit to you that I want very much to know how to waltz. I have old memories of dancing well and how wonderful it felt. It is that I am afraid of how slowly I seem to learn, and…it’s piano all over again. There is so much anxiety and then I don’t learn. I know that was the past and it no longer has to be the same. My life here is different now. I am different now. You are definitely different…and why am I babbling all this to you as if you care? Oh my god, Nenni, shut up…I am sorry.” I am sorry, I loathe myself, and I really don’t know what the point of me is. I am beyond repair and this all has to be someone’s idea of bad humor and I still can’t shut up, can I?

Without warning she hit herself as hard as she could across the face, letting the sting and the ringing pain finally bring the endless babble in her head to a blessed silence. Thank f*cking god.

“Art thou mad?” At once her arms were seized, hands immobilized. “I forbade thee to strike thyself again!” The force he applied in his anger hurt far more than the slap, which amused her. Breathing deeply, she relaxed into the biting pain of his grasp. Right now, something had to redirect what was wrong in her head and sadly…this would work, for a time.

“As you wish it. I am definitely what you would call mad, though I do not use that word. I prefer ‘mentally ill.’ Just as a bone can be broken, so can a mind. Mine does not work like everyone else’s. It is different. I was like this whence I came and it has not been fully repairable, just like my lost memories. The outward expression of my illness varies, and worsens under physical or mental strain. There is a lot of that going on. Physical pain lets me temporarily erase the pain in my mind. I will explain more if you want to know but it is not your problem. I’ll follow your order.”

Eyes that bode ill stared down. “We shall leave. Gather more fruit, thou canst find an empty leather sack tied to the horse. I have another command, since thou’rt so compliant.” The voice, that tone, the expression – completely unreadable.

“Yes?” Still her wrists were held rather severely, which seemed to counter the completely neutral facade. Well, he would do what he would do. Suddenly Nenni was pulled straight upward, causing a sharp inhalation of instinctive startlement.

Vanimórë caught her against his rib cage, carrying her as Glorfindel had many times, and freed one of her hands. This allowed her the same eye level, but too disturbingly close. “Do not ever again dare imply I care not for thee,” he hissed coldly. “Is a slave not lowly enough for thy satisfaction? I belong wholly to my Master. He permits me amusem*nts, but my true concern must be for him alone. I yet exist, with a spirit inextinguishable. You loathe yourself, do you?” The colored eyes bored deeply into those of his companion, roiling with vitriol. “Read the book, Adonenniel.”

The words shoved her into a lake of shame. Every facial muscle relaxed into misery, eyes closing for a moment. What a bad joke. A world far better off without me cannot rid itself of me. I wonder if lobotomies are frowned upon. Probably. “Please forgive my words. It is because of what is wrong. Wrong with me. I could explain that too, but I think it would sound like making excuses. All I can tell you is that it was spoken because of my fears, not because of anything I believe about you. The fault is within me and I regret my thoughtlessness.” Moving automatically, she tried to prise at his fingers that still held her other arm in a gesture pleading for what she wanted; it was not an attempt to wrest free.

Vanimórë relented but also misinterpreted; Adonenniel had wanted his hand more than her own release. Pulling it gently toward his heart, nearer to her, she laid his fingers flat and pressed her lips against his open palm, lingering for a moment. Afterward his hand slipped through hers in the same manner he often saw her allow grasses or leaves pass along her fingers.

“This gesture,” his tone softened a little. A brief sweep underneath her jaw found the dampness he guessed would be there. “Does it mean something? The ways of Elves are mostly unknown to me.”

For a time it appeared she might be refusing to answer, save that he could read the mental turmoil being suppressed. The few tears being shed were nothing compared to what the weakening structure of her self-control held back. Finally, with enough composure regained, she spoke. “It can have a few meanings, but it is the most…earnest, in our language of gestures. In this instance, it is meant in supplication; the depth of my feeling. I do not acknowledge the institution of slavery, finding it to be morally untenable. Each sentient being belongs to themselves. It is true that you can be physically overwhelmed and compelled to be in servitude to another but your own thoughts and opinions still make you who you are give or take….ah, you know what let’s leave psychopathology out of this…you are Vanimórë and I have been offensive to you.

“We are two, you and I. I must feel one way about Sauron’s Slave. That person is a threat to me, because I am the Elvenqueen of the Woodland Realm coerced into this sh*tshow in order to have won my brother’s freedom. We both know that on some other plane in which there is rarely the luxury to exist, Adonenniel cares deeply about Vanimórë. She is a very blurry picture and rarely in focus but when she cares, she cares. This kind of kiss can also mean willing subordination, extremely deep respect. A lesser version of it is to kiss the back of the hand. More common is a simple bow. Subjects will kneel to their monarchs. But that kiss to the palm is rarely seen, and never given lightly.”

“Hm. Then I am meant to feel honored,” he mused, weighing many things. “I find I have another query. I recall this from thy lips: Thou wouldst never lie to me. To whom spake thee, at a time when thou knewest not my name?”

“Both of you,” came the swift answer, vaguely surprised. “How could you be separated? However.” Leaning forward, pale grey eyes stared, almost touching noses. “If I feel you are a threat to me? In here (she tapped the side of her head) things gyre and gimble in the wabe, my extremely tall and imposing friendly acquaintance. I shall in fact never lie to you, but what you do not know can hurt you. Don’t find out too late where lies the vorpal blade, snicker-snack! always standard advice.” Very softly, Nenni tapped the tip of his nose. “What a frumious Bandersnatch you would make,” came out as sort of a nearly musical lamentation. “I would love to be able to go kill things with you. If only…”

“Adonenniel.”

“Yes?”

“Apples, then to the horse.” Held by the leather armor just below her cuirass, she easily was set down. Of course she was, being practically an overgrown Dwarf next to him. Really it was comical.

“Apples, yes. Does…the horse have a name?” Peering up at him, she might appear regal and intimidating despite her size, were her hair not such a frazzled mess, falling out of her increasingly ragged braid.

Now it was his turn to delay the response.

Such a simple question. Nenni glanced over at the impressive stallion, wondering how she’d f*cked up this time. Then again, horses could be complicated. He stood there now, proud muscle and sleek black hide. I know what lies underneath. I know what you can be, shattered into pieces, your strong legs broken like splintered young saplings. Every piece of your vulnerable insides, the strong heart inside the bows of your ribs. You are strength that seems unbreakable, but your frailty has been part of my endless grief…

“Seran. He is the thirty-fourth I have deemed vaguely worthy of the name, but none have truly been the equal of the first. It is easier as something to tell the others, is all.”

Nodding, she trotted away to complete the request, and to escape his immediate proximity for a moment. Maybe you are like me, and can’t even fall apart. Have I? Fallen apart? Round and round she goes, where she stops, nobody knows… The tree would appear so silly here, out of place. Maybe for a time it would provide fruit for other passers-by. It was only sort of out-of-season; too early. The nicest apples caught her eye. Vanimórë had not followed. The throb from her wrists told the story pulling back the woolen clothing confirmed; purpling bruises. He likely had not realized what he was doing. I’d bet this diadem on it. A smile crossed her face and as the fruit was picked...

Things get damaged, things get broken

I thought we’d manage but words left unspoken

Left us so brittle, there was so little left to give…

Thoughts drifted back to this tree, which felt like her last tangible connection to Eryn Galen. Once on that horse, there would be no return. Ada? Are you there? I have very little time.

Iellig? Where are you? What is happening? Are you well?

Relief to hear that familiar voice almost undid her, though she did not wish to admit it. All the weeks and months of being angry, avoiding him, and now she realized what it would mean to fly into his arms. But why? Because everything was okay between them? Or because he was a wall that could be used to hide behind instead of facing this mess? The apple in her hand held no answer.

I am on the outskirts of Fangorn forest, Ada. Picking apples from a tree I grew here and putting them in a sack, for in a few minutes we shall leave this place. This is the last time I will have to talk to you in private for a while. If it is even private at all. I had a nasty surprise. I found out that Vanimórë could hear me, hear my mind, when I believed I was keeping him out. So now…I do not know what there is. But…I am still crazy, so it’s all good. I am as well as I am going to be. He has shown me more courtesy than I expected but…I am wearisome to be around. Tiresome. You would know, I am sure. Whatever this is, wherever I am going, I hope they leave me alone and just let me work. I don’t people, Ada.

Please listen to me, Iellig. Delay, as much as you are able.

To what possible purpose?

I cannot tell you. What you do not know, you cannot compromise.

Ada, do not. Whatever this even is, do not. I gave my word. I refuse to be the one who is a liar and a deceiver in this situation!!

You do not know what you are saying!

“Fine! Then I do not know! I just wanted you all to know that I love you! It’s apparently not a good time to talk, which I regret! I miss my family! I want my husband, and somebody to feed MY HOUND!!” Behind her closed eyes blotchy colors appeared, so angry had she become. Sinking to her knees then forward on one hand, the other covered her face. Breathe. Breathe. Breeeeeeaaaaaathe….

Iellig! Do not be angry with me–

She shall not, Glorfindel. I shall see to it for thee.

Vanimórë!

Before Nenni could raise up a hand laid on her back, then supported her while she sank to the earth. Vanimórë finished picking the fruit, and tied the last of their belongings onto Seran’s harness. Her cloak was tossed over the animal’s neck and Adonenniel placed gently over its withers. Once he settled himself, she was pulled into a proper position and her garment placed between them. The day still was quite warm, but later…

The bruised wrists he rubbed lightly with profound regret and guilt. In the places ivy wrapped around, deeply purpling skin mottled underneath…though oddly enough, the plant itself appeared fresh and unharmed. Nothing excuses this, Lady. What to make of thee…I pity thee when I desire no pity for myself. I sorrow for thee when I am past all sorrow. Were I not fettered, bound and without hope perhaps much could be different…and all of this, I must shed and leave behind, lest it be used against thee. Though he knew it for foolishness, only this once he lowered his neck to place a kiss at the crown of her sleeping head. From thy cohorts something is afoot to save thee, ensnare me; as with thy honor, this I cannot allow. Yes, I betrayed my father once and still I pay his price. I shall not fail him in this way again. Henceforth must thou only know the Slave that cannot be thy friend. All else endangers both of us, but most of all thee.

Glorfindel, my dear, thou’rt rather obvious. Having perceived our likely destination, thou think’st we must ford the Undeeps. Like flies in a net, there we can be surrounded and brought to bay? I do so hate to disappoint thee…Fool. Thou wilt cost her a far longer and more difficult road. Which of us, think’st thou, hath the better knowledge of the south-lands? With signals from his legs only, he turned Seran not west but due south, allowing the horse to reach his desired speed underway in his own time.

*****

Chapter 9: The Other West

Chapter Text

{70 Laer Imladris, July 22 Gregorian T.A. 3017}

Having not sat properly, Nenni’s body weight had rested everywhere but her seat bones. The result of this, naturally, were dozens of small but significant anatomical structures with long Latin names no one here gave any f*cks about that had been bruised into great unhappiness. Finally emerging from the sleep Vanimórë laid upon her, the thought formed in English (the language her head chose for the moments between sleep and wakefulness) so this is what a migraine comes off like if it sets up camp in your arse. Who knew. It hurt, a lot, and something innately reminded her that the present mood was glum and recalcitrant. Maybe the reason why would surface in a while…

Right. The Middle Earth gig, except it’s not high school, this isn’t Dungeons and Dragons club with way better twenty-sided dies, and…whose idea was this again? What am I even doing here? Where is here? The disorientation being experienced felt spectacular. You’ve gotta move, genius, unless you want to work out with your inner masoch*st, and you don’t have one…I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful…I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful…I feel wonderful, I feel spiffy, yes I do…no one’s gonna take this horse out of drive, are they…

“Thou art awake,” Vanimórë noted blandly. The statement seemed crafted more to recall his existence to her foggy mind than anything else; certainly his tone did not invite conversation.

With considerable effort, the retort rooted in pain and irritability that wished to erupt somehow was quelled. “Awake, yes.” Echolalia, the last refuge of…herself. Glancing upward, the position of the sun was noted and with a frown, she now wondered…”How long did I sleep?”

“Oh, I should say two hours? Three? The morning is largely gone.” Now he watched her intently.

“You are planning creative travel, I guess?” Nenni hazarded, wriggling somewhat out of the cloak into which she was overly bundled. At least she was warm...and now becoming too much so.

Silence.

“Or will you not tell me…” An appreciative snort escaped her. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not like I haven’t read the stupid map, you know. Whatever. I’m the one who told them not to follow…but how could I forget, you don’t trust me. I guess I wouldn’t trust me either, crazy daisy chatterbox elf who’s always babbling away about something or other, eh? Mmm that’s just it though. Every day could be frabjous day! Or not, because some days are like that.” Up went her hands, a bit. “Please, may I change how I am sitting? This isn’t working.”

“For what reason dost thou inquire? Art thou incapable?” Arrogance and provocation dripped from every syllable.

Is this on my pay grade? Do I even have a pay grade? Usually I end up in volunteer jobs…ha ha, ohh boy. Well I don’t smell of tar and tallow…yet. “Okay. It is duly noted that you would prefer I skip all basic courtesy and do whatever comes to my mind. That will definitely make your job easier, Mister Vanimórë. Top notch provocation, there. I fully endorse it.” Without waiting for any more niceties, she pulled her own protesting limbs this way and that until at last it became possible to sit sideways, body mass now blessedly resting on her thighs. In the past this had never happened. Never would have happened. Glorfindel held her.

The thought sobered. Vanimórë’s arms loosely encircled her; should something cause a loss of balance no doubt existed under Anor that he would snatch her back to safety…but it was not the same. It did not feel secure anywhere it mattered. No reassurance was here, no kindness. Near as she could puzzle out via thoughts kept murky as possible by using jumbled Earth-languages, everything had been fine between the two of them. They were being nice to each other. Companionable, even. Then things got weird, at the edge of Fangorn…the deal to send Erestor through…Vanimórë just…f*cking took over and she had every goddamn right to be livid with him. Nobody comes between me and my dog. Nobody.

All manner of disjointed, intrusive thoughts paraded, though effort was made to keep them diffuse, rambling, turned to the past as the miles rolled by at a canter that swallowed ground while the sun rose high then tilted downward toward the west once noon had passed. She amused herself making a pitiful sundial out of her outstretched fingers and marking the time with fist-measures from the horizon just to annoy him; surely he knew these devices.

He seemed terribly unclear on that and so many other things….because there was, of course, the thought that Nenni absolutely banished. The thought which gave her solace, power, and ultimately, the heady sense of control obfuscated under the mantle of dubious sanity (and under this much stress, with no source of support, it really was not so dubious)...it was a terrible mistake to believe that she was under his power. If anything, his earlier behavior was taken into account and those impressions openly warred with her feelings about the recent shift in his demeanor. Vanimórë should have drawn the correct conclusions; he had seen what those ivy vines could do. Hell, she had outright demonstrated her abilities to him. Perhaps his mind dismissed this because he had never witnessed her fight with all the means at her disposal? No, that didn’t add up…

Losing focus to angry memories, a burning resentment surfaced. I should never have agreed to what Glorfindel did. Then again, it got Saruman off my ass, Nenni brooded. What a joke. I think he wants to be like Sauron but he can’t organize his way out of a box. His setup is like a badly run corporation…

“And what, pray tell, hath thy sire required of thee?”

“What? Are you praying that I will tell you?” came the acerbic quip. “Also, is it too late to ask if you ever knock ?” He had gone so silent in his clear disdain for conversation, any need to pay him further regard had evaporated. Really, though dear Vanimórë had no means to know it, his recent withdrawal ranked high on the list of means to earn her swift contempt. Shunning behaviors; creating closeness then reversing course without explanation especially while dishing out heaping mounds of incivility…he could not know why this was so hated.

A hand closed around her neck, swifter than the footfalls of the horse. I cautioned thee once already to learn silence. I do so again a second time.

Time slowed. All her thought went to, Please, not my larynx, not my throat…how is he supposed to know what a larynx is, Nenni you idiot…

The strength of his hand seemed puzzlingly misapplied. Did he understand after all? Because only the back of her neck was pinched so hard between those fingers, sparing her voice box… “Don’t! You will have your answer! Ada wanted me to agree to being changed. To stop me from killing like I did when I was so angry,” Nenni capitulated with a wail, pain and fear both rising to the surface. Both hands grasped at his black armor.

“Stop it!” Her hands grasped at his, though oddly not with any application of strength. “I’m not well. I’m ill, sick, missing half the plates in the cabinet, we’re all mad in here, there’s mercury in the hats, do you understand what I’m trying to tell you? I’ll do my best but if you are going to provoke me only to punish me when I don’t react the way you want, then kill me here and save yourselves a lot of riding around and bother. We’ll all be a lot happier, seriously. Do you think I would have insisted on coming, if I didn’t intend to keep up my end of this pledge? Do you seriously believe I couldn’t escape you? Do you seriously believe I can’t escape you right now?” One of her ridiculously small (by comparison) fingers rapped at his pauldron (the mithril wedding rings had their uses).

“Tell what thou didst. What is thy meaning,‘killing as thou didst’?” Vanimórë asked.

The hand no longer applied pressure but had not released her and there was something, a tiny something, about the question, about his mental voice, that…finally her eyes lifted to look at him. His face shimmered as though misted; a sheen of perspiration coated his fair skin. Brows knitted in concentration, and an otherness in eyes that closed for a few seconds after meeting hers, and opened to look elsewhere…even had they not agreed on this earlier, it was pure instinct for her to lower her eyes and fidget with her fingers.

“I don’t like to talk about this, my Lord. It’s upsetting.”

“I am afraid I must insist . Answer, Adonenniel. Swiftly.”

“I will tell!” Becoming genuinely overwhelmed and trying hard to mask it, her body began to tremble. “But you are only working against what you want, to treat me like this! I…” Her throat began to constrict. Noooo…. Holding onto his waist before anything could worsen, eyes closed and some kind of attempt to deal with regular breathing began before a full-scale meltdown could establish itself. Sometimes I can become angry. When I did, then it was no longer killing enemies, no longer fighting, it was…something else. Vengeance. Torment. Butchering. I would use my ability, not a sword or knife. If an enemy had done something to anyone I cared about, they would die as slowly and awfully as I could conjure and I was becoming more creative all the time. I think it is why Saruman was making such an effort to capture me. Ada said I couldn’t be like this, and did something to me that took this ability away. Excised it. So now I just grow food.

For what reason could this upset thee so? Vanimórë’s rich voice sounded in her mind.

Well, it’s a kind of long answer, but there is a particular, special loathing I have concerning entitled excuses for those who have the gall to call themselves ‘father’ but really don’t have the vaguest comprehension of what that word is supposed to mean. Because hatred bubbling like cauldrons of acid is real, and so is the phrase ‘whatever a person sows, this he shall also reap.’

The blow fell with savage swiftness, leaving her still and crumpled in the crook of his arm. Filled with ire, Sauron withdrew following this fit of pique without a word to his Slave.

Helpless as to what had happened, stabbed with remorse over the violence he had been forced to administer, at once somewhere to stop and disappear from sight was sought out. They were exposed; these were the open grasslands of Rohan. There would be no fire or cooked meats tonight…therefore extra had been prepared the previous evening. Why had his accursed sire chosen today of all days to make an appearance? Why had she answered thusly? Did she place no value upon her life? That Sauron did not believe Adonenniel to be directly referring to him…though…another frown creased his brow. Had she?

The blow to her head did what every strike of that nature had ever done. Shock, the few seconds of suspension before any pain registered, and then…ungovernable anger because numerous accidents involving blows to the head had revealed that this film always had the same ending. Crying uncontrollably would show up in a few seconds. Enough of this sh*t. “Leave me the hell alone!” Somehow her body folded in half and tucked, slipping between his leg and arm with a motion nearly reptilian. Athleticism he ordinarily might have admired allowed her to push off with her legs from the stallion’s ribs, sailing into the tall grass. Another tuck and roll allowed her to land and…vanish.

Dismay washed over him while he reined the stallion in hard, practically onto his haunches. Turning to ride back at speed risked trampling her. Each minute out here carried some form of risk, too. Their safety lay in the speed and endurance of this horse, and his superior powers of perception – should they be discovered by the patrols of the Rohirrim, outrunning them past their borders was his best option. He did not relish bringing her near camps of warg riders or other of Sauron’s creatures. The entire thing required all his anger, lest the mounting despair underneath it be in any way revealed. In his estimation, everything he had seen thus far told him this fair, truly exquisite creature would never survive what lay ahead. Adonenniel, a glowing starlit construct of glass, gems and lattice, and father would laugh to see it shatter beneath an iron-shod boot.

Ever so quietly, he had the horse retrace its steps to within 10 meters of where the Elvenqueen dismounted.

Nenni lay still where she fell. It was probably a given that he would expect her to do something to escape. After all, she was the great plant goddess. It is true, she could have sent ivy forth and used it to agitate the grass for yards around, providing cover while she crawled elsewhere. It wasn’t the point, though. Her temporary departure was for his benefit. Because it’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde when this happens and right now I’m not the nice one. I can’t control what I’d say or try to do to you. Just like you couldn’t control what you were being made to do to me, except your reason would sound more believable.

Just had to do it, eh, Sauron, you giant spoon? Do you know what your name is in my language? Sour. Sour On. Now, that makes me think of unripe grapes, or a number of unbefitting agricultural products; I will not taint the name of lemons by creating any association between you. Do you think I’m so daft I’ll blame it on your hapless child? Guess what. I have oodles of experience at spotting sh*tty fathers and there’s about to be a contest! Yes there is! Arda’s Father of the Year Award is suddenly up for grabs and we have a new contender, ladies and gentlemen ding! ding! ding! Ding! So what if you’ve got a volcano, did you make it by yourself or did Lord Aulë do it for you, you second-rate Ainu? Besides, I’ve HAD A DUMPSTER FIRE!!

The last thought would have been better left alone. Crying silently, enraged, aware from the sensations that she had been hit hard enough to cause something to bleed, nose clogged with snot, breathing like a fish out of water…and there was nothing for it. Attempts to find out why this response happened, research…nothing really conclusive existed. Neuroscience still had years to go. Maybe it had to do with brain response to even minor injury, some data correlated anger and aggression to traumatic brain injury? Did it matter? It just needs to stop f*cking hurting and next time hit me somewhere else because I despise this…this brain’s hopeless. “Maybe you should keep the sh*tty memories,” came out in the barest whisper…and the barest whisper was all he needed.

The first stage of the mood passed, like a weakening ice floe. The anger could return in flashes, but could not sustain itself. “Now I have to go and find you, cuz that’ll be so much fun. Guess that’s what I get for being a spoiled princess. Oh wait. The kid is the princess. I’m the sad excuse for a sovereign. Queen of the blades of grass and apple cores, on tour. Christ what a joke this all is. Can I just go back to Germany and listen to pipe organs? Slaughter Bach in lessons? Throw me a bone, here…I’m giving Rohan a bad review on Trip Advisor…” All her words were so soft, barely articulated. It was time to try and move. Eyes still closed, job one was to sit up enough to try and fling away some of this snot because, gross. Her fingers did not touch grass; this was like a river of silk. That her tear-blurred vision filled with the color black told enough.

“I know not how to make apology for the harm I caused thee,” Vanimórë spoke with a voice eaten through with shame.

“You ? Pfff.” Nenni shook her head slightly, “I know who caused the harm. If anything, thank you. I think I…”

“Do not speak it!” he asked vehemently, almost pleading.

“I…yeah, fine,” she nodded. “I can’t tell you what to feel.” Her gray eyes lifted, wondering what version of mess she looked like this time. “Whatever happened, it’ll heal fast, it’s not like I’m still human. It’s fine, really. In the grand scheme of my life, this was nothing. Please don’t stress about it. You had no choices. Seriously, what warrior is going to whine about this? If Commander Tau– If our commander who is an elleth heard that anyone even called this an injury she would laugh from one side of the Realm to the other so please don’t make a laughingstock of me. I will never be anything like you, but it is my responsibility to fight for my people.”

At that his eyes flared slightly but nothing was said.

Rolling fully onto her side, she sat up more and did not comment when he helped her as though she were made of crystal. I feel like ass and I can’t deal with any of this sh*t. Though, her brows lifted. Dudes. Just… Taking stock of herself a decision was made. “Look. Today is going poorly for me, physically, so all my cards are going on the table. I think you are avoiding fording the Anduin at the Undeeps, and you’re going to cross it north of Rauros, or somewhere south, because while I’m not a hundred percent on where you’re taking me, it kind of has to be south of Rhovanion or actually inside Mordor. I’m betting on the former.

“Since you let my arse be battered for hours earlier not sitting properly, I hurt. A lot. If I were with my father or husband, they’d hold me. I don’t ride with gear like yours which, it’s your mount so that’s not your problem. I can run really long distances on foot but I can’t match the speed of such a fine horse. Will you please help me for a time until I can heal? I can remain quite still. The only thing is it’s…weird. For which I apologize, but you are of course free to deny my request. Obviously.” Her features crinkled into a grimace that distorted. Drying blood from a small split along her cheekbone smeared, which annoyed her. No dog to clean up the mess. f*ck everything.

Vanimórë stared, his heart beating wildly. The idea was preposterous. Rebellious. It also would serve as a desperate countermeasure against what was to come. Possibly, he would be punished further, if or when it was discovered. Revulsion crawled along his skin. I was used to give pain to a woman. He knows my feelings, and had the delight of every moment of it. The fear of her weakness ruled him…though, he was not certain what would occur. The desire to protect drove him on as with a cattleman’s goad. “I hope thou will permit, that I may reflect a short while,” he evaded. “We will rest, hidden here within the plain.” Turning his head, he called for the stallion: “Seran! Come, lie near.” Like an extremely large, obedient dog, the horse did as it was bidden.

“May I ask you for any water, please?”

“Not wine?” A brow lifted.

“That would be my husband,” Nenni smiled. “I just want water, or tea. Wine is for dinner. Wine can even be dinner. But not when I am this thirsty, I’ll just end up drunk.”

“Best water, then.”

Catlike, he moved toward the saddlebags, somehow able to make crawling appear lovely. Not me, her mind drifted idly. I’d make it a foot and a half and see something in the dirt and end up staring at it for ten minutes. If I got to the water by dusk it’d be a miracle. But it’d be an interesting something in the dirt, I’m sure. Oops, it isn’t dirt. It’s soil , how could I forget. Tsk.

Their bowls were handy; one returned with the water flask. “I noticed thee marking time’s passing by the sun,” Vanimórë commented, pouring the water over his deeply cut finger into the bowl while she studied the horizon.

“I always disliked watches. Er, timepieces worn on the wrist. They were common whence I came. This worked just as well. Time was a fluid concept, mostly. Where…I mean…you have a home, right?”

“Of course I have a home,” Vanimórë held the black-colored bowl. “I live in Barad-dûr. One of the uppermost rooms.”

She reached tentatively for the water that was obviously wanted so much, but when he made no further motion to offer it, Nenni withdrew like a sunflower closing its petals against the night.

“In this bowl is not only water,” Vanimórë said carefully. “I hope it is also the means to banish me from thy mind save when thou will it. The strength thou now lack’st, so that thou art not an open book laid out for my perusal.”

“But how can –”

His hand raised in a command of silence. “Thou canst not know or ask. Trust me and accept, or do not. In truth, I shall close and cover my eyes. Make thy choice; consume what is in the bowl or cast it out upon the grass but tell me not what thou hast chosen.” Now the bowl was extended to Nenni.

“You know there’s an entire movie scene about this, right? Sort of? There’s no iocaine powder in here, right?” Her tone reeked of dubiousness.

“Lady…” his eyes closed, and that slightly irritated note in his voice she had come to relish manifested.

Such a silly , she smiled. Another loyalty test? Not for a minute did she believe anything was in the bowl but neither would he know she consumed it; sharp hearing would not avail him. The thought masked the latest of her weird abilities he of course did not know of, who would? Closing off her airway while thinking that the cloud overhead looked a lot like a snapping turtle allowed the water to pour down her throat, not a single swallow in sight. Which also meant, whatever it was never really was tasted, either. Oh well… “So may I have water now, please? I have done as you asked.”

“Yes.”

“Uppermost rooms of the dark tower. So, that’s like…a lot of stairs, right? Or have they figured out elevators?” Her head tilted. “I’m not supposed to want to see it because elf and all, but I’d be lying if I denied being curious. It has to be loads taller than Orthanc. But I wonder how it looks compared to a skyscraper in New York. Is it the Empire State Building of Mordor? What can I say. I really wanted to see Smaug’s skeleton, too. That was…” she giggled and leaned closer, whispering with her hand on his forearm. “ I took his claw and it’s my favorite digging stick .” A soft smile lingered for a moment…

The moment it struck, he knew. The furrow of her brow, eyes darting from left to right. No vocalizing, but silence, altered breathing as the struggle to counter anxiety from the sudden heat that bloomed in her heart began, and raced along every pathway. “Vanimórë…”

“More water may be difficult, for a short time.”

He sounded at the other end of a tunnel…At least he gave some reassurance against the sensations when he held her against him. Down the rabbit hole, down the rabbit hole…fumbling, she sought for something to break the falling sensation and fixated, grasped his fingers when a hand was offered. A glance at her hand revealed the wedding rings glowing again, reddish like forge-coals. Oh fantastic…

“Sleep, Lady.” A terrible imprint swept his mind from the glow of her rings, something not fully understood but he saw and vicariously felt her memory of pain. Burning with no possibility of death. Vanimórë stared. “Thou hast survived dragon-fire,” he murmured softly. Frowning, the dark head shook No. “I shall not believe. Tricks and deceptions. There cannot be entanglements of sympathy with thee.”

“Don’t…need….your….shove…pity…sun…don’t…shine….” The battle to remain conscious was lost, but her last thoughts bristled with outrage worthy of a honey badger…while her comparatively tiny hands held his fingers for dear life.

“Dear gods,” his free hand came up to suppress a chuckle. “Would that every command of my Master could be this interesting.”

Chapter 10: Dreams, Desires, Distance

Chapter Text

{70 Laer Imladris, July 22 Gregorian T.A. 3017}

Nana? Amaranthine danced through the mists. Nana itsa ‘bout time you got to a really good nap. I been waiting.

My little Cheshire Girl? Nenni gasped. How are you here? Are you here? Or is the Rabbit Hole down the Rabbit Hole?

Giggles. Doezzit madder, Nana? All da Rabbid Holes talk to each other. Dazz what the beayootiful man said. He came an told me dizziz how we can talk now. Just us, Nana.

Was the beautiful man’s name Lórien? Nenni embraced the girl, looping an arm around her waist and giving a squeeze. I was getting scared. Scared I would not have a way to come back to you. I still am scared.

I know, Nana. Try not to be. You still gots him. Right, mister amaranth eyes? Are you gonna come to our Tea Party?

Vanimórë startled. There…was not supposed to be a conference inside the unconscious mind of another. Especially with a child. Even so, his manners remained impeccable. I…do not belong here, Highness.

But youse already here. An’ you izza perfect Cadder pillar.

Even in the dream, Nenni’s eyes widened. Did she even want to know why Amaranthine thought that? Sweetheart, maybe caterpillars don’t want to drink tea. We shouldn’t force him or make him uncomfortable.

Amaranthine peered at Vanimórë out of the dreamscape, her eyes growing larger and glowing like that of her Cheshire moniker. Okay. Bud denn you should go now, Mizzter Cadder pillar. Jus’ remember. MY tea parties are invitayshuns you can’t decline, so don’t think you’ve gotten away. Dizz cat has very long clawz. Next time, don’ be late!

A door slammed shut between their minds.

“What in the hells…” Vanimórë whispered, never having moved and still holding the soundly asleep Elvenqueen. “The child is worse than the mother? What was that?” For the first time, a truly unsettled sense came over him. He continued, sotto voce for nobody’s benefit but his own. “Art thou really so gentle, Adonenniel, or frail? Or do I behold only that which I wish for mine own imaginings? Father’s mind hath gone far distant; thy words delivered a sting.

“So I shall tell thee a thing while thou canst not hear to know: Once a fair and beautiful sister was all I had to cherish in this world. Vanya was taken from me, never to return. If thou believed me uncaring toward thee, then thou knewest not the pain of thine arrows. ‘Collect me as family,’ think’st thou? Thou’rt dangerous, Lady, wielding weapons in purest ignorance and innocence. ‘Twould be easy to love thee had I such choice; thou lovest easily, generously. Thy words, ‘thou’rt excellent as a liar’ betray something not intended: Thy lying is thy artifice. The truthful heart and mind within thee to mine eyes art half thy peculiarity.

“Thy vines can never take my measure. Forever bound, I cannot be possessed by any whim of thine own. Mmmm, thou never saidst possess. How fares thy collection?” Checking the horizon in all directions for movement anywhere, the answer struck the moment his gaze returned to her face. “Already was I shown, yes? This ill-gotten venture began because Erestor would depart from thee, though perhaps I was not meant to see that and more. Thou couldst keep obscure anything of use to my master; no small feat. Today fared poorly for thee more than physically. ‘Twas not in thy power to hide thy past when sorely provoked. Father remarked those glimpses not a whit; ‘twas nonsense to him. Irrelevant. Not so to me. I grasp now the burden laid upon thee; thou’rt in truth a child asked to carry a monstrous weight…and more besides.”

A finger tapped the diadem she wore, allowing him to realize this was not the heavy gold he anticipated. A brow raised. Examining more carefully, observing how the headpiece anchored into her hair…so here is the fabled silver-steel wrought by the children of Aulë…for given thy status I cannot imagine it to be otherwise. Father spoke of this mithril…and equally seemed annoyed and irritated by the thought of the metal. Apparently it called to mind events in Eregion that ultimately did not play out as he had wanted. Such a pity. Another mystery solved; how it was she wore this thing on her head without it ever seeming to be a bother; it must feel as good as weightless. For a few moments he admired the play of light on the gemstones; all of these were the finest adamants and their brilliant rainbow colors pleased – and matched the uniquely glimmering spirit before him, the rarity of which he also surmised.

Did father know this about you, too? Did it somehow add to your worth, in his eyes? He could not comprehend how, not when beauty meant less. Now that father had been denied loveliness of form, having it too near (unless to abuse) quickened his anger. Thus he surrounded himself with the corrupt and loathsome, from waking nightmares like the Úlari robed in black cerements to the Black Númenorean emissary called only The Mouth; a once-human vessel now filled to overflowing with every kind of degradation and filth.

How Vanimórë hoped she would not meet any of these! The merest notion that he might be conveying her toward just such an end caused a weight to settle in his gut.

I must lay thee aside, and make preparations for food and rest. Lowering her carefully atop the grass Seran had conveniently flattened, Vanimórë silently went about his tasks.

**

So Nana gots da odder vorpal sword, an so soon. Wazzn’t ‘specting dat. How’d you find him, Mizzter Cadder pillar?

Floating, falling, then floating again, Nenni watched in a trancelike state as the rest of Amaranthine appeared again around the glowing eyes. The child held her hand, anchoring her firmly to the earth of the garden for she was a balloon that bobbed in the air, dubiously tethered. Am I…is this a dream?

Absoluuuuuutely. Da beayootiful Lord sezd, this is for us. He ‘splained you missed me so much. More than the others, but nodd to tell dem dat so dey won’t feel bad.

Face falling in despair, Nenni held back tears. I guess the beautiful Lord knows me pretty well. Sometimes grown ups can’t afford to be so honest. Can I hold you?

Sure, Nana. You just gots ta wanta come down ta earth.

Oh. Okay. Uncontrollable tears poured from her as she held her daughter tightly.

**

Alerted by a small sound, Vanimórë turned. Adonenniel slept, but each breath now hitched irregularly. Tears flowed out from between fluttering lashes. Whether it had been the gift of his blood or the child’s doing from afar, he could no longer perceive her thoughts save for occasional, random and muted images…for which he felt a deeply buried gratitude. As a feeling person, the connection had offered a conduit to the rarest acceptance without judgment, for in her naivete this elleth truly did refuse to acknowledge him as anything other than a free person cruelly set upon. It was more than he could grant himself. This existence had not yet crushed and burned her…or had it?

Fire and pressure destroy, Dark Prince…but they also create diamonds. Do not be so sure about the sum of an existence, the Little Voice chimed provocatively, since what else did it have to do at the moment? Vanimórë did not know about the Little Voice.

Whipping around, crouched, a blade flashed in his hand before half the phrase had been uttered.

There is no one else here; you will understand eventually. Stand down, soldier; but do consider my words.

Irritated, questioning if he was being played for a fool, both eyes tracked her breathing and movements very closely.

**

I do miss the others, but it wasn’t the same as my Cheshire girl. The others don’t understand the Rabbit Hole. You do. And…I don’t know why you do. I worry I’ve done something wrong, because… more tears threatened.

Nana. Bein’ down the Rabbid Hole isn’t usual buddit’z not bad. You hafta stop believing you’ve got anything to feel sorry for.

But…sweetheart…up there, up above…Different isn’t good. It’s not…how do I say this? It isn’t safe. It isn’t safe to be real.

An it’s safe to be unreal when you’re havin’ trubble holdin’ on? I could see you when I wuzzasleep. Finally now I gets ta be here. You haven’t had it easy, Nana. Mizzter Cadder pillar’s all there iz. Dere’s big problems ahead.

Mister Caterpillar can’t be trusted because his father can control him at any time.

Dazz why he took a big risk, what he did for you. I think inside, he’z scared. The strawberry curls bobbed in the breeze of their own forest, and finally it became apparent they both sat atop a very substantial mushroom.

Just what even… ...I still don’t understand what he did. Only that there was Power. Vanimórë must be far more than he appears.

I can tell dat he izz. You wuz like an open book for him, an’ he closed it. Almost; maybe a liddle gets out here an’ dere.

What? You mean, all of it, everything? Sweet Valar, what have I done…what have I thought about, these last days?

Prolly nuthin.’ Nana, don’t worry. What he did…I think he knows you are in a lotta danger cuz’ of him, and he’s playin’ a game he hopez Sauron will buy. I know the Cadder pillar dozzen’t wanta hurt you.

You seem awfully sure. Eru, are you real? Is this real? How is such a young child able to talk like this? Is it really a cruel joke?

Amaranthine hugged her mother tightly, eyes shut. Nuh-uh. I can prove it. I can tell you ‘bout how Hîradar goes everyday to the garden, an’ sits on the bench you gave him so he can lookit the cel…cel-an-deeens all around dere. He dozzen’t want people to see him cry but I hide real well. He’s bad, a lotta da time, Nana. Hurts. I know why cuz’ I hear him talkin’ to Lady Nienna.

Oh my god. Nenni buried her face in her other hand. You…you aren’t even ONE yet. You aren’t supposed to know any of this, you’re…you’re a baby, for Eru’s sake.

Pfffff! Giggle, giggle. Jus’ like you, Nana? Jus’ like you if your real years were counted? Ada’d be in big trouble, his bride not even fifty years old oh what would dey say? Tsk tsk!!

OH MY GOD WHERE DO YOU GET THIS STUFF ARE YOU EVEN MY CHILD oh my god you are so totally my child this is like all my DNA has come to haunt me oh my DNA…can I just apologize to you now and hope that your beautiful father’s genes besiege mine and slay them right down to the last nucleotide of guanine? Because…because…I did not want to remember…

Your real Nana and Ada? From earth? All your real family?

Nenni nodded slowly, more tears pouring from her eyes. The unspoken question filled the space between them. How do you know this, too? Nobody knew but your Ada, and I know he would not have broken that confidence.

Didja think I’d be normal, Nana, with the promise of gifts from all da Blessed Ones? I got born into water right by the great power in the garden? Some of what they promised to you, they’re giving it through me. You gotta face your problemz, work dem out on your own or none of it will matter to you. Right?

A snort escaped. I don’t even know what we’re talking about and I know the answer has to be Yes. But…I can’t see a future, sweetheart. It’s the worst part. I feel like a coward for saying these things to you…but…I’m dreaming, right? In front of me is my own abyss, and I’m not stupid. If I come back at all, I expect I will not be the same.

Amaranthine waited a long time to answer, wiping at her mother’s tears as they steadily rolled down like a leaking window on a rainy day. You won’t be the same, Nana, no. There’s a new elf here, Unca Thanny deer. He hadda wife anna liddle girl like me an they died a long long time ago an he’s broken too. I think they sent him here cuz you’re gone. Thaliel tries, Nana, but she’s Thaliel.

Breath hitching through waves of misery, Nenni could not help but chortle. That statement…needs no clarification, Cheshire girl. So you are collecting family too?

Izzn’t that what we do?

What is Thanny...Thannadir? Thanedir? Thanadir?

Yeah dat one.

What is Thanadir like?

He’z kinda like Unca ‘Restor buddez…dere’s a word Thanny deer likez. ‘Seamlee.’ I toldim We Don’ Do Normal.

Oh Sweet Eru….

Nana. He cann’d be allowed to develupp unrealistigg eggspecktashunz. ‘Sides. He likez all your flowerz lots. The garden izz a liddle messy budd Hîradar tries real hard to keep it nice. He needzta feel close to you an’ he’z helpin’ Thanny deer too.

I…well I suppose that part is true…If we fail it is not for lack of trying… Nenni sighed. I am glad you have them. I…I don’t know if I can come back, Amaranthine. I don’t know if anyone will be able to believe in me. What I am doing…I am going into darkness and in this world, people don’t come back. I mean, will I? I am relying on a whole lot of Tea Parties and my wholesale belief in who is right and who is wrong to get me through this but no one said there were guarantees and then what, it is you and me and the dog?

Nana…Ada and Hîradar would never forsegg you, the child insisted with a strange gravity in her voice. You needta unnerstand dis.

Now Nenni quieted for a long time. Why do you feel so sure about that? You do know that there is a thing in this world called ‘conditional love,’ sweetheart? People are funny with this word, ‘love.’ They mean it, but only to a point. Then it can break, and it is gone. Sometimes it is when you no longer do as they require of you. Other times it is when you have served your purpose and are no longer necessary. Then you are left as you began, alone. However long it takes, I will find Beren and I will find you. I will find your father and Ada too….but will they want the stranger who returns?

Why not leddem work out their challinjezz while you worry aboudd your own? If I can give some advize.

My challenges. Nothing wrong with me… Her arms held Amaranthine tightly and the entirety of her face contorted. Why am I like this? Why does it never stop? All her being gave way, clinging to her daughter’s tiny body like it was the last thing left on Arda. Because it was. I do love both of them. I do. And I want to trust them. But…

Budd even tho dey love you too, dey both failed you when you needed help and dey both controlled you before they trusted you with a lotta reluctance. You gave all your stabilliddy to have me, Nana. I know you didn’t want me, and izz okay. But I’m here now. So’s he.

The echoes fell into Nenni’s mind, as did the years. The voice of her birth mother on the other end of the telephone...a conversation years ago on Earth… When I was pregnant I didn’t want you. I wanted an abortion but I waited too long. I drove to the cliffs at the ocean-side. And I stood there for half the day and thought about jumping off. Well obviously I didn’t…

Everything had been…complicated. Jane had desperately wanted to keep her baby…but without support, advocacy, self-awareness or an emotionally stable family not much had hopes of going well for a sixteen year-old. For Nenni, though, hearing them even as an adult, those words came as a serious blow on top of too many others, even though Jane had spent decades trying to find her and was thrilled when at last they reunited. They…simply weren’t anything one person should ever say to another, true or not.

The sentences had embedded and became the First Thought. This was how Adonenniel began. How I began. Rejected…rejected so much her mother came that close to killing both of them. I mean…it’s not like I would have known?...It’s not like you would have known and who actually tells their child something this hurtful?...the answer, the answer…someone who is hurt so badly they never stopped being a child themselves (and let’s not forget the booze talking; it had talked so much until it never talked again)… god what a clusterf*ck it all was, an endless wheel that never stopped rolling along.

Nenni blinked, struggling to return to the present. Amaranthine…I did want to have you, though it is also true that your father pressured me into the decision. But I said Yes, no one forced me. I was afraid of the pain, and I didn’t want to go through having a baby like…like earth babies. Diapers and years of not having a conversation. There was so much I did not understand and I’d never seen an elf baby. Glorfindel suffocated me. Physically carrying you became very hard in the last months. I did not receive the support I really needed and that is my responsibility as–

The Cheshire eyes widened and swirled. Stop making ‘scuses for them, Nana. Like I said, I know stuff. You’re ‘fraid of being left. Sometimes people leave you even when the roomz full of people but they don’t see how. They’re nodd your kinda different.

Yeah…wait. You said ‘so’s he’...

Mizzter Cadder pillar. He’z worried about you. You’re cryin’, in your sleep. He’z holdin’ you. You gotsa problem dere, Nana, with dat one.

Oh, you think? Sauron is Father of the Year, what could possibly go wrong…

Daz nodd whaddeye mean. Iz way more comblycayded dan dat.

What do you mean? Complicated how?

Amaranthine took both of her hands, absurd give the size disparity. It was as ridiculous as when Glorfindel held Nenni’s. Nana…you r’member the drawing we drawed, nodd so long before you left? The one an’ I told you she killz da Jabberwock?

Who could forget that piece of completely mental chiaroscuro…I remember, Cheshire girl. You said the Jubjub bird and the bandersnatch would get her.

She’z you, Nana. Walkin’ in the spaces between light an’ dark. Just like Mizzter Cadder pillar. Not him, not you, gonna understand until it’z too late. See, you both gots the same challinjez.

We do? Nenni whispered, not understanding how this could be.

Tell you what, Nana. The Beayootiful Lord sez, we talked a lot for the first time. You can ask me any one question ‘boudd Mizzter Cadder pillar. If I know, I’ll tell.

One…I…alright. What is most important to know to be good to him, that I would not have any means to know if you didn’t tell me?

Giggles, with those eyes seeming almost normal now. Lord Irmo sendz his…his…complimints on da question. Answer izz, he has been abused, hurt, digg raided, made to believe he’z nudding, more than you can understand. He hatez himself, tellz himself has no hope. But part of him still looks up atda starz. Right now, he’z afraid for you an’ himself both. He can endure so much budd like you, doezzee want to? An’ Nana…he saw tons ‘bout your past though he may hide dat. So…hezza mess that can hide it really well, an’ you’rra mess...

And I’m a mess that cannot…well what a fine pair we make.

The Beayootiful Darkness izz stronger than you, Nana, in many ways. Fight with him, not against him. You know da problemzz, still he will protekk you if he can. De spide evereeting, he’z gotta lotta com pa shun.

Two vorpal blades?

Snicker-snack! Amaranthine giggled, her eyes enlarging and glowing again while her body shimmered away.

When will I see you again? Nenni pleaded. Thank Lord Irmo, for such a gift!

Ah, Nana! All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream…*

Adonenniel swiped with her hand toward the glowing eyes… “Can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp…” Did she speak aloud? An illusion of having done so persisted but doubt layered atop it. Under her hand lay warmth and comfort but by no means was this Amaranthine. A sort of sleep-paralysis lingered, wanting to go back, wanting to go back so much even though it had to be all gone. The dream had been so painfully real…her belly heaved for air when none of the rest of her seemed to work.

“Thou canst be still,” the deep baritone said. Overhead the sky had gone dark; stars wheeled brightly. “Do not hurry.”

Nodding, feeling mentally battered, instinctively the freest hand drifted toward her face to begin cleanup.

“Thy face is dry.”

Pausing, confused, she tried to stitch together all Amaranthine had spoken. Either trust it is real, or do not. Trying to breathe a little deeper, her hand found his wrist instead and lightly held it; something he permitted. “You’re being very kind to me. It’s hard to find…if I thank you with the words I really want I’ll just start crying again.”

“Thou must hide thy feelings better than this, Majesty.”

“I can’t most of the time. I broke. I know I need to, Vanimórë. You might as well tell a barrel with rotten, damaged staves, ‘you need to hold the wine in!’ because that’s what barrels do! I can giggle at you and wonder by what miracle rotten wood is supposed to suddenly repair itself. Yes, I can slowly heal. I was working on it. And then someone had the bright idea to abduct me and ruin any possibility I had of recovery so here we are! I’m here spilling my whatevers to an extraordinary person, flopped on the grass of Rohan under the starry expanse. So goes my life. The only thing missing is some music and a nice lemon pudding.”

“These I cannot provide. Perhaps some meat, and water? An apple?”

“I should eat. But I don’t want to move. Can I just stay like this a little longer? Please? Everything was…hard. You feel safe.”

“How is it I feel thus, when thou art deadly as I?” The query lingered in the night air, but still he held her cradled while he in turn leaned against the horse’s side.

“It’s…” Uncertain, her mental barriers dropped. “Can I ask you a personal question, Vanimórë?”

Silence. So much silence, that as the rate of her heartbeat escalated in second-guessing and anxiety, she wondered if the sound was audible outside of the pulsing in her own ears.

“It is,” came the soft answer, “but I hear better even than an elf. I shall choose to believe the sincerity of thy unasked query. No, I knew my mother not. Nor her name. Were I to be foolish enough to ask, the information could only be…indigestible. Now, my turn. For what reason didst thou ask?”

Falling, falling… “Because…I find myself often trying to reconcile how it is that some receive so much in life while others are expected to survive on less than nothing!”

If the answer surprised him, so too did the fissure of anger and pain splitting open behind it, erupting with a dark, diffuse, directionless rage. “Lady…”

The rumbling chest beneath seemed to pierce her awareness…or was it that he swiftly grasped her hand, lightly shaking it? Either way a sense of having overstepped, feeling ashamed, choked. Now the popcorn had fallen all over the floor, and the mess had to be tidied. “I should not have said that.”

“I disagree. ‘Twas thy honest reply.”

The pad of his thumb traced slow circles against the palm of her hand and she found herself unable to notice anything else – this captivatingly calmed. Now what the hell was the matter… “Are you also a serpent charmer?” Nenni murmured, about ready to throw in all the towels.

“Nay. I see thy bewilderment, Adonenniel. I have shared thy strong sensibilities and though different we have some misfortunes in common. Be able to take food, and water. We may converse another time. Today hath already been strain enough for thee.”

“Whatever’s best.” Surprise seeped everywhere and touched her with nearly childlike wonder at his response. It hadn’t been dismissive. “I have another question.”

A dark brow elevated. “And if I deny a second examination?” he teased, but with no hint of humor.

“Oh…” A contralto hum simmered along. “Then I suppose this conversational blossom shall fall off the tree never to bear fruit, and wither upon the ground.”

“A high-quality rebuke. Thou may’st ask.” Conversational games were among his few occasional amusem*nts with Sauron, not that she knew this.

“Okay. If you could do anything you wanted with yourself…no bondage, overlord to force your obedience, no life in Mordor, no armies to whatever, what would you wish to do?”

A short laugh issued from him. “I suppose I can answer, given ‘twas already done. I would rule. A master warrior can command other fighters, and one who commands an army can control an area, then a region, then a city or city-state.” The moonlight illuminated a wry smile while her pale eyes studied his subtly shifting expressions. “Once I ruled as prince of Sud Sicanna, a city-state south of Rhûn. Do I presume too much, that thou knowest not this place, Majesty?”

“You do not. No map, no book nor scroll was ever brought to my attention that could tell me of Sud Sicanna.” The name rolled strangely off her tongue, like an untasted and exotic spice. “I have tried to learn in my time here…then do I guess you were a desert prince, living where customs and perceptions may have been very different than those of northern men?”

“That is so. How did you know?”

“Not know,” Nenni composed the reply carefully. “Guessed. There is much I cannot reconcile about this place, but I thought maybe it would hold true that as where I came from, going south means heat, aridity. Even in my world that is another way to say, ‘desert’.”

“The desert is not thy preference.”

Immediately her mood darkened, her mind closed off. Small fingers laced with his very large ones, forcing the motion of his thumb to cease. “The desert,” her voice wavered, “is like you. To external appearances, very beautiful. Mesmerizing. But in reality, full of hidden peril. Become careless, become lulled by its outward appearance of simplicity, and only by the greatest fortune will you survive your own foolish misunderstandings.”

“Methinks there is a greater story?” he probed gently. “I do not ask thee to tell me now.”

Looking away, Adonenniel nodded slowly. Rubbing at her eyes, a memory manifested. Under full moonlight, a grand desert vista of endless rock; hills and canyons, labyrinthine gullies and eerie monuments rendered in every shade of blue under moonlight. Such exquisite, unforgettable beauty.

“Thou wert lost,” Vanimórë perceived.

Brilliant, wasn’t I?

“Whether yea or nay, another time.” Nenni found herself held tightly. “Thou’rt alive, Lady. By one means or another, it needed courage.”

“I discovered some time ago that ‘courage’ is a code word for dissociating feeling from thinking when others wish to find merit in it.”

Even in the dark, his brow arched visibly and a forefinger tapped over her lips in gentle warning.

“I shall recall this.”

“Thou may’st. But there must be food and water for thee now, then rest.”

“Aren’t I resting now?” A grin split her face.

A still gentle yet sharper tap along the bridge of her nose supplied his opinion of that comment. Thinking it wise not to test him further, tucking into a ball allowed a tumble off of his lap. “What should I do?” Smartass to compliant, practically with the wave of a wand.

“Wait.”

“Wait, yes.”

Pausing as he brought out some of the cold meat, he almost asked about the origin of this strange echolalia she used, but thought better of it. “Take what you wish.”

Ever so unobtrusively, sniff, sniff, whiff, sniff. Daintily two medium size pieces were selected. “Thank you, I appreciate the food.”

“Take more.”

“This is all I want, I’m not really hungry. I’m thirsty more than anything else.”

“There is water, and wine.”

“Is the wine strong?”

“Thou must judge.” Their bowls were present and with no difficulty he filled his and splashed a small amount into hers, offering it.

Again, whiff, sniff. Sip, sniff whiff. “Mmm. Not too strong…I do not mean to be a pest but please can I have water first, whatever I am allowed? I do not want to end up with a headache.”

“You have illnesses?” Vanimórë became suspicious at once. Impossible.

“I had illnesses, past tense…but you will forgive me if I do not trust that anything I am supposed to be is stable, permanent or…or whatever at all. So it seems better to err on the side of not being incapacitated. I am trying to help you not have your task be any harder than it is already.”

Without response, he filled her bowl with water.

“Thank you very much.” Finally, water. A grateful sip was relished, then a bite of meat – and a sigh of contentment. “This is so nice.”

“Cold, nearly raw meat and water?”

“That you provided, so I did not have to think about it. Mhm.” Reflective chewing went on and on and on until the meat was a slurry inside of her mouth. Because there was more than one way to make soup. Finally…one more sip of water.

“At this rate, Majesty, dawn will arrive when thy repast is complete?” Was it annoyance, or amusem*nt, that gilded his words?

“Mmm. It is true that I eat very slowly. I cannot discern if you are asking me, or making an observation, or telling me to hurry. Or all of them. Or none of them!” Heat rose on her face. “No, wait…” There was something about wanting me to go back to sleep…is that something to do with it? Either way, being singled out sort of terminated relaxation. Tearing at the pieces in rapid succession , each section was swallowed whole one after the other, with some occasional water to keep a complete traffic jam from building up in her esophagus. The hydrochloric acid would have something to do, tonight. No point boring her stomach to death. Washing her fingers in the last of her drinking water (free flavor!), there. Done. “Wine for dessert, you said?”

“What…was that?” Vanimórë asked, appalled.

“Er…why don’t we call it speeding up my repast? Now you are safe from dawn. In theory. I have seen zero evidence that you are a troll.”

“That was not necessary! Assume not what others intend!” Now ire really was in his voice.

“I have an idea.”

“Which is?”

Carefully she wiped her drinking bowl clean with nearby grass. “Don’t bother with the wine, I changed my mind. Next meal, I shall imitate how you eat, then both of us can be happier. It’s really no bother. Is there a blanket…” her voice trailed off. Beren was gone. How would she stay warm? This…would probably really suck. I didn’t think about this part. Yeah, it was summer, but when did her body ever get the memo on anything?

A blanket was flung at her, the bowl handed back. “Thanks much.” Stifling laughter became difficult. The laughter was not directed at her travel companion. Far from it. More like…the entire situation. Communication that was two parallel planes, refusing to intersect most of the time because they quite literally were from different planets. No one was to blame. Absurdity had sprinkled itself sort of everywhere, really, like a kid put in charge of the jar of glitter.

First she wrapped herself in the cloak after removing her boots, chest armor and sword harness and sitting on the blanket, hood too. Then the blanket went over as a second layer. There was nothing else for it but what she would ever name the ‘falling asleep in the library position’ that would still probably add up to reams of regret by morning, but oh well. She’d be lucky to get a few fitful naps out of this as it was. “Good night, Vanimórë. Thank you for all you’ve done to help me.”

Nenni did not hear a reply for a second time, and felt…sad. Deflated. Slowly, she worked her way into her preferred peculiar posture. The easiest way to describe it…a swimmer coiling for the scissor-kick stroke, save this was dry land. “Maybe I should shut up like you’re always telling me. But I still want to say that if I have offended you, it was not my intention to do so.” There. At least now, she had apologized…though was there something for which to apologize? Ugh. Well better this than to be a jerk.

Little time was necessary for her mind to drift back to the thing most desired…the shards of the dream about Amaranthine…and the wonderful Cheshire eyes…unexpectedly, she slept.

Vanimórë regressed from Adonenniel with needless stealth and tended to returning everything to its place – one could never be too careful. In the event they needed to flee, seconds would matter; bowls and wineskins left strewn about would not do. Never mind if they would be re-used in the morning, that would be then. The horse needed to graze and be watered as well; this too was done. For a long while the glittering eyes searched all the horizon for sight or sound of anything at all; only ordinary night-sounds carried in the distance.

Crouching down, he felt the skin of her face, touched her hand that had fallen outside the blanket. Cool and cold. Asleep, her mind lacked strong defenses against him so he gained some sense of whether she had passed into deeper sleep; the opposite was the case. Adonenniel was in fact not warm enough, and would wake soon…what kind of elf was this?

“Thou’rt pestilential,” he chided, divesting himself of his own breastplate and lifting her to lie against him, rearranging the blanket over her. “A complete bother.”

Unaware during the long night, her arms lifted to wrap around his neck, weaving through the thick hair. The corners of his mouth curled up slightly. For something so bothersome and pestilential, unusual care was bestowed. Or was it lingering guilt for having struck her? Strong fingers tirelessly massaged palpably knotted muscles while she was held in sleep.

Deep in dreams Adonnenniel wandered, where experience, memory, love, lies, truth, deception, and betrayal swirled in an impossible parade, Cheshire eyes melded with the scent of sandalwood and something richer yet. Somehow it seemed to fill her head with ideas – only she didn’t know exactly what they were! However, somebody had killed something: that much was clear, at any rate – as usual the question was what.*

*****

Chapter 11: A Shift In Directions

Chapter Text

{2 Iavas Imladris, July 26 Gregorian T.A. 3017}

For three days the grasslands of Rohan gave way to Seran’s graceful hooves at a rolling pace taxing neither horse nor rider, consuming the leagues nevertheless. Wishing to avoid any proximity to Edoras, and Vanimórë already being aware of an advantageous location at which to ford the Entwash, that river’s passage was accomplished late morning of the second day and then continuous travel proceeded apace through the region named East Emnet. Now as this wearying day drew toward its close, they had entered Sarn – forested, and with a far different aspect to the Anduin River than its shoreline to the north.

Much of the time in travel after that extremely fraught first day alone together, Nenni turned inward. Mostly this had to do with attempting to sift and riddle out every word Amaranthine had spoken in that vivid dream, but there was more. Her mind drifted back to so many conversations. Words exchanged with Thranduil, with Glorfindel. And the indelible fact that as each hoofbeat struck the grassy plains, her own Fate inexorably wove with that of the man behind her. Tears ran down her face unchecked while his arms provided what amounted to armrests in the saddle. Ridiculous! Ridiculous, but resting against his arms reduced her weariness, a little. Once upon a time…

Those words began every bullsh*t fairy story they read to girls of her generation. Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, La Belle et la Bête, Aschenputtel, there were probably more that she just wasn’t thinking of this moment. Hadn’t she gotten her fairy story…twice? Her King lost to the ages, and then her Wise Warrior Angel come to her rescue? And why were the stories bullsh*t? Because they would be about how your life could be a mess you didn’t know how to solve on your own, and a strong, noble and virtuous man would appear out of nowhere and bring the thing women tended to lack – physical strength – to smooth the path, solve the problem, break down the barriers. Or in her case, offer the wisdom and guidance of untold years of experience. Except, all of that comes with some underlying assumptions. Sooooo many assumptions. And what happens when in the end, the help becomes a pretext for entitlement and control?

It’s the broken record of my life, and yet…this time is different. Why did this have to happen when I had just begun to reestablish some ties with Ada? What Amaranthine said… A jolt of the terrain caused her seat to falter just slightly, and Vanimórë’s arm, never too far from her waist, protectively corrected her seat. The long days on the horse were tiring; no question, and she refused to complain. But when pulled against him, the temptation to remain there and rest against him…all willpower vanished. He did not refuse her this, and briefly, she grasped his forearm in a gesture of gratitude.

Once the evenings became cold, he had to be the reason why she woke each morning warm and well-rested. Nothing was said between them but she was not stupid; his unmistakable scent lay heavily on her clothing and blanket, often seeming to permeate the surrounding air as though she woke only after being left alone. Vanimórë had become as comfortable to her now as her own clothing, but his attempts to preserve some manner of decorum between them…well, he was like that. Honorable, mannerly – and were he otherwise what on Arda would she do?

And yet…this entire situation. Reaching up, her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose. Could Thranduil see this, see them…what explanation could she offer? Vanimórë was not Ada. Nor Erestor, nor Elladan nor Elrohir. This was something else, and very deep godawful places inside of her possessed some instinct of…the other Vorpal Blade…how did one even begin to tell one’s husband, oh, hello, don’t mind me; just sleeping in the arms of another man again, you know how I am… I do love you. And I miss you. I believe in your own stumbling, not always very emotionally intelligent and yet sometimes too perceptive way that you love me deeply. Yet as with Ada…there is this thing. I suppose I would define that as, what you have cost me, how you have treated me, how you have maneuvered me to serve your purposes, assuage your fears, use me as your own version of the doll upon the shelf. So in the end I still return to, Who am I? No answer is forthcoming.

I forgive him, just as I forgive Ada. But the forgiveness is not fixing what has gone all wrong in here…which is of course a byproduct of things that never were right. Wrong in here, and off to Sauron’s Tea Party, with six impossible things before breakfast…growing food with no power…growing food with no seeds…growing food on sh*tty soil…listening to a liar lying and working for a despot…making myself want to do this if I am not left the f*ck alone to do it my way…well that is only five but it is good to leave room for expansion… Quickly straightening in the saddle, an attempt to mask this emotional burnt soup from the one behind her came too late.

One hand brushed her chin to feel the tears there. “Thou hast no need to hide.” The arm pulled her back.

“You sure about that? I don’t understand. Weren’t you telling me to do a better job hiding my emotions? Which is it?” Though the words seemed accusatory, her extremely soft tone filed off every sharp edge. The questions were asked slowly, ceding control of the conversation. Her fingers found a purchase on his bracers. In a rare display of affection, he released his hold on her waist long enough to encompass her hand.

“Thou’rt different, I have begun to see. My notions hath changed. Thy chances could fare better, perhaps, to purge what feelings thou canst whilst we travel. Though, a great deal weighs on thy thought. Once we reach our destination, thou need’st think only on thy duty for thy Lord. If thou canst forget all else – and yes, I do know what I ask – ‘twould spare thee much torment.”

“I could try. I am not sure you would understand. If that is the case; fine. I have not walked in your boots, the reverse is also true. But as you said, if I recall properly, we may share misfortunes in common.” Blowing her cheeks out like those of an overstuffed squirrel, how to continue weighed on her even while the thought registered, this is probably the last night on this side of the Anduin. Fun fun. But I like that there are trees…

Dost thou? Far enough, we have ridden. A grove lies nearby, well-hidden. Thou’rt perceptive.

I think I know where we are. I want to talk to my Ada, Vanimórë. But I am refraining, so as not to jeopardize our travel.

I see. Thy loyalty hath been noted. Amusem*nt laced his voice.

Okay, even I think that last whinge was petulant and pathetically seeking approval. Can we just erase that one? Please?

Perhaps. Pray tell, what is this ‘whinge’?

Whining. Clamoring for favor or attention.

I approve of this word. I shall apply it to several worthy candidates that speak Westron and thereby puzzle father.

Pleased to be of service…but to return to the original conversation…People disappoint. Or rather, everyone, no matter how great and glorious they are at first whether friend, parent, mate, other family or some other important relation I have failed to classify, will eventually reveal that they are flawed. Sometimes deeply. The process of that revelation leaves a particular kind of scar on a person who has never known real love. Because there is no such thing as a sentient being with any measure of goodness and emotional intelligence that does not wish to experience the light of freely given love.

Especially those of us who were wholly deprived want this more than anything but we also hide this desire. Why? Every instance in which we may have revealed this vulnerability to another has left us as so much glass to be shattered, so much wood to be burnt. What is left?…shards upon which to bleed, ashes…dust.

And yet. Her forefinger lifted, pointing upward. Though we do not see them at this moment, the stars burn overhead. Of what are they made? The science of my world has discovered all these things. Ground glass, and ashes, and dust. I understand that Eru has made us his Children; and we are all made of stars.

Vanimórë’s bow lips parted.

Adonenniel did not see his wide open eyes, too intently narrating these concepts from the confines of the view framed between Seran’s ears. That these inevitable failures will occur is not a reason to forego love. Those who do end up like your overlord, and his Lord before him. I would wager that they too once sought something besides only Power. Approval? A sense of accomplishment? Even malice in its purest form has no meaning without good to give it definition, just as good and holiness has no context if evil does not exist in order to explain what good is not. No, we are made to love. But…it is the questions between, the places where what some believe to be black and white but really most always become shades of gray in a tearing hurry…here is where I am lost.

I thought I was finding my way back then this had to happen. There are…many things I am asking myself, now, because I…cannot see how certain seemingly irreconcilable difficulties can possibly be solved. This assumes, of course, that I survive what lies before me. I understand there is no guarantee of this. I mean, I know something will emerge physically alive because…because it will. For the rest…well. The Jabberwock is a terrible foe, and it is not alone.

Sensing they were very alone, that nothing was near for great distances, he unbraided the copper hair and began to comb it, leaving it loose. This calmed and quieted her, he had observed, wholly unaware of those to whom this task had previously belonged. These references so often spoken by thee: Tea parties, the rabbit hole, Wonderland, caterpillars, Cheshire cats, Jabberwocky. I ask thee to explain them.

They are all from a story. Two stories, actually. I can only manage one at a time. The second is much harder to tell than the first. Do you want to be told the first story, or do you prefer the woefully inadequate summary?

If I am to truly have a chance at understanding, could anything save the former begin to suffice?

….No.

Then this evening’s occupation is settled. Adonenniel, speak to thy father if thou wouldst. I believe thou canst manage to converse on many things save tactics of the chase.

…Fair. I think I know how to ensure it. Amaranthine told me what you did for me. So if you can hear everything, well, then there is no uncertainty on your part.

Vanimórë tensed. I have no wish to discuss this.

Fine. You have one job to do. If you find me thinking of something…inappropriate…apply some pressure to my body, tap at me, I do not care what, so that I know to redirect my mind elsewhere. Consider yourself to have permission to censor the conversation so that I do not inadvertently reveal something I should not because for my part, this should be about matters between a father and daughter. If it cannot remain confined to that, it needs to end regardless. Can we agree?

Very well.

Breathing deeply, the sudden increase in nervousness could not be mastered. The image of the stern, ethereally beautiful face framed by golden hair filled her mind, and already inside of herself it was all going to sh*t. Throwing her head back and gazing upwards, teeth bit down on a rosy lip. You’ve got to manage better than this. This is no kind of starting point.

But that’s just it, isn’t it? the Little Voice flared up.

Christ I don’t need you right now! Go on vacation or something! Nenni threw back angrily.

Vanimórë startled. Privately, he reacted What in Hells?

Oh I think you DO need me right now, before another balls-up can be made of this entire situation, my dear.

Since when do you call me that? Since when do I call me that? What in hell has gotten into you? And what in hell are you talking about this time? Seriously, out with it or f*ck off. My dear, my ass.

Amethyst eyes open wide, it required much for the tall, dark one behind her to remain still and silent.

Ohhhhh you may find that someone shall call you my dear one fine day, and that you will not mind it in the least. Now. Onto more salient matters. Starting point. You understand what you need to do, don’t you?

What do you mean? I don’t have the brain for twenty questions right now. I don’t have the brain for two questions, so just spit it.

You need to ask him if the two of you can completely begin again. You have both made mistakes. You gave your honest best…but so did he. Despite it all, he has not wavered. You are going to need him, more than you can imagine. I think you already know this.

Nenni pressed her palms against the sides of her head for the words tormented…the execrable thing was probably right but it was so hard, so easy but so hard…I…Ada? Ada are you there? Ada, can I talk to you?

**

Iellig! The excitement and relief in the voice could not be mistaken.

The memory of Glorfindel’s embrace was unusually vivid in her mind, so much so that Vanimórë found himself unwittingly supplying what the golden warrior could not, and immediately went on guard. Was his presence here known after all, and so quickly?

Adonenniel, I am sorry for our last conversation. It should not have ended in that way and the blame is mine.

She laughed, a little. Ada, the Little Voice told me that I needed to ask you if we could begin again. Completely begin again. Though, I find myself not understanding how to do that exactly, after all we have experienced together. Did it mean, forget all the mistakes between us and pretend nothing ever went wrong? Did it mean, understand that love is worth more than our frailties? Which…I know that it is. All of this has been so rotten but it…I can see that you really were sorry. Not fake sorry. I have seen a lot of fake sorry in my life and I believe that it would not be the same. I am…so fragmented now. I don’t think this part is going to get better anywhen soon. I want to repair matters between us while there is still time.

Seated on her bower in the garden, Glorfindel felt the power thrum beneath him and considered. One moment, Iellig, while I reflect on this. He could see more than they realized; whatever Adonenniel regarded, so could he. While certainly he did not know all of Arda, he knew the forested regions from here to Mordor. Quick guesswork revealed they were nowhere near where he had hoped; Vanimórë proved a clever adversary. It would have been better had he heeded the advice given; instead he had driven them onto a far more dangerous road – for her.

Dropping his head, he sighed in defeat. Making an educated surmise, he reached out. Vanimórë, I believe you listen. Please, would you speak with me? I will be brief.

I am here. This was not my design. Thy daughter is over-diligent to avoid my mistrust.

Her difficulties leave her anxious by nature, though surely you have gleaned this much. What you may not have seen is that she expects rejection, dismissal. If she is making effort to win your regard, she holds you in high esteem…but this is not why I asked for an audience. I give you my word that henceforth, all attempts on our part to track or intercept you are at an end. I now realize what my efforts have done. I was foolish not to realize how you would respond. Please forgive a father’s desperation; may I plead with you not to take her through needless hardship or danger?

Vanimórë sighed deeply. I have my duty as thou hast thine, Lord Glorfindel. My orders require conveyance of thy daughter whence she shall fulfill her agreement with my Lord. I am tasked with her protection and well-being. Not requiring me to evade pursuit will aid that cause. The rest I leave to thy great wisdom.

Glorfindel smiled. I am in your debt, and will not forget it. This is never given lightly, but remittance cannot be made if the one owing cannot be found.

Again, the strange sense of entanglement, reaching out…Vanimórë shook it off his mind as one might blow new-fallen snowflakes off a glassy surface. Glorfindel had awareness of his circ*mstances so the necessity for cryptic statements was understood, as would be the reason he offered no reply.

Adonenniel frowned…and wondered, that the one behind her held her in a frankly paternal embrace. The feel of it was eerie…Vanimórë could be mercurial, though of late he had been unusually kind. This was a risk, but…at the moment everything was a swirl, her mind resonating with the few words Glorfindel’s rich voice had spoken. Only one hand reached to cover part of the back of Vanimórë’s. His hand was of a similar size to Glorfindel’s though more elegant in its construction. Leaning over, she kissed just below the knuckles. Ada, is the question so complicated? If it is, I will not feel so bad. Closing her eyes, she leaned back into the embrace, completely lost as to place.

If Vanimórë found himself aggrieved to be the temporary avatar of all he believed he was not, with a show of extreme grace and forbearance he remained silent. Something could be learned, he perceived, of this complex game board on which he seemed to be a playing-piece. For example, he would not have guessed that anyone would choose to greet their sire in this manner. Why?

I find myself trying to…think, Iellig. Your Voice can offer up strange notions. The problem is, it is rarely wrong. I think all of us would like to understand it better.

Well…we can agree on that part. I would quite often rather throw a brick at it, if there was something to actually aim for. Alas, there is not.

Iellig, these tendencies of yours…

Sorry, Ada.

Do not be. I think neither of us are going to stop being ourselves. Maybe the point of it is, what is that you say, it needed to stop leaking all over the floor? Especially for me. I had been warned for a long time about my proclivities and I could not see it. Well, I see it now and I am so, so sorry that it took what passed between us for me to achieve clarity. You paid for it, Erestor paid for it, as have your husband and daughter.

Don’t think you are not on that list. I know what has gone on.

How could you?

I go to all the right tea parties, Ada. You just have to sit on a mushroom with a view. Honestly, I am not sure I should talk about this yet…I’m still trying to work out if I’ve gone further down the rabbit hole yet or not. Maybe let’s keep this about you and me?

Alright…but if this is about Amaranthine, I think I may know. Your husband does not realize because…I perceive he is not meant to. What she has been given is for you and her alone.

…and yet you are aware? Nenni’s eyes narrowed.

Iellig. I have already paid a great price in misery for my mistakes…please remember I am the servant of Lord Irmo’s sister.

Oh. I sort of forgot that last part.

My Lady Nienna is most often thought of in connection to Grief and Sorrows…but in the greatest of bad irony, I was sent out to be her worst servant, administering her third attribute. Mercy. Humorous, no? His tone held deep, biting sarcasm.

Oh, Ada…that’s…

You may say it, Iellig. There is no need to mince words.

Okay, fine, I’ll say it. It’s very human. There was another saying on Earth because we never run out of them. To err is human, to forgive, divine. Maybe this is what has to be meant by starting over. Here we both are. You’ve…had to walk this path of total hash ups, and now you’re trying to pick up the pieces. I’m about to hash it all up, and I don’t know what pieces there will be to pick up. I want you to know that I love you, and I will continue to love you. I know you will keep loving me…because you are who you are, and you promised. My husband promised too but…I have bad feelings about the road ahead because he can’t think like you can about…life. He doesn’t do shades of gray so well and I think there are about to be hundreds of them…call it my own bit of crappy foresight.

I wish I did not understand the weight of your words.

Pretty much that.

Nenni sighed. I should go now, Ada. But one other thing has been on my mind. A thin memory, of something we talked about in Imladris, in the library. Of the Elder Days.

What?

You told me of Elrond’s parents. The sons of Fëanor, Maedhros and Maglor. I recall strongly the memory of the former, on account of what you told me of my lineage, and my coloring. But I find that I struggle to recall the face of Maglor. Can you show me?

Unaware, Vanimórë leaned forward slightly, concentrating.

Yes. Is there a reason?

I…am not really certain. It is something Amaranthine said.

With that, the resplendent ellon flared to life in her mind. Stunning of form and feature with his dark hair and gray eyes, seated at the harp, baritone voice weaving a dream.

Sweet Eru, Ada, that was his voice?!? Tears sprang to her eyes, unable to be stopped.

I thought you might like to know, of all people. It was said that only one other could surpass him and that memory would lie with your husband.

What?!?! And he said nothing? Who?!?!

Ah. I can see I have already caused marital strife. I am sorry. The name of the ellon was Daeron; he was at the court of Elu Thingol and Thranduil certainly would have known of him…like Maglor, he too disappeared from the pages of history. Whether he lives somewhere or perished is unknown.

Ahh. Well, something for another day, if fortune allows. Ada, please play the piano. I do not want it to be lonely. These things are important. Take Amaranthine with you, and this…Thanadir?

You know of him?

Yes. Be good to him. My daughter likes him very much.

Iellig, can I ask you something?

Of course you can, why is that even a question?

Because the question will be awkward. I am aware that Vanimórë can likely hear, at least to an extent.

Ah. Well, still, I do not care.

Very well. Is there a reason you have asked so little after Thranduil? Or should I say, so impersonally?

Nenni twisted her lips. Ada. Little escapes your notice. You are aware, I think, of my exact circ*mstances this moment. You can extrapolate. You know…what I have gone through with Thranduil. His moods, his disposition, his passions, the depth of his fears. I try to place myself in his mind and heart, and think how he would feel, witnessing what…what is here. What am I to say, because I am myself? I am worn out. I am…afraid of what I think he might think, yes. That is the case. So in order not to have to think about any of it, in order for him not to have to become aware of any of this, or so I hope, I send only the most cursory mentions. I do love and miss him but what do you want me to say? Hello husband, how are you? I am well, safe in the arms of another man each day and night, my mind on how I am to survive what lies ahead of me? Is that going to somehow help his situation? Do you know how to help me say anything to him? Because I do not know how. I only remember the many times he has been even mildly piqued and has nearly walked out the door. Perhaps I am being unfair but I too am the sum of my weaknesses and I was pretty screwed since the moment I woke up in Orthanc. It wasn’t the Ritz Carlton, you know.

I made the choices I believed I must and if I erred I will pay the price. He knows what promises lie upon us as well as I…but what shadows will fall…my problems are not conquered and they are not his to fix. I love him. I would love him no matter what, Ada. I do not know if he can truly say the same and that is why I am afraid. Do you understand?

I believe I do, Glorfindel said slowly. But neither do I see a clear path ahead. Am I to pass on anything to him? Any truth?

You tell me. I am going somewhere in the…custody…of Vanimórë. You and my daughter understand what that means when Thranduil does not. That seems cruel, on one level, to hide this from him…but I know in my heart that the real cruelty would be for him to comprehend. So do you say that I am in the custody of the one servant of darkness who does not serve it willingly? But we both know it is more complicated than that. Would he understand that? Would he understand, agree with why I am placing the welfare of someone he might believe I should not care about and an agreement I should forsake ahead of my other vows? Eru I have no foggy clue but this is what I have chosen. I ask him to cherish our daughter and remember that I love him. She is what he begged from me and I gave it at too much cost. Beyond this I am bereft of explanations, Ada. Here, I am the one begging you to help where I cannot.

The sky blue eyes gazed up through the softly filtered light of the lilac wisteria tree. You have withheld nothing from me. I will give all I can in return. Never doubt my love for you. It is not easy for me to send my gift across the distance, but I am able. If you ever are in need, ask me.

I…thank you. I will not abuse this.

That is not my concern, iellig. Rather, the opposite.

I see my reputation precedes me.

I am not even giving a stern look. I am smiling, enjoying your bower.

We really are starting over. I am not crying.

Then this was good?

I think so. I will spare Vanimórë any more of us before he sickens.

He is stronger than you can imagine.

Ah. Well, Ada, I can imagine quite a lot. I mean, I did like to play Halo. And I was the one whose Master Chief got exploding confetti when he died in the firefights, and if I may say I am the uncrowned queen of the rocket launcher.

….What?

Erm…maybe this is another discussion. Next time.

You lift my spirits, Iellig. I will share your greetings.

Yes please. Hug my husband and for a time do not let him go. Toss my Cheshire girl high into the air amidst the flowers. Welcome Thanadir with my love, and tell him…tell him oranges are orange, but kumquats are undefinably orange. Yes. That is a thing.

Glorfindel massaged the bridge of his nose. I shall do all these.

Thank you, Ada. Until next time…

The connection slipped away; ephemeral mist. A conversation that had gone really well…it was something.

Yes, it was something. You didn’t have to wait so long, you know, the Little Voice needled.

“Not now. Can’t you leave me in peace for once? Why must you always be like this?” she murmured.

Because it is good to recall the sound of negativity, no? the Voice shot back.

Rendered speechless, she simply sat there, and let the pattern of Seran’s footfalls take over. Finally…rebuke accepted.

Silence. Through all this, Vanimórë still held her, though loosely now. Once again Nenni leaned against him, a little. Uncertain. “Were I you, I would have many questions. After that, for which you are owed an apology, there is nothing I would not answer if I am at liberty to do so.”

“I do,” he conceded, fingers lightly tracing down the outside of her arm in what for him seemed a gesture of shocking familiarity, though she did not register it as such. If anything it felt like further relief of the antagonism between them. “I do. Some curiosities are best left be. My knowing certain intimacies of thy family could prove ill for thee. Yet…this between thee and thy sire…I would not have guessed at…how to say…I would not have expected a father to school a daughter thus in the art of blades. Certain beliefs I had concerning…my upbringing…art now in a measure of disarray.”

“Uh…” Turning her seat, Nenni bit her lip again, regarding Vanimórë. “I am not sure anything about my education in swords is exactly…normal. Ada…Ada tried to work on limiting beliefs more than technical elements. Though…” she rubbed at her scalp. “No, it is fair to say it was both. I lacked all practical experience. What a ridiculous situation. I probably still lack all practical experience. But if your point was that I was spared nothing because I am female, that would be correct. A very quotable someone noted that women are not often taught to fight with swords, but die by them just the same. So I am fortunate to be an exception, I think. I still feel as though I was not made to endure much. Not…really. I…I don’t know. How…am I to say anything to you? I know that anything I have achieved or endured is laughable by comparison. Maybe there is an exception…and even then I am doubtful…and I am doing it again…course correction…that’s me, taking a perfectly good topic and leaving it as a tangled mass of yarn on the floor…ugh.”

“Thy sire and I could agree on another matter,” Vanimórë said with significant gravitas.

“Oh?”

“Thou’rt quite entertaining.”

“Am I so entertaining that you would consider sparring with me, not killing me and teaching me if I could improve?” she asked wistfully, no humor or teasing in her voice.

“I have a price.”

“Which is?”

“There is much in thy mind. Advanced knowledge. Thou hast also made a study of warfare. Am I correct?”

“...Yes.”

“Surrender something which will aid the efforts of our Lord. Prove thy loyalty.”

Vanimórë’s eyes were placid, calm…and closed for a moment, to look elsewhere when they reopened.

“Hmmm.” Nenni’s eyes lowered, while she fussed with her fingers for a moment. “In order to be useful, it would have to match the existing technology of…well, what exists. You have to help me, because what all you’ve got here; heck if I know. Uhm…southern peoples…what are your most powerful draft animals? Horses? Camels? Elephants? Tyrannosaurs?”

“What are…do not answer. Oliphaunts, very large trolls.”

“Please pardon my ignorance but…in my mind, elephant. Is that oliphaunt?”

“No. Similar but…be still…do you see?”

“That’s a mammoth that took a left turn on the evolutionary tree, sorry. Anyway, I get the point. The reason for the question is, do you possess ballistic weapons? Like, do you have cannons?”

Head tilting, in a particularly emotionless voice, he answered, “The word is unfamiliar.”

“Okay…I needed to know because they need to be towed by draft animals to the sites they will be used at or at least that is how I knew them to be used. They were placed on carriages or wains.” Pausing, she frowned. “You have bronze…steel…they must be within the forging capability of this era; Lord Sauron is an exceptional smith. The only problem is (and here, all that exceptional ability as a liar went into effect) I do not know about the particulars of their manufacture – only the general design. The big ones were made of bronze, and if the metal was inferior, the cannon could burst when fired and this would kill the operators, which…unfortunate. Er, something like that. But the destructive capacity of a cannon…well! Most advantageous? Do you think he would like these? There…aren’t a lot of really good splashy choices at this level, but with cannons as the choice does it matter?…and…wait, you do already have black powder, right? That’s important.”

Vanimórë went quiet. “That…can be discussed later. It is likely that our master would be well-pleased with this. You really yield this so easily? Does it not bother you that the weapon will likely be used against men?” A hint of mockery laced the question.

Go big or go home, Nenni thought, with shields at maximum. Let the games begin. “What exactly have men done for the Wood-elves, my Lord, if I may ask? I can bore you all night with tales of being set upon by them, with every motivation ranging from petty greed to full blown malice just in my short time here. So pardon me if I do not care if they are blown to little bits. Now if cannons show up at the edge of my forest, well, we shall have words I would think.”

“Thou’rt…sharp, Lady.”

“I do not mean to be. It is that I tire of…” Nenni caught herself. “That I am weary from the day, and hungry. So please pardon me. Are we very far, from where we may rest?”

“No.” The shift in Vanimórë’s tone was subtle, but very noticeable now that she knew to attend to it. “No,” he sighed audibly, “and I thank thee. This time my master has gone away as pleased as he previously was angered.”

“Why is there such…frequency?” Nenni asked, so softly as if she feared Sauron might lurk around the next tree.

“I do not know. Impatience? Surveilling his prize? Testing thy disposition? I would have taught thee without exacting a forfeit. That thou didst this…thou truly art not what thou appearest.” A note of something colored his statement.

Did she hear it as surprise? Latent respect? Vague disappointment? That he would view her as other than she hoped, whatever that even was? Anxiety fluttered “I cannot explain. Please, say nothing to anyone else. I know how it looks, but…”

His index finger appeared against her lips, shushing, and her eyes crossed tracking the movement. A low, rumbling laughter resulted from her antics.

Every. Single. Time… No mirror was required to know the color of her cheeks, it would surprise her if the air around them was not causing a visual distortion. Of course, he laughed some more at her blushing. Giving up, some noise of pique was forthcoming. Let him have his fun…because really, how often did this man have cause to laugh?

Chapter 12: Any Way I Look At This, I Win

Chapter Text

{4 Iavas Imladris, July 28 Gregorian T.A. 3017}

The last of thy apples, Vanimórë handed a fruit to her along with dried meat. Tomorrow they would hunt (or fish) for more provision; their stores had run low. More importantly, they would replenish water. He had pitied her, when prior to crossing the Entwash a brief and watchful pause ensued along with providing Adonenniel drinking bowl. ‘Take thy fill of water.’ The simple phrase the elleth had once spoken; ‘I prefer water.’ Now he realized how much she wanted, compared to how much she had been given, and never had she asked for more than he presented her nor offered complaint regarding what must have been tormentingly little to drink. Well, tomorrow there would be another opportunity to revel in a riverful of water.

Not the last of my apples, since the seeds were saved. Not unless you tell me I may not grow more in the morning.

His head inclined to her, and they ate in companionable silence. Afterward, he poured wine.

“Do you never let down your hair?” Nenni queried, suddenly realizing that in all this time, she had not seen him undo it. “How can you stand it, always up like that? I would go mad.”

“Whyfor?”

“What do you mean, whyfor, it pulls!” The question left her so incredulous an accidental gulp was taken, on which she coughed three times.

A smile played across his face. Gods, the woman amused . “It does not pull. If thou hadst it so, wouldst thou know otherwise.”

Nenni lifted a finger into the air, on the verge of issuing a rebuttal, then ceased. The light had gone dim but was not yet dark; the stars were barely emerging. “Erm…” Both pale grey eyes had fixed onto his hair, where it was gathered up, considering the geometry of it. Her cheeks reddened again…decorum forbade what she wanted to do, but, now she really was curious, and did not have remotely the same kind of hair he did…

“Go on. Thou mayest, before thy ‘head explodes’. That is the correct speech, yes?”

“You learned English from me, just in this short time? And yes, it is correct.” Only ‘head explodes’ was said in her mother tongue (and in a very appealing accent) but that this was present at all seemed exceptionally disturbing.

“A full conversation with thee…would intimidate. I know many tongues and learn quickly. Thine hath much complexity, many words; I see it able to render great nuance and thou hadst full use of it. This world knoweth nothing so enviable; even thy elven tongues, though lovely and full of grace, cannot say enough.”

“I did not guess languages interested you for their own sake. There is more than one in here,” she tapped at her head. “Though, English is the only one I know very well. Have fun.” Rising, she walked behind him, bringing her hands near to his head. “You are really giving me permission, I am not misunderstanding?”

“Yes, Adonenniel. Thou mayest free my hair, and also see why it is no affliction. Thy courtesy is noted.”

“Courtesy, he says, when I am being presumptuously cheeky and probably wildly inappropriate but oh well, what else is new.” Squinting with one eye, the weight distribution of his hair was not at all what she expected. Nothing pulled really, it sat as a…plume? Fringe? “Waaaaaait…” tensing only the front of the bound hair, it fringed out more, making a wonderful fan. “That isn’t too tight?”

“Nay,” he chuckled.

“Hmmmm. Well now I’m sort of envious, but I’m not sure I could carry it off. The style suits you very well, though.” Dexterous fingers examined the leather tie that held his ponytail. “You learned to French whip your own hair? Alright. I have seen everything.” Laughing, she found the inevitable small tail that would either signal a slippery tie (not this time) or the tail of a bit needing to be pried loose. “Did you place this on yourself, or did someone else do it for you?”

“Which dost thou believe?” he demurred.

“I could not know.” Nenni shook her head, working the half-hitches free. “On one hand, you are likely to have very good dexterity; certainly you would not tire of holding your arms up to work on your own hair. On the other, you are no ordinary servant. Perhaps this sort of craft does not interest you in the least and you could just as easily command some bozo to tend to your hair and this was the result on one occasion. I lack data to draw an accurate conclusion. At least, I think I do. Though, on my world, this…what you have…is a nautical pattern. Few besides sailors would know how to do this. So I am further baffled. Sorry.”

“I acquire knowledge I deem useful, and had occasion to discover seamens’ arts long ago. Thou wouldst have no means to know. And now, thy answer?”

“Then I believe, you did this yourself and it was very well done.” One last hitch slipped, and all that hair parted of its own accord and framed his face. Not perfectly straight, it reminded her more of Glorfindel’s as to texture; the strands had some body. “Do you want your hair combed? I’m probably better at uhm…I promise I won’t break…ah…oh wow…” The sight of him had just become a mental train collision. Wide-eyed, Nenni held out his hair tie as though it had become a particularly choice specimen of earthworm (which was to say, oddly woven between her fingers).

“What has become the matter with thee?”

“Ah, I am sorry. With your hair down, it is that…I…need to answer a question with a question. Do you…are you really familiar with your own appearance? Own a mirror? See your own reflection much?”

“Why ask’st thee?”

“Because this time, it really matters to know the answer.” Kneeling, she placed a hand against his jaw. “I would not ask this to just pass the time.”

“Not really.” His face leaned away from her. “There are many things I would rather think about than myself. I encourage thee not to press further.”

“I will not, but please look at me. You in turn asked for something I am uncertain it is wise to tell. Earlier you heard my conversation with my Ada. Over a year ago, he tried to teach me some of the history of Arda. For example, my hair is red because by some…confusion of this life…I am a part descendant of the Noldorin elves; one family line carries this hair color. That of the sire of Fëanor’s wife; servant of Lord Aulë. Elrond’s father Maedhros shared this color hair. You heard me ask today of the other brother, Maglor…to whom you bear a completely uncanny resemblance. I do not mean a little tiny resemblance. I am an artist, Vanimórë. I mean a switch out your eye color and a slight difference in your body types, and you could fool the ellon’s own father, resemblance. Right now I do not know what to do with that…but I felt not telling you would be wrong. If my thinking is all a huge pile of stupidity, then I beg for your forgiveness. No more will be said unless it comes from you.”

He did not respond.

Standing again, uncertain, she wanted to smooth the top of his head and reached out a hand but then grew afraid and withdrew. Oh quit being such a goddamn coward. Just because he is made of steel compared to you doesn’t mean you get to act like…like the ship left the mainstay ashore. Screwing up much of her nerve, her hand smoothed his hair from the crown down the back of his head, gently. She wondered for both of them while the gesture swept dark silk along her fingers. What were either of them? Because sometimes Glorfindel’s explanation to her, about herself…well…it felt like word salad. But was it any more batsh*t than the technicolor fëa being housed in the absurd dwelling with her name stamped on it (by some series of events more contorted than Lombard Street, San Francisco)? Sadly, probably not. The wine beckoned.

Too quickly to be seen, Vanimórë’s hand grasped her arm, startling the wits out of her. Heart racing in her chest, she inhaled against the inevitable nasty adrenaline surge, yet another reason to miss Glorfindel…but there was no more of that. Only endurance. Was he angry? While still working on convincing herself to look up, a comb was pressed into her hand. …Maybe it isn’t too bad…

“Did I frighten thee? That was not my intention.”

It isn’t you. It’s me. “‘Frighten’ isn’t the right word and regardless, it is less your action than my…how I am.” Turning back, she sat again, uncertain if there was such a thing as a right or wrong way to comb so much hair. Was it like drying linguini? Gathering the length in her arms, she sectioned it in half, neatly twisting the part to be set aside. The same was repeated a few times over until a manageable volume remained. Beginning at the ends, some things swiftly became apparent. The stuff almost never tangled so the need to fuss so much…did not exist. Vanimórë could have achieved great wealth as a hair product spokesman whether or not the product in question ever touched his hair. Photographs would suffice. Television adverts would probably set him up financially for life (eternity being accounted for)...

Making her way to combing fathom lengths, her spirits lifted. The comb sailed through the strands. Smiling, she noted the flexibility of his hair and wondered with all this, if a chip log could be manufactured from his hair (did he ever cut it?), wouldn’t that be a marvel!

“Adonenniel.”

“Uh huh?”

“Cease making designs upon my hair.”

Giggles. “They weren’t real designs, silly. As if anyone would attach a lead line to this. It’d be criminal.”

Turning, a tentative hand touched her shoulder. “I thank thee,” came very softly.

What followed was instinct. Nenni reached for him…but he would have to complete the gesture. To her surprise, his arm slipped under hers and pulled her into an embrace. “You should never have to thank someone for doing the right thing, but…the world is like that. I will always help you if I am able.”

“That will have its limits. No offense meant to thee.”

“Mn. I have learned a thing, Vanimórë. Do not turn your back to the ocean.” He had pulled her high against him, so her head rested in the crook of his neck. Both arms wrapped around his neck, hugging affectionately. “And the sea of the world is no more predictable.” A very humorless, serious face and eyes stared at him now, those pale gray eyes unsettling in their appearance. “Nothing is written. Well,” her brow furrowed. “Almost nothing.”

“I have a master, and shouldst thou be released, thou art espoused,” he replied simply.

Nenni smiled. “You have, and I am. The bonds of marriage are until the end of Arda, but it is not written that captivity must be the same. If I am not returned, then someone will have failed to uphold an agreement. I intend to manage my end of this poorly defined yet obvious enough state of affairs. As for my career path afterward, well…who knows exactly.”

“Thy mate is a jealous man.” Vanimórë’s thumb tried to smooth away the furrows of her forehead.

“So…you tell me if that is the right word. He loves me very much, and some of it is fear of loss when he has already lost me once – for so long, so tragically. Love for him means keeping isolated, keeping away from all other females. No female friends, only the most professional interactions such as military necessity. Everything such as closeness, touch; we are not even discussing anything intimate…that is sacred. Reserved only for one’s mate. Before Ada, no male friends either, because a ruler cannot afford to show favoritism and Ada is just family. So I believe the expectation is that in order to feel loved, be shown love, someone like this wishes to have their own concepts of love mirrored back to them. The problems of course arise when people are different.”

Vanimórë smiled. “Obviously thou art of a different mind, or distance would lie between us. And yes, Lady. Thou mayst paint it with a tragic brush in sorrowful colors, but the word is still ‘jealousy’. I am also not unfamiliar with courtly goings-on. That we ride alone together in the wilderland may be cause for scandal, I can see.”

“Maybe,” Nenni bristled slightly at this eternally tiresome topic. “I feel that if people wish to find a scandal they will usually succeed.”

“Thou’rt annoyed.” A single, skilled finger found the tense muscles along her spine and pressed inward.

Damn him… “I am tired. It is hard to be like I am in a world where everyone else is otherwise,” she admitted unthinkingly.

“Otherwise how?”

“Can’t you see, I’m not like a normal elf? They are all aloof, reserved, withdrawn. I can see that there are boundaries. I do not feel drawn…what I mean is, some things, the greatest intimacies, are in fact only for my mate. It is marriage; that should not require explanation. But this…” her hand indicated the space between them, their current shared affection. “Your gender would not matter to me. We are two thinking beings, here in this time and place, experiencing some manner of shared existence in which one is in some difficulty. You have been kind, offered comfort. Some connection has grown from this. Were the situation reversed, I would not fault my spouse for offering this to another as you are doing now, would not care, though I probably would not want to see it in the same room. Well, were it in the same room? It would feel odd for a moment, then I would remind myself that I do not own him and really, he loves me or he does not. I do not think he could feel the same, though. Therein lies the difficult part. As I said, we do not think the same way. I’m just here, the aberration of Arda, or…something.”

“Aberration?” his head tilted. “I have had many lovers, male and female. I have never married and do not wish to. I fail to see the appeal. I also fail to see thy point.”

The reply was cold water flung at her face. “But…” Anything and everything possible to say by way of refutation suddenly did not work. “But there were rules…I…please I cannot reach the wine bowl?”

Once in her hand, a really giant swig went down, so much so that his brow raised and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “These rules. Do tell.”

“Well…the most basic one is that sexual relations marry the Eldar? Have at it with each other and enjoy the rest of eternity together, for you are considered wed in the sight of the Valar and Eru?”

“Adonenniel.” Vanimórë’s voice held no mockery but took on the tone of one speaking to a simpleton. “I shudder to think of the uncounted numbers to whom I apparently should have offered the marriage gift…or was it the other way ‘round? I would not usually speak thus, but to thee have I disclosed my fate with an expectation of confidence. Am I verily wed to all those for whom I was but a plaything, to be used then disposed of? Surely thou mak’st a jest.”

Embarrassed at what she had naively told him, her face heated. “Suddenly the rules…do seem…problematic, I agree…” This…this all raised old and angry and unsolvable matters. Because who and what I am has no place in this world, so as I truly am, I cannot exist. Cannot be . Everyone who has ever liked me is either a malignant narcissist or a strict monogamist. So isn’t it better to just stay at the Tea Party, and keep sniffing the Hatter’s mercury? The flowers are lovely here, and maybe no one will notice I’ve been gone awhile…

His fingertips came up under her jaw. “Thou’rt no aberration. No more than I. Thy heart loves freely. Rules. Marriage. Thou say’st ‘love’. I see a chain, to control. Well do I know the sight of chains.” The voice spoke with immense compassion, his face not five centimeters distant. “Thou’rt miserable, for no reason other than placing thy nature in a cage. These rules condemn thee, shame thee. Thou need’st not accept this. Canst understand me?” Very gently, their cheeks brushed together under his control; his lips lingered so close that her heightened sense of smell brought the sweet taste of them already upon her. Though she kept still, not inhaling proved beyond her will to resist…Sweet Eru…

Well Thranduil, you occasionally impossible man, though this will ultimately count for nothing in the end and don’t I know it, do not say that I have no love for you. If it weren’t the case, I would not turn aside now…oh, I know it won’t matter. You will say, I should never have been here in the first place. Whatever. The person I must first respect is myself. “I understand, beautiful man. And I do not know how or why you would honor me in this way. But for me it is not this simple and I may not.”

“Yet regret fills your voice, and I hear a choice being made not for you but for another.”

Nenni laughed. “I adore these conversations, in which no matter what I do I shall find myself defending…something. Alright. You wish to know why I refuse, when you offer for…whatever your reasons are. Had I no other earthly considerations than what is before me, I would so gladly meet your lips. But for a wed elf, it is a step too far. I can claim the need of your strength, warmth, assistance, aid, protection, caretaking; all these things I can honestly tell myself that you are physically or mentally providing and I am accepting them from you to manage this travel. It is the truth, whether my husband wishes to believe it or no.

“But a kiss freely given, from a place of desire? I could never explain that as other than a betrayal of promises I have made to him. Yes, it is a choice made for another. If he and I are to have this thing called ‘marriage,’ then I have granted rights he may claim as belonging solely to himself…not to mention he was and in some ways still is my sovereign. I am certain I am already condemned in my husband’s eyes that I am even able to want you, but I am not a mechanism. I have thoughts and a heart of my own and you are desirable…but I may not dishonor my husband by acting on my wishes in this manner.

“You see, the others, they all have…something…that lets them not want to. I am not supposed to be able to feel this, toward you. They only desire their spouses, and look at everyone else with all the interest of…I do not know…plaster statues, or something. Ada told me this was…how it was. At first I believed him because…he is Glorfindel, how can he be wrong? Still, these thoughts would run through my head, and…I would wonder. Wonder if other elves thought quite these same things? Like there is a pile of fuel waiting for a match, which is not the same as wet fuel incapable of being ignited short of a fire-drake’s attentions? My mind was formed by a life in another world, too. I often wonder if that was part of it. There I believed and lived very differently. Then I came here and believed other stuff because…I was supposed to? But is all the stuff really right?

“But…okay see here’s the thing. Do I desire to kiss you? In this moment, yes. You are stunning. I am comfortable with you, kindness and simple affection help make this journey endurable more than coldness and indifference. But as you have pointed out, we have no foreseeable means of remaining in each other’s lives. A spouse is different. The commitment is enduring, a lifetime bond and we are immortal. If the relationship is strong, so is the chance that vulnerability will not go amiss. So…the choice to betray a marriage, deliberately weaken it…that would be a very serious thing. And also…I really do love him. I created a child with this man. Er, two, actually. I gave birth in his arms. Our relationship has had a lot of difficulties…but a great deal of beauty as well. He is a passionate ellon. Aren’t all rulers?”

Smiling at Vanimórë meaningfully, her fingers carded his hair. “The difference is, physical exchanges do not run on the same plane of meaning for me. Maybe not for you either. Were I to share something with you, it would not detract from what I feel for him. If I fill a room with gold, and go to another room and open another door and toss in a bar, there is not less gold in the original room. I may never return to that second room again. Or? But he cannot see it thus. No, his world will slip off its foundations, and he is no ordinary man. He has lived much, suffered much. I cannot add more to the pain of his life…though I wonder if I am already too late.”

“Because of this ?” Vanimórë asked incredulously, indicating their embrace and shaking his head in complete disbelief. “It is my hope, he has always been as considerate of thee and thy needs. I am not here to seduce a steadfast wife from her mate; that would be dishonorable. Yet thou shouldst know. Thou’rt small of stature, Adonenniel. Different, maddening, replete with twists, turns. But also fair, honest, brilliantly lovely. My reasons are, thou’rt beautiful as the shifting desert sands. One moment in a storm, the next, glittering dunes.”

Nenni’s face slackened. Maybe a few people had complimented her here and there, but not made it halfway into poetry. With some ire, it ran through her that no, even her royal spouse could not come up with that…well, he had done other things…

A moment later, a rumble of humor ran through his chest at her expression. “Ah, the compliment, ‘tis terrible when thou must wear it, no?”

“You did that on purpose.”

Brilliant teeth flashed under the starlight, showing a wicked grin.

“Bleah,” Nenni stuck her tongue out at him with a scrunched up face. “Beautiful this .”

“If the Lady says so.” Soft lips pressed against her cheek, chaste and well up toward her eyes. He would never let slip that at his words, a memory had flashed past, so brief. She stood before a mirror, flushed from recent pleasure; clad only in an emerald necklace of great price, too shocked to speak. Adonenniel glittered , and it required all his mental discipline not to dwell on the image lest he harden.

Nenni laughed, eyes sparkling. Well, she was in sh*t so deep there wouldn’t be daylight anyway. This kiss to the cheek would be a cherished recollection, knowing this exquisite creature thought odd Adonenniel beautiful… Clearly he was at the Tea Party too…but she’d take it. The knowledge he wished for even a little more…really, down in the warp core, the dilithium crystals were off balance and threatening some kind of meltdown and Scotty was nowhere in sight…men like him didn’t look at women like her. Was it all a bad joke? Maybe, but he didn’t seem like that kind of a jerk, to be so cruel in this manner.

What are you, thirteen? What are you even thinking, with all of this? The Little Voice asked.

You mean all the unvarnished honesty? That ‘all this’ ? And yes…there is a part of me that probably is thirteen. The part that is insecure, with no belief in my worth as a person aside from something to be used by others. Remember? Doll on the shelf, molest me, lie to me, threaten me, terrorize me, do what I say, just don’t look at the clock? How about you leave me alone right now. I don’t think you’ve got anything to add to this discussion. You really do not. Glorfindel will know.

Fine. Silence.

“Well that’s a rare victory,” she muttered softly.

“May I ask, what was that?” Vanimórë wanted to know. Her thoughts had been unmasked, and their content darkened his mood. Sensing her distress from the exchange, he held her close again.

“So many ‘that’s’...but you probably mean the Little Voice, what I was talking to? That’s what I call it. I don’t actually know what it is. Proof that I am mentally ill? Some part of me that splits away and goes and says random stuff that is horrifyingly rude but usually also correct? I do not control it. I have no awareness of what it will say, when it will say it. It is independent of me but somehow connected to me and I usually take it as proof that I am insane. Except, it talks to my husband and father, too. Most of the time it acts like a…’conscience’ is not quite the right word. It’s so mean ! It’s like the worst part of how I treat myself, come to haunt me. Like if I could step outside of myself, have no emotions, and my only job was to keep me from doing stupid things and tell myself about it. Is there a word for that? Ugh…”

“But thou hadst a victory over it in the contest of words?”

“Well, it is not always right?” Nenni leaned her head against his shoulder. The reminder of the argument just won enraged her so much, and the emotion had nowhere to go.

“You cry easily. Cry. I do not think less of thee. Thou rememberst’ ill-usage but not only. Thou wert trained to be powerless. Submissive. Here the seeds of all this rage sprouted and grew. Yes?”

Nenni nodded, sighing. Crying into his hair served no purpose.

“Ah, my dear. More wine?”

Hesitating for a moment at hearing ‘my dear,’ she nodded. Everything seemed to be spinning, a little, but surely they sat still? Oh, screw it. “Yes, please. Only one more bowl.”

“I should still like to hear thy story, if thou canst tell it.”

“I can. A deal is a deal.”

“First blankets and wine, there might as well be some comfort. Allow me a moment.” Vanimórë seated her on a downed log, lamenting to himself. Thou dost not see it. Then, as a young one, thou lacked power. Now thou hast it in abundance, Majesty. But thou givest it all away without a thought, leaving none for thyself. The few necessities quickly were set in order, and one displaced queen was unceremoniously scooped off her log.

Seated in this living chair, bowl of wine held in front of her, her mind tried to organize the tale of Wonderland in an adequate manner… “I only need a moment here, it is a little like organizing soldiers, except it is organizing thoughts…”

“Thou mayst have all the moments thou need’st.” Resting against the log, studying the stars, he drank wine from his own bowl. “Also, I wish to clarify a matter. Thou knowest me not. I would never toy with thee. Treat thy feelings lightly. Any who have served under me know that to disrespect a woman carries a heavy penalty. For the crime of rape, men do not meet with death. I will impale them, and allow them to linger for days so their screams may serve as a warning to any others thinking to act without restraint. Pardon the directness; for thine own sake shouldst thou understand I have no need of insincerities.”

“It would seem you do not,” Nenni agreed, now forced to digest this even more painful reality. Plausible deniability was easier to live with…

“Why?” His forefinger hooked under her chin. “Why dost thou wish to run from knowing thy worth?”

“Mm.” Her hand came up, fingertips probing the orbital bones to try and work out the whys of his facial geometry. “You must decide which story you wish to hear, Mister Caterpillar, for one is as long as the other. I might point out, with sincere respect,” her eyes lowered, (the selfsame digits crept along the maxilla and lightly brushed his upper lip. While his teeth would be absolutely fascinating to note…that was too much to ask), “I am not the only one to whom that question may apply.”

His eyes closed. What on Arda to do with this woman… “Then, Wonderland.”

“Alright. But…” Using his shoulder to pull herself up just long enough, she pressed a similar kiss to his cheek. Whether you ever really understand is not your problem. Just know that I thank you for tonight because…I do. “I am going to back up here and give you some context, hoping to help. The story called Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland had a sequel, Through the Looking Glass . An educator called Lewis Carroll wrote them about a century and a half before I came here. They are tales to entertain children, but the events and the characters are symbols – though occasionally, the nature of a symbol is still debated. The world in which the author lived was not like this world and not like my own…I would opine, Carroll’s world was ordered for the sake of progress as its masters saw fit. Now, moving on. The story: Alice was a little girl, unhappily playing with her boring sister in a grassy field on a hot summer’s day…”

**

Chapter 13: The Weight of Knowledge

Chapter Text

{9 Iavas Imladris, August 4, Gregorian T.A. 3017}

“Aran Thanduil.” Thanadir had hastened along the garden passage and now stood in the royal chambers, hesitant. Amaranthine played with his hair, seemingly carefree.

“Thanny deer,” the little voice sermonized. “If you wantsta ask my Ada a thing, you gotsta talk. Otherwise hez gonna talk to ‘iz wine.”

The royal eyebrow lifted. Followed by the royal head. “I did not know I talked to my wine, sweetheart. What does it tell me?” Half-turning, he placed the goblet on the stone table before him, smiling up at Thanadir and beckoning to his daughter.

“Lotsa dings. Nana sez dat sometimes, the soluushunz to the yooniverse are atda boddom of da cup. An’ dinner too.”

Thanadir’s lips parted. Clearly, the ellon was appalled.

Thranduil winked. “Well, I will have to listen a lot harder. I would like the solutions to the universe.”

“You cans tune into da mudder shipp too.” Amaranthine pointed up sagaciously while her father collected her, giggling. “Nana sez it’z good for unpredictybul epiphaneez.”

“How do I do that?” the King asked.

“Space out.” Amaranthine regarded her father’s eyes. They were so beautiful, but sad. A different kind of beautiful eyes than Mr. Caterpillar. Mr. Caterpillar hid his sad, even better than Ada. The world of adults sucked. Agreeing to serve Lord Irmo had been such a no-brainer. Her comparatively tiny hand smoothed his ancient brow, still fair and immortal.

“Later, you can show me how,” Thranduil told her, suddenly aware of how well Amaranthine seemed to know his absent wife. It was peculiar, even amidst all the peculiarty. “But I should listen to Thanadir, who waits patiently.”

“Mmmmkay.” Arms wrapped tightly around his neck, the child peppered kisses on his cheek.

“Please pardon the informality, Thanadir,” Thranduil smiled. “How may I help you?”

“It is not so much me, Your Majesty,” Thanadir’s voice wavered badly. “I wished to give some warning, pardon my complete unseemliness,” came out in a whoooosh of words. “Glorfindel is in the garden still, in a, ahm, a…”

Amarantine noticed the large sapphire Thranduil wore on his robe, so she moved it this way and that, catching the light.

“He is talking to an ellon named Haldir?” Thanadir tried.

“Wonnerland gots da March Hare, Lorrynand gotsa March Warden,” Amaranthine offered in a singsong babble.

Thranduil frowned deeply at the snippet from his daughter, but could not afford to be distracted by that just now.

“The Lord appeared quite beside himself, and the name ‘Erestor’ was spoken more than once. I believed I should tell you,” Thanadir lowered his head, hand over his heart. Open fear now shook his voice; the desire to run away from the King’s scrutiny felt strong indeed. Mistakes, mistakes, had he just transgressed?

Thranduil regarded the ellon, rueing bitterly the initial treatment to which he had subjected this individual. What had been done, only time and patience could unwork. “You did well, Thanadir. Had Glorfindel wished for your silence, he could have asked for it. As it is, I believe this means we will have long-awaited news very soon.”

“Thank you, Lord.” Relief flooded through Thanadir’s slender frame.

“But...only Erestor’s name? No others?” Thranduil asked softly.

“Truthfully, I did not tarry to listen for long. I had not meant to be any sort of spy in the shadows, it was that overhearing was…was–”

“Thranduil!” Glorfindel burst through the wooden door noisily with a shout.

Instinctively the King looked to the bed, cringing that this would wake the dog…the dog no longer there to be woken. Another small erosion, another reminder of how much the life he had fleetingly been allowed to cherish had changed. How had it come to be? Hugging the child in his arms, so beloved, he could not shake the fear that he had grasped at too much, too greedily and now paid dearly. Attentively, he waited for Glorfindel to enter and speak further and there needed little time for the powerful elf to make a few strides (at half a run).

“Haldir reports that Erestor, two youths who accompanied him to care for him and Beren are secure within the borders of Lórien. They are tired, but were well-provisioned and are unharmed. They passed alone through Fangorn forest…” he began to trail off, his initial enthusiasm waning rapidly. “This is where it would be best if Thanadir took Amaranthine back to play in the garden, I think.”

“Okay, Hîradar. Maybe Unca Thanny deer an’ me makes orange juice. I feel orange today.” Amaranthine kissed her father on the cheek. “Ada, you should probably feel lemon verbaynuh, deez tingz are impordant.”

“Do I know what that is?” Thranduil smiled, unable not to be charmed despite the certainty that he was about to be upset.

“We bringz some back.” Skipping off with Thanadir in tow once she was set down, the pair swiftly disappeared.

What it said that he was in cahoots with a child not even a year old to keep secrets from the Woodland King, he did not want to know. Surely this was his punishment from the Powers, Glorfindel grimaced internally. The conversation to follow would be wrenching and deservedly so; he had brought this upon both of them and could only plead for forbearance. Seating himself, he tried to decide how to begin.

“The beginning is usually the best place to start,” Thranduil noted acidly from his own seat opposite, his patience wearing thin.

Glorfindel shook his head. “I shall. Just as I shall tell all the things I perhaps should have told sooner. I believe you will be angry with me when this discussion is over. Maybe even livid. So I am going to beg you to remember two things. The first is that these were her decisions and I ultimately had no power to stop her. I did try to stop her at one point, and in doing so, I made everything worse. I will explain in due course. The second is that I love her too. She will need both of us in the end. After the mistakes I have made, I have pledged my unconditional love. I failed as a father the first time, and all of this came about indirectly because of me.”

Thranduil simply stared.

Glorfindel slid to his knees on the soft fleece between them that acted as a carpet and took Thranduil’s hand, and told much – but not all of the long tale. The most provocative elements, such as any reference at all to matters between the Queen and Vanimórë, or that they traveled on only one horse…it seemed the course of wisdom to fail to mention these details altogether. Given the animosity of the wood-elves and the Noldor during the War of the Last Alliance, and that Vanimórë had surrendered himself to the latter camp, Thranduil had never seen Vanimórë – save in rumor. Glorfindel had not counted on the wide net cast by Thranduil’s prowess as a trader, an economic force. Memory still carried among caravans from the south of the Dark Prince ruling Sud Sicanna for centuries…it did not take a genius to pair the two once this tale was told.

Thranduil massaged his brow. “I have never wanted to strike you quite as badly as right now. This is not in anger,” his voice carried softly, evenly. “This is out of your sheer audacity that you would withhold this information from me about my wife. About the woman I love. That you apparently think so little of me that I would what, send out my armies to try to do as you did? Head them off at the Undeeps when…oh I cannot even begin down this path.”

“I would allow it.” Glorfindel raised his head, and released Thranduil’s hand. “I thought, deep down, that I was shielding you from pain. Giving you time in which you did not have to bear the burden of knowing about this. But it is wrong, and I am sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Adar, what choice do I have?” Thranduil brushed his fingers across the perfect visage before him. “Hitting my family is not any kind of step in the right direction. I bear responsibility for what has happened as well. I am not blind to it. What I cannot reconcile is how she keeps paying the price for our shortcomings, and now it has come to this?”

“I want to know so much more, but I cannot really until Erestor is returned to us. And these children with him. They are youths of Rohan who do not seem particularly eager to return to their homeland.”

“I want them. I want to talk to them personally,” Thranduil insisted. “They will no longer be in poverty in exchange for their trouble. They may have honorable employment here, be taught a trade. I will see to it that they are established in Dale. Whatever. But they have information concerning the last days in which my wife was seen and I. want. it. May I trouble you to relate that to Haldir? Or shall I go straight to the Lady herself on this matter.”

Glorfindel noted the fell gleam in Thranduil’s eye. “I will care for it, Thranduil.” Whether through mental fatigue, acquiescence or both, his head lowered. A hand smoothed his golden hair.

“Then, I forgive you.”

**

{49 Iavas Imladris, September 20, Gregorian 2017}

Because of what had happened previously, elves from both realms were under strict orders not to linger near the Ford when at last their parties met. The group from Eryn Galen crossed to the side nearer the Misty Mountains since they had made better time, encountering the small party after having no desire to idly wait for the travelers from Lórien. At long last, all came abreast of each other. Not all were riding; many had walked.

Legolas dismounted from Féla. “Welcome home, Erestor. I have missed you greatly and my heart soars at your safe return. My father sends his same greetings as well.” The warm words of the Prince were followed by Erestor’s hand being taken and held. “Léofa, Éostan, I am Legolas and I welcome you also. Thank you for caring for my friend, and my mother for the time she was with you. I shall not forget it.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” Léofa answered for both of them, afraid, overwhelmed and disregarding that his answer did not exactly make sense.. This warrior seemed placid and gentle; very different than Vanimórë had been. The warmth of Erestor behind him radiated comfort. Except…a shadow stood over them, on the other side of the horse. The two boys turned, and paled. Nenni had spoken of her father more than once; a mighty elf with hair like spun gold and piercing eyes as blue gems. There could be no mistake. Glorfindel seemed just as fearsome as Vanimórë, but as light was to dark.

“I also am here, Erestor. Welcome home.” That voice needed no introduction.

“It is really you…” Erestor whispered, feeling Glorfindel’s hand with both of his own. “These young men have made my journey possible and I am so grateful to them both. Promise me they will be honored and cared for. Please?”

“I would do my best to help you with whatever you asked of me,” Glorfindel smiled. “But I think you need not fear. Aran Thranduil wishes to meet them more than anyone. I believe he is trying to avoid overwhelming them all at once.” They conversed in Westron, to be understood by all.

At those words both of the young men visibly shrank down against Erestor and their faces blanched. Erestor felt the motion and a questioning look appeared on his face. "Are you worried about what Glorfindel just said?" Erestor asked both of them. "I believe the king only wishes to understand what happened to everybody. It is not anything to be afraid of."

"But sir," Éostan said softly, "it is talking to a king."

Erestor smiled. "When it was Nenni you were talking to a queen; was that so different? She did not bite, and neither does he. That is a husband who loves his wife, and like any man wants very much to know what happened."

"Yes, sir," Éostan said even more quietly. "But he is also a king of elves and we are less than nobody. It is very hard not to feel afraid."

"It will be alright,'' Glorfindel reassured. "I must give you advice, though. Do not lie to him for any reason. He will know if you are not telling him the truth and it will go very badly for you if you try to deceive him. Even if he is unhappy about what he learns, he will never hold the truth against you. Remember that.”

“Glorfindel,” Erestor chided, “you will have them more frightened than having to face Saruman, telling them such things!”

“The things are true, though, and I myself made the foolish mistake of withholding information from him about what happened,” Glorfindel admitted miserably. “I did not tell him that I knew Adonenniel was not returning with you. The advice I am giving these young ones is not from some lofty place. Erestor. It is to spare them from making my same horrible blunder and further provoking an already agitated person. He has feelings, wants answers, feels he has been kept in the dark. You were the last ones to be with her and he wants to know everything. I cannot blame him.”

“E-everything?” Léofa asked with extreme trepidation. His eyes were held by Glorfindel’s sapphire ones, pooling with tears.

Erestor appeared confused.

Is there something you need to say, some burden you carry, young one? I will help you if I can.

The youth’s eyes widened, to hear the elf’s voice in his thoughts.

This is a skill the Eldar possess, to speak in this way. Do not be afraid. You may tell me something privately this way, if you have something to tell.

It...it is just that...I think something bad happened to the Lady. Vanimórë asked us a lot of questions about how she was brought to Orthanc, about a drug that both she and Erestor were given that kept them insensible for days. One of the effects is, it makes a person pretty much insane with thirst when they come off of it. The men who abducted the Lady and Erestor made a lot of bad jokes about...things they did to her...when she wasn’t awake. Gríma and Saruman were in a rage, locked them into cells for what they’d done. I don’t fully understand, sir? only that everyone who does understand thinks it is very bad. Something men should not be doing to a lady.

Glorfindel stood, too stunned to respond for a moment. He had to actively force his mind to process what he had heard, work out some logic... But you said, Vanimórë asked. He came along much later, did he not?

Yes sir, right. It was because the night we left Orthanc, the Lady went crazy again for water and she couldn’t understand what was wrong with her. But Vanimórë seemed...seemed to understand what might be wrong. That’s when he asked so many questions and found out that the night before, she’d been given a place to sleep in Gríma’s quarters, and that he served her tea before she went to sleep. Vanimórë ordered us not to speak a word of any of this to Erestor. I don’t believe he meant to tell the Lady either, sir. But in his eyes I felt like there was murder. I don’t know. I...if the king asks me all these same things, will he hurt us?

Swallowing hard, Glorfindel shook his head. The king is very powerful but I am more so. I will not allow you to come to harm, but neither would he harm you for this. I thank you for telling me...because I do not believe he will take this news well...though I cannot say for certain. We shall see. We are many, many days, from seeing him. Weeks, even. So please do not let this burden your mind.

Okay, sir. Thank you. Behind him, Léofa felt Erestor’s arms wrap around him, his body trembled uncontrollably.

“Glorfindel!” Erestor half-pleaded, half-demanded. In his voice exhaustion finally revealed itself. Leaning to one side, his hand reached out, seeking his friend.

“I am here,” the Golden Lord closed the distance at once.

“Mercy,” Erestor begged, tears welling in his eyes. It did not matter that this leg of the wretched journey was almost at an end. He was at an end, and so was the steadfast boy in front of him.

At once Glorfindel gathered both in his embrace; both youth and scholar slumped against him, insensible now in sleep.

“S-sir?” Éostan asked, trying not to panic.

“Your friend gave me very bad news about the Lady,” Glorfindel said quietly. “News Erestor had not known. They were upset and begging for relief. Many elves have the ability to bestow sleep. Erestor and Léofa have fallen asleep, they are exhausted and we will take them to rest as soon as possible.”

Haldir now stepped forward, giving the sign of greeting. “I bear the goodwill of the Lord and Lady of the Wood,” he inclined his head first to Glorfindel.

Good-natured Legolas did not find any slight in being acknowledged second. Haldir felt this bespoke wisdom and it elevated his estimation of Thranduil’s son, with whom he had few dealings.

“Both Imladris and the Woodland Realm are deeply in your debt,” Legolas answered diplomatically, appreciating (and relishing) that it might be the only time in his life he might be able to speak such an answer.

“I understand the need for what has been done here,” Haldir continued tactfully. “These travelers have held up bravely and without complaint as we have made necessary haste to bypass unfriendly eyes, hoping to move swiftly to avoid notice. It is not impossible to make camp now, under the light of day, but I do not recommend it. You have met us; now we in turn would like to escort you into your own lands. There is safety in numbers until you are under the eaves of your own woods. Being seen with any who appear weaker or encumbered…I do not disparage the bravery of any, but long have I guarded this shore of the river.”

“Your point is made and heeded, Marchwarden. We would be foolish to refuse your advice,” Legolas accepted. “One of us will take each of those who rode this stalwart horse for the remainder of the afternoon, and give it a slight rest from carrying riders.”

Fear washed over Éostan’s face. Glorfindel had already taken Erestor into his arms. Legolas delivered Léofa to Tauriel. “They are very frightened,” he said softly in their own tongue. “If he wakes before we make camp, it may be that he will find you more akin to my mother. He did not fear her.” Phrased this way, even the hopelessly un-maternal daughter of the woods could not protest (and he knew it. As his diminutive but peculiar sister would say, “da knight killda pawn!!” How she came up with these references to chess when as far as he knew she could not play the game eluded him, but he still enjoyed playing with her and listening to her words. They caused him to think…)

“Won’t you please come with me?” Legolas asked Éostan. “You may ask me anything you wish.

Realizing that refusal was not truly an option and that this elf, all of them, were making efforts that did not have to in order to set him at ease, he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I am Legolas, and you are to be a guest in my father’s realm. You may use my name…but I do not know yours?”

“Éostan, si– Legolas.” Dusty cheeks flushed pink.

“Come then.” With strength that belied his lithe form. Éostan sat before the (to his thinking) unusual prince in seconds, having been pulled up by his arms.

The long journey to Thranduil’s Halls had begun.

Chapter 14: The Toll of the Road

Chapter Text

{9 Firith Imladris, October 7, Gregorian T.A. 3017}

So. f*cking. Ugly.

Even as their destination near the base of distant mountains loomed visibly nearer as days bled into weeks, Vanimórë and Adonenniel had not spoken much these past few days – because they had spoken.

Glorfindel had contacted Nenni unexpectedly, the first occasion on which he had ever done so since this little adventure had begun. ‘Causing considerable surprise’ would be a grotesque understatement. How could anyone’s mind not race everywhere from something the matter with Amaranthine or Thranduil to…okay, admittedly who actually knew what anyone’s mind would do, but her own had immediately plummeted to the depths of Námo’s Halls under the assumption that something had been the matter. Thankfully, that bit had been a giant hash of mistaken thinking…but nothing improved from there on out.

There had been no reason in her estimation to keep Vanimórë from hearing the conversation. In fact, the opposite; as the overseer, what he too heard became something that was no secret from their mutual Lord and by extension, no accusation of treachery could be laid upon her. The future held mists and veils, but the here and now seemed clear. The words flew like daggers, for Glorfindel’s agitation had been honed to a razor’s edge: The drugs, the thirst. Gríma, the tea. The disbelief , when her body twisted like a pretzel in the saddle in order to regard the Dark Prince, who was really the one being questioned.

His answer, completely unacceptable in her ears, while his eyes held hers steadily: It can be assumed with certainty that Adonenniel was raped by their initial captors, as well as Gríma. Thou canst not know my regret for failing to mete out justice. All was discovered too late.

At first her jaw slackened, followed by the beginnings of a monstrous scowl.

And Glorfindel’s anguished words to her: Did I not say that some gifts come at too high a price?

Ears pulled back, eyes narrowed…a proper snit was underway. Just…really? Ada! Nenni spat out sharply. Maybe you of this world have these feelings; I would rather be alive. I will pay back that greaseball if it takes me the rest of my years on Arda and this is not a discussion! Is this what you needed to know? What the hell – sorry, Ada, is even going on? Or were you just trying to make my day?

I am sorry. More absolutely wretched pain. We are returning with the boys and Erestor through the forest. I would guess I have a week before we all must face the king. I learned what the boys could tell weeks ago. Whether to have this conversation at all with you has gnawed at me like some foul thing but my heart told me that I had to know more and the only one able to tell it is Vanimórë .

All of it will come out and I had to talk to both of you first, and I had to hear it from you. You cannot know the knife’s edge I walk upon, hiding certain truths from him while he learns of others. I have the option of pretending this is news to me, for Vanimórë in truth did not disclose it to you before the time of your parting…but these deliberate omissions…are my worst nightmare. I may not dishonor truthfulness, and all of this has already gone too far. If Thranduil must learn to manage his emotions then he must learn to manage his emotions.

Uh, Ada…what are you saying?

Iellig. Because I have asked, you now know. Vanimórë protected you all this time from the knowledge of what was done to you. Because of me, you now carry this burden. I do not know how Thranduil will judge that I caused this too. For not telling him I was in contact with you despite your wishes, he was livid. He would not have tried to aid you, having greater wisdom than I.

Ada…can you both do me a favor and not go to a guilt party over something none of you could have prevented? There is no blah blah blah protect me better. It’s honestly patronizing. They could have taken down ANY OF YOU they wanted to, pretty much including you, Ada, had they wished, because those were really fantastic drugs. The only difference is, I think you would have been able to bust outta Orthanc or told Saruman what he could do with his shiny Palantir and then there wouldn’t be any commentary on Sauron’s conversational aptitudes with Jabberwocky.

Glorfindel simply stopped breathing, in the saddle. You spoke directly to the Dark Lord? Iellig…are you…why did you not tell me?

Because…it was not really that interesting? I am sorry, Ada. I did not know I was supposed to care.

Vanimórë massaged his forehead. Pardon me…I must warn that while nothing ill has yet been spoken, this path of discourse can lead nowhere–

Nenni is shutting up about the most great Grand Poobah of the Loyal Order of, erm…never mind. Sorry, Vanimórë

What is a…what thou hast said?

It is a title from my home, for a great leader. Whether he suspected bullsh*t or just chose not to pursue further, she would never know…aaaand now it happened. Flintstones! Meet the Flintstones! They’re the modern stone age family…from the town town of Bedrock … no no no no no we are not doing this ….

Like a crushing blow, this last piece of information concerning Sauron overwhelmed Glorfindel, pushing him past his limits. Please forgive me, both of you. I am sorry, and I can speak no more now. I love you.

Glorfindel had gone.

“Was it something I said?” Nenni grumbled at the sudden departure. Which frankly, felt sh*tty.

Like a sudden burst of wind come and gone, Glorfindel had moved through and caused complete upheaval. Nenni found herself still twisted in the saddle, staring up at the tall man behind her. Really giving no f*cks about anything, her gaze lowered, and one leg swung over so she could sit sideways and hold onto his midsection, which with their armor was about the same as cuddling up to a Rubbermaid trash can, but the trash can had arms, and he transferred his hold on Seran’s reins so that one came lightly around her.

Each blink of her eyes marked more passing sh*tty scenery, for these were berennyr, the Brown Lands, and they were not terribly interesting – rolling grassland that was colored…wait for it…yeah. The palette here had challenges, to put it mildly, and not far ahead lay the peaks marking the lands of Dorwinion and Rhûn. Easterlings lived here… but you’re supposed to be trying to determine how you feel about, you got raped but didn’t know it. Leaning back, her forearm curled around that of her keeper without any awareness of having done so.

Obviously the whole thing is beyond gross and inspires and extreme desire for bloodshed, but, does it really f*cking matter? Nasty, but you were spared the memory of it. An amnesiac compound? Like a date-rape drug? You don’t even know the appearance of the initial perps. Gríma, well, I will find him and do my level best to override what you did to me, Ada. Watch me whirl. And if that doesn’t work, I’ve still got two swords and a pile o’ knives. Either way, on some future occasion someone is not going to have a good day, so he’ll have bought his whor* at a very steep price. If you’re going to make a slu*t out of this Elvenqueen, prepare to pay…

“I feared thou wouldst break down in tears,” Vanimórë mused. “Instead I find you take somewhat more after my own proclivities.”

“Oh, that’s still not off the table,” Nenni deadpanned. “Having emotions about it later is possible, I guess. I just feel a little unable to react to this, especially in present company. I know why you didn’t tell me. I think you were trying to spare me more stress and…stuff. It was compassionate, thank you for trying to protect me. Ada doesn’t seem to see that he had no choice, with this. I can’t imagine the situation he is in. My husband is going to go ballistic. I…” How is he even going to see me?

“You believe your mate will reject you because this has happened?” Vanimórë frowned deeply.

“ Reject isn’t the right word,” Nenni answered slowly. “Thranduil loves me. I’m worried that this will do something to him. Break him in some way, like he will believe it was his fault for failing to prevent this or for creating the circ*mstances that led to this. That things won’t be able to be the same…like shattering a mirror. You can glue all the pieces back together but what you’ve got is a mess of lines and cracks compared to what was there in the first place. From the moment I returned to Arda, everything was a series of decisions and consequences and almost all those decisions were his. Most of the rest were Ada’s. Do you know, this, going with you, is probably the first decision I have truly made of my own accord? Fate is an odd mistress.”

“Fate? Fate doth not govern me,” Vanimórë snorted contemptuously.

“Ohhhhhh look who knows so much!” Nenni happily imitated Miracle Max from The Princess Bride . “It just so happens that I know something that you do not.” A Cheshire Grin of a terribly disturbing nature was leveled at him. “Never put yourself above things you do not understand, young man.” Several pokes against his cuirass emphasized this. “Besides, this is off-topic. I am trying to figure out how I am coping with the knowledge that multiple total sacks of sh*t stuck their penises in me while doubtless saying all sorts of denigrating low-class things. But then,” her voice softened, “I realize what a f*cking place of privilege I speak from and think, ‘welcome to the world, Nenni.’ Shut up, get over it, you’re alive.” Now tears welled in her eyes. “But now I find I do have a question.”

“What is it?” For a time, Seran walked. His hand smoothed along the back of her head.

“Do you have to work to not randomly hate most everyone? Because any of them could turn out to be the next person who might do this to you? I struggled with keeping an open mind toward men, where I came from. Some alarmed me right away because of seeming very aggressive or dominant. Obnoxious. Others gave off some aura of being untrustworthy. But any of them had the capacity to be a danger to women so life was a constant existence of hypervigilance. Of course women could be a threat as well, but not like males. I mean human males, of course. An elf might kill a person but this sexual greed…no. I am guessing that everyone who has ever exploited you is a human man. Am I wrong?”

“Thou art.”

“Do tell.”

“For carnality, women can be just as greedy,” he grimaced. “But by different arts. When younger, less experienced, I was seduced by the fairer sex having motives not fair at all. To learn of their wiles proved an…experience. I quickly tired of love-games, and when wishing feminine company found it easier to seek a professional. But you are not wrong in that the worst of the cruelty is doled out by…men.”

“Alright,” came the acknowledgement, while the dawning realization settled that he must have lived in places where prostitution was fully accepted. Ballooning her cheeks directed a stream of air at the stray lock of hair dangling in her face. I want to ask but I also do not… but there is actually something related and more pressing. “ Vanimórë, do you know what sort of place it is to which I am being taken? I have given you my word that I am not going to run from you. If you do know, it would mean a great deal to me to know something about what I am facing. I adapt poorly to new circ*mstances with no forewarning. I am already afraid that I will be required to work around other people, bend to others’ rules and ideas, and otherwise have this turn into a waking nightmare.

“I’m a very solitary person, usually. When I’m at home I…I have a garden. And I spend most all of my time there when I have other duties alone or with one other person who helps me. Even getting used to the one other person was a lot. Designing, solving problems in my head, being left to myself to think, definitely not having anyone around that I dislike, it’s how I work. I work very hard. I often had to be managed so that I would eat at all and not drop half-dead. I’m…a problem child. I don’t know if I told you that before I came to this place, I was a farmer. I operated a small farm, that was my occupation.” Looking into the distance, Nenni laughed, unaware that now Vanimórë frowned and paid full attention to her words.

“What manner of farm?” He asked quietly.

“The correct term was ‘small diversified direct-marketing farm.’ In plain words, I grew literally everything. Every kind of vegetable, fruit tree, some nuts, vine crops, cereals, legumes, and flowers. The latter aren’t just for show, by the way. It’s how you keep the bugs confused and promote soil health. No soil, no food. Then I found a patch of land here and did the same thing, except I was given a very great blessing to go with it.” For a moment Nenni sat up a bit. “I forgot the chickens. I kept a lot of poultry. I know a lot about chickens and turkeys and I sold eggs too. I guess that covers the basics. So do you know anything?”

“Yes. I may inform thee, thy needs shall be met, though if needs must thou may’st be expected to show flexibility. Satisfactory arrangements shall exist for thee. Thou shouldst interact with few persons.”

“You aren’t allowed to really tell me anything,” Nenni smiled. “Alright. I understand. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

“So obedient,” Vanimórë teased in a voice that…was not right. Tensing slightly, Nenni played along.

“Of course I am,” Nenni said absently. “I thought this got cleared up back at Fangorn? When have I not done as you have asked?”

“Prove that you know how to make black powder.” His finger tapped at her shoulder.

“Well, ‘make’ might be going a step too far, but I know that it’s made of charcoal, sulfur and saltpeter. I do not know the ratios, I am sorry. Lord Sauron is surely a greater chemist than I, not to mention, I mean I hope…he must have the power to work around earth sciency things that go boom, right?” She looked up at Vanimórë somewhat helplessly. “Sorry I don’t know how to ask these questions properly for here. I would probably manage to seriously injure or kill myself trying to manufacture an explosive. I know it’s also used in fireworks. I only ever was around it on the ship and I wasn’t the one handling it but I have seen it; it is a very fine material, like sand. No sparks or any source of flame should come near it until ignition is desired…there are some other small things of that nature I know.”

“Yes, Lord Sauron hath the power,” Vanimórë chuckled. “In truth, Adonenniel? Goes boom ?”

“Well it does go boom , and really loudly at that. I think it damaged my hearing somewhat. Cannons and ears don’t go together, is all I have to say about that. So there.”

Her hair was ruffled lightly, and a deep sigh came from behind her. “Thou didst very well this time. Either thou’rt very observant or a fine actress.”

“Maybe both.” Nenni took his hand in both of hers, holding it tightly. “I’m starting to notice when you don’t sound like you. It isn’t too hard to just…carry on. I mean, I’m certifiably nuts anyway. It’s becoming kind of obvious when the questions are about some weapon, too. But I really don’t know a lot more than I’ve already said so I hope the Lord’s inherent brilliance can take over on this one. Smelting, forging…these things that are out of my league.”

“Not his.”

“That’s why he lives in the biggest house. So…the answers about where we were going…were they yours or his?” she asked timidly.

“There can be no difference. I am sorry. And thou shouldst know better than to ask this. Such a query is dangerous. Do not require me to warn thee again.” His voice had grown colder.

The rebuke stung. “Please pardon me. You are correct and it was foolish. I do not say this to excuse my mistake, only know – I struggle now to curb my anxiety. I have not felt this helpless since I came here and my entire existence was at the king’s whim and command. Even if I wanted to, now, my ability to escape your grasp or fight my way out of here is…very low. I am afraid. What I have just found out today has made me realize how easy it is to be drugged and taken advantage of. I can hardly trust anything I do not grow by my own hand, can I now? For all I know even water can be successfully adulterated. Exact wording intended.”

“Thou shouldst not fear such things.”

“Why is that?” Nenni asked softly, having faced forward again in the saddle. “Are you going to stay there, ensuring it? I think not, Mr. Vanimórë.” Each palm pressed against the side of her head. “Please, I need to run for a while. May I go on ahead on the road? There’s nothing for leagues but BROWN.”

“Thou may’st,” he assented, feeling the sheer turmoil assailing her and unable to offer comfort. The road was indeed clear for a very long distance.

Diving in the manner of a swimmer, Adonenniel executed a perfect tumbling roll and came up running though not at top speed. Instinctively she checked her swords; all this generally pleased him. Competence generally did.

After several hundred yards, it almost seemed possible to close her eyes and pretend the forest path stretched ahead, and not these abysmal shades of raw sienna, burnt umber, yellow and brown ochre. Legs longing to exercise lengthened their stride and increased toward her top speed. Trying to pray across the distance, the warm feel of Glorfindel’s hand holding hers as they ran together firm in her memory, she asked that Nienna would return mercy to her own servant. Surely people should not always suffer what they deserved?

Opening her eyes again, she saw a peculiar sight on the road. A lone figure sat by the side of the road in the distance where none had been before. Immediately bristling with caution, she recalculated her speed and glanced back to mark Vanimórë’s location. He had followed at a more leisurely pace, and rode further behind that she preferred. Well, there was a solution to that. Dropping to a walk, she carried on down the road, practicing things like cartwheels and rolls. What she could not bring herself to do is cartwheel on her sword tips, nor all the usual nonsense she would practice with them. Thranduil had been the last one to sharpen her blades, and the thought of dulling them seemed unbearable.

Walking nearer, the sight of this (probably) man seemed more and more suspect as she neared (probably) him; another pirouette revealed Vanimórë still in the distance and a second individual between herself and said Dark Prince. Now she was sure trouble was afoot. I don’t think so. At once she set off at a dead run…back toward Vanimórë. Previously inert Man Number One rose suddenly and began jabbering away in a language incomprehensible to her, while newcomer Man Number Two confidently placed himself with arms outstretched to stop her. Without hesitation, she drew both swords. Now with Vanimórë seeing all manner of troublesome things, Seran launched into a dead run. By now Man Number Two was jabbering just as much as Man Number One, and all of it was orcish as far as she was concerned.

I have one agenda, boys. Neither of you are getting your grabby hands on me, and my pointy sharp things say so. If you don’t want to be kebabs, get out of my way!

The problem was, he wouldn’t get out of the way, and she steeled herself to run this ass through….

Adonenniel, stand down and stop where you are! Do not harm him! Rang Vanimórë’s voice in her mind.

Huh? Halt she did, but with a malevolent expression, and her swords did not lower. The man continued to jabber, while his partner in crime hastened up the road (also jabbering, good grief). A sword waggled in his direction in warning too. When the black stallion finally arrived, the jabberers shut up at once in fear when they saw its rider. Words were exchanged, in which they jabbered, pointing at a displeased Nenni. Vanimórë also pointed to Nenni, a cruel lilt to his words which, hell if she knew what was being said.

“Sheathe thy swords,” he told her, and she complied at once. “Return to Seran.” Again, unquestioned subordination; offering an arm would allow him to raise her to the saddle in one motion.

In silence they rode away, leaving the two men behind as more brown swallowed up the distance behind them.

After a long while, Nenni sighed, disappointed. Vanimórë apparently would not explain what that had all been about. Already she had been chastised enough today for asking inappropriate questions; by no means would the list be lengthened. More time passed; the mountains in the distance being the only features interrupting the visual monotony.

“They were the road-toll collectors,” his deep baritone spoke out of nowhere, exploding into her still thoughts as someone hurling a large rock across a wide pond. By strength of will her external “flight” reaction was dampened but the ugly adrenaline surge ran through, creating the familiar wave of brief but amplified fear, sickness and rushing energy with nowhere to go. Heart racing, her lips parted to help take in more air without his notice. Or so she hoped. “Thou hadst appeared to want to evade the payment, and with violence at that.”

Silence, until her voice could be counted on to remain steady. “I am sorry. I could not understand and they seemed to want to harm me. But, I did not see you pay either.”

“I do not pay. I am known in these lands.”

“I see. Pardon me, then, for causing trouble. I should have realized we have come to places where…will anyone know the languages I can speak? If not, what ones will I need to learn? What are they called?”

“Some here can speak Westron. I would not count on any persons aside from myself or our Lord to know thy Elven-tongue. Avarin of the East-Elves mostly is spoken. Thou shouldst realize, those thou namest ‘Easterlings’ are many distinct tribes, each with their own culture.” The tone rattled on like a crisp lecturer expecting pushback.

Blinking, his words filtered down, as did the physical appearance of the men she’d seen. They appeared, well, Chinese , had she not known better. “Maybe it is something like the Beidi in the ancient lands of the eastern world whence I came. Which is supposed to be this world. It’s really all pretty confusing for me. Cathay, I think it once was called? But maybe I have that wrong and should shut up. There were so many tribes. The Di. They lived in the vast plains of the great north of what we called China in English. Nomadic peoples on the edges of a vast desert.” Then Nenni lapsed into silence.

“How didst thou know or care about this?” Vanimórë finally inquired.

“Mm…I knew and cared about all sorts of things. I am a curious person. Curiouser and curiouser, don’t you see?” This concluded her comment. Stress welled up like hot magma, floods of tears pouring from her eyes as she sat there on Seran. If I could go back, walk away from all of this, return to the farm with Beren and resume my utterly ordinary life…would I choose to?

For hours and hours this analysis ran on and in the end the Little Voice stepped in, exasperated. Do I have to say it for you?

I suspect you will regardless.

Returning would not allow you to reach any conclusions. Arrive at no progress or solutions. The pain is here, but so is the best chance at answers.

So for once we agree. Shall we mark it on the calendar? Except, I have lost count of the days.

“Nine days prior, Firith began,” Vanimórë offered. “Our destination lieth at the mountains’ northern edge.”

At once her hand covered his in extreme gratitude. In the most subservient tone he had yet heard from her, the question: “Do you know the history of these lands, and if so could you tell me a little? I do not do so well with names and dates, but when there are stories about what the people did, I can remember better this way?”

Vanimórë’s eyes closed. This was…dangerous, for both of them. He should not be allowing these inroads. This rapport, this caring at all, even on a surface level – but he found himself unable to refuse her. They were likely enough to be parted soon; he declined to mention they had only the rest of today’s travel and part of tomorrow to reach their destination. Sauron’s cryptic hints were nothing he would allow himself to internalize. “Some I know. But first thou needest understand history previous to that. First one explanation, a brief stop to eat, the rest when we ride on.”

“Thank you.” Nenni smiled, oblivious.

Chapter 15: Any Way I Look At This, I Lose

Chapter Text

Ch. 15 Any Way I Look At This, I Lose

{11 Firith Imladris, October 9, Gregorian T.A. 3017}

“There are people,” Nenni stated nervously, looking to the distance.

“People with no particular love of elves,” Vanimórë added for effect.

I won’t speak, since you have so often counseled me to silence. But I am still a Queen. I will never treat you differently when I am not forced to play the role I have vowed to play but I am bound by promises. I have to be someone I am not in front of others or go out trying. For what you have done for me, I will always be indebted.

Why speak’st thou as if thy next stop is thy death? He asked with some amusem*nt.

It may be the next thing to it. No humor lingered in her words, and he elected not to comment. May I ask the name of this place?

Bórun.

Attentively, her eyes roamed everywhere possible seeking details, information since it was not being provided otherwise. The land had changed, creating the impression of a river valley. Here and there evidence of large scale earthworks existed; that meant a population capable of making such efforts plus the political will to organize. The settlement slowly circled the nearest mountain, bringing into sight a vast, enclosed city below with surrounding fields, cut through by a navigable waterway.

Her disbelief mounted along with Seran’s footfalls, though attempts were made now to mute her thoughts as she studied the landscape. There was land under cultivation, a lot of it. From here, what was being grown exactly; too difficult to say. From this distance, date palms were the only tree discernible with certainty. The waterfront (was it a proper river, or ??) stretched on for a very long distance, past the other side of the city, which seemed to have two sections. One seemed so much more densely built than the other, what was that about? Honestly what was so much of this about. Grow food? So many stomach-churning variations on what might be expected of her…this was beyond all reason for someone who had worked with something the tiniest fraction of this place, playing “The Tortoise and the Hare” as far as food production went, Team Tortoise.

For some reason, she had not been prepared for anything resembling a fortress. As they slowly passed the entire length of the outer wall nearest the mountain, Nenni realized that he might be making for the part of this city that held the grandest construct. Whether it was a palace or where some other dignitary lived or who knew what, there were some very eye-catching structures on that side of the city, and apparently also a large entrance. They passed through the tall, thick gate of the city walls (probably one of many, but in her ignorance she had no means to know and were she to ask…how would that be received? Fear and uncertainty kept her from asking) the drumbeat her heart created pounded in her chest. Open stares – many curious, some hostile – tracked them as they rode past.

The streets all seemed quite similar to her untrained eye, and nothing looked distinctive at all (except the looming ginormous building complex) until they were past an area where the density of buildings was as high. Then she saw that in the distance there were some trees, and perhaps something like a park? Their path continued toward the Buildings From Hell, which quite soon were determined to be their destination. More soldierly-types seemed strewn about with spears or swords, guarding. Still they rode on, until a servant and a stablehand appeared. Feeling somewhat idiotic, Nenni found herself seated alone on Seran. Already Vanimórë stood on the ground at her side, courteously offering his unneeded hand to aid her off the horse. Thinking it wise to follow his lead in all things no matter how small, just the right air of uncertainty was projected (she hoped). Was this…?

“Yes,” Vanimórë answered her unvoiced question.

**

Sentries pulled back their weapons to admit them on sight, and the idea that she was supposed to be one of them was having a hard time sinking in. Coeli et terra , what have you gotten yourself into this time? Still, Seran having been led away, they were not accosted by people. A lone man, followed by two (she guessed) servants (what the hell did she know?), came to meet them. An air of culture swirling around everything from his fine fabrics to a well-modulated voice, Kharpur greeted Vanimórë who he clearly knew. “My Lord” this, “My Lord” that; then waited for “My Lord” to introduce the very important (and travel-weary) guest of whom word had been sent weeks ago. The letters would not specify who she was; only that a Lady of great power and nobility sent to grow food would arrive. This left Kharpur skeptical but afraid; one did not dare disobey nor trivialize orders when they came directly from the Great Lord.

Whatever he had expected, this was not it. Their own women knew pride and were feared. This one could find her place among them. This ‘Lady’ killed; the swords at her back spoke just as loudly as the smile that did not reach her eyes. Like the serpent , Kharpur thought.

“Come. Your journey was long, these servants will show you to your quarters which are near to each other. Hot water has been drawn for bathing and clean clothing is prepared. Everyone who attends your Majesty will speak Westron.”

“Thank you,” Nenni replied in addition to the elven gesture, praying that there was not a custom of gratitude here being omitted out of ignorance. Vanimórë did nothing extra so hopefully everything was fine? A slight nod of his head allowed her to relax. A little. As she followed the female attendant, “This way, My Lord” echoed behind her in the long (and to her mind labyrinthine) passageways that eventually re-emerged to daylight – large yurt-like dwellings (she did not know what else to call them) in even larger outdoor garden ‘rooms’ against the city wall.

**

It passed in a blur, but an extremely pleasant blur – give or take the sheer volumes of nasty dead filthy skin she scraped off of herself (they had skin scrapers!) until her body appeared nearly sunburnt. Who cared. The necessity to stop thinking about this had begun weeks ago, what when personal hygiene had devolved to swimming fully clothed to launder clothing and person all in one swoop then finding some privacy to wring clothing out to dry on a rock for a time. Presumably he did the same, though with some superhuman level of vigilance. Honestly she did not care if he saw her nude; elves weren’t supposed to care about nudity, she reminded herself. Plus, he probably had seen. Either way it was just another means by which they pretended. Though, she never did see him nor did she attempt to. He never smelled bad. So did it matter?

Now, she walked along wearing some dark blue native clothing that amusingly left shoulders and midriff bare (okay?) save for a translucent veil (what was the point of the useless thing?). With her hair worn loose in ripples of fire, the servant guided her back to the main house where Vanimórë already appeared resplendent whilst sipping tea. Nenni had never seen him in other than his black armor, so the sight of the rich purple and steel gray satin swirling around those endless legs deeply discombobulated her. In seconds the same tea had been poured for her. Perhaps Vanimórë had not seen her bathing after all, for his eyes scrutinized her body and the only fathomable reason for this would be if he were unaware of her tattoos?

“It is such a relief to finally have you here. Things have not gone so smoothly of late,” Kharpur smiled, lowering his cup. “I was asked to pass you these orders upon your arrival,” he said somewhat hesitantly to Vanimórë, handing over papers. “Lady, you are to have much of the day tomorrow to rest, but are expected to at least look at the seed inventory and the growing sites so that you may have an idea of what we face.”

Nenni regarded him. “Just how big is this inventory? Rooms and rooms?”

“Ahm…some cabinets’ full.”

“I see. Are they clearly labeled in a language I can read?”

“I…unsure.”

“Are there maps of the sites?”

“Ahhh…regrettably, no.”

“I…see. With respect, I wish to revise your plan. I want to view the seeds as soon as possible, today. I will look at the site tonight as well, if there is any moonlight at all. I can see quite well at night. I am going to have to create detailed maps as well as grow seeds from the sound of it, if your inventory does not suffice. I don’t want to be set back by days by my… limitations. So the use of time matters.”

“Of course, but perhaps the Lady would like to eat first? Surely your Majesty has not eaten since the morning?”

“Her Majesty hath not,” Vanimórë stated firmly. “We shall be accepting thy gracious offer of a meal before any work is done.”

“Yes, of course, my Lord” Nenni acquiesced sweetly at once. Kharpur remarked this immediately and filed it away for future reference.

“Please enjoy your tea,” Kharpur smiled. “Food will be ready shortly.”

Studying Vanimórë carefully over the rim of her bowl (the beverage was so fragrant – whatever Thranduil traded for, it wasn’t this) Nenni became aware something had gone amiss. A flair of annoyance, pique, anger…something? that had not been present moments ago disturbed the surface of that usually unreadable demeanor. As he would not divulge his burdens to her, asking was useless. Without warning, the violet eyes pinned her down with a great force. Suddenly she had become an insect upon a display board. The resulting discomfort rapidly became so intense it caused her to figuratively ‘leave the building,’ though she appeared to be right there. Dissociation, such a marvel. So no reaction resulted at all while she impassively returned his stare…for she no longer was there in any meaningful capacity. Nenni had fled the room for a time, though her body remained.

Not having seen this response before, Vanimórë could not interpret it and averted his eyes. Kharpur remarked and filed this away also for future reference, desperately trying to comprehend which of these two held power over the other.

Nothing filled the awkward silence which proved just as well, given it took the entire time until food was announced for the Mother Ship to inform Nenni that she should make her usual signage for questionable assignments, even if it meant placing it at the exit out of her lodging : Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate. Yes, that would do, and in a nice flowing script. Always this graced her work area anyplace she was not her own boss, and dullards that they were, no one ever bothered to look it up. Of course they didn’t. If they had they might have figured out those words placarded the entrance to Hell, at least as far as Divine Comedy was concerned…and wasn’t this all going to be every sort of a jolly good show.

“Dinner!” Kharpur announced happily.

Nenni smiled graciously and followed their host. After walking a short distance, a large hand came over her neck and bare shoulder, brushing over what she knew to be random crows and pansies along the ivy vine. What meaneth this?

If it’s the tattoo, the short explanation is it’s the counting rhyme of the crows. How many crows that appear, stands for something. The longer explanation should await another time.

They stepped outside into a rich walled garden designed around a low central table on a dais with cushions. Fragrant flowers tumbled out of tiered containers, water circulated from cleverly stationed glazed vessels; stunning tiles in vivid colors abounded. Pillars supported arched structures which in turn had something that functioned as an awning but would have a different architectural term; vocabulary word unknown. Like the velarium at the Colosseum in Rome , Nenni opined, having no better comparison. At that moment a crow flew in, its hoarse scolding bringing a genuine smile to her face. Don’t chatter back to it… Becoming rapidly lost in the bird’s antics, she had ceased minding anything else.

An inconspicuous elbow nudged her back to reality. What meaneth one crow?

Blinking, Nenni darted her eyes briefly at Vanimórë’s, deliberately ignoring the… wrongness …there. Sorrow.

His lips pressed together slightly, and he gestured for her to seat herself. Cheeks reddening slightly, Nenni spoke aloud. “Might I please ask my Lord to demonstrate how one sits at this table? This custom is unfamiliar and I do not know what to do.”

“Well,” Kharpur smiled, seeming pleased and clapping twice. “Then let us dine!”

**

Dinner had been an affair of surface politeness and niceties but what Nenni would increasingly describe as Increasingly Cloudy with a Change of Headaches. Fortunately it was a light repast; cheeses, flatbreads, olives, dried fruits, hot bowls of lentils and something similar to hummus, what she would call pilaf, oil for dipping, small portions of steamed fish, generous bowls of dates and slices of what seemed like halvah.

The ability to consume much of it was wrecked by high anxiety over the unknown and now they had been returned to their dwellings, which was really dwelling singular.“I shall examine the clothing I have been provided, could I trouble my Lord to show me how these rooms are lit?” What even is this? Nenni asked Vanimórë far more forcefully in silence. Moreover, if I am permitted to ask, why are you still here?

“Thou needst not dissemble here unless thou’rt shouting,” he responded drily. “Though I praise thy prudence. This,” he waved a hand in a light circle all around the extremely large yurt (again, for lack of better words) divided by a high, thick cloth room divider that could quite obviously be breached if the occupants desired, “is our home by orders of our Lord. I am assigned to this place.”

The Dark Prince turned from her, much to her surprise. This also was new; a demeanor never before witnessed. Catlike, each step caused him to prowl the room with restless feline fluidity. At the moment, they stood on ‘her’ side, where all the decor seemed to be a base color of sand, with accents of deep rose red, the green of tender leaves, aubergine and a tamed hue of orange. Hanging fabrics held purples as the dominant color and the effect pleased the eye. Whether it was fit for royalty Nenni could not say, but it certainly surpassed a Super 8 or Motel 6. Unsure of the root cause for this uneasy motion, her body remained still in complete contrast. Unwittingly she had acquired Thranduil’s habit of following someone only with her eyes. Whatever, it was a moment to relax, check body alignment…until his deep voice intruded into her attempts to seek calm.

“Bórun is not only a farming community struggling to produce adequate yields; it also serves as a training camp for soldiers and the soldiers are not proving to be well-trained. My master saw an opportunity to correct this matter by my arrival here and declined to inform me, perceiving no need. The soldiers double as labor for the farm, so the two must coordinate. I still must guard thee. This housing meaneth clearly, thou’rt under my protection. People may assume what they will.

“Much of what is or is not said will be reflected by what servants glean of thy demeanor toward me. Acting, outside of these walls, will be entirely necessary. This dwelling is forbidden to anyone save the housekeeping servants. These shall come at clearly stated days and times.”

Coming to stand near Nenni, he still did not face her. Some permeating sense of Odd filled the room; a tangible thing.

“Though thou’rt exempt from work tomorrow, I can see thou shalt examine and plan regardless. You are to ask Kharpur for materials you will need, some of which you already indicated tonight.”

“Erm…believe it or not, what I asked for is probably all I will need. I’ve gone to this tea party before. I will follow your instructions should it prove otherwise….ahhh, crumpets.”

“What is the matter?”

“Not necessarily ‘the matter.’ Only that it just occurred to me that I need a means to deal with the necessities of life in the fields in some sort of privacy. Baring my arse in front of however many hundreds of men is not happening. I’ll find a rapid solution. Small bladders, how vexatious.”

“I do not understand. This proved no difficulty on horseback. Long hours passed without stopping.”

“This is not a criticism, I am only answering your question. That’s because I was always dehydrated. I hope to be able to drink as much water as I want here. If possible.” Nenni looked away. “Being the Singing Flower of Wonderland can be exhausting. I really need water or I won’t last at all and wilting is ugly.”

“I see.” The dark head tilted. “I am also tasked with gaining some understanding of your…capacity. How much you can be counted on to provide.”

Nenni walked to the bed and sat, resuming the W position, as it resembled kneeling. Just in case, the response was careful. “My Lord. I am going to try to explain a gyre-y gimble-y thing. I am able to provide fairly good data on that, having already been in the, er, quota tracking business for my own people. But…what is wrong with me…I work work work. I honestly should be monitored and sometimes stopped from working. Not to be self-denigrating but I am often like a racing horse too intent on running to understand it is harming itself. I never said I had it all going on up here,” she tapped her head.

“It’s…quite the opposite, and I can get into serious trouble not only physically but…here.” More tapping. “Several knives danced out of the drawer. Never goad me to do more than I am doing, because believe me whatever I am doing is already probably more than my best. Any suggestion that I should give more, I hear this as, you have failed to please me, your best was not good enough . It is like throwing a rock at a glass house. All my will to do anything at all shatters and then there is…” she blinked very rapidly. “Please do not let that happen. No one normal would be troubled by this. I understand. I’m not well but I’m here. Please help your own cause.”

“What about discussions pertaining to efficiency?” Vanimórë asked with…if not a warm tone, at least one devoid of coldness.

“That should be fine…I’ve never had anyone who could tell me how to use what I have been given better but…you are not only an Elf, are you my Lord? I yield.”

“Thou shalt have help, for thy incapacity,” was spoken, with vocal strain.

At once Nenni searched Vanimórë’s face, fears of Sauron or no. Something was wrong . What she had just told, having to speak this wretched vulnerability for the sake of possibly saving herself later on…already feelings of not being all there lent her some much needed stupidity. Courage. Was there a difference? “Are you trying to tell me that you or someone like you who will fall from the sky or some power bearing talisman is going to fall from the sky and solve my power inadequacy problem? Which is related to your data on quotas…what I can do on my own versus what I can do with spiritual reinforcement are two completely different ledgers.”

“Yes, I am the help, but there is a problem,” Vanimórë choked out. Even more strain. His jugular veins bulged.

What the hell? You weren’t able to help me at the edge of Fangorn when I asked you to. Was that a game to you? Did you lie to me? Have me on, because it was fun? “And that is?”

“I have been commanded to place my service at your disposal. I am a slave, Majesty.”

“Your serv…you cannot possibly mean…no.” Incensed by the sheer gall, not a muscle moved.

“That is exactly what my Master means, and he expects thee to avail thyself of it.” The speech emitting from him was beyond strained but it was a strain probably only she would perceive on account of her musical training. Just as likely only she would perceive the tensing of the muscles in his jaw and neck as he fought not to speak these repugnant words.

Nenni stood up at once, walking in a half circle around him. “When I agreed to come here and grow food, violating my marriage vows was not something to which I was consenting. I believe he knows what manner of personal assault this is against me.” Though her words had been spoken softly, fury lay underneath.

A change came into Vanimórë’s voice with no attempt at pretense. “Lady, let us not dissemble. I now speak through my slave. Thou mayst choose to see it thus or thou mayst see it as an efficient means to an end. I do not believe thou shalt find it so great a strain; Thranduil never need know. Thy ‘best friend forever’ hath told everything about thee. Yea, thou’rt not the only one to cross over. Thy Brian hath come. I am certain thou hast concern for him?”

Nenni froze, the blood draining from her face.

“Another matter, to aid thee. Refuse, and I shall find the old and the sick and order them slowly cut down before thine eyes at the hand of my Slave. Flee or take thy own life to evade me, and every mother and child in this city shall pay for thy loss by his hand. Obey thy Lord.”

Brian? Murdering people? He has Brian? Vanimórë, kill all the people? Blood…he would… No reply could choke out of her since her throat had closed. Sheer force of will would not allow her to collapse but drawing air, that felt impossible.

Reeling with vertigo, locks of hair brushed pallid cheeks while a heavy head tipped forward – the room moved, undulating like the ocean.

Apparently it was enough. An arm supported her, no word was said.

What…what even was this… every muscle wanted to contract. He has Brian? Brian is here? Brian told him…? What couldn’t Brian have told him, if it had to do with Nenni, Earth Edition? If anything had been left out, it was because she did not know it herself. Was this how it was to begin between them, and the ‘Master’ had elected to play chess with a set of devastating opening moves? In fear, anger, helplessness – nothing could move.

He had dared speak of the Valar’s cage when he had built one so well himself, and now I have stepped inside. This is not a choice. This is…this is rape by proxy. THAT BASTARD. Does he think that by removing the part where I am knocked to the ground, held down and forced, that this is anything different? THIS IS NOT AN ACT FOR WHICH I HAVE GIVEN MY CONSENT. WHO I WAS OR AM, WHAT I WANT OR BELIEVE DOES NOT MATTER. MY CHOICES AND ACTIONS DEFINE ME AND I WILL NOT ALLOW ANYONE, MUCH LESS MY BEST FRIEND, TO SUFFER PHYSICAL TORMENT AND DEATH IF I CAN PREVENT IT, EVEN UNDER THESE CIRc*msTANCES AND JUST AS WITH HIS SON, SAURON KNOWS THAT. I AM NOT THE ONE DIMINISHED HERE.

“Adonenniel. Breathe.” A hand on her shoulder, another under her chin with a cloth.

How strange, it really is impossible…it’s okay, I can go a long time without air…I’m used to it…

“Look at me.” Scooped up like a doll again, made to sit on his lap. Gray eyes blown wide, amaranth ones seemingly placid. “Try again. Breathe.”

It’s very hard. I’m so angry. He – Brian – I…How can I…

Vanimórë perceived quickly. “Master has someone thou carest for beyond price, who should not…be here at all. Thou’rt…I am sorry.” Honest compassion filled his voice. As many times as he had been coerced by this means, never had he had anyone to value. Not like this. If Sauron possessed Thranduil or Glorfindel, he could hardly have greater leverage, from the emotions she should not be revealing to him. He sighed. This once, it did not matter. His father already knew. What few words had been spoken placed a steel collar around her neck.

I desperately need to not think of Brian, and it so happens that the rest of this may just help me do that. As sh*tty as it is to say this to you I’m feeling very exploited right now. What gall. Maybe this will teach me some empathy. Pressing her lips together, tears pooled. What right do I have to feel like this, when he forces you to do this constantly? Can I be more of a disgrace right now? I am so sorry.

In all the Ages of my life, no one before thee has ever cared. I have not this luxury. Neither modesty nor…anything at all.

Um…we’ve already been through this. I will never see you as they do. Aurë entuluva. Reaching up, two fingers touched along the edge of his cheek. A taste reached her tongue, eliciting a frown. Blood. Licking at her lips, her fingers moved to her own face but were stopped.

“Thy nose. Blood ran. Only a little.”

“Oh.” Heaving a sigh, she shook her head. “For what it is worth, I am sorry. You already know I would not have consented to this, and now…the sake of others’ lives…is another story. I am deeply sorry that you are being used in this way for anything to do with me.”

“The decision, it is no struggle for thee?” No humor laced his tone.

“The conclusion is no struggle. It is straightforward logic. The decision …how can I say this? The decision is a giant, black pit. All one need do is step off the edge, and one has fallen. The loss is the unblemished peace I enjoyed with my mate; nothing to mar the intimacy between us. I cherished this. It may seem foolish or of no consequence to others but it was the thing that I was supposed to not ruin this time around. I have already walked the path of doing what I want, disregarding the opinion of others. Been there, done that. Nothing good came of it for me or anyone because…I am too honest, Vanimórë. If I cannot have honesty between myself and another person what is the point of anything? This value is not shared by certain individuals; I am perfectly aware of that. We all choose our paths in this life. Even as I say this, I could start philosophizing…because there are necessary lies but this is a tangent. ‘Thranduil need never know.’" A noise of derision choked from her. "My Lord need not have armies, either. It is a logical fallacy so let us disregard that. Struggle is not the right word. It is not a struggle, but it is most definitely a sacrifice.

“I spoke earlier of betrayal. This…” Her hand went to her forehead. “Please forgive what I am going to say to you…this will send me to a place far beyond that,” she shook her head dully. “Anything that once was the rightful due of only my spouse will be stripped away. I am very good at projecting outcomes far into the distance. What a wretched excuse I will become for what I had wished to be, thanks to that purulent squamous mass.” He did not know those words, nor did he intend to become enlightened; they did not have the ring of anything good.

“Some of thy feelings are relatable, others not,” he told, trying to follow her too-meandering reply. “I detest being the instrument wielded against thee…but will not carry thy same burdens.”

Nenni shook her head No, while still not looking at him. “If this has to end up happening, better you a thousand times over than someone else. There is still a lot I don’t quite get about how this is supposed to work,” Nenni rubbed her forehead, the tension having gone nowhere at all. “I mean, assuming I live to ever even go home, I’d sort of like it if this entire place didn’t think we were lovers. The fewer people that are positive about that, the less chance this can ever make its way back north so to speak. The reach of my husband’s ears are longer than you would imagine. Trading caravans come from places like this to trade with Dale, and then it’s a short hop over to guess where. All it needs is one mouth who heard of Sauron’s Emissary and the Elf Queen from the north living together inseparably hehe to send my life straight to Lord Námo. Thoughts?”

“As mentioned, we lodge here for the precise reason of discretion. Didst thou not notice that tall walls enclose this area, while heavy vegetation and fountains dampen sound and that there are separate entrances? All this is to give the illusion that we do not dwell together but near to one another.

“Those attending this home are sworn to secrecy. Should any information concerning either of us or this place be revealed, they shall die and their families with them. Believe me, they are motivated to keep their silence. Not even Kharpur may know what occurs in these rooms and this reminds me – never bring others here. If thou wouldst visit with someone, there are parlors in the main hall suited to ordinary conversation or conferring over papers. Servants there shall attend to thy needs. If I may turn the question around on thee, how didst thou manage this need…formerly?”

“Ahm…Blessed Eru…it was not managed by intimate relations, for starters, which is why this baffles me up one side and down the other. Others could simply touch me. But to answer more directly, under optimal circ*mstances I can do a half day’s work before I need, ah, replenishment. Here may not be optimal circ*mstances. I’ll need to grow some things to have an idea of what I’m facing. Realistically it will take me time to understand how I work with…here, so I hope our Lord can show some patience while this process of discovery is made; I am not a machine. I’ve been to places where I felt that I was being fought against by the land, though I don’t expect that here. The only thing I have learned is that there’s no means to know what a part of Arda is like until one tries it out.”

Vanimórë held on a little tighter, appearing troubled. “I am sorry.”

“For what?”

“It may be I am the reason thou canst not ‘simply be touched’.” He averted his head, ashamed. “I know of my Power. I have wholly refused learning the use of it. What I have managed on rare occasion has been…I cannot explain to thee what or how I have done a given thing. Surely many elves know these arts better than I. Apparently…”

Nenni grasped it. “Sex opens up…whatever…to allow your power to transfer, if someone is able to accept it. Ha ha ha ha ohhhhh well why not. Do not be sorry. This all is what it is. You did not seek this outcome.”

“Neither did I see that my stance could one day have a cost to others of this kind.”

“We are the sum of our experiences. If we are really fortunate, at some point the dog wags the tail more than the tail wags the dog.”

“What?”

“Think about it. You’ll see what I mean. It’s part humor, part truth. There’s another thing too. This…we are going to enter into this…partnership. This is not a one-night tryst. It is the nature of women that affection and emotional attachment will form with a sexual partner. Blame biology. I don’t know how long this situation is supposed to go on. Months seems likely. A year? Much longer than that? If so we’re going to have problems because…I didn’t sign on to do this forever, either. But that’s all for much later. The point is, I’m going to grow fonder of you than I already am, and a time will come when it has to come to a crashing halt. You can’t afford the relationship either, though you’re obviously far more suited to remaining disentagled than I.

“I don’t think I’m clingy; I’ve actually got a severe problem with forming attachments to people, you just don’t see it in the beginning. You asked me why I refused to see my own worth, once. It’s because I expect to be left at the side of the road sooner or later. To be abandoned. That’s happened time and again, creating a false belief that there must be a good reason for it? Unlearning the conviction that I am the problem is very difficult. Success has been mixed.

“Maybe you can teach me some things about becoming more resilient. Maybe I can return some similar favor. Understand, though. Until this is over, in my eyes you are my partner. I don’t have the same expectation of you. I have to find a way to do something I don’t know how to do, so it begins with treating you as I would hope to be treated were I in your place – by that I mean a person deserving courtesy and honor. Whatever role you may play at our Lord’s command for others will not be the case here. As if that’d work.”

Probably five minutes passed, and no response. I always really was terrible at these relationship speeches, Nenni thought to herself. Ruin the one I’ve left behind, ruin the one I haven’t even started ye–

“If thou wouldst still like a walk past some of the fields, the moon has risen well.”

The instinct to ask if he was certain he wished to go, that she managed to stifle barely in time. Maybe he knew, for one dark brow raised. Why why why why why is it always so hard to answer a simple question… “Yes please.” Someone else surely had said it, and the room seemed to be bending out of shape. It was very hard to breathe again. Looooots of blinking. No, no not now, you’ve gotten this far, I’m done with this….stop stop stop crying about every f*cking thing…. More hot tears raced down both cheeks. Standing abruptly, she stepped to the entrance, waiting.

Chapter 16: The Many Faces of Loss

Chapter Text

{11 Firith Imladris, October 9, Gregorian T.A. 3017, continued}

The door did not open. Caught at her waist, for a split second a bird soared free, high into the air… but this disappointed Icarus had a gentler fall, settled into the crook of strong arms. Tear-brightened eyes stared straight at the face she’d meant to avoid like the plague for hours.

“Insofar as I am permitted by the vagaries of my bondage, I accept, though thou wert not proposing terms. I accept thy offer of goodwill and shall do what I can.”

Between smiling wanly and smoothing his cheek, a very small “thank you” could be heard.

“I find that one thing puzzles me. Thy last words. ‘As if that’d work.’ What mean’st thou?”

The heat rising past her cheeks felt like it must be warping the nearby air, even as she wondered why the reaction? For god’s sake, can’t you be a grown up? “I’m…not usually dominant in bed.”

Both corners of his mouth curled sinfully, a sight of doom never to be forgotten. He hadn’t seemed to have moved, yet an instant after everything returned to that moment so many weeks ago in Sarn – his lips barely brushing hers and sweet sandalwood seeking to drown out all other considerations. Nor did he hurry, seeming to understand. Gentle kisses were pressed lightly around her cheeks and forehead. For his sake, her mind had to be kept to herself. He did not need the burden of comprehending the precise nature of what he would be used to do to her – something he could not possibly grasp, lacking experiences on another world that would strike him as pure insanity but which formed the scaffold of her tangled and sometimes labyrinthine morality, still under construction and in need of a competent, licensed contractor that wasn’t a charlatan…

This time, the sweet sandalwood would claim victory and the sense of entrapment – being caged and sedated – suffused the underlying humiliation – because Sauron was absolutely right about her, thanks to Brian flapping his cake hole (why the giant f*cking idiot would be a big enough dumbass to do this to her was something that would have to make her head explode some other time). She would not find it so great a strain; it would be more than possible to seduce her because at the end of the day, her sh*tty Lord had set fire to the reasons that kept her from being herself. Nothing had changed about her except her physiology; the rest was just the bilge rat that stowed away from Earth.

Paralyzed, Nenni couldn’t bring herself to seal the kiss though it was an inevitability. It was the tide, the setting sun, the rising moon. Slowly her hand moved along the perfect cheek, feeling the fine bones underneath. Fingers wove into the silk of his hair and found the back of his neck. Not to hold onto for his protection as in the past, but exploring. Touching, and hoping to please him. Eyes closing, it was impossible not to recall these same moments with her husband and something tore. Her hatred of Sauron bloomed and flared and exploded into something boundless. One treachery deserved another, and grains of sand could bring great machinery to its knees. The sanctity of her marriage, or slaughter? Today, the Great Eyeball had made a dedicated enemy.

Both of her arms loosely held his head and neck, burying her face in that inky mane of silk, drowning in the scent of its owner. I am so sorry, Thranduil. I pray you are somehow spared the burden of this even if I cannot see that future or anything else. There is no point asking your forgiveness when I have said it myself; this is a betrayal. I place the lives of others above my promises to you. You deserved better than this. I am sorry that what came back to you was…this. A single tear streaked thinly from the corner of her eye into her hair. There would be only the abyss: Stand on the brink.

Once more the soft bow lips reached near her mouth, and another gentle brush.

This time her parted lips returned the pressure, distinctly pulling him to her: And fall away into the darkness below.

The clear invitation was the only thing needed but even so Vanimórë exercised careful courtesy, mindful of the cost to her…and the possible feelings involved in especially their first encounter. Neither had said this would be that but it seemed obvious enough. Desire existed, and now nothing would prevent its taking root. A flicker of his tongue gained easy plundering of a small but sweet mouth (her ability to trap his tongue certainly left him intrigued). Anything at all he wished for, he had an extraordinarily flexible, strong and compliant partner who he unwrapped fabric by fabric until an entire pleasing vista was revealed. So small by comparison! Many elves were much taller and more heavily built but stature was not everything; she had proven this.

Concern whether he would be a skilled lover had never entered her thought; Vanimórë would have to have had ten thousand times her experience (most of it regrettable). The powers of seduction encountered thus far already had been deemed formidable. Her greatest trepidation had to do with him being an extremely large man by comparison. He was not overendowed in proportion to himself, but eyeing him…well, he might take some getting used to, no other way to say it. And it wasn’t going to help that she’d done nothing for weeks on end…

“We need not make love now,” he murmured graciously. “I can pleasure thee many ways.”

“You are kind,” she sighed. “And I do not doubt it. But I have a concern this may not be easy, and the only means I know of by which it becomes easier is to repeat the encounter until my body adjusts to yours. Better to start sooner than when this must happen because I need you for work oh why does that sound so distastefully practical.”

“Welcome to the soldiery?” he chuckled.

Many stifled giggles came of this. “I needed that.” Freeing and shaking out his hair, he earned a dazzling smile. “Well, soldier, I’m afraid you need to stand at attention and, uhm…be outstanding in your field.”

“Thou didst not say that.”

“Would you prefer ‘stand on deck and raise the halyard?’” Nenni grinned at him.

The violet eyes narrowed. In a flash, both wrists were pinned over her head; he fussed with placing cushions here and there…

I shall do my best to make reparations. I hope you will tell me how I may please you. I do not have your experience but I can follow instructions.

‘Twould appall thee.

Doubt it. There are some kinks I struggle with, but you’d be surprised what I can manage. Though if you like food being eaten off of you that could get tricky here…

What?

Couldn’t resist guessing. Sorry. Whips?

Vanimórë’s eyes flared and abruptly Adonenniel had other matters to consider, such as his fingers, lightly testing her folds. “Thou’rt very wet,” he noted with far too much satisfaction.

“However did that happen?” came the dry rejoinder.

“Do not move thy hands,” he commanded, adjusting the rest of her as he pleased…and testing her compliance.

He cradled her so as to kiss anything he wished from the waist up, while gentle and extremely dexterous fingers made slow, small movements that gradually stretched. Really it was an exploration, and the simple concession of allowing her hands to run through his hair provided so much distraction that she did not focus on his movements save when he kissed her. Which meant that she also did not notice her own increased level of desire, or that he had stretched her more, and more, and still he dodged her unwitting attempts to gain more stimulation from his hand. Slowly, he let this slip out of her, tasting his fingers. Glorious.

With a kiss to her forehead, he aligned himself. Unsurprisingly, she knew how to relax those muscles; he felt her bearing down to eliminate any resistance from tension. Steady pressure advanced him to a certain place, but foreplay had not erased their physical differences. Kissing her, murmuring many sentiments of praise and reassurance, the explanation was given that he wished to do something different. He picked her up to change their positions completely, holding her straddled over his lap; gravity brought her down onto him while he kissed her deeply. It would work, inevitably. Awareness came that her mind was no longer available to him, and he respected this. “I am so sorry,” he whispered.

The words meant everything to her; a thread of compassion in the darkest moment. Her body sank down with a stifled whimper; Vanimórë had fully penetrated her. Now all my promises are worthless. With her closed eyes she could see Thranduil and a shriek of loss tore through her mind, though it was not given voice. Her nether parts burned from his invasion; distraught and teetering on the edge of a memory, Nenni had no awareness that she held onto him very tightly.

Stilling his body, he leaned down to kiss her.

“I want to hold you.”

The moment his embrace enfolded her, silent tears spilled. The words flowed back*:

(*=readers unfamiliar with this music please see endtnote for clarification)

Vows are spoken to be broken Feelings are intense Words are trivial

Pleasures remain So does the pain Words are meaningless and forgettable

Nenni held onto him even more. The burning eased only slightly. He was buried deep inside of her; their bodies were together in physical union. Painful to me, pierce right through me…Oh, no…no no no no…this wasn’t supposed to happen any more. It was all going to be different…MY LIFE WAS SUPPOSED TO STOP BEING THE DEPECHE MODE ANTHOLOGY, BUT APPARENTLY NOBODY GOT THE MEMO. Never again is what you swore, the time before…oh f*cking god, that’s off of the Violator album. I can’t even make this sh*t up.

Never again. Never Again. NEVER AGAIN. I LOVE YOU THRANDUIL, BUT I AM NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN. I AM HERE AND THIS IS HAPPENING AND THE RULES WANT ME TO BE ASHAMED AND HUMILIATED BUT I AM NOT WEARING THOSE GARMENTS. THEY ARE NOT GOING TO BELONG TO ME. I WILL NOT BE REDUCED TO TRASH BECAUSE YOU CANNOT ACCEPT WHAT I AM. IF I AM NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU, THEN, I AM GOOD ENOUGH FOR MY DOG OR THE TREES OR THE ROCKS OR WHATEVER DOES NOT CARE THAT I BECAME A whor* BECAUSE…because…’twas brillig…and for Erestor the things gyred and gimbled…

In that moment she became aware of Vanimórë again, and realized that he was being as considerate of her as possible under these ridiculous circ*mstances. Finally, her hold loosened. Christ, how must he feel? His throat was what she could reach, so she began pressing kisses against his skin. Curious, her tongue went out to taste his skin as well.

“Thou’rt very sweet, my dear.”

Moving back in order to look up at him, the words were hard to believe. If only he knew what roiled through her head he might not think so, but that might really kill the mood and he was trying. “Am I? I was going to say something similar about you. Thank you, for how you have been. I needed a moment and I appreciate your courtesy.”

“Adonenniel. Art thou far distant?”

While the grey eyes darted back and forth, examining his features for some hint of how he did feel but you’re not always good at this, are you?…his hand smoothed her face. It felt like immense compassion right about now is when you manage to have the pages upside down, in the mirror, and in a language from outer space...but was it? Because maybe, he is just touching your face.

“I am trying not to be.”

“Have I thy trust? Speak thy heart.”

Ha, because I’m not f*cked or anything…oh wait, I just was… Her hands curled around his arm above the elbow, two smallest fingers hooking into the purchase provided by the biceps brachii tendon. Augh, at least this is an answerable question, it’s the answer that scares me.

These things Adonenniel would do fascinated and endeared him.

“At times I have feared your connection to our Lord but…always you have had it. I think you know this. I have left my life in your hands for how long, now? Yes, you have it.”

“Then, allow my continued care. Sometimes, I may see things more clearly.”

Nenni blinked. Two vorpal blades. “Thank you.”

Those bow lips descended, demanding, possessing. Easily he perceived her desire for him…but still something held her back. Waiting, waiting for the infernal burning sensation to abate… “My dear,” he finally spoke very plainly. “If I have thy trust, let me in. I am aware something is amiss.”

“I…fine,” she relinquished, appalled at the idea that a man might know something about her body that she did not.

Without a word, he moved her to their original position and slowly began small movements. It helped, considerably; offering relief from the discomfort. Or rather, relief from that discomfort; eggs could surely fry on either of her cheeks.

“Do you know how idiotic it feels to have gone through childbirth and struggle with the problems of virginity? And Amaranthine was large, so large…her father is far closer to your stature.”

“Nobody can know everything. You have never encountered this circ*mstance, why berate yourself? There is no reason to feel embarrassed. I want to help. You…are not large,” Vanimórë frowned, concerned. “How were you safely delivered?”

“Elven Healers are extremely skilled,” Nenni demurred. Perhaps the story could be told another time, but not here and now.

“I am grateful.” Slowly, the seductions resumed; somehow he struck a perfect balance of not being dismissive of her anxieties while also giving them no means to gain traction. Reassured, she became more responsive; in turn he could move. Once that could happen, Nenni enjoyed. Too much; Vanimórë was finding the spark had been set to dry tinder. She could climax quickly from him; this interlude should not last long for the sake of having newly breached her. “Thy usual custom is numerous, shorter encounters?”

“In my perfect world,” Nenni laughed. “I have mostly deferred to my king. Some are drawn out…but we are well-matched physically. He has a high level of desire and I have never minded being sought. Sometimes I do the seeking. I can also go long whiles celibate and not care. I cannot explain my mind.”

“Thou hast no need.” Gently but in earnest he began his pleasuring. Reward came in the subtle responses. Teeth were on his arms and chest, uncertain of how hard they might bite down but when that tongue laved his nipple…gods…this was not a passive partner. Driving further in, he found to his astonishment that she was taking nearly all of him once fully relaxed and bodily extended like this and it enticed. Something inside her grasped at him and held on?!? Only for a moment… Her closed eyes and suspicious smile… “Explain thyself,” he whispered.

Please, I am so close…please…

On future occasions he would tease and play but not now; this was too important. Longer perfectly aimed strokes slightly more forceful than their predecessors brought every nerve to fulfillment. Why does it feel like a bubble sits atop my head, poised to burst? Scrambling, folding her arms around his lower back while her vision crushed to a starfield behind closed eyes, her pelvic muscles initiated their chain reaction. First the crushing force of unbearable ecstasy that would hold his length in its viselike grip, ebbing into the steady waves of org*sm. Instinct dictated that her comparatively tiny hips would lift the much heavier body atop hers for the irresistible delight of melding against him. Some undefinable sensation seemed to pass between them but not an unfamiliar one. Power. A quick glance upward revealed great beauty, as if for the short moment preceding his climax he was not rigidly controlling…everything. Maybe Sauron knew his son too well. Nenni sighed. It isn’t his fault, just like I can’t just decide to stop being anxious.

Vanimórë would not be the first man to have his release triggered by thrusting against this internal massage…give or take that at his age novelties proved to be rare gems indeed. Afterward his raven head dropped onto the pillow somewhat above and next to her; their disparity of height made facing each other in this position somewhat impossible unless he arched his spine considerably and right now, he was still a man who had just been sexually satisfied.

Nenni chuckled to herself, inside, relishing his weight atop her (not to mention the sensation that both Glorfindel and Thranduil had just fixed every imaginable ill with their spiritual gifts; it was hardly possible to be more work-ready). She could breathe shallowly for many minutes (thank you, Farinelli) so this time after intimacy was much loved. Unless asked for some unusual reason, it bothered the daylights out of her when an established lover tried to rise immediately. Because it feels like abandonment, doesn’t it? Another unwanted epiphany. Or maybe it feels like being used and cast aside by a malignant narcissist who thought sex was intimacy, Nenni thought sourly.

If you have taken this step, The Little Voice pointed out so kindly it was almost unrecognizable, do not spend this time with your mind on the past or the future. Fight to live in the present. Your days with him will be comparatively short. I know this asks much but be with him as though he is the only one there ever was.

Wait, what? Unaware, Nenni commenced her habit of gently massaging a lover’s back. No one disapproved more of even the appearance of impropriety that existed between us before and now you are giving me relationship counseling with him? I feel beyond lost.

Unease filled the Little Voice’s reply. I am transfixed upon the spikes of this cruelty. I loathe your choice but must also fully support it. You chose honorably earlier. Any who say you should let them suffer and perish for the sanctity of marriage when you are unique in all of Arda because you cannot die…I judge them to be reprehensible. I am also going to be your only support, in this. Do you understand the consequences, if you share this with Glorfindel? You then force him to share it with Thranduil, or be thought false if it does come to light later that he knew.

Nenni held onto Vanimórë, perhaps more tightly than she meant to. I…didn’t think about that. I thought I could…but…you’re right. Look at what I already put him through just hiding the other. Though…soon my husband will know I was raped. Will the knowledge of one reframe the situation? Will he think of it as me traveling not with a rival but a guardian?

You would need to ask your Ada. But I counsel you not to lay this upon him as well. It is simply too much to bear and it is not merely one wrong. This is…

There is no need to spell out the magnitude to which I have betrayed – and apparently will go on betraying – my marriage and my vows to my king. I will carry this weight for the rest of my life and it was my choice. In the meantime there is a trammeled star in my arms and I will do what I can to help him until…the next thing.

Then we have spoken enough.

Live for the present…so where is Beren when I need him? What am I talking about. Beren literally cannot know even a whiff of this. Would my own dog betray me to Thranduil? There is a question I do not want to have to think about…just…no. A new thought sank a stone into her gut. The real question is…can I really hide this? Vanimórë will quite literally become a part of me. He was even before this; I’ve consumed his blood. After so long, being my lover? The hound will know. Well, if I’m screwed I’m screwed. I started out in the dungeon, so what if I go back there. Honestly it isn’t like I can’t get out. Pffft. Alright, present. I presently am extremely content. I wonder if Vanimórë is asleep?

He is not, replied a completely amused voice. He cannot conceive of so much cognition following sex, yet thou hast demonstrated such.

I think I need to try harder to remember when you are at the Tea Party. I…you weren’t meant to…Eru I have said far too much.

Thou hast. But I understand not nor do I wish to. Only one matter is gravely dangerous and I shall do my best to believe it as the ravings of someone unstable. After all, thou wert in converse with a nonexistent voice?

You know…I have given the matter considerable thought and I think it has been misunderstood because the laws of physics dictate it must be otherwise. I do not believe it is that ‘I cannot die.’ Those were not the words to me. It was that…well let’s just say it is my belief that I would end up terminally like Glorfindel, but at my husband’s side. Re-embodied and restored to him. I cannot ever see the Lord Námo’s Halls; they are refused to me.

Vanimórë gently moved to one side, which allowed his much reduced penis to slip out. There was none of the telltale darkening at the root, which would have indicated some small bleeding on her part. Helpful.

Nenni smiled. You are a skilled lover and I am grateful to you.

I desire thee. That I might have orders which include pleasure…it is too suspicious. We should do our best to project that this is rote for me and difficult for thee…which in turn will make it difficult for me. Honestly, it is those things. I witness your pain and want you to be free of your constraints…so we live in very different cages, it would seem. I never would have guessed that to wear a crown as a queen is to live in another sort of captivity.

Surprise? It is far better now than what it once was and some of this is my own doing. Thranduil released me from several of my original vows. But he is still my monarch; he holds greater authority than I in matters of rule and I must yield to his will in matters affecting our Realm. I chose to remain subject to him in this regard because the truth is, I was not and am not fit to take on the burden he has carried. I may have the acumen but I cannot bear up under the weight alone…not with how I am. You have assessed me with more accuracy. He saw what he wished to, in a political regard.

I really don’t know where my current sins could fall on the spectrum if he did find out since this simply is not supposed to be able to happen. Married elves should die when raped though, so aren’t I just the aberration. Maybe you have to know of the rule? Maybe you have to be aware of the act against you? Maybe you have to have had a purity of spirit, like mine is too…well I’ve had many partners, so have you. Maybe they throw in the towel after a while? What do I know.

They tell me I am some special glory to look upon, a rainbow. That’s great, but I didn’t ask for it nor do I know why I have this. Seems to me it just got me targeted a very long time ago. Yours looks so much like my daughter’s. Similar, so many shades of amaranth hues. It’s wonderful and I think somewhat rare. It is not like I have met all of Elvendom but I do not see this much. Greens, golds, blues seem to dominate with flecks of all sorts of things. I like that you can remind me of that part of her.

I knew not. He turned onto his back somewhat, absorbing this.

“I’m so sorry…” Sitting bolt upright, embarrassment and feeling generally appalled washed over her.

Swift and sure, a gentle hand brought her back down. “Thou hast no need.” He sat up in her stead. “‘Discretion,’ thou said’st. Unless I am refused, one simple act removes all evidence of our joining.”

“I, uh, had been wondering how to clean up?”

After rearranging a few things to suit him, Nenni suddenly found herself supported in a peculiar position, and a tongue that could out-Beren Beren in her intimate areas. It wasn’t so much any given thing he did, it was that he could move so fast and without warning. “Ohhhhhhhh….” Wide-eyed, not expecting this, somewhat charmed… “I am trusting that this is something that pleases you and not a sense of obligation. I too have a few…solutions to this, now that I get the idea.”

A sharp crack came from the slap against her thigh and bottom. It made noise only, and did not hurt.

Nenni laughed. “I shall learn not to question your choices. But…you are going to provoke more lust if you keep on like that.” This seemed to be exceeding what cleanliness required…

“Truly?” he rumbled, causing her to wonder what fresh hell this assignment really was.

A stifled whimper and soft moan accompanied a particularly well-targeted motion, after which a gentle retreat commenced. “Thou’rt quite silent in bed,” he remarked. “That was the most heard from thee.”

A large sigh. “Does it bother you?” She looked away. “It seems to have bothered many of my partners. I led a long life in which keeping others unaware of my activities was for the best. Not just sex. Everything. With the exception of music or speaking…” A shrug. “I can and do make some sounds, but I will never be one to yell or scream unless you are asking it of me…which would not be very discreet.” A happy, bright smile. “You are very good at that, too.” Leaning forward, she kissed him gently. “May I return this same favor to you? I had still hoped for a walk but I leave the evening in your hands.”

The recovery came quickly but his armor had failed, however briefly. There she sat, copper tresses in slightly wavy disarray, an extra radiance of usually absent happiness clinging to her. The glittering diamonds of her mithril rings sparkled with every gesture, whereas the tiny emeralds only glinted in the low light. An Elvenqueen would attend me. The dissonance momentarily threatened the immovable foundation. The immutable paradigm: Thou art forever degraded filth. Get of Sauron. Slave. No one and nothing.

Apparently an answer did not come swiftly enough. Emboldened by….basically everything, Adonenniel had begun the task while one Vanimórë looked on. Each of her hands grasped at the edges of his hips; a ridiculously agile tongue and lips did what he would not have believed possible. Looking up with a smile at him, she licked her lips, commenting, “Mmmm.”

What means Mmmm?

It means, if this is where my path has led, I shall not fail to appreciate the glory before me. Concurrent with the thought, those rosy lips had him inside her mouth, seemingly intent on devouring.

I have kissed thee. Thy mouth is not so large. How…

We singers are strange creatures, trained in the curiouser and curiouser. I can tell more but fear you would be bored beyond the Circles of the World. With careful use of her teeth for payback, when he was set free from her mouth he was cleansed – and half aroused. Stretching languidly, a Cheshire Grin occupied her face.

“Thou’rt insubordinate.” Tapping her on the nose, he kissed her until she went pliant in his arms. In other words, swiftly.

Imp. They call me an imp at home. Don’t you need a little something to keep you on your toes, my Lord?

Dress now, or I shall have thee again.

“Yes, dress.” Affectionately she took and kissed the back of his hand, rolled off the bed and found the clothing she decided should function best for work and took some apple seeds. Speaking of tests.

Already he was beside her, and it was as if nothing had changed.

Everything had changed.

Nenni stood still, staring at the doorway, biting both lips between her teeth. Vanimórë…

Thou hadst no choice, Adonenniel. Thou’rt selfless and strong. His arms came around her. Always the fire burns, deep below, but there it must remain. A time may come when thou canst make use, but it is not now. Step back from all else but here. When I work, I work. I have my work. This is work, perhaps it shall prove more pleasant than other assignments. I must take care, in my apparent disposition toward thee.

Nenni frowned. Do not forget that part of that disposition would have to be creating some conviction that you are not disgusted to approach me. Could you not ‘deceive me’ in this, I could not easily accept this arrangement; I should feel like a common whor*. Just as were I requiring you to service a listless body instead of being a willing partner, I cannot imagine it would be other than horrifying to you. From all you have told me, you are frequently abused yourself but never been wielded against others as an instrument of sexual violence.

My Master knows that each instance would be a battle of wills. The familiar lifting at her waist settled her in his arms; apparently he disliked speaking to the top of her head. He would prove the victor in the end; he can force my compliance however much I struggle. But I slow him tremendously. I would be punished for my disobedience; we have played many rounds of this game, Adonenniel. I have my uses and our Lord is no fool. A warrior and commander of military forces is wasted in a prison or to rape a lone woman. He also knows the level of resentment and noncompliance using me in this manner would earn. When he made me strike thee – crossing a line – he knew it.

Some battles are not worth fighting. It is possible he sifted more of both of us than I guessed and it is the very reason for this arrangement; knowing that thou required only to be maneuvered into an intolerable corner to bow to his designs, then his problems here are solved. This may also be a silent concession to me though he would never say so; a duty he believes I will perceive as less onerous. It is dangerous to guess further. I caution thee, guard thy heart. Settle your mind here. Focus only on what each day brings. I will remind thee.

I know you will remind me. What I question is if you will know what to do with me. Thank you, for being a gentle and experienced lover. Don’t dismiss me or underestimate me when it comes to sexual proclivities. But enough of that. May we go for the walk now?

In the low light, Vanimórë’s eyes glittered at her.

“Alright, I’ll start this vulnerability show. Let me tell you something about dear Beren.” Touching foreheads with him, she closed her eyes until she could feel his brows raise. It was sort of inevitable, after all. “I don’t need a comment or a response. Like I said. All my knives aren’t in the drawer.”

Vanimórë lowered her to the ground and opened the door, but the eyebrow had not moved.

At the last moment, Nenni dashed back quickly, returning with her swords.

The eyebrow moved higher.

**

Chapter 17: We Are All Made of Stars

Chapter Text

{evening – 11 Firith Imladris, October 9, Gregorian T.A. 3017, continued}

“How often have you been here?”

“How much does it rain here?”

“What are the changes in the seasons like?”

“Was anything grown here before?”

“Why wasn’t it working?”

“How is water accessed?”

“How much water is available after people’s needs are met?”

A slight pain was forming behind those jewel-toned eyes, and that was not supposed to be able to happen.

“Why wasn’t mmmfff–”

“Majesty.” A large hand politely but firmly silenced the royal mouth. “I believe thou shouldst test out thy trees this evening, and leave the other questions to the next day. I cannot answer all of them to thy satisfaction or with the greatest accuracy.”

“I am sorry. I will try to find a place, then. It may take awhile.”

“There is time, and nobody else here.”

“I will do what I can to hurry. If I might leave these boots with you?” It was not a question, as said boots were expertly flipped up off her feet and tucked under his arm before Vanimórë could formulate a response. Off she ran, both swords drawn, as much to create distance between them as to head to one fence and initiate a grid pattern. Yes, it was a disgrace to use the swords as soil testers but that was exactly what she was doing. If it was rocky, this field wouldn’t be worth a goddamn until it was dug free of them and surely no one brought her here to waste her time on that? Expecting not, when the blades sank in freely a slight smile curled her lips. Yay team.

Sheathing one blade after wiping it on this…whatever fabric it was, a swoop retrieved some of the soil and greenery. Sniiiiiffff. It had a decent scent. Teasing it in her hand, her fingers detected no obvious worms but that should really be a daytime thing… Another swoop…squeeeeeze…not much compaction but it held together…ok encouraging…I like loam but there is always the cautionary tale of sandy loam cement (also known as Nenni’s Old Farm) so, don’t judge loamy soil by its cover…fliiiiiiiiing went the wad of soil over her shoulder.

“Art thou mad!?!”

Startled witless, out came the other blade on instinct along with a sharp, frightened inhalation and rapid cartwheels on said blades that took her some meters distant very swiftly…”it’s you,” she said meekly, blades returning to…wherever. “I didn’t know you’d followed me.”

Displeasure etched Vanimórë’s features, all the more discernible the closer she approached.

“I can see that you appear angry but I don’t understand. Should I have not asked you to keep my boots? Not have run? Not have run where I ran? Ran where I…run…ran…whatever mistake I have made this time, I apologize to you.”

Still no answer.

“I can cringe under your gaze, which I am, or continue working. You know where I am,” she added quietly, backing away from him before turning. This time, a really solid attempt was made to close up that leaky colander of her mind. What a joke. He is so far above me, and I am supposed to be royalty? The universe is a farce. I really don’t know what he is mad about, though. Rest assured, it’s…something.

“Alright I said I thought it might be viable to place orchards in the corners and mid periphery of this place, and this is a corner. It doesn’t feel too damp and seems to have more downslope drainage,” came the steady sotto voce narration of all her work. “This is just a test anyway. Though, I hate uprooting trees once they’re in so…need two meter paths around the periphery and let’s assume a twelve no fourteen foot canopy on these some overhang is fine know what I’ve no idea what variety these things are still does it matter just shut UP Nenni well do it once do it right um anyway that’s…about three and a half each soooo…”

Vanimórë watched as she ran from the fence and stabbed her sword into the earth. And then ran from close to the other fence corner, and stabbed the second sword…into the earth. “What in the hells, perchance my sire knew precisely that which he heaped upon me…bah!” For better effect, she then appeared to constantly circle the two swords until settling on…removing and sheathing both. One hand raised to the starry sky and in full voice, the melody Arwen taught her rang out over the lands in service to Sauron:

A Elbereth Gilthoniel

silivren penna míriel

O menel aglar elenath!

Na-chaered palan-díriel

o galadhremmin ennorath!

Fanuilos le linnathon

nef aear, sí nef aearon!

The tree slowly grew as the reverent and lyrical melody lifted like a slow breeze; the Dark Prince watched the stars visibly brighten in the night sky.Convincing himself it was an illusion, his eyes tracked Adonenniel swiftly marking a second site and repeating the process, save this song felt terribly peculiar.

Growing in numbers

Growing in speed

I can't fight the future

Can't fight what I see

'Cause people, they come together

People, they fall apart

And no one can stop us now

'Cause we are all made of stars

Efforts of lovers

Left in my mind

I sing in the reaches

We'll see what we find

'Cause people, they come together

People, they fall apart

And no one can stop us now

'Cause we are all made of stars

Slowly rebuilding

I feel it in me

Growing in numbers

Growing in peace

'Cause people, they come together

People, they fall apart

And no one can stop us now

'Cause we are all made of stars…

While she sang, trees kept growing in this corner, hoary thick branches heavily laden with red fruits.After the ninth, she was not running so quickly. Climbing up into it for some reason he could not discern, she slipped and hit heavily through the branches on her way down. Alarmed, he dashed forward quickly but had been long forgotten. Before he could arrive, she had already scrambled back up. These were not overly tall trees.

Singing. Still she sang to the top of the tree, which yet had blossoms. More alarmed, he could see her trembling limbs and silently cursed her stubbornness…or was it?

There was no more song. Nenni stood balanced precariously above the canopy, her fist lifted to the south with a slight tilt west, and with all her might she roared toward Mordor, “A ELBERETH GILTHONIEL!! WE ARE ALL MADE OF STARS!!” A crackling meteor soared overhead from behind her aimed southward, and for a second time the stars warped to unnatural brightness.

Varda…had not given her a gift. If this seeming blessing from my Star Queen were it, I would count it a treasure for the Ages. Now to get out of here without breaking the tree. I need a clear spot…I need…

“Adonenniel, I am here. Canst see my hands? I will take thee out of the tree.”

“I do. Thank you, Vanimórë.”

Once down, she looked around, having no particular idea where her swords were (not in her harnesses, that much was apparent…) and the boots were a secondary problem.

“Follow me,” he sighed. Everything was at the second apple tree she’d grown, which was the easiest spot to leave everything.

“Thank you again,” came the weary but self-deprecating answer. “I would say I am done here.”

“Is it safe to presume thou camest here in perfect working order but now feel depleted?”

“Yes. Trees can be hard.”

“Nine fully mature apple trees, the day before the day before you were expected to even begin work. Each holding several hundred-weight of fruit, done at night.”

“A star shows its greatest beauty in the darkness.” Chin angled up, those pale eyes bored into those of her tall minder. Once her head lowered it signaled the end of her resources. “I should walk back now.” Turning, she had not taken two steps when he lifted her.

“No walking,” he declared. “I saw thee fall.”

“That happens. If nothing broke, it’s fine.”

“And?”

Confusion. And…and…what? What is he asking? Every thought floated untethered, would not follow the next.

And hath nothing broken? came the patient rephrasing.

“I think everything’s fine? Broken should really hurt. But generally I figure these things out by moving around. It can wait,” Nenni added hurriedly, wishing to avoid any perception of contrariness. “I’m not asking to walk.”

“I know.”

I want to talk to my Ada.

Recall my counsel to thee.

Without this, I will not be able to do as you have asked. It’s necessary to know some things about home. He deserves to know of my safe arrival. And I need…his memories.

Memory. ‘Tis pain and trouble.

“I am starting to agree,” she sighed, pressing the heels of both palms into her eyes. This moment was stolen to toss her lightly and catch her in a bridal-carry.

Rest as though thou’rt insensible. Then even if we are seen, thou’rt blameless.

Sold. Nenni accepted the command gladly, and easily effected one arm histrionically hanging at a dramatic angle.

Actress, indeed.

Hush. Do you want me looking as though I might be faking it and enjoying this?

Two jeweled eyes rolled.

Thank you, Dark Prince. A soft smile graced her otherwise inert face.

Address thy sire. Gods, this woman…

Adonenniel attempted to clear her mind. Ada…Ada are you yet awake? I hoped to talk with you. Ada? Ada….? Silence. “Maybe he is really asleep. Even he must rest sometimes.”

Iellig? I am sorry. I needed a moment, I was conversing with another and had to excuse myself.

Oh, that’s alright. It’s not like I am ever able to announce myself. Ada, how are you?

I am as well as can be. I am in our room, Erestor is here. We also share with Éostan and Léofa, who I believe you remember. It was thought to be the greatest kindness for them. Erestor has regained a little more of his sight; he can see colors again and images are very blurred instead of indistinct shadows. We are so grateful.

Oh, that is…

In Vanimórë’s arms, her chest heaved with great movement of air. A battle to refrain from weeping, he recognized. Tightening his hold, he hoped it sent a message of unspoken support.

I am very grateful to learn this. I know what it is he sees and now he can function much better. Ada…I need to know how my husband is. How is he coping?

The sigh in Glorfindel’s voice weighed heavily. He is managing better than hoped. But only because your daughter at great risk took up her blade of words and pierced his defenses as only she could. There was a cost to her though she tries to hide it. She is too young for this. I begged her never to do such as that again. Iellig, she is your daughter through and through.

Panic gripped every point in her body. WHAT HAPPENED, DON’T DO THIS TO ME!

Eyes widening, without thinking Vanimórë broke in. Adonenniel. Speak not to thy sire thus. Allow him the explanation. Thy daughter is safe. Thou’rt safe. Breathe. Thou’rt weary. Breathe.

I’m sorry, Ada.

Glorfindel’s lips parted. Whatever was happening at the other end, matters were not wholly stable…Thranduil was brooding alone about what had befallen you. Amaranthine asked him if he meant to drown in sad. And that he had me, Erestor, Thanadir. Ordinarily, your husband pushes people away. Wields acerbity and his authority to intimidate until others back down, though I can see he is much kinder than in bygone days…but he will not do this to Amaranthine so the question brought him to bay. Saying what little she did cost Amaranthine a great deal and she began to cry; Thranduil asked what was the matter. Very loudly, for Thanadir was nearby enough to hear this much of it, she yelled ‘Sad Hurts!”

That is when Thanadir ran to find me. When I came upon them, both your husband and daughter were holding each other, weeping with grief. Amaranthine had done what no one else could; bring your mate to surrender his emotions. I could help them and I did. We speak often. He feels guilt though he understands there is nothing else that could have happened. What he does not comprehend is that you did not escape given your skills. I took a risk, informing him that you faced no ordinary opponent. As I do not know Vanimórë’s powers, I can state that he is half-Ainur and let that lie. I do know his ability as a fighter. In short, I strongly implied that you were outmatched.

You were not wrong, Ada. You just did not know the totality of it and it is best you do not. I am glad of this news though unhappy at its cost.

Iellig, he loves and misses you.

How can he not be revolted by what has happened? That others have… Even though her mind made the thoughts, her throat wanted to close off. Images of Gríma’s f*cking face…

If such thoughts have occurred to him, he has not revealed them to me.

Maybe we do not think the same. It would not be the first time. Ada, I have been brought to my destination and as you probably overheard, am safe. I grew some apples tonight and wanted to ask you about it.

What can I tell you about growing your trees, iellig? A note of humor rang through the warm voice. Save, mind yourself when you climb them. You are an imp.

Such rotten timing… Ignoring that to the best of her ability, Nenni continued. It was beautiful tonight, especially the sky. So, I sang but this happened. I do not want you to comment until I am completely done with what I have to show you, Ada.

Alright.

The memories flowed to Glorfindel; this connection felt exceptionally strong.

Vanimórë? Did you witness these same things? the Golden Elf’s rich voice queried.

…Yes.

Do you know the song she sings?

No. Only that it invokes…someone. Likely the Lady who is the Star-Power.

The meteor tracking overhead awed Glorfindel, along with her courage…for she was doing more than revealing these extraordinary events. Vanimórë had taken her to someplace near Rhûn, he believed in his heart. Blessed Varda had set a sign in the firmament, warning the Dark Tower.

That was all, Ada. It…I wondered if you would show me again, the memory you have from Lake Cuiviénen. When I saw, I could not recall if they were the same…

Adonenniel’s mind, and Vanimórë’s as well, filled with this ancient recollection. An heirloom of the First Days. The tall ellon ceased walking, his internal armor once again assaulted by a vision of wonder too expansive to describe with words.

Thank you, Ada. Now I feel sure.

As do I. Iellig, you have been shown extreme grace. Though in darkness, day shall come. The message is powerful. Do not lose hope. I know you hide it, when real difficulties set in. The Great Queen has heard you.

This is a lot to think about. Give everyone my love, Ada. Tell those boys how grateful I am and proud of them. Let them ride my horse. Don’t send them back to that hellhole. Give them a proper education with us for the sake of oranges. They saved my life by being willing to disobey their orders. If they go anywhere at all to men, it must be Imladris. Sending them anywhere else would be to have them be savaged. Don’t let Erestor feel guilty, I made sure he never had a chance and Vanimórë was worse. Please worship Beren. I…I can’t even talk about him. Someone please make sure Amaranthine can be with my dog…let her talk to him…

I am so grateful to you, Ada. Please tell Thranduil not to worry. I am needed for what I do very much and no one harms the most important thing. I am able to work alone and I am guarded. I’m being treated well. I love and miss him and I am so sorry this happened. The biggest thing he can do for me is take care of our daughter and find six impossible things before breakfast. I wonder if he knows about magenta yet? No…better stick to indigo. Anyway…Ada, I love you. It may be awhile before I talk to you again. I need to deal with…here.

I understand. You have my love, iellig. Do what you must. Vanimórë, thank you.

Unnatural peace overtook both of them still outdoors under the moon. Nenni smiled; this was Ada’s parting blessing. Already he was gone. Underneath her, Vanimórë resumed walking. For only a second, she opened her eyes to look upward at him. A tear had fallen down his cheek. Some sense that he might not appreciate this having been seen closed her eyes just as quickly; there was more to think about. Like…why hadn’t he mentioned how Beren was doing? Was it merely an oversight? Ada had never been as close to Beren; Ada was just…like that.

If only he could be here…he’s a giant pain in the ass but he’s my giant pain in the ass… a fond memory of the dog savaging an orc’s face pearly white fangs created an ethereal smile on her face kiss kiss kiss on the nose…

To whom art thou in fact wed, the king or the hound? broke into her pleasant moment.

Did you want the kisses instead? she fired back, still completely relaxed. I feel like I heard a hint of envy.

Thou hast not answered the question asked.

You pose such an interesting question actually. I am told that this fae is wed to Thranduil. I must take the word of those who witnessed this union as I have no memory of it. But as those witnesses include my Ada and some of the Lords and Ladies of the Realm, I do not believe they lie. This housing of flesh vowed to renew that bond and resumed intimate relations with him. According to custom, that more than qualifies us as wed.

If I want to play devil’s advocate though? No one ever heard of marrying a dog. It isn’t possible or acknowledged. But let’s have a moment of frivolity. Wedding is sometimes used euphemistically to refer to joining two things of like purpose, compatibility, or mind. It merely means ‘a bringing together.’ Well, Beren and I were brought together longer ago and…how to say this. I have never had to work so hard for a relationship in my life. He is…like you in temperament and physicality. Strong. Dominant. Proud, Single minded, determined, wickedly smart, loyal to those deserving the loyalty, an agile killer, free-spirited, opinionated…so many things. I needed him to do the things I needed him to do but at the same time, I wanted him to be himself. But we couldn’t speak the same language.

More amused than not at the (largely favorable) list of comparisons, Vanimórë smiled slightly. Then how didst thou resolve thy difficulty?

Wavering, Nenni tried to escape. It wasn’t only one thing, but all of it was emotionally exhausting. It really wasn’t until he was about a full year old that everything stopped being constant battles. But I learned to choose my battles with him, because once I insisted he do something, ‘No’ couldn’t be an answer.

Those long, long legs had brought them so swiftly back to what would now be ‘home’ it seemed unreal. In seconds they were inside and she on the bed, arms held.

“Just as when I ask thee a question, I cannot allow evasions. The question is simple. How didst thou force his obedience?”

“It’s not simple because…where I come from some would think very ill of me for my choices and I am reacting to that. Even though I had reasons, I felt I had no other choice because nothing else had worked…and I am afraid of you thinking poorly of me…even though I am talking to a man who has impaled people…” she tried to reason aloud through a fair degree of agitation.

“Adonenniel…dost thou fear me?”

Blink blink. Blink. “I…” Frown. “That’s not the right word.”

“Find me the one that is.”

“You…this…this is intimidating. You are much stronger. There is…you have a lot of force of personality; people like you speak with directness, an expectation of being obeyed. Combined with your stature and appearance, dominance is asserted. Most respond with a sense of submission which is what I also feel. Some few will feel inspired to challenge you. Sometimes I’m an imp and you’ll get that response instead but it’s almost always playful, temporary. Push back and I’ll defer.

“Fear would be fear of being harmed or…I know you won’t do that. But…what you are doing is… goading me to respond to you faster and with more accuracy than I am really able. That is where there is a sort of fear after all, maybe. Anxiety is a better word. You want these answers but it feels like you WANT THEM RIGHT NOW and I’m trying but have you noticed that my ability to answer concisely is usually pretty awful because everything has ten qualifiers? My inner world doesn’t fit in neat little boxes or on short lists. It’s a tapestry with really long threads and you can’t see where some of them even go…”

“That was very good,” he praised. “But I disagree. I think thou canst be concise; thou’rt not accustomed to it. Thy habit is to add detail. Detail can wait. So I ask again. How didst thou force Beren’s obedience? Finish this query: ‘When my hound disobeyed I needed to– ?”

Use an electric collar. Eyes closed, miserable, her head turned aside. He has a really low pain tolerance, not that you’d know it. The dog is a giant weenie, so we–

“No! No detail,” he insisted. “Finish the sentence again. I needed to…”

Put him on a lead connected to my farm vehicle so he couldn’t run off while I was working.

“Again.”

Flip him upside down and hold down his neck while shouting in his face and staring in his eyes until they lost their defiance. Shaking him while I was at it if I could manage. The memories of this…were awful. Without these battle royales, Beren would probably have been dead in the road long ago, or have become a dangerous and intolerable pet because he had the dominance and aggression to become a risk. But it was physically and mentally…the shouting…when did it happen? She had burst into tears. “There isn’t any more! That was all there was!”

Still her arms were held. He let her cry it out until she could continue.

Behind her closed eyes, the sense of pressure to get her sh*t together seemed viselike. His grasp was steel; the demeanor so cold…inwardly she cursed her sluggish mind that apparently could only put it together at the speed of glaciation. Where’s the jar of f*ckitol? “Pardon me, Lord.” The voice ran rough and unsteady, still moving out of weeping. “I don’t remember where we left off.” The apology was sincere.

“It matters not, thou provided sufficient information to move on. Thou saidst how 7Beren’s obedience was forced.”

“Pfff on a good day, but, yeah.”

His grasp on her arms increased slightly, now just this side of pain.

“Was this pleasant for thee, answering these questions?”

“Not particularly.”

Pulling her upward very suddenly, he shook her. Not horribly hard, but with a distinct threat of what could be. “Then, hast thou lost thy defiance?” The tone was meant to cow, chill, frighten.

This…failed to gain the intended result.

“I will try harder to answer the questions better next time, Vanimórë.” Just, what the hell? I tried to explain.

“This concerns not the questions, thou foolish woman!” He tossed her up and backwards; somehow she kept to her feet though she stumbled a bit. “Thou dared speak HER NAME in my lands!”

“Ah. Good evening, Lord Sauron.” Nenni lowered herself to one knee, dipping her head down once. What one was supposed to do for him she had no idea but honestly that had better be good enough, dizziness was a thing. “Since you are here may I tell you that I have already – at no small cost to my personal values – obeyed your command concerning the arrangement available through your intermediary. The power transfer works. My task and focus will be to provide you with your food to the best of my ability as was agreed upon.”

Her gaze had lifted, though her posture wove around somewhat unsteadily. “That I have agreed to serve you does not mean I agreed to stop serving others to whom I am also loyal where there is no direct conflict. If I chose to praise the designer of stars while I grew your first apples because that is what filled my head, I shall not feel apologetic. If the designer of stars chooses to fill her night sky with further decoration, that must remain between your Lordship and the Queen of the Valar. Please leave me out of it; surely this is Ainur stuff.

“As I have entered your service, I shall speak your name in their lands someday whether they like it or not so if your Lordship will please overlook things beyond my control, I shall endeavor to please you. Oh and thank you for the loamy soil. It is my favorite.”

Stepping forward slowly, Vanimórë’s hand grasped her lower face and turned it up.

Expecting…something less than positive…Nenni was mostly back on earth playing ‘dig out the gopher’ with a much younger (and smaller) Beren. Dirty messes, soil flying everywhere – lost in a memory …a sort of absent dull-person smile…eyes a bit glassy and slightly unfocused…what was the point of sticking around? Either he would fetch her a massive slap across the face (or worse) or the dressing-down of the month was coming (or worse)...that some very tiny part of her could register the dewy sheen on Vanimórë’s face, knowing it meant that he was fighting against his father and her giant mouth had probably made everything worse….god Nenni, will you ever learn to shut the f*ck up? I’m so tired…

**

Chapter 18: Allegretto

Chapter Text

{12 Firith Imladris, October 10, Gregorian T.A. 3017 – the small hours}

“...Vanimórë?” A whisper borne on a thin moonbeam, so quietly did she ask. Trapped in his arms, she was held closely against his chest with his arm and a pillow being…a pillow. He had disrobed and brought her to bed. Perhaps this was his custom and he assumed it was everyone’s.

“He is present. His master is not present.”

“I fell asleep?”

“For a long while. The night is far along.”

This was all so disorienting…just a minute ago there had been this conversation with the Grand Poohbah… “I do not even understand what happened…I was talking to you, but then it was him, and I was too stupid and slow to realize…please forgive me. I want to tell you that could have gone differently but…it would not have and I am sorry for…being me. I cannot afford to be so oblivious, but–” A finger stopped whatever else she would speak.

“I do not wish thee to be sorry. It is I who am so sorry. My dear…I shook thee. Threw thee. I could not stop my actions and fear thou wert hurt, I–”

His face turned to the moonlight for a fleeting moment and caught the light in just such a way, calling to mind the sorrowing angels in the graveyard. For many years she dwelled on the same street as the city cemetery where she haunted the lawns, drives and benches alongside the departed. With those bow lips parted a little, she guessed he struggled to find an apology that should not be his to give. “Please don’t.” Her finger decided turnabout was fair play and pre-emptively halted his own burgeoning narrative. “I may be much smaller than you but I am not made of glass. I believe I know what you would say if you continued, and I don’t like it when you express regret because he can overpower you, or take on guilt for the actions your body was forced to perform. He can possess you. That is a fact. The miracle is that you can struggle against him and have any measure of success for a time. I have some glimmer of what you have done for me, and offer my extreme gratitude. I AM the one who needs to apologize. Were I…any kind of normal…your task would not be made more difficult. So please accept my thanks for what that must have cost you.” Detached, she watched her hand smooth his cheek and wondered if it gave him any kind of pleasure to be gently touched, for it overwhelmed to be able to caress him. Similar to being permitted to have physical contact with a tiger, or bear. It flashed into memory that she’d done this; visited a sanctuary for animals of this kind and held a tiger cub once…the man in whose embrace she lay entranced far more.

The dismay did not depart his mien, but he nodded obligingly. “Thou didst anger him greatly. Yet, two difficulties existed.”

“What…what?”

“Thy arguments, however much besprinkled with lunacy, were logical. Also, though he has resisted belief in thy, ah, unsoundness of mind…thou didst fall asleep with his grasp upon thee. Not faint, but fall asleep. Because of me, he can sense thy emotions. Thy lack of fear, and that tiredness bested his presence even by proxy…our Master went bereft of speech. Until, of course, he did not.”

“Ah. Well, I am still alive…but that was incredibly bad even for me. Rude, even. I guess I was really tired.”

Rolling his eyes as this lay outside her view, these words drew a tiny smile – and were rather making his point, but it seemed kinder to move on. “I fought to create time, to plead with him. Reason, against his ire. In the end, he admitted no one sane could be as thou art. Anyone normal, even elves…his malice, power, ill-will…it overwhelms. Thou’rt unaffected by him. Yet thou also givest respect amidst thy inconceivable gall in stating thy demands to him. Dictating anything. Thy boundaries are in reality neutral – save to his ego – or for his benefit. He finds himself at a loss. I told of thy emotional duress earlier this day, and of thy acceptance of intercourse. I offered thy great upset as a factor in thy behavior. I know not if this is true, but it was something with which to pacify him.”

“The upset part probably didn’t miss the mark but…I…don’t have an answer for that, to be honest. Please believe me, I had no plan to antagonize our Lord. I don’t ever think about what to sing. It usually just happens. For all I know Elbereth herself wished me to do that and Ilmarin was whispering in my ear. I certainly did not know that would happen, with the stars! It isn’t like I have met most of the Powers, and certainly not the Elder Rulers.”

He chuckled, that low immensely pleasing sound. “Thou speak’st as if thou hast met any of them.”

“Because I have. I have met Lord Oromë and Lady Vána. Did you not wonder how Beren is like he is? Because of…what befell me…each of the Valar have promised me a gift. Some have already given them, others either delay or I have not yet discovered them.”

“And what was the Lady’s gift?” Vanimórë wondered, still humoring her. This had to be…nonsense.

“Her flowers. They shine at night illumined from within, enough to light one’s way. In daytime, they glint with purest gold. You have not ever seen my actual crown. That, what I wear, it is only for campaigns or being out of doors. My crown is woven from living white wood with some these flowers and a little ivy laced throughout.” Imagining holding it clearly in her mind, she smiled. “It makes a wonderful lantern. See? Aren’t I the worst? When I favor someone very much, I can cause them to grow in great drifts. They are one of the greatest gifts I will give. They are sacred to me.”

This is not nonsense. This unsettling feeling again. The images were too clear, too strong. Adonenniel did not have the ability to create deception in this manner and…for what reason would she choose to do so over a flower? Her words knocked at the edges of his mind: Maybe I can return some similar favor. Gathering her closer, he kissed her forehead. “I have never seen the like.”

“Me neither,” she murmured obliviously, still exhausted. “But they are an extreme treasure unlooked for.” The kiss was returned, to the outer corner of his mouth. The invitation had been extended; he could accept or gently refuse. Or was it a request? Did she want him to know? Did he know he could refuse? Worse yet, was she asking because she wanted him, or because she was using him? Glancing upward, to her great surprise his mouth broke into a full, soft smile. All her insides lurched. The sense of this all being somewhere beyond an unreality intruded again, much as it had the night in Sarn when he’d lavished so many compliments.

You can’t actually want me, can you? What a bad joke this is…you, unfathomably beautiful, perfection possessed by a hand that could not deserve you less. Me, a dozen cracked eggs in a waterlogged pulp carton. Multicolored, just for creative effect. Or are we really a match made in hell, under a moonlit sky… Nenni thought morosely, unable to remove her gaze from the satin hair her fingers now held against the cream skin of his chest. Did the Lady in the Heavens give me that sign to tell me I am not forsaken despite what I have done here? Or am I fooling myself? Listen to me! On another world, and having the inner dialogue of a Catholic schoolgirl second guessing having f*cked her boyfriend. Isn’t this promising?! No. No it cannot be like this…

Thou’rt dangerous, Lady, he thought ruefully to himself. No awareness of her inner turmoil had come to his perception. The kiss he initiated this time earned a deep, throaty response, encouraging him.

“Such rich sound, Majesty. Is that really thy response, or done to please me?”

I did not know the two were mutually exclusive. Though the answer you likely seek is, yes, the latter led to the former but it does not make the former false. You, us, this between us…you weren’t supposed to happen. I have never been in a situation where I really do not know someone in the sense I am used to on the inside before…this. I guess your life has been one in which emotional intimacy was impossible and too risky. I do not blame you. Having something to lose is a liability. Ha. One that sums up my existence…but I digress. I wonder if there is something I can give to you, in this situation we find ourselves in. We seem destined to have rather a lot of intimate encounters.

Time elapsed in vain on the chance he might comment; an expressionless face studied her.

The concept she wished to explain seemed simple but when confronted with the task, complexities proliferated like germinating weeds. Our lives have been very different and I am concerned I will express myself poorly, so please, avail yourself of my thoughts. I cannot help wondering if you have ever had someone who wanted to learn to please you in bed without it being ancillary to abusing or exploiting you?

You’ve asked me more than once to let you care for me in a physical sense. I strongly guess I could do very little and that you would uncomplainingly seduce and satisfy me over and over. Constant receiving without giving really doesn’t work for me. I don’t believe I am only just an assignment to you, though I understand that you have to use your own mental gymnastics to keep on with your life. Even if it is as contorted as, the only means to please me is to allow me to please you, may I?

A slow, gentle smile graced his face. “My dear.” Lovely fingers brought a loose strand of her hair over her shoulder. “I like it very rough. I tried to mention, thou would’st be appalled.”

Nenni sighed, exasperated. “What is it with you ellyn? I’m not appalled, but I do have a lot of questions. Either way, I can’t ‘very rough’ anything in my current condition, so all of it must wait for a short while. Unless you like being bitten and scratched, in which case state acceptable damage levels.”

Both the jeweled eyes opened wider, and careful hands cupped Nenni’s face to sit up a bit and study her better.

Smiling, she snapped her incisors together with the most charming expression.

Almost, Vanimórë made a joke, then the incident with the deer flashed into his mind.

“These matters are most private to me. Though reduced to nothing, my…wants…are known only to the one from whom they cannot be hidden. I have seen thou’rt honorable. Yet do I trust thee with this?”

“Only you can answer that, Mister Caterpillar. If you are asking me never to share this about you for any reason, I will uphold that. You and your father own me for as long as you both exist; you can choose to reveal what I have done here. What will the reason why matter, when the statement ‘The Elvenqueen willingly gave herself to Vanimórë’ is true? Even were I dishonorable, I would have an exceedingly high level of motivation never to betray you.”

“There is much more than Yes, I want thee to bite me.”

“Okay. We can talk about it and the things about each It as we go along. If I can’t manage for whatever reason or it doesn’t work for me, that one can be left off the table. You might not like everything I want either…”

Thy mind never ceases. So follows thy speech, my dear. His kiss placed a firm end to her narration on the topic.

So…shut up here too? I really am sorry.

Ye gods, he lightly teased – and at once felt it. Her sense of having displeased him, humiliation for failing to avoid the misstep yet chasing swift as wings on its heels the cloak sweeping across, hiding that anything had gone amiss. Equally swift, her nails at the edge of his belly, sunken in and tugging. Neither very long nor sharp, they seemed little threat. No. Lightly, he grasped her hand and perceived the same repeated within her; this time she could not hide so easily. Like a rabbit backtracking, an attempt was made to deflect attention elsewhere.

A false smile sat upon taut features. I will follow your lead.

No.

Checkmate. Bewilderment. He would trap her before she could leave the bed and even were it otherwise, there was no place to run. Frozen, unblinking, her breathing stilled into that infernal minimalism.

Many times, he kissed her on the forehead or the crown of her head. Stroked her back, rubbed her shoulders. Finally, he sensed her relaxing into his touch, and risked words. Thou’rt on the verge of tears. Some misstep took place, for truly I understand thee little. Thy words…are difficult. Never have I wished for entanglements, but e’en hadst thou not stated all matters so explicitly, in time I would see. Anything, for thee, matters so much…I do pity thee. Thou’rt sensitive, the most responsive instrument. Once it was my purpose to learn how to please women. There were those willing to teach this among the tribes, but they were not prostitutes. They held knowledge, wisdom, positions of honor and regard. I was given to understand that some things please most women, but only a very foolish man believes he is innately pleasing to every woman. A male who shows regard will discover each woman anew for himself, and receive in return.

Nenni considered this, appreciating that he would think in so progressive a manner (though he could go stuff his pity).

My thought and speech differs from thine considerably, Vanimórë continued. This alone lends to easy misunderstanding. When thou’rt weary…little hath humor for thee. I shall learn. Please. Grant me thy patience.

A wry smile twisted her lips. You’re very kind. I don’t like myself. Don’t want this – to be like this. There are some gains and many losses but I do not know how to be anyone else. Even though I fear being left, do you see why I wouldn’t blame anyone who did leave?

Hath it escaped thy attention I am often and arbitrarily not a very nice person?

Has it escaped your attention I am rather used to not very nice people and whether it is a good thing or ill, dance these steps rather well?

Silence, as each allowed the other’s words to sink in.

I am a dominant, demanding, ruthless killer, cold unless I turn-about and show a compassionate side. Usually only to children and women.

I am a chameleon, mirroring back whatever another shows to me. I am kind and decent, so I attract predators. I have been ill-used again and again. I am still myself but woven throughout is so much anger. Rage. When engaged, those transform me and I will deal out brutality without remorse. Am I still kind and decent? I have become selective in my kindness. If every sense I have did not tell me you are worthy of my regard, you would not have had to concern yourself with an empty-handed return to your master. Those I do regard, if they are dominant, there are good odds I will cede leadership or otherwise willingly be subordinate. I have no need to run the show.

And those that gain not thy regard, yet presumably are allowed to live? He found his curiosity had been piqued.

Layers of disdain hidden under buttercream frosting.

And what, Lady, is the flavor of disdain? A rumble of humor came from him.

Mm….lemons. They seem harmless enough but acid is acid; it slowly erodes and consumes.

Very well. I criticized thee for conversing so much; now I too have conversed. I believe I caused thee hurt and I am sorry.

I was not paying attention to your wishes. I too am sorry.

My…wishes?

It’s…hard to initiate sex with a chatterbox.

Surely sex is also thy want?

Yes. I tried to ask without asking. I have no confidence I can satisfy you. This situation feels like…it would be a nightmare for me to gain a sense that you were reduced to servicing me because I could provide you some little pleasure with a heaping side of boredom.…my prattle is the fear of this and many things I don’t know because you are new. New to me. I don’t know what I may do, how I may touch you. I want…you cannot know how much it is in my nature to want to give to you because…times of this kind are when everything feels like it ought.

A hand smoothed her hair while the morass of interlocking pieces puzzled as much as one of Sauron’s diagrams, and the creeping sense reasserted itself that this long-term ‘indulgence,’ so atypical from his master, was no reward. ‘Twas like this with Thranduil, for thee?

Crestfallen, too many things slotted into place. How could he see it, and she could not? …Yes.

Then, fear less. Explore freely. By word or gesture, I can tell thee if I am discomfited. If it pleaseth thee to give, it pleaseth me to watch a lover submit. Show me when there is difficulty; I shall not think less of thee. How else can I learn?

A snort. Now I shall be the one asking for patience. Whatever the outcome, I shall try my best. In return I offer this: Yes, I am too easily hurt. You are a skilled horseman; perceiving when to rouse your steed and when to calm him. With me, you have words and touch. I can misinterpret the former far easier than the latter.

I’ve been condemned for my failure to rid myself of being hypersensitive since very young. If you also find this to be a fault, then you do – though this trait is why I am here. It requires no genius to grasp that I will tolerate significant emotional neglect and abuse in exchange for some approval and genuine affection…until the day comes when I will tolerate nothing at all. There, you have the keys to the kingdom.

I like this not at all, that thou would’st accept such as these.

Me neither, Vanimórë. I am becoming quite a lot more contrary. The intolerant part did not used to be there. Give me time. Who knows what stewing cauldron of impossibility everyone will be glad to leave alone will be here eventually.

Enough.

The pale gray eyes stared up at him, and not a single feeling could be parsed from her. His arms encircled her comparatively small frame; from inside this embrace her hands locked onto his shoulders like little bird’s claws. A firm grasp, but this could not cause him hurt.

Hurled at him came a chord blown by instruments unknown, and underneath, a pulse that expanded to a theme. Music, from the vault of her memory. Music unimagined and unimaginable. Around it wove another melody, a sinuous vine ensnaring his senses…

What was that? He either did not try or did not care to hide the hunger in his tone.

A taste of what is beyond Enough. Do you want more?

“Wilt thou play the vixen with me?”

“That depends on what hunts, does it not?” No warning of her intention preceded the action (how?) when she rose up on her knees and bit savagely into his trapezius muscle. Truthfully, the neck would have been a wonderful target but she did not dare mark him anywhere clothing would not hide.

This did hurt; the expectation had been some timid nips from her, not these surprisingly sharp teeth absolutely sunken into his flesh. A sharp inhalation; he tossed back his head.

Is it as good for you as it is for me? The delicious coppery, salt taste ran over her tongue. Probably she had lost her mind, doing this to him Why not prod a den of wargs, too? But…a den of wargs does not taste this good. Nenni has problems, so many problems… A hand grasped the back of her neck. Uh-oh.

“Release me,” he commanded softly, breathing changed as his body stirred. “Thou hast bitten deeply and there is blood, yes?”

Tasty? “Yes,” her tongue swept around. “It should not really bleed, there are no big vessels there.”

“Adonenniel. I know not what will happen, if thou hast swallowed my blood.”

“Ahhhermmm…” Bit late for that, dearie… A deep sigh. “Whatever you fear, I will be alright in the end. Let’s just ignore it, shall we?”

“Art thou mad?” Vanimórë whispered. “Ignore it?”

“Well then distract me, or do you need to be bitten again?” Nenni challenged, thinking it time to usher him out of her head if this was going to hurt. Truthfully, she’d forgotten about his blood completely. There was nothing to be done about it now, and it was a given she’d had worse.

“What?!”

Frowning at him irritably, guessing seconds remained before that awful heat bloomed in her chest, one little redheaded wild child tore into his chest for good measure.

“A-ahhhhhhhhhh!” came a soft exhalation; the pulse shot straight to his groin. The hand at her neck did not pull her away but slid down her back, fingers through her hair…

You…taste…so good… Had she let go? His mouth claimed her just when warmth burst in her heart.

Nails that previously seemed inoffensive scratched and tore at his back in long raking motions; short scrabbling ones too. The searing racing from her heart wouldn’t go away but he was there, someone to cling to. Her hand found him, beautifully hard and pulsing.

“...More.” One word from him, several possible meanings. Aligning their bodies to join, pushing down on him but still finding resistance, she bit again in frustration at the intense discomfort. Whatever was happening inside of her, it felt like burning.

Aroused, driven further by the erotic pain, he sheathed himself fully…and heard the music begin anew.

Moving against the shifting coals loose inside of her, she wondered how Vanimórë did not see her as an inferno in her arms…but of course this was her perception, not his. Do you want to be rough? You may…

Lady, this is the music of gods.

Then do you still wish to be bitten? Scratched? The affirmation came as a projection.

And thee? Art thou unwell?

I shall give to you. Give back to me what you feel from this music; that is what I need. Yes, I am in some difficulty but you are able to help.

I should never have asked–

Vanimórë…please? When a man is this hard, ‘tis a terrible thing to waste.

Ye gods…

BITE.

What followed would seem in hindsight as though it belonged far more to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony than the Seventh, and it was learned that the sexual provocation of this man came with a wide palette of…results. Most of them needed, all of them inadvertently asked for, and an assortment of them probably to be regretted later. Most importantly, the burning in her chest had faded.

At the moment (a smile of mild mischief morphed into pursed lips) her best guess at his current refusal to give her a second release constituted a payback for her overall temerity thus far. Having already been taken through a variety of positions (making certain to exasperate him along the way), the thought crossed her mind of whether or not to bite him again…

Do not dare.

As you wish.

NOW, thou’rt obedient and compliant? A firmer thrust drove his, er, point home.

“Yes,” Nenni laughed. I told you I am an imp. I would bore you otherwise. I won’t be as I was earlier all the time; I wouldn’t survive it. I should tell, though…you gave me something I have always wanted, tonight. I am very grateful.

Which was?

…That someone who could understand the passion of that music give me this kind of pleasure amidst it.

His movements slowed considerably. Wilt thou do as I ask thee, no more, no less?

Yes.

Then, let me in fully that I might know thy welfare, and give the music again.

Time slowed when his kiss brushed her lips. The heat swelling inside now had nothing to do with taking more of his blood into her – or did it? Fingers, tracing along her cheek, throat, the line of the collarbone, chest, breast…the hand closed over her breast, which fit easily…

In a blink she was a tethered balloon, someone else watching them from above…what would he do? For he had begun to kiss his way downward, and this usually meant a destination, with men…feeling distant, unable to react, there was at least this music. Allegretto.

That hand moved off her breast, slipping behind her back instead. His lips placed a few gentle kisses; Nenni had no idea that she tensed in trepidation. It was ridiculously easy to touch her breasts in a dislikable manner. Recognizing it as unfair to a new lover did not alter the experience, usually ranging from annoying to a reopened door to old trauma. Something caused her to place a gentle hand on the crown of his silken head. No, not something. For him, she could matter less. It would be alright, whether it was or not.

Through her self-imposed fog, finally she gave herself some permission to feel, like a frightened child run from the room gaining the courage to peek back round the corner. The balloon descended. Nursing. He was nursing, latched on expertly. So unaware, her ears did not hear the deep moan resonating in her chest and no realization existed that she sought to push down on him, bucking hard. It…this…not possible…her body was trying to respond. It wanted this. She wanted this, it had been stolen from her…but…

I like this very much. Valuable insights were being gained, and now he had stumbled on something unexpectedly important to her. That he had avoided any noisome pitfalls was to be expected given he had flashes, fleeting pictures of what she most dreaded. That he would in similar fashion find this much desired favor she would never voice, believing it to be something only a father would desire…well, later there could be a discussion about strange ideas and assumptions.

The music grew louder in her mind, and no attempt was made to hide her pitching eagerness for this, him, any of it, all of it. He was discovering her weaknesses with alacrity and she could not care. The next minutes were passionate kisses, more suckling, and torrid lovemaking until both broke together.

Vanimórë smiled, feeling Adonenniel lap at his nipple (very gently) just after he had filled her. Arching her backwards once more, he returned the favor. For his effort, he gained a first taste of the sweet milk and easily wrung a second climax from her. Now immensely pleased, music concluded, he rearranged them and the bedclothes, still holding her to him.

“My dear,” he spoke very softly. “So much to discuss – tomorrow. I found this a delight.”

“Discuss?” A playful snort. “I am at your mercy. Thank you for tonight. Just one question. Please?”

“One.”

“I…even if the answer is Yes, I am not going to deal with it. Not now, anyway. Is this…is there a hidden component to this arrangement, that includes you getting me with child? I don’t mean to be so direct, but I find I am living in strange times, and our Lord seems to like to keep changing the rules…”

A kiss was pressed to her lips. “I am sterile, Lady. Were that his plan, he should have chosen another. No, I do not see how it could be possible and even could I, I have no wish to sire offspring. Because they would…he would take them. Since there are Powers in this world, surely they can grant this much mercy.”

“I am told that is how it is supposed to work,” Nenni answered carefully. “It is just that so much of what I am told turns out to be otherwise…than I am told…” She sought to meld against him more closely. “Thank you for your answer. The idea was bothering me.”

“For this, I am glad of the query, rather than have thee worry.” His hand came over her back. “And now sleep, because one question shall become two, then three…” he chuckled to himself. “Rest well, Lady. I shall hold thee and remember the music. What manner of name is Allegretto?” The dark gave no reply save the opening chord, clear and sharp in his perfect memory.

Chapter 19: Unpleasant Particulars

Chapter Text

{16 Firith Imladris, October 14, Gregorian T.A. 3017}

“Legolas?”

“What may I do for you, Lord Erestor?” the calming voice answered, never from far away. And always, the curious eyes of the youths from Rohan were drawn to observe the ethereal elven Prince; so different than dark and forbidding Vanimórë who already seemed as a distant dream in their minds.

“I…I wondered…” Erestor began quietly, only to stop speaking – regretting that he had ever begun… “ah…please disregard. It is unimportant.”

A low rumble erupted in Beren’s throat. For with Erestor, it was never unimportant, but it had a very high likelihood of being something about which he did not wish to be a bother. (Imagining himself to be one – a bother, that is.)

Legolas grinned brightly, not about to miss the chance. “Beren seems interested too, Lord. My father says he is terrible when he is disappointed. You must have spent a great deal of time with him by now. Are the rumors true?”

Léofa and Éostan could not help but stifle giggles at this question. They had shed their fear of mild-mannered Erestor while learning great respect for his knowledge and intellect and had become very attached to him, but the interactions between the blind scholar and the temperamental hound were the entertainment that had made this long sojourn through the hands of so many elves (who had been everything from majestic, to terrifying, to not seeming so different than ordinary soldiers) bearable.

Beren snarled louder at Erestor, nipping at his trousers for theatrical effect. This conversation had a positive direction thanks to the pale one Mama called ‘son’ and it was always good to be greedy for advantages.

“It really was nothing,” Erestor cried, now flustered. “I had only wanted to know how close we were to the Halls, but it is childish of me to ask so often.”

A huge yawn with a high pitched sound escaped from the dog.

“But Erestor,” Legolas noted (suddenly forgetful of all formality), “it has been three days since the last time you asked! That can hardly be called bothersome! Besides, there is an answer: Less than a full day’s ride. We really are not very far, but the day is getting late. We shall stop before much longer, and complete your long journey tomorrow. I hope that is pleasing to you.” Without missing a beat, Legolas shot off an arrow almost faster than the eye could follow. “Dearest Beren, I am pleased to say that if I could trouble you to return my arrow to me from over there, you will find a hare attached to it. I hope you will feel it is a worthwhile snack.”

A nearly comical expression of interest sharpened the huge animal’s face as his eyes followed the direction Legolas pointed. Tentative steps walked along, sniff, sniff, whiff, and then the nose lowered just enough…snuff. The unfortunate oversized rabbit-like creature had really been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the tactic of remaining stock-still to evade notice had fared poorly against the keen-eyed elf.

“That looks so…” Léofa began.

“...you don’t see that every day,” Éostan finished.

Beren had the very dead lagomorph crushed between his jaws as though it could somehow still race away, which caused his lips to bunch up absurdly around the fur of the hare. Meanwhile, Legolas’ arrow stuck out of its head at a crazed angle, a bit like a flag in the hole at a golf course. The sight was ridiculous and the boys were struggling not to snicker and laugh as the hound returned to them, sulking over his prey (as he had ever done).

“I want to know! I want to know!” burst out of an Erestor who until now, had kept his frustrations in check.

It was all Glorfindel could do not to laugh as well. Very broody off and on these many days as though something weighed heavily on his spirit, at the moment his sky blue eyes appeared vibrant with humor. The fair face radiated simple joy.

The giant dog gave the counselor a very peculiar gaze and slowly approached their horse. When the boys realized what was happening suddenly nothing was funny. The mercurial animal’s head was right next to their legs, both his oddly colored eyes fixed on them.

Legolas wisely raised a hand for their group to momentarily halt. Planting those saucer sized paws on either side of Erestor’s legs, Beren rose up so that his head faced the ellon – who in turn perceived the movement and the shape in front of him.

“Oh! For me to see?” he asked softly, extremely touched. His hands felt carefully in front of him, first running into the arrow and not understanding until the fletching ran under his fingers. The play of delight on the counselor’s face at each small discovery created a range of emotions in the onlookers, including smiles when he removed the arrow successfully. Feeling the hare, a different exclamation came: “This is huge! It is wrong of me to keep you from your meal. I am in your debt, Beren, in so many ways. Thank you.”

Lazy wags were returned, since pawing at the already delicate elf might go poorly. The hound then trotted off into the foliage to enjoy his snack.

After that small entertainment, they rode on without incident until the time had come to make camp for the night. Except…

“Ah…” were the only words Legolas managed.

“Ah?” Tauriel chided, brow raised. “That is the assessment of His Highness?” Oh, she loved every second of this assignment. Why Aran Thranduil had allowed two high-ranking Commanders to depart for such a simple errand had not been even whispered among the guard chosen to fill the ranks – everyone knew that in this case, ‘simple’ and ‘critically important’ had become odd partners.

They both had seen the same thing. Any necessity to ‘make camp’ had become nonexistent; word of their progress had gone out ahead via the scouts and camp had been made ready for them. The other Commanders awaited them, as did the King.

“What is happening?” Erestor whispered to Léofa, who rode in front of him. Though the elves of Lórien had tried to persuade Erestor to a different riding arrangement, he had refused. Having the youths ride in front of and behind him had become familiar, comfortable, and provided him with a sense of security. After a short time attempts to interfere were abandoned. The boys were just as grateful; the other elves intimidated them. Though they were outwardly kind and gentle, they moved with a surety and grace that overwhelmed and their martial skills were frightening. One Vanimórë and the Lady had been digestible. Elves by the dozens…it was much to adjust to when they had barely seen the muster of the Rohirrim in their own lands. These were strange and unnaturally fair people, but there was one thing…they did not feel treacherous.

“There are other elves already here, waiting. Two of them look very important. One has hair like Legolas, but he is taller, and looks very…he wears something like a crown but not. It is made of silver with beautiful white gems, like the one the Lady wore. The one next to him appears more ordinary and yet there is something about him.”

“They are the King, Thranduil, that Adonnenniel spoke of. He is a very good person. They are our family,” Erestor explained very quietly. “I am not positive who the other may be.” Suddenly he felt very shy and afraid, pulling the hood of his travel cloak further down. Something had felt wrong, about what Vanimórë had told him. That Adonenniel had to fulfill an errand and would return when it was cared for, but in the meantime had arranged for him to hasten to the elves in Lórien and they should depart at once. And then they were just…going, before he could protest or think to question…as if he was in any position to question. He might be blind but he remembered the sight of Vanimórë. Now, how was he to explain himself? Why he was here, and she was not, when he had no actual idea himself? What had he cost everyone? His sorrowful reflections had no time to establish themselves. A familiar voice spoke in his ear. “Erestor. Éostan. Fall back. I am long overdue to have continued a conversation begun weeks ago and this is once again my failing. I did not realize but should have known this would occur. I have little time to inform Erestor and Léofa of some unpleasant realities…and perhaps also add some needed clarifications. Erestor, do not speak aloud. Léofa, soon you will hear my voice but in your mind. Do not be afraid. It is an ability that old and powerful elves have, to speak with thought only. You may reply to me merely by thinking and I will hear; it is strange but you will adjust quickly. It will allow us to converse privately. Try to keep your faces as though nothing unusual is happening beyond that you have just seen the Elvenking for the first time.”

What is this all about, Glorfindel? Erestor spoke anxiously.

I shall tell but…Erestor, this news will be grievous and a blow to you. I shall help you with your emotions but I need your promise that you will try to work with me. However difficult this will be for you to hear, think of Thranduil before any of us. I have agonized for days, what to do with this or how to help him weather what he will learn. Éostan and Léofa have carried this knowledge in silence at the order of Vanimórë since leaving the Wizard’s Vale.

They did fall back somewhat, giving enough time for the information to be repeated. Erestor’s grim face did not appear as Glorfindel had anticipated. Erestor. You knew?

I…counted it as a horrific possibility to which I did not wish to give credence. Damn Vanimórë, and damn Adonenniel too! Erestor’s face streaked with tears. All this insistence on treating me like a piece of spun glass. I am the Chief Counselor of Imladris, not some babe in arms! This is my fault, for having been willing to reveal my frailties to others. I am the one who caused those around me to lose all perspective of who and what I am as a whole person. Yes, I have my frailties and I also have strengths. Did she really believe I would shatter as if I had no knowledge of the ills of the world or the depths to which men will stoop?

Erestor…Glorfindel reached to him, imparting strength.

Sirs…Éostan asked bravely. We hear you speak and realize that something very bad happened to the Lady. But…we feel ashamed that we do not understand what. Should we not know? If that is so, please tell us, but we are afraid. You said we must talk to the King, and…for my part, I have never felt so lost.

My sons… Glorfindel said with equal sorrow. Somehow in the midst of that sewer, you both kept your innocence. You and Léofa are growing toward manhood, and have no one to teach you. All males should understand what is true and right. These are not shameful conversations. The only shame is in the gross misuse of the gifts given to men, especially that of power. For a man to wield his physical power to subdue a woman, especially in the manner I am going to explain to you, is the most abhorrent crime short of murder, for it forever destroys the inner peace of the one robbed of bodily sanctity – a treasure given to each of us by our Creator.

Glorfindel continued to speak, explaining the generative power of male and female, the marriage act, and that in the world of men pleasure was sought outside of marriage by consent, for money, and by force and that the last of these was named rape.

Far more enlightened young men digested the information Glorfindel had placed in their minds. Glorfindel of Gondolin, a great hero of all the Ages, had just told them of this. How did he know that? Nenni had told him a bit about her father during the time in Orthanc. That was why they had recognized the giant elf, by his size, golden hair and eyes like blazing gems.

This honor did not stop Éostan from shaking in anger. A knuckle flung away a stray tear. Gríma had done that? To Nenni? Rocking back and forth in the saddle, his eyes squeezed shut. Any pride in being from Rohan had just burnt to ashes…not when Gríma was the same. “I would rather clean stables here for the rest of my life. I don’t want to go back…” he whispered to his sleeve.

Glorfindel’s hand rested on the youth’s shoulder, grimacing. Éostan. There will be food, and the King wishes to speak with all of us. I will help you.

Nodding, the youth wiped again at his face and rose. He still felt afraid, but the sheer hatred of Gríma lent courage.

**

{17 Firith Imladris, October 15, Gregorian T.A. 3017}

By morning the King had departed, no trace of him visible. Erestor woke in Glorfindel’s arms, refreshed at peace. At once he understood what had happened and wanted to cry from the misery of it all, but could not. Instead, he gingerly found his friend’s hand and covered it. “Thank you. More than I know how to say. I feel as though you have pulled me through something unbearable and I am in your debt. But…the boys…”

“Have had a hard time of it and will need our help,” Glorfindel told Erestor. “Especially Éostan. He bore the brunt of Thranduil’s questioning, last night. And while he did surprisingly well…do I need to say it?”

“No. What a coward I am…” Turning in toward Glorfindel’s chest in grief and shame, Erestor’s mood began to crumble.

“I cannot let that happen, my dear friend.” Light flared. “There was no choice; Thranduil chose not to speak overmuch with you. You need to be there. They need you. Erestor, I am begging you – I need you.” A hint of desperation rang in the voice of the rarely vulnerable Elf.

A sense of calm and wellness replaced Erestor’s dejection. Grasping for Glorfindel’s arm, the dark-haired elf inhaled sharply. “Glorfindel! I can…you are not a shadow now, you are very blurry! And there is color! They have returned some of my vision! Valar, thank you!”

“Then there is some joy!” Glorfindel hugged his friend while lifting and setting him on his feet, careful not to hug him too hard.

“But….” Erestor said, biting his lip. “It is too dim in here…I cannot make out where my boots might be?”

Glorfindel smiled. They were on the floor in front of them, but Erestor need not know. It truly was dim. “Stand there, I see them. One moment.”

**

To the Golden Elf’s thought, the two youths with Erestor between them appeared something like a peculiar insect, walking through the forest on the horse that seemed to sense its long journey had nearly reached its end. Erestor smiled with gratitude, casting his eyes this way and that to see the colors of a forest no longer gray. Éostan held Erestor’s hands around his waist tightly. Léofa snuggled against the scholar, his head turned away from the others. Legolas did not smile when he glanced over. Instead a dark anger simmered in his eyes, a brooding silence that caused Tauriel deep concern. She knew, for Legolas considered her as family, but none of the other Commanders would learn of it. This matter carried too much weight, and it had been impressed perhaps too forcefully upon the boys (and emphasized with equal force by Glorfindel that they had the capacity) the necessity to keep their knowledge secret.

Somehow, the young man did not cry. He did kneel and beg to remain as a carer of the horses, willing to work for his keep and do anything if not that. This rendered Thranduil speechless. The boy was only told before his dismissal that he need no longer worry about such matters, but such a nebulous response did little to tell him what would become of him. Naturally, he still reeled with anxiety.

Late afternoon they reached the fork in the paths and dismounted, walking over the bridge to the main entrance. Whatever the boys’ state of misery, nothing could have prepared them for the Halls of the Woodland King. Orthanc may have been greater in stature but it was an ugly and forbidding greatness. This…art, of wood, metal and stone as only the combined craft of Dwarf and Elf could manage plus the passage of much time and the workings of nature. Stepping past the magical gates felt different than passing into the Ring of Isengard. A wholesomeness lay upon this place long gone missing from the other.

“These are the Halls of my father,” Legolas said with courtesy. “Be welcome here.”

Well-trained by Erestor, much to Legolas’ surprise both youths now returned the Elven salutation readily in silent thanks. This earned them high marks among all their escort and drew a smile from Glorfindel.

“We will show you to your living quarters. As Erestor and I share living space on account of his difficulties, we thought it might be just as easy if we chose quarters where the four of us could stay,” Glorfindel explained. “I believed it might be difficult for you to be parted from Erestor. We can discuss if this is what everyone wishes.”

Eager faces lit up all around, to Glorfindel’s extreme relief. Of all his preparations, this one had caused him the most worry. Now he could focus on the greatest worry of all. Thranduil.

**

The King sat in the garden, a goblet and flagon of wine at his side. Amaranthine did not run up with her usual prattle but instead skip-walked a little, bearing a small bouquet of eye-searing color. “Mae govannen, Ada.” It was all quite serious. Thanadir followed, but some instinct (perhaps it was the volume of wine?) encouraged a respectful distance.

“Sweetheart.” One-handed, he easily scoop-swooped his daughter into the air, causing a delighted shriek-giggle, then carefully lowered her down to his lap. “Mae govannen.”

Amaranthine studied him with disturbing intent. Like her mother studied things. “Youse sad.” It was not a question.

“Why would you say that?” Immediately Thranduil tried to dissemble, lightening his voice and facial features with practiced deception.

“Pffffffft.” A strawberry blonde eyebrow rose. “We arennd gonna do dat, are we?” More staring. “Know what Nana sez, Ada?”

“What…what does Nana say?” That he was in worlds of turmoil about Nana unsteadied his voice, and he silently cursed himself for it. Surely a child would not notice?

Around came the little bouquet, suddenly brandished between them like a dagger held plumb. Thranduil instinctively backed away. These flowers were…too much. His daughter giggled gleefully.

“Nana sez, (and she carefully enunciated the following) magenta is a weapon, and she’z right! Youse afflected!! Magenta flowers magenta flowers” …more giggles…but they rapidly died down and Amaranthine tossed the blossoms carelessly aside. “Ada. Nana gots weapons an’ you don’t know ‘bout dem. Nana being gone’z really hard. I want my Nana back. Ada wants Nana back. Will you get lost in sad?”

Thoroughly nonplussed, Thranduil’s irises flared. Attempts to formulate a response were for once in his kingly life faring very poorly because he faced someone whose feelings he dared not trammel. “Sweetheart,” was his lone helpless utterance.

Standing up, she hugged her father and kissed him on the cheek. “You gots Hîradar. An’ Unca ‘Restor. Even Thanny Deer. Sorry I’m justa child.” This had been her brave best. They warned her about approaching her father much if at all, that it was risky. They equally knew she was her mother’s daughter, and that these moments were inevitable. Fat tears and sniffles rolled from the large blue eyes.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Thranduil asked; guessing invited mistakes.

The precious little chin wibbled; the face he had wanted so badly and thought he could protect from everything contorted in anguish. “Sad hurts!” Amaranthine howled.

Father and daughter cried together, and this was how Glorfindel found them.

**

Chapter 20: The Time Has Come, the Queen Did Say

Chapter Text

{1 Rhîw Imladris, November 23, Gregorian T.A. 3017}

“I can’t remember things before they happen,”* Nenni frowned mightily, staring at this…GARDEN.

What was here had taken weeks. Plants and a (dys)functional system that produced food most days of the week had been achieved, and at the moment she reclined with her foul mood in the upper branches of one of ten almond trees installed last week. It had proven to be a better vantage point for the creation to date, and the creation wasn’t right. This particular issue had to be pushed back, for now.

Eyes closed, a struggle ensued; the collective vision of the trees and plants launched into motion and their weight was embraced but these did not wish to settle into her awareness. Not in the manner needed. Definitely, resistance existed.

Before long the men would come to harvest, and it would be necessary to relocate or risk disruption and unfriendly eyes. Really, the current operation wasn’t working. Not for me, at least. This had to be a creative process in order to succeed and they had wanted a production line, as quickly as possible. Well, when you rush my intricate systems, you get runny sh*t on a stick. Nobody here was capable of understanding the concept of investment, having patience in order to wait for a greater reward. In other words, the entire region seemed to fail the Marshmallow Test.

Breathing in, hands describing an arc above her breasts, the note of a hum sat on the cusp of sounding when…

“That’s not enough vegetables. I told you yesterday we needed more.” The male voice who she had come to nearly her wit’s end with had just spoken, underneath her. Moreover, he dared tug on her clothing. That meant Vanimórë was nowhere in sight. This area had become well vegetated, difficult to penetrate visually.

Nenni did not move, but the vines around her wrist certainly did. Growing and growing along the side of the tree he could not see, slowly, silently moving through the vegetation near his feet. “One. It is not yet the hour for your arrival. Two. You are not to speak to me unaccompanied. Three. It is not within your authority to inform me of the requirements of my task. Four. How dare you presume to touch my clothing. Five. Leave immediately. You are ruining my work.”

“It’s quite a heap of words for someone not doing anything again, as good as sleeping in a tree, to mouth off to me about working!” he laughed, thinking it all quite funny, now grabbing for her skirts again. He caught them in his fist, and as Nenni sought to evade him the delicate fabric tore.

“You were warned,” her voice came in a hiss, incensed. Vines shot out, ensnaring one of his legs and hauling him into the tree. “You shall explain why you kept me from my work so that you would have enough vegetables today. I cannot work while I am being harassed.” Storming out from under the arboreal canopy in a fast walk rapidly gaining steam into a speeding run, anger drove most other considerations aside from getting the f*ck out of here from conscious awareness. Pouring more fuel onto her personal rage-fire, it was noted that three other men were scattered among the vegetation, already seeking items and harvesting them into baskets never mind not a goddamn bit of it had yet been ripened because that was this hour’s work! This is f*cking intolerable…tears welled up and overflowed as her bare feet found purchase in the worn pathway, though to the eyes following her she could not be much to look at – by design.

The costume in which it was necessary to work anytime her tall dark guardian did not have the area cleared of other males for leagues around seemed redolent of the garb worn in the conservative global mid-eastern lands of Earth, with one difference; these fabrics were multilayered, patterned and diaphanous, relying more on disabling the viewer’s ability to make out what lay beneath than masking it utterly for the sole reason that these lands were hot. Alternatively, one dark layer covered by a much brighter layer (or two) might give the same effect. However, because the cloth was so thin it was not sturdy or tear-resistant, making it a nightmare to wear around certain of the trees. Mostly, this issue had been managed by being very careful and/or wearing a sacrificial outer ‘apron’ layer.

All of this was because it had been explained that the potential consequences of her appearance being known could prove…unfortunate. Her presence could not be erased, but the sight of her – to their eyes exotic, desirable and therefore something to be objectified – it would be the course of wisdom to erase awareness of her appearance as much as possible. At first the idea of wearing all these layers, skirts to the ground and for f*ck’s sake even a veil had her hitting the roof. On further reflection, though…did she really want to put up with constant bullsh*t? Then it got worse.

If there was trouble with the men, she was not allowed to ‘be herself’ and instead had to let Vanimórë or one of his subordinates manage any misbehavior. So probably in addition to wanting to tell the entire lot of them to f*ck off, there had just been some really worthwhile rule-breaking involved. Whatf*ckingever. Nothing was working anyway. The garden was wrong. Every evening the pinhead who acted as some kind of steward for the supply chain came and asked someone else in this Land of Lists what there would be for tomorrow and if it could be increased. The man’s name was Varteres and while he did not earn any kind of particular foulness award, he had entirely learned his interpersonal skills from Sauron.

Approaching the gate to this garden area, Nenni coiled down and sprang up, catching the top bar firmly. Vaulting up and fully over before tucking into a forward roll to land (which did not go fully as intended thanks to the goddamn clothes; a stumble brought her much harder onto her left shoulder than should have happened). No matter. Her legs continued beelining for their quarters.

Vanimórë observed the progress of this elven rocket in lilac and green once her movement in the distance attracted his notice, and guessed it meant nothing good. His mood darkened when he spotted the few scattered men in the garden and the time, and the curious instance of some of them making haste toward the orchard trees, only to emerge with an extra companion gesticulating wildly some moments later. Brow elevated, he gave orders to the subordinate who would organize the soldiers at the next bell for agricultural work, and like a darkening thundercloud promising hail made his way to the enclosed acreage below.

Afterward, having seen matters for himself, those long legs grimly marched toward their quarters. Even before he laid a hand on the door, winds from the tempest inside blew past his mind. Closing his eyes, he sighed. This not only was not going to be easy, it might require a revision of expectations. In the past weeks he had learned a different side of Adonenniel. As a worker, a creator, she was…as she had earlier described herself. There had been something else, though, and it had been a conflict weeks in the making. At her heart she was an artist, always seeking to create an ever-increasingly efficient vision of interlocking parts. They had already argued many times about this. Over and over she had tried to explain to him why her…version…of necessity was not a luxury, it was how things had to be in order to succeed. Harmony of Arda, workings of creation, and similar…stuff that honestly to him was gibberish save in the merest glimmers.

Sauron cared not for any of this; he wanted his food and in great quantity. Adonenniel told why what they were asking of her was at cross-purposes, no different than telling a cook to prepare a great feast then interfering with every stage of the preparation and then complaining when the cook was unable to deliver the meal…and Sauron still wanted his food.

Inside their dwelling, not only was the woman having a full on meltdown about this, one of the men had dared approach and all but lay a hand on her. Of the five that were inside that garden, four had been deceived and were frankly stupid. Too stupid to be doing agricultural work. They were demoted and pointedly informed of the lashing they could be receiving but were being spared. The fifth…a blade was drawn, and held against that grabbing hand. “Thou wert there on account of impure thoughts. Yes? Speak the truth or lie to me, and seal thy fate.”

“I am drawn to her, though it is forbidden. Yes. I deserve…” The man seemed at a loss concerning his behavior.

“Hadst thou touched her flesh, I would take thy hand for the crime – thou didst not. Yet the Lady scolded thee harshly for thy audacity in reaching for her clothing once, and thou didst so a second time.”

Onto his knees and hands he fell. “Please punish me. I beg that I be left able to work? I have an aged mother and two unwed sisters. What I earn feeds them though I now deserve nothing.”

This was largely true. The family would not suffer immediately; he was not profligate with spending and had only just begun slipping down a path of lustful indulgences. But if he were made into a cripple unable to earn a normal wage, in time they would slip into poverty, possibly forcing the women into degradation. He would deal with this trash later. For now, the miscreant would be tied onto the bloody whipping-post untouched and left to fear the worst. Uncertainty could be one of the worst cruelties.

Meanwhile, clothing flew into the rafters of this structure, and with throw after missed throw, the uncooperative veil refused to lodge anywhere she wished. Hurling an invective at it in a tongue he did not know but which had a vague lilt of Orcish, with a guttural noise of rage she ran around to the never used side of their dwelling. ‘His’ side. Whereupon two floor pillows to the side of and almost behind a small table were spotted, and once her body had folded into a far more ‘the bombs are about to go off’ version of yoga’s Child pose, said pillows were placed to hopefully keep the world anywhere but here. This day, it was like running from the Lion and the Unicorn. A dreadful noise of Stupid is all around, and it shall drum me out of of town… If I don’t breathe much, it might all go away.

I cannot do this. It is going to be them or me and I don’t mean Nenni wants to throw a tantrum be a disobedient Princess and have it only her own way. I mean I really cannot do this. Do they go in there and tell him how to teach soldiers to soldier, for f*ck’s sake? Or do they get the hell out of his way because he knows what he is doing and gets results? Do I need to answer that question no I do not, do I? This sh*t is precisely why nobody knew about the garden before there was a garden to know about. Because it’s not six impossible things before breakfast, it’s twenty impossible things before dinner in this…this…bandersnatch factory. With all the emphasis on Snatch. That sonofabitch…

In what security this fortress of presumed solitude offered, the humiliation, frustration, vexation, exasperation and indignation became tangible internal pressure. One disheveled copper head curled further underneath toward her chest, dirty hands knotted into tousled hair and twisted hard. Tears wrung out in an agonized despair Vanimórë had not witnessed before along with new thoughts and memories. Thranduil, a blade in his hand – held against Adonenniel, on her knees before him and in great pain – wishing he would destroy her?? Her mind, locked onto the relief of laying open her own flesh to watch the blood pour out, to replace this pain with some other pain, anything would do, even magenta…

This felt dangerous. Unwilling to wait longer, Vanimórë entered the dwelling and called out. “Adonenniel?” A test. Save…some strange means lay at her disposal to create auditory disturbances inside her head and…what on Arda? He could choose to raise his voice but did not wish to be audible to outsiders as well. At normal volume, she could not hear his words. Or so he believed. “To where hast thou gone?”

She left and went to Never Ever Land. If she returns it shall be when there was work yesterday and work tomorrow but never work today.

And why is that? It seemed best to humor her, and see where this led.

Because there’s no use trying; one can’t believe impossible things, such as…work today not being f*ckED UP BEYOND ALL POSSIBLE RECOGNITION AND ENDING UP WITH ITS ASS IMPALED ON THE UNICORN’S HORN that might have something to do with it, yes I think so…mhm…

I would like to talk about this, Adonenniel. He cajoled patiently in his gentlest voice.

‘The time has come,’ the queen did say,

‘To talk of many things: Of trees – and bees – and wooden stakes –

Of seeds and plants and soil and paths

And fresh new beginnings— And why this all has gone to hell— And ought pigs to have wings?’ **

A fresh wave of despair and indecision washed over Vanimórë, who had not yet laid a hand on her. Well did he remember her words from many weeks before, and believed them. To goad her right now would very likely render her utterly useless for who knew how long, enraging their Master who would be interested in little but the lack of results. Possibly he would punish one or both of them; should that fall upon her, he felt fairly certain an escalation would occur that…he could not say what but felt that this woman was something like Orodruin. Compliant and passive and part of the landscape when left to its own devices, but when continually agitated under the hand of greater forces, would eventually gout liquid fire and ash until all were consumed.

Thinkst thou? Sauron’s amused voice projected clearly into his mind.

Father? Vanimórë knelt at once, head bowed. How can I serve thee?

Begin by answering my question, Slave. Lay aside thy fears, for can I not see through thee as though thou art glass? Thou hast been so well-behaved on this assignment. I know of thy desire to protect her. Today she violated a command; attacking the soldier with her powers was forbidden. Wilt thou punish accordingly?

Here, I…am conflicted. At the moment, Adonenniel is not sane. Hath largely broken from reality. Her attack was provoked by what would have been a licentious assault; the soldier did not know he found himself terribly outmatched. It is difficult to fault a woman for defending her honor with the means at her disposal; she possessed no other weapon and was not even shod. I acknowledge there was disobedience but feel my greater problem is apart from this; I believe thou already knowest. What wilt thou allow me, Master? I do sincerely believe that continuing to force her to work against the manner she wishes will end in the ruin of all this. But if I yield to her wishes only to enrage thee, my problems worsen.

I may permit her whims, but I will have a price. Sauron’s voice had become colder, more calculating. Vanimórë knew from long experience that these ‘deals’ rarely were anything that truly benefited anyone save Sauron.

Thou knowest I shall gladly pay, my Lord.

Not thee. Her. If she wishes to have this her own way, she must return a concession to me in kind. An occasional extra duty will be required of her; nothing unpleasant and no work she is not already undertaking. Thou must know that her abilities astonish mortals with no such powers. Infrequently, men of high rank are to receive a display of her abilities. As always, thou wouldst be charged with escorting her to such an occasion. The queen may act according to the answer she supplies. If she declines and refuses her duties thou art to carry out discipline. Am I understood?

Yes, Master; so I am perfectly clear – even if I am lashing her to death, this is thy will?

For a moment, Sauron remained silent. No. The first time, cane her well. If there is a second time, she is to be brought out to witness thee being lashed for her refusal. I do not believe thou wilt endure much.

As thou saith, Sire.

One more thing. When her sanity returns, she is to face discipline for today. No excuses. She could have fled; instead she chose to lash out in pique.

Yes, Master. I thank thee for thy generosity, Lord. Vanimórë felt the wavering uncertainty, as Sauron tried to parse out whether any insubordination had been woven into the reply; but the tone, the words, all of it had sounded sincere despite everything he knew about his son. Had he read all this wrong? Were his affections for the elf-queen not so affectionate after all? Had the necessity of looking after someone so ‘high maintenance’ soured Vanimórë’s opinions of all this? Either way, enough time had been wasted on this matter.

He was gone. Stripping the fine gloves from his hands, Vanimórë wiped at his brow with a cleaning cloth and poured water over it from the nearby ewer. That had not gone well, but that could have gone boundlessly worse. Pressing the cool fabric against his eyes, he allowed a fresh wave of self-loathing to wash over him. What to do this time? He could place a fool’s set of blinders on, say nothing, and repeat all that had been said to him. Allow her to choose her path without guidance. Regardless, she would be maneuvered to the same eventuality, save that one set of choices would cost both of them a beating. The truth is, the longer she remains here, the more opportunities Father will discover to degrade and diminish her until he has broken her. When have his concessions ever been anything but a further tightening of the noose?

Vanimórë had gone quite silent, Nenni thought, which was not really like him. Surely this absurd hiding place could not actually be a place to hide? Eyes closed, face down in the carpet, weariness and somnolence followed the giant upheaval now that a posture of calm had been assumed with trancelike breathing to match. A few more seconds, and the peace of sleep would come…

“Adonenniel.” The voice was soft, and very near. “My dear. I must bring thee with me to the other side of the room. I do hope thou shalt not resist.”

The choice of words… A tiny sigh escaped her, for nothing boded exactly well, including that he was here at all. Not a muscle was moved as he moved the pillows and easily extracted her. Once held, her arms went round his neck as always.

“I can guess,” she heard herself say dully while he stalked the short distance. “What is the penalty for what I did? I am not going to require this to be any worse for you than it has to be; you have a chivalrous view of women that ennobles you but does not always serve you well. If you want my confession, I did not premeditate my action, I did not intend to break the rules. He angered me when he touched my clothing the first time and frightened me when he did not back away at all. I laid defenses because I was afraid he was preparing to truly assault me. I wasn’t thinking. I just…did; this is innate to me. When he reached for me the second time, he enraged me. In my mind, I think I should have known I had other choices. I am not physically weak; I could have kicked his head, run, punched him, kicked him in the balls…but my instinct was to react in the manner normal to me. I never prepared to do anything different because I never believed this would happen to me here. The men were not supposed to ever be near me! I feel…let down, but I also was under a command. As soon as it was done I knew I had incurred guilt. That is why I am here, Commander. I too oversee an army, though I am more apt to take advice than give commands. I am certain there is a punishment. What is it?”

Guilt licked at his conscience because truthfully, she had been set up. Had his forces done their job, she now would not be here. His fury at the man who cost her this burned hot. “Most sentences are corporal. So many lashes or strokes with a whip or cane.” The edge to his voice warned her to tread carefully.

“Then may I ask, how many for this?”

“Twenty.” He would not meet her eyes. “The final judgment is mine, however. That thou wert repelling a wrongful assault and that I am aware thou art not…well…is taken into account. As is that this is thy first offense. I assign fifteen.”

“I am grateful, Lord.” No hint of humor could be found in her voice. “This happens very soon?”

No answer came.

Seeing the state of her feet, Vanimórë returned outside before setting her down. “Clean thyself,” he pointed.

Brushes were available, and burlap. The lack of a customary ‘Please’ revealed more of his mood and with much of her own ire bled off, Nenni issued no challenges. The old sense of feeling worn down with little end in sight had crept in these last two weeks especially, as if slow fog were settling over all of existence. The work that ought to have been a refuge was proving to be…a maladaptive environment. So I screwed up, she sanded roughly at her skin. The bad part was, if nothing could change, probably neither would the outcomes. No one ever said this would end well, did they now? Not paying any attention to what she was doing since pondering all these circ*mstances had a firm hold on her inner discourse, that she was now abrading skin escaped her notice.

“That is enough!” he said irritably, breaking her reverie and startling her. “I shall answer thy question with a question. The men have no food to harvest. The schedule is behind. What is thy intention?”

Oh that. The quart of f*ckitol swallowed not long ago still swirled around, here, there, everywhere… Lips parted, she tried to envision where it had been before the man had come and ruined The Everything. Can I calm down? Here, yes. The thought of going back there, right now…men, seeing men, having to wear these goddamn furniture covers…not good…stop stop stop stop don’t think about it think about To Althea, From Prison even if there aren’t stone walls or iron bars god why can’t you be normal just once…there…the food…wait…

“Vanimórë,” her voice had gone unsteady. “Is anyone in there now? Inside the gardens, I mean.”

“Not unless my orders were ignored,” came the curt answer.

Nenni nodded. “I am going to drink a lot of water and then I am going to try something to do the work. I don’t know how to get past what happened earlier this fast without something breaking. I need men the hell away from…from…” her hands began to describe…area…before a refusal to say more followed. “Please pardon me for a moment. If you leave and return, don’t talk to me. Look if you want. It is hard and it has been awhile…” Slipping back inside, every thought inside her attractive head kept being picked up and falling out of her figurative hands back onto the floor.

“The hells with this woman,” he hissed under his breath angrily, uncertain whether he had just felt the faintest brush of Sauron’s presence. Right now, he was willing to gamble on that and if wrong who would know, the bamboo? “Needst the men away? We shall see how thy back fares, Lady. I shall not waste this trip, off I go to find a whip. Ah, a rhyme! Ye gods,” he muttered darkly, storming along, for to provide the information necessitated a short walk to where he could view the field. Several dozen men waited with Serkis, one of the Captains who served more in a military capacity than not.

“For the time being, move the men back to the training grounds. They are not to be in sight of the field until if or when I command it. I care not how much Varteres howls, should he arrive here early. Delayed harvest is the least of our problems. Hope of having any production at all this day rests upon strict compliance with my order; I do hope I have stated matters clearly. He shall have his explanations when I have gathered information. Our Lord may be allowing for a change to the prevailing schedule.”

“Understood,” Serkis crisply lowered his head as Vanimórë turned on his heel – then stopped.

“One other matter. Where are the horse whips?”

“The short ones, for riding? That kind of gear is in the tack room over at the stables, Lord.”

“I require one. Have one in the best condition brought and left here,” he pointed at the gate, walking away as he did so.

Grimacing, the Captain quietly issued the command, well aware that a man stood tied for punishment in the courtyard. He had learned long ago never to wish to know a single thing more than necessary, especially if it pertained to Sauron’s Emissary; only to do his utmost to obey the unnaturally fearsome and beautiful servant whose fate he guessed was an unhappy one.

**

Chapter 21: White Pawn (Nenni) to Play

Chapter Text

{1 Rhîw Imladris, November 23, Gregorian T.A. 3017 cont’d}

Adonenniel stood in the bamboo. Which was not precisely correct; Adonenniel had herself braced against and to the extent possible wrapped around the bamboo…that had greater accuracy. Both to verify that men were the hell out of the field (since it seemed to be so incredibly important), cool his temper and collect his thoughts, Vanimórë had chosen to walk a circuit of the acreage before returning, amused to find one horsewhip waiting for him upon his exit from the gate. Had the gear ever been used? The fine leather argued otherwise.

Sobering, he realized the appalling difficulty this would present. He could require a subordinate to carry out her sentence, which in turn would create a need for some ruse to hide her identity from the one holding the whip. Ultimately this would fail as all men were punished shirtless, and neither did he need news of her transgression to circulate. Really it had been more of a mistake than anything else. That the woman gamely owned up to her errant actions did not alter that nothing about Adonenniel’s existence had been normal and say what she would, she was no soldier. That pretense was merely one of many ill-fitting uniforms the overburdened queen wore as best she could, and because of all Vanimórë knew he would have issued a warning or one lash so that she could understand the peril of disobedience. But the situation had gone beyond his control, and now he must ensure her punishment remained hidden, unable to become a spectacle or subject for titillation. This was unfolding precisely because Sauron saw an opportunity to be execrable and was pressing his advantage. How to do this, though? The use of his full strength would be monstrous. The use of too little would bring accusations from Sauron that he had never intended to truly carry out his Master’s explicit command.

Adonenniel will forgive me, the foolish child. I shall not forgive myself. These few strands of decency to which he clung were what little remaining honor he had. He saw what was being done here, how Father aimed arrows at everything he held in regard. He would never force a woman…so instead he was made party to a dubious consent acquired by coercion. He would never strike a woman…so instead his body was overtaken to serve Sauron’s rages, and in this instance, backed ever further into the exercise of a role they all knew was inescapable. He wished to protect and care for her…and feared being used to lead her ever further down the same path of his own ignominious existence. So of course this figurative house too was being dismantled, brick by treacherous brick.

Silently he opened the door and threw the coiled thing inside onto the bed and returned to her.

Each hand grasped a smooth segment of the tall plant. With closed eyes, that other vision of hers searched and searched, trying to find the garden. The distances confused her. Had there been trees with their masses of interlocking roots, this would have been so simple, but grass here and there with many dry and sandy areas between…it was another version of groping around in the dark. Still, they were not far distant and the direction was known, and…the moment she found it, her inner sight filled with color. The trees, the rows of vegetables, everything. Bloody finally. Only then did she realize that nearly every muscle had tightened; her body involuntarily shook. Miserable, battling the hateful anxiety, at least now there was a place to bleed away her strength, while it lasted.

No gift as a healer was given to him, but still there was something he could do to help. Even when at odds, her mind processed him as stability. And that peculiar mind more than anything would register his scent and a light touch. Standing very near to her face without being obtrusive, something of an extrication began; her feet wanted to be in the soil. To Vanimórë’s view, her antics seemed comical save that he could understand the reason for each thing being done. Contact with the bare earth allowed just a little more clarity, a sharper focus, to what she saw. Also he began to understand, everything was a conduit of sorts. Some patterns aligned well, others did not. To his chagrin, he now realized that when she bitterly complained that the garden was wrong, what she meant but could not express well was that the power needed to operate the machinery of growth could not flow efficiently at all. There were strictures in far too many places, the sum total of which was that the place was a wholly wasted effort and the mere thought of building upon the existing situation further could not be borne.

Had he paid closer attention before now, much by way of inefficiency could have been clarified. Why had he not? – The perceived necessity of going out of his way to feign disinterest in and annoyance with the queen. What a clusterf*ck this all had become, to choose one of her words.

Gathering herself, she worked from here to grow the vegetables. Crop after crop, not quite as efficiently as if she stood down there, food appeared in great volume. More and more and more, and then in the trees, which were harder at this distance thus she was tiring. Sliding down to all fours, then to her elbows, still she pressed on.

Vanimórë closed his eyes. There was ‘not in the mood’ and then there was…this. This entire situation. He had goaded her into working when it was barely anything she could manage and now the proverbial chickens were pecking at his doorstep.

In a very short time, their physical relationship had become difficult, as they guessed it might. More so for her; he was inured to being no more than a Thing To Be Used. Rarely were they able to meet each other as genuine lovers; only sometimes late at night when both woke with honest desire that gave way to a real, unscripted passion. But this…he loosened the ties of his breeches. At least she did as much as possible to aid him, well aware that it was a burden for both of them to bear. That all of this was a humiliation for her did not escape him; to be covered like a mare in estrus almost daily in order to complete her work, Adonenniel wanted sex while focused on work ‘like she wanted a hole in the head,’ to mention a favorite quote. But lacking power, all would come to a halt.

So the skirt would raise, and the enticing sight of a woman pleasuring herself, or trying to, would be what he found waiting. He was not expected to do the work of satisfying her, but by now she realized he had routines he enjoyed. If he could use his mouth on her, he would harden quickly and her desire for him would rise. They were not there, however, to have a good time. They were there for him to release his seed into her, the sooner the better – because time spent in intercourse was time not at productive labor for their Lord. That meant, whatever worked for him, they did – though there were limits to how much Vanimórë could stand the thought of this.

Sometimes he did not care if they used some more minutes, he saw to her pleasure first. He found, though, that she attuned to him and would often climax quickly from sheer desire. He did not want it to feel flattering; the knowledge that out of all her lovers, husband included, she had only ever responded this way to him alone. In her mind he found that while she truly loved her husband, her body felt an affinity for the Dark Prince like no other. No, she could not keep him, but he was all of the music in the night. As much as he tried to ignore this about her, they were the cracks through which she seeped in for all of her was too damnably honest.

Lifting her skirt, he brushed her folds with his fingers. Dissatisfied, powerful hands on her hips and agile fingers spread her gently until that devilish tongue had what it wanted. In the garden below, growth slowed but did not stop. Nenni’s lips parted, and an unvoiced sound of pleasure, air moved in her throat (but not a moan) chased by a soft gasp. The longer he continued, the more elaborate the very quiet sounds became. Always, she was exceedingly careful and discreet. When at last he penetrated her, he already was close, having worked at himself to save them both time. This way, reaping the sweet, hard strokes that were a surety to make both of them…

His power entering her could and often did feel electrical, as in jolting. Adonenniel declined to say that this was not how it was with the others who shared their power; he felt bad too easily about too many things. Always it was worth the price; work now could be finished in no time. The fruit was done growing before he slipped from her body.

“I know how tiresome this is,” she nuzzled, kissing him on the cheek. “I still thank you. I appreciate you.”

“It is my duty,” followed the reply with an unusually hard edge to it. Vanimórë’s hand grasped her shoulder while she observed their usual courtesy of offering each other some cleanliness. She had no need of him returning the favor; they were outdoors, on grass. Gravity would care for the problem very quickly.

“I suppose you need to start them harvesting.” Given the size of her mouth and his male parts, the speed at which she could accomplish this task amazed but the unwanted guest who would not cease visiting his mind today had no interest in such trivialities.

“...yes. I will return momentarily.” Restoring himself to order with alacrity, the sight of his sweeping hair as he hastened away elicited a sigh.

“Life with Vanimórë and company,” Nenni muttered under her breath darkly. “It’s everything I hoped it would be. Except not. I do not know how but…” Another sigh. “But I do not know how.”

Rising, she wrinkled her nose at what was left in the grass. Protein for the ants, I guess. Ew. Sex might give great pleasure while it was in progress, but there was no denying that from a purely objective standpoint, it and most other physiological processes were really gross. Let’s discuss digestion. “Or…let’s not, say we did, and go inside instead…”

Always it seemed so much nicer in their home except… “There is a horsewhip on the bed,” Nenni informed the room. “So the rest of the day is to be even more fun, I see. Is this supposed to be a hint? Alright. I suppose they have flagellants here too, why not? The world is a f*cked up place. Let’s get this over with.” Given that her long hair was already coiled atop her head, it left only ditching these clothes in favor of just some undergarment…might as well fish something already used from the laundry in case this gets messy…

You need overhead room, no objects around you can accidentally hit, and possibly something to hold onto like…one of the structural timbers holding this place up. Go back to the other side. So here was the space. I’ve done a lot of weird sh*t but I don’t think whipping myself was on the list. Well, this is connecting to my Catholic past in a new and special way. Does it count as historical research? A few cursory tries over the shoulder established the general grip and angle. Now you actually have to make it count. Can you do it? You have to hit yourself as hard as you can, or it’s not…what it’s supposed to be. It’s counterintuitive.

Are you joking? The Little Voice said. Is this really you? Want to hurt yourself. This is the one time all of that self-harm garbage could actually be good for something, and you can’t figure that out?

“Wow, are we really having this conversation? Last time you ripped me a new one over this.”

That…was before we stepped through the Looking Glass and onto the chess board.

Staring at everything and nothing, a cruel smile spread over lovely white teeth. A decorative jar, filled with colored glass pieces mostly in hues of red. These she poured out uncaringly on the sideboard runner-cloth, and took a few. “Fifteen, he said?”

Music came for her ears only, not anything like the usual favorites. I only remember the album was named Delirium…

The lessons were all learned, a very different alto lilt intoned.

CRACK angrily, her right arm swung the leather over in an arc onto her back with all she had. The pain and sting were tremendous but that was the point, wasn’t it?

Lessons were all learned, she repeated, pointing at something unseen with the whip handle. My soul has charred, what they burned.

CRACK

‘Til the end of time, ‘Til the end of time (You should apologize), she hissed

CRACK, CRACK

“Four.” Four glass pieces were tossed onto the bed, and some more were scooped into her hand from the side board. Biting her lip hard, deep breathing was forced through the bleeding stings. If this was four, she would kiss his feet for sparing her five. He said to learn silence. He meant, obedience. I have been to this party before and so has he. I can go home someday, in theory. He cannot…hehe.

‘Til the end of time, ‘Til the end of time

CRACK

So silence shamed me, shame

CRACK, CRACK

She brought with her doubt and blame

CRACK CRACK

“Five more,” under her breath, shakily throwing the pieces on the bed. “I don’t know what to do, this is very hard. Not sure I can power through six more, hurts so much. Drawing it out just as bad. Mmmmmmmmnnn….”

The music kept on, kept on…trying to slow her racing heart. Forehead against the pole, one arm held tight to it. Her right hand grasped the whip as though it was her sword seeking for the exact moment to strike – a detached thing, an impartial bystander with a determination all its own.

‘Til the end of time, ‘Til the end of time, ‘Til the end of time, ‘Til the end of time,

CRACK

Now it’s your turn to cry, Spend your life wondering why … You knew

The door noisily flew open and banged shut as the tenth glass piece musically landed amidst the others. In seconds he was there. “What are you DOING?” Vanimórë exploded, removing the whip roughly from her possession.

“I couldn’t do all of this before you came back,” Nenni tried to speak levelly. “I have reached the point of struggling with it; using all my strength is…I know it is the point of the thing but it will take me much longer. I have five more to go. Please administer the rest?”

“Who told you to do this?”

The copper head tilted in complete confusion. “You told me what my punishment was, and sent me inside with a whip sitting on the bed. It is the kind used on earth for self-abasem*nt, long ago. You detest striking women. I took all these things to mean that I was to get on with it, since I knew what was required.” Trying to find some humor in a situation not funny at all, her head lowered and both palms raised up to him. “It seems I have made a mistake. I am still here and the fault is mine. Do as you need to do, Lord. Especially if this is something our Master has insisted on. I apologize.”

Wordlessly he removed a decorative tassel from where it hung. “Place your hands high up against the pole,” he demanded in that ever so slightly peculiar tone she had come to recognize and dread.

The son was probably not in the driver’s seat. Wonderful. But I have survived the pain of Dragonfire. There is in fact nothing worse you can do to me, unless you have a spare one of those holed up in that pet volcano of yours. Any thought of refusing any command it was possible to obey was not to be thought of, so in seconds immobilization had been accomplished.

“Thou’rt bleeding.” Vanimórë/Sauron? seemed to be weighing what to do. “I want to see. Thy memory, what thou didst.”

“...yes, Lord.” She let him in, feeling there was little choice. That felt more than incredibly unsettling, but he only wanted one piece of information; whether she truly had hit herself with all her strength.

Annoyed, Sauron was forced to relent. The thorn in his side had won part of this round; he could not add to her punishment for honestly trying to obey him. “Thy Master is here, Adonenniel. He is both angered and pleased by the things he hath learned.”

“My Lord Sauron,” Nenni bowed her head deeply, unable to assume any other posture. “I cannot kneel to you.”

“After this, my slave will explain some circ*mstances for which I very much expect thy cooperation. Thy actions today caused a cascade of problems with more to follow. I am providing a considerable concession – at a cost. Reflect well on the rest of thy punishment ere ever this happens a second time.”

CRACKRACKRACKRACKRACK

The blows came with vicious strength and speed; it could not have lasted even five seconds. There was no need to ask; the level of damage done could be felt, viscerally. The pain from this fresh assault hadn’t registered yet. Here existed the ephemeral, blessed few seconds before nerve endings decided they had a job to do and ended their tea break. Probably there would be crying.

While any dignity remained, it would be very smart to say what this overbloated ego wanted to hear. “Yes, Master. Please overlook my differences. I truly do not mean to cause problems, Great Lord. I am broken and grateful for your patience.” The window closed. Excruciating hurt shot through the injuries.

“One question for thee.”

“Yes, Master?” Adonenniel’s voice could not hide all of the strain.

“What doth Thranduil manage with thee, being so broken?”

“A few things, Lord. I granted his desire for family. I still functioned as a counselor and cared for office duties. I did for my own people what I am doing for you. When all else fails, he throws up his hands and stares at Glorfindel in the hopes of greater insight. But left to my own devices I am told I am amusing and eventually produce usefulness for the benefit of others. Er, maybe that exceeded a few. I am sorry.”

“I challenge ‘eventually’ to be ‘expeditiously’,” Sauron taunted.

“Yes, Lord.” Her voice could not keep steady through “I shall ask the mother ship straight away, Lord.”

“What?”

“The mother ship.” Nenni’s bound hands had the fingers free, and one pointed upward. “It sends the ideas down. Lord.”

“That is enough.”

Silent, Nenni was only too happy to just try to breathe and wonder how Vanimórë could have endured the tortures laid upon him. He would have faced ten times worse than this had she failed to come here. Regardless what Thranduil would think of her, now that she had felt this herself…I must be wrong, and bad. Maybe I am just a pathetic do-gooder who cannot ignore the plight of anyone, just as I could not turn aside from the man I did not even know, husband or not. All of the things that happened between Thranduil and herself floated past like a flipbook. The gifts, the rules, the manipulations…a much nicer version of what was being done to her right now. Are any of them even sort of original? It’s…eh, whatever and god this hurts so much; this is worse. So that’s how hard Vanimórë can hit. With Sauron at the wheel, I’m pretty sure he borrowed the car to go full speed. Curiosity solved, and curiosity kind of killed the cat.

“Adonenniel…” a voice riddled with anguish returned. “Father has been coming all day today. I believe his sole purpose was to strike you. I am…”

My god, he is really, really upset…

“Love…I may be crazy but I wasn’t born yesterday. I really can tell the difference pretty well now. There is something in your voice when he uses you to speak; it isn’t you. I try to talk to him as though it’s…him, because I know it is. I’m fully aware that you are no better than a puppet at these times and I am so, so sorry this is being done to you but I know it is not you. It’s him. You are not doing these things to me. That your body is the vehicle he is using does not even register with me. I don’t see you, do you understand me? I know that another hand held the whip. I do not think you would have…would have hit me so hard. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe I was meant to have all fifteen blows be exactly like that.”

Silence, while he untied her hands. “Would you please let me in?”

Of course, I just wanted him…not in. It was getting weird.

The exquisite eyelashes lowered in obvious shame over jeweled eyes. It is not meant to be like this. You are in as much pain as if you had been given twenty or twenty-five. He did that in anger and I had no power to stop him and I have no words for my….I led you to this in order to spare myself. This is the cost of my cowardice.

My kingdom for a chopstick to prod that pointy ear right now… for f*ck’s sake…Don’t go there. Really. Do. Not. Dare. Go. There. First off, it was my choice. Second, your words happen to invalidate much of why I did come here instead of swan off. I think I needed to experience that because now I understand, a little.

I apologize. His gaze swept over her, especially her back, out of an unhappy face. I wish thee to walk and lie abed before thy wounds dry. I will treat them with salve to help; thou canst not heal so quickly as I. The worst will require two days, perhaps? I realize only now that my experience with elves…he shook his head.

Then let me hold your arm. Settling in was the work of a moment. Well, this is ridiculous. I can fix up most anything and I can’t even see the problem.

“Do not move. You cannot hide how much pain you are in,” Vanimórë spoke quietly.

It was as…devastated…as she had ever heard him. “Because you asked to be let in, and I agreed,” Nenni fired back. “Don’t make me regret that cooperation when I know you have suffered hundreds of times more than this and I probably need to add a zero onto that. Stop acting like this is in any way your fault. I put myself here in your world and it has rules. I f*cked up.” All the talking created tension, and tension pulled on muscles that had been badly abused. Terrible idea.

Stop talking! Talk to me here or you will hurt worse! I will try because you ask it but I loathe this! I loathe that I am the despicable, powerless tool by which he can deal cruelty where it is not deserved, this and…

I know you are. Vanimórë, is…he is gone, right?

Yes.

Have I earned any of your trust? If I told you something, could you at least consider that I might know what I am talking about, despite the level of ridiculousness?

Silence. Thou hast proven steadfast toward me in a way few others have. I did not wish our lives to become entangled, but so it has become. Trust is a difficult word for me, Lady; this world is a foul place. The most honest thing I can say is, I believe thou wouldst not ever willingly nor knowingly bring harm upon nor deceive me. All of that is a form of Yes.

I have another question. If I tell you a very simple thing, can you hide it away deep down, not think on it very much?

I…could. I am not such an object of fascination that he would tear my mind apart without reasons I could not begin to imagine.

“Then come here, please. And look at me.” Nenni voiced, to hell with the pain.

Reluctantly he stopped what he was doing, and moved to her head, bestowing a very gentle kiss. “What is so important?”

This: Her eyes bored into his, and few things had ever mattered so much to her. Tears spilled from her eyes. This will not always be your life, assuming you survive what lies ahead. Your freedom is nearer than you realize. When that happens, you will always find a friend in me.

More silence, and she could not plumb the depths of the spirit before her, that flickered in shades of violet at the fringes of her vision. The pupils had contracted sharply, and widened, much as that of the great birds of prey. Nenni could ask him nothing of whether he thought her words a colossal joke, just as he could not ask her how she dared claim to know. They were together, and a chasm lay between them. Right now every bit of the pain from her back found a welcome; without it no means would exist to manage the torment in her spirit.

You are far more than whether or not we are having carnal relations. I do not expect you to understand that somehow, I needed to come here and find myself. I am still searching.

With the pad of his thumb, he brushed away her tears. Thy words are not for discussion in this place and time. But I do have one appropriate query.

Which is?

How knowest thou, the hour when thy search is at an end?

Nenni smiled at him. I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir, because I’m not myself, you see.

Liking the answer, Vanimórë chuckled. I am going to apply an ointment now. It will help with the pain. I can also send for a medicine made from the poppy grown here. I see it ease suffering but if taken too much the people crave it all the time, losing themselves.

Pretty sure I know what that is and if I could have some of that I would be very grateful. Hopefully this is something meant to be swallowed not smoked, a liquid?

I am uncertain. Why doth this matter?

Dosage. Only with a liquid is it possible to figure out how much will suffice, and no more.

I see.

Vanimórë, punishment. I am also incredibly motivated never to have this happen to me again. So I am begging you, if you see me straying, tell me. I will listen. I grew up in a world where I lived in daily fear of physical violence and behaved a certain way because of it. I paid a very high price for existing in that environment, but nobody really cared about that just like nobody will care here. It is a system. I need to do my job, fulfill my duties and sooner or later I will break down because this is intolerable, but that is my problem.

What do you mean, break down?

I’m mentally ill. If a mentally ill person…you know what, let’s just say me, because I am the person under discussion. I have needs. I am not you, and my response to a lifetime of abuse is the opposite of being a pillar of strength. So he takes me, makes me work like an automaton with little regard for anything that matters to me…eventually I’m going to slide into despair, and after despair comes not wanting to live any more. After that comes dying. It’s kind of simple.

Thou hast told, thou canst not hearken to the summons from Lord of the Dead…

Well then I’ll have some kind of adventure, won’t I? But at least I won’t be here.

“Please do not do this to me,” Vanimórë pleaded. “I know how he behaved today, but he gave you what you wanted…at least if you are willing to bargain with him.”

What are you talking about? The salve was helping, but before it could help he had to put it on, and every new place he touched was fire.

You are unhappy with the garden and for the first time, today I had some understanding of why. I could see, a little, what it is you do and how…well as you say it is not working. He will allow production to cease, and for you to solve the problems…though you cannot take too long.

You said ‘bargain.’

He hath a wish to show thee off like a prize possession to select dignitaries. Men of power. Thou wouldst entertain, display thy abilities.

Oh? And what comes after the entertainment, when their lust strikes and they want to bed me. Do I entertain that too? Nenni closed her eyes and shook her head. I am to be a courtesan with a good side show. That is what he wants. He already has leveraged this and destroyed the sanctity of my marriage, and now he wishes to make the wreckage complete and utterly make me his whor*. I’ve already crossed the line, what’s a little more? Oh Valar it’s so bad it’s good…and if I refuse, a bunch of people get killed, right?

Bile rose in his gut. His underestimation of her acuity caught him badly unawares. Where there should be relief that this burden had been lifted from him, disgust and helplessness roiled …Children. The pain in that word seemed endless.

Something like a cascade of stars exploded behind her closed eyes, before all the lights extinguished. Do you know, I somehow find nothing matters any longer? I mean, when it comes to it, I will feel sick, nervous, maybe I will panic, I do not know. I was never able to have casual encounters. I did not know how. Something about them terrified me. And once again I am sorry, I apologize to you. Here I am, speaking from my place of privilege, bitching about the loss of what you never had.

I was instructed to escort thee. The hidden meaning is, I too am offered up for the pleasure of whoever is there. To dance if asked, or…more. But my first duty is to thee.

Wait. So if someone…wants me…you have to stand there and watch? This was becoming surreal.

No. I would stand guard outside the room. Giving privacy, but close enough to hear any harm to thee. In actuality, close enough to hear thy mind. They will have been instructed, thou mayst not be abused, treated roughly, perversely… he frowned. Adonenniel, how much intercourse hast thou had, as males do?

You mean how much anal sex have I had? Not a lot. I love touching men that way. I swear I am a gay man trapped in a woman’s body because if there is anything better than giving a man a prostate massage and a hand job and dragging it out until he is a hot mess, I’d like to know what it is…really I am a waste…anyway my experiences with it have been mixed. I had a good time in the end, but the pain of getting in there unless someone takes half a year with foreplay…oi.

Two dark brows shot up nearly to his hairline as he felt a twitch in his groin. Damn this woman… He did not permit himself to be taken with partners; always he did the taking. Was it really the same, though, if a woman bestowed the pleasure? “Adonenniel…can you ever just answer the question?” Now he needed to adjust his trousers, and his hands were covered in ointment.

I am sorry, Vanimórë. I did not mean to…

It is well, he interrupted. But for thee…there could be a problem. It is very common for males to presume to use females in all manner.

I feel like this is going a little too far. They are getting to screw the crowned queen of another realm, and they are going to lodge a complaint because they can’t ass rape her when she is not accustomed to this activity instead of using the place on women that, you know, is set up for this kind of thing? I won’t be here forever, and I’ll be taking down names as it is. Just for having the audacity to use me like this, the day will come when there will be regret, even if it is upon their sixth great-grandsons. I have a very long memory.

My dear… He sighed, obviously in some kind of desperation. Thou wert drugged more than twice. While I may go with thee for protection, I may not succeed. Our Master wants to offer us in this way. Already, a serious matter not in our favor exists. Thou hast beseeched me, that I should keep thee from further punishment of this kind. Allow me then to prepare thy body for what may come. I do not want thee to suffer the pain of rape nor the lash. When thou’rt not his toy to show off, he sees thee as contrary, spoiled. Our Master cannot understand thy condition and cares nothing for frailties nor emotions. Thou canst not know how much I have played the intermediary, or tried to.

Nenni closed her eyes. Please forgive me. I will do my best to do as you ask of me. I think…in all this place, you are the only one to whom I can submit without everything inside shaking asunder. Our Master, I do some of it because I take pride in my good work and promises and the rest because of deceptive coercions backed by fear of pain. Might makes right, we called it on earth. You could use might makes right too, but you have not. I want to please you even if sometimes you are difficult to understand and seemingly impenetrable. Your regard means something to me, so when you ask something of me, the only reason I need is the knowledge that this is what you want me to do. Not him, not anything else about this place. If the only reason is that it makes your life easier, for now it is enough.

For now. But not always. The amethyst eyes glittered.

I agreed to grow food. Do you notice how he likes to alter the rules of what was a very simple and straightforward bargain? A bargain for which, by the way, I never expect nor care to see his side fulfilled but I digress. If he can alter the bargain to suit his purposes, then so can I. It is best I say no more and yet I have already said it. I still have much work to do for our Master. I sincerely hope, though, that this marks the limit of his forays into hanging me out like a choice piece of meat. I can only imagine what my husba– oh. Ohhhh. Oh Nenni you stupid, stupid, dolt. It was right in front of me all the time. What an incredible, giant fool I am.

What mean’st thou?

I mean, dear man, that all of this has never really been about me at all. It is time I taught you to play chess.

**

Chapter 22: Meanwhile in Eryn Galen

Chapter Text

{15 Rhîw Imladris, December 6, Gregorian T.A. 3017}

For the first many days once returned to the forest, Beren kept himself so scarce that he evaded notice to all but two – and one was Erestor.

Though mired in guilt and stress, as days bled into weeks he did not forget the huge hound to whom they owed their safe passage…but he also knew better than to direct his concerns to a volatile Thranduil or an elf he did not know and who seemed to mostly be Amaranthine’s nanny. Near Glorfindel, Erestor yet harbored a sense of awkwardness and shame he made great efforts to mask; the belief that he had catalyzed all that had followed would not leave his mind. His introduction to Thanadir had been perfunctory and rushed; really he had gained no sense of the ellon. Unlike reticent Erestor, Glorfindel had by now infiltrated Thranduil’s realm with his usual efficiency; he was not a seneschal for nothing. Many of the key members of the guard were known to him, and certainly he had made the acquaintance of any who had figured in his daughter’s life in however marginal of a role.

In Glorfindel’s estimation, Anthilen’s role had been more than marginal and when it came to Beren; next to Adonenniel and Thranduil this soldier of the Forest Guard likely knew the dog better than anyone else in these vast caverns. So when Beren’s absence continued from the Royal Quarters…

"Ah! Well yes, you see," Anthilen smiled, rubbing the back of his neck... "He comes for his meals, Lord, but he has to reclaim his forest. It is a lot of work and he is irritable about it. I have been very diligent to feed him well, only the best meats."

Glorfindel wore a mystified expression.

"His territory. Mark his forest. Because it is...his." Anthilen's eyes darted left and right, trying to ensure this treason was not being overheard.

"But does not the forest belong to Aran Thranduil?" The golden brows knitted.

Again, eyes darting left. And right. Conspiratorially, Anthilen leaned a little closer. "That is what Beren allows Aran Thranduil to believe, my Lord. It is best that other versions…” His voice dropped into a whisper "...other versions contrary to his reality not be mentioned where Beren can hear of them."

Glorfindel really did not see, except that the dog shared in his mistress’ alternative views of the world. Well, he loved all of it; understanding was not required. “Erestor is very worried about Beren; he is grateful beyond measure for what the hound did for them. Maybe Beren would come to visit him?” Erestor’s troubled heart had been guessed at, but Glorfindel did not yet know how to approach his friend. Simply telling Erestor he believed falsely would not alter his thinking – not this time.

“I shall certainly inform him of this. Everyone holds Lord Erestor in the highest regard and I would do this and much more, were there anything I could do.”

“You are very kind, Anthilen,” Glorfindel smiled.

The guard shook his head. “I love my King, and all those he loves are my heartfelt duty.”

Nodding at the gracious reply, Glorfindel withdrew. That was the easy problem to solve. Now for the far more difficult one.

**

“We are meeting informally because you are my trusted family,” Thranduil intoned morosely. “I am faced with an unprecedented circ*mstance. At least two of you have formally served in the capacity of advisors to those in positions of high leadership; arguably all of you have been knee-deep in politics and have had the discretion to pretend as though you were not.” Ceasing his discourse for a moment, his eye fell particularly on Tauriel, who masterfully returned the king’s gaze with an absolutely blank one of her own. Next to her, Legolas did not fare quite so well, and colored lightly under the weight of his father’s words.

Erestor calmly listened, Glorfindel anxiously listened while appearing calm, and Thanadir really felt quite astonished to be included in this gathering. He did not believe he merited any such regard, but Aran Thranduil’s discourse struck his mind like blows to an anvil. Fully expecting to be instructed to care for Amaranthine, that task instead fell to Thaliel. Galion did not participate, but neither was he sent away. In fact, he was retained, to keep wine and teacups filled (Erestor and Tauriel did not want alcohol prior to an evening meal) and prompt a steady stream of delicate and tempting offerings from the kitchen. Difficult meetings always went better with food; a significant departure from the custom in Imladris. Erestor barely knew what to do with Glorfindel popping some small treat onto the palm of his hand with a You must try this with rather a lot of frequency. Though the truth behind this was, Erestor had returned from the long journey visibly thinner. Everyone had done their best but the journey had taken its toll.

“We will all do our best, Adar,” Legolas spoke up, “to aid you in any way we can. You have our loyalty and our discretion. Nothing said here shall leave these chambers.”

All hands went to their hearts. It felt heartening to see, even if it did not solve the problem, Thranduil noted glumly. “Acknowledged.” He studied all of them in turn. “News of what has befallen my wife, or more precisely the nature of how she and Erestor effected their escape from Orthanc, has circulated throughout the realm. It was not indiscretion on the part of any of you. I would say rather that it was information set deliberately loose by someone from Orthanc familiar with the arrangements. A few possibilities come to mind; the only goal need have been to sow internal strife here and cast shame upon the rulers of this kingdom. Only one thing is working in our favor; the widespread knowledge on the part of those who know anything of elves that we are not subject to intimate violation…my wife apparently being a lone exception to this.”

Thanadir paled to nearly white, and Tauriel stood bolt upright, staring in disbelief. Legolas rose, placing a hand on her shoulder, his expression grim but resolute. Some signal passed between them, and the commander resumed her seat.

“It is time for those of you who do not already know, Commander Tauriel, to become informed. By some mechanism of promise from the Powers, my wife cannot go to Lord Námo. We have not understood the precise nature of this and perhaps still do not, but it was that Lord’s gift to the Queen. We here all know what gift is granted to the Eldar who are wed and threatened with this kind of assault; that our spirits may flee to the Halls of Waiting rather than suffer this unspeakable act. In her case…survival is obviously possible. It occurred when she was drugged unconscious. More than once. I do not know what to say about this circ*mstance under which the violations were committed without the awareness of the victim save that my wife yet lives and is bearing this burden in her own manner.”

“Who shall die for these crimes?” Tauriel asked without emotion.

Thranduil’s lips curled slightly. “I am afraid you are not first in line for that privilege, Commander. Nor is it the subject at hand.” Thranduil’s lips pressed flat. Spinning on his heel, his back suddenly turned to her in a whirl of pale hair.

It had been long since this kind of simmering rage had threatened to undo Tauriel. Glorfindel did not ask, but sent his gift across the room before this could escalate any further in the wrong direction.

Legolas guessed quickly why his friend could so swiftly forego her anger, and shot the Elflord a pointed expression of gratitude that sailed over his father’s head. Usually little escaped Adar but this time he would count it as a blessing. Tauriel blinked several times and appeared to refocus her attention on the king’s words…or so he hoped. Using the brief moment to his advantage, he quickly elbowed Tauriel lightly, preventing the apology she prepared to speak, shaking his head ‘No’ ever so slightly.

Catching the motion in her peripheral vision, a baffled Commander decided to ‘stand down.’ Legolas knew his father best, and clearly whatever was unfolding…all of it constituted information she lacked but they were including her. Aran Thranduil was including her. Allowing her auburn head to fall forward between hunched shoulders, Tauriel thought it easier if their eyes did not meet.

And Thranduil sighed with gratitude, upon seeing this small courtesy. “I do not know who began the rumors nor does it have any bearing; the gossip is circulating and has reached my ears. Which means it has reached your ears as well, Prince Legolas.”

On account of the enunciation of the title Thranduil articulated with such precise clarity, Erestor believed a mere word might become a living statue. The grey eyes blinked, appreciating elocution wherever it might be encountered. Next to him, Glorfindel’s lips could not help but curl up a little, for he knew what the diminutive elf had to be thinking. Some things would never change.

A grimace spread on the lips of the Prince in question. “Rumors reach my ears daily, Your Majesty,” he uttered with a completely straight face. “I will allow that some of them have pertained to my mother of late, and that they have been…unlistenable.”

Across the room, Galion involuntarily sucked in air.

“And so?” Thranduil leaned in dangerously, seeming decidedly un-familial.

“So I did not listen.” Tilting up his head, Legolas locked eyes with his father. “What would you have had me do? Grab the speaker by the throat? Begin a fistfight? I am angry, Adar. But it is not my place to react without your leave.”

“You did not think to tell me?” Thranduil half-shouted.

“You already knew!” Legolas retorted, exasperated.

“STOP IT, both of you!” Tauriel demanded, on her feet, cheeks red with anger as she stood between them, facing especially Thranduil. “What is to be gained by clawing at each other when the problem lies outside of this room?!?”

Silence.

Erestor stood, making his way to the color he knew to be Thranduil’s robes and hair. Thanadir, fearful he would stumble, crouched in readiness to assist him should something go wrong. He was beyond all upset, agitated past his usual fearful self-consciousness. Glorfindel did not truly understand what either of them meant to do, but did not want to seem as though he were over-managing the Counselor, who still needed to have a sense of dignity, especially here.

“May I speak?” Erestor queried softly.

The unfortunate result of the question was Thranduil turning unexpectedly toward a Thanadir he did not know was there, pitching him sharply against a piece of heavy wooden furniture – the outer arms of one of the sofas. Striking his head hard, he bore the pain in silence rather than disturb the room. Though, he was slow to move from the crouched position into which he had fallen.

“Yes,” Thranduil had already answered irritably, for all of it had happened in the blink of an eye, and a distracted King’s attention had already turned back to the oblivious Counselor.

Glorfindel, appalled, reached for Thanadir at once, who tried unsuccessfully to wave off the much stronger ellon. This meeting had barely begun and already it would never end…

“Adonenniel would not like this,” Erestor told meekly but with courage. “She thought of you here – of us here – and the idea of her family, well and together…much to my great shame…is why she is not here,” his voice shook and trembled.

The King turned away, his demeanor completely changed. The anger had gone, dissipated into depression. This was when he saw Thanadir’s bleeding forehead, and Glorfindel pressing a cloth against it. Taking over insistently, Thranduil spoke while fussing with Thanadir’s minor but still painful injury. “Erestor, then what would she have me do? At one time she was the means by which we were on a trajectory toward accumulating significant amounts of grain. Now not only can we not produce this small but very relevant daily supply that was adding to our stores, the ability to inconspicuously acquire such a surplus is equally impossible – something my trade advisors will be quick to point out to me. Worse yet, that resource has been handed over to someone…extremely unpalatable. Knowledge of that last part has not passed beyond this room, yet, but it seems like it is a matter of time, given the other unsavory details that have gone out into the world.”

“Pardon me, but I do not know what those details are,” Erestor emphasized,”nor do I know the exact nature of the things being said here and by whom. I am sorry for my ignorance but please do not require me to be half-informed nor guess at matters of importance. I am an advisor and I cannot effectively offer counsel unless I understand all relevant details! If…” Erestor paled. Turning, he sought the shapes and colors that would indicate where he had been sitting. This time Glorfindel did wordlessly assist him without hesitation; requiring him to grope around the furniture was going a step too far. “Please forgive me; I have forgotten myself, Aran Thranduil. I am not in Imladris.”

“No, you are not, Erestor. And while your courtesy and humility are acknowledged, I will remind you that we here are family and dispensing with the use of titles inside these chambers. You are not in Imladris and yet here I have with me two of Elrond’s most valued counselors. I think I would be somewhat foolish not to avail myself of your minds given that here you sit. I mean no discourtesy or to overlook you, Thanadir.”

“None is presumed,” the ellon said softly.

Thranduil rubbed at his brow. “As best as I can reconstruct events, it goes thus: Word came on the rumor mill from the traders that the Queen had been taken out of the Wizard’s Vale in a small party led by an emissary of Mordor, and one greatly feared at that. Naturally, the rest of the party minus the Queen has returned, even her hound. The two conclusions are, she is dead or captured.”

“The latter, Erestor, has been twisted into ‘since with her abilities she should not have been able to remain captured by a lone individual, then her mind surely has become overthrown by dark forces and she has turned traitor.’ You see, it was widely known that orcs bearing the White Hand hunted my mother relentlessly for a time, along with the increasing threat of spiders. They worked in tandem. The spiders acted as spies for Saruman’s orcs. Well, she was finally captured, for what reason they do not really know, but clearly she was wanted in Mordor. It is firmly believed that should she have wanted to, she could have freed herself given she is such an able fighter. Naturally everyone spouting this nonsense has never held a sword.”

Glorfindel squeezed his eyes shut. He could not afford to withhold his knowledge any longer without even more devastating consequences to his relationship with Thranduil. “I need to share that Adonenniel communicated with me in the small hours.” The small hours of which day, never mind, he thought to himself. “I hope that it can be forgiven that I have spent the hours since then trying to pray and reflect on the things shown to me. She is certainly not dead, and I am asked to tell especially Thranduil but also all of you here, even Thanadir, that you have her love. I hope you can pardon that she said she loved and missed her husband as a first mention,” he smiled. “She is not in captivity but rather…making good on the terms of an agreement. I have no other means to say it. I still do not know the full truth behind what happened, but my guess is she was made to look into Orthanc’s palantir. I believe she managed, somehow, an exchange with the enemy and emerged unscathed. She secured the release of herself and Erestor and the boys from Saurman’s prison, but the price was to use her gift to grow food for Sauron.”

“What?” Thranduil whispered. “Why in Eru’s name did she not flee once she was out of there?”

“I do not believe she could,” Erestor said slowly. “Not if Vanimórë was the one who was charged with taking her away, for lack of better words.”

“You are telling me Adonenniel could not bring down one opponent?” Thranduil asked incredulously.

“I am telling you that there are more ways the forces of Sauron have to fight than swords,” Erestor answered. “What stopped him from keeping her asleep for days tied to the back of a horse? What stopped him from telling her that if she did not go, he would slaughter the boys in front of her? I have heard of the tactics they will use and I think a kind, sensitive person like her could be very much coerced by them. If she were not like this she could have just left me to die and gotten out of there on her own.”

Thranduil closed his eyes. “Was there more, Glorfindel?”

“Yes…” The Golden Lord proceeded to tell all he felt it was safe to disgorge…that he believed she was somewhere in Eastern lands (keep it quite vague instead of the far more specific location he had guessed at), treated well, guarded (did not mention Vanimórë nor would he unless asked because why was that relevant?), works alone and probably would not communicate again for quite some time to focus on work…but did disclose the blessing of Varda and Nenni’s rather audacious ‘in your face’ right at the Dark Tower. “So as for being traitorous, well, she is a rather uncooperative traitor if that is the case.”

Legolas could not help but smirk behind his hand. “I do love my Naneth. I bet Sauron had a complete tantrum.”

“Sauron is not a joke!” Thranduil lashed out. “He is terrifying!”

“Your wife is…different, Thranduil. She is not afraid of him though I agree it would be wiser of her to be thus. Whatever is not the same, with her mind…I really believe it will be troublesome for the Dark Lord if nothing else. I take some small consolation from this. Oh, and I am remembering now. I was supposed to tell you that she is so sorry this has happened, and pleads with you to ‘take care of our daughter and find six impossible things before breakfast. She wonders if you know about magenta yet? But then thought…No…better stick to indigo.”

Erestor mulled over all these things. “So there was more afoot all along. This is why we were captured in the first place. I was collateral damage; she was wanted by Sauron, and in striking this bargain she bought time and saved three extra lives. However. In making this choice she also abandoned her duties to her kingdom. She should have left me to be killed.”

“Erestor!” Glorfindel was deeply distressed. “We are not orcs! How can you believe that?! You would throw away your life as so valueless? She would not be doing this if she did not believe there was a path out of this! I very much…I know from her words that in her mind, there is a limit to this. It isn’t ‘grow food for Sauron forever;’ there is some span of time in her head. The question is, what?”

“I agree with Glorfindel, Erestor,” Thranduil said. “My obligation may be to my people but it does not mean I would overlook you in this way or cast your life aside. I do not despise her decision to use the means at her disposal to save your life along with her own. To merely only consider herself while abandoning you would have been morally untenable; we have declared a bond of family for Eru’s sake. You had to get out of there and from what I know of it, Isengard is impregnable.”

“So you agree on that point,” Erestor said. “I had to know this. If you believe in this view of matters, Thranduil, I have a potential solution for your problem. You are a monarch, not troubled by the pesky negotiating we must manage in Imladris. The ability to stop these nasty rumors rests at your fingertips. Write a decree. Any person witnessed by two or more others spreading unsubstantiated gossip about the Queen will automatically be inducted for military service regardless of social standing or privilege. If that individual already serves in a military capacity, they will receive punishment in the form of…whatever it is you do here; extra patrols, extra guard shifts, you name it, and their name will be placed on a public list of malefactors who have earned your displeasure. Really, why have a monarchy if now and again you do not wield its power to be intolerant of this sort of thing? Besides, gossip is cancerous within any cohesive society and should be rooted out vigorously. Tolerating it, in my opinion, is a serious mistake.”

“And away he goes,” Glorfindel chuckled. “I feel as though I am in a council meeting, listening to Lord Erestor, and watching the secretary desperately scurrying to take minutes.”

“I…might resemble that comment,” Erestor flashed Glorfindel a smile. “Am I really that bad?”

“A true force to be reckoned with. I want to keep you,” Legolas grinned.

Thranduil glowered at his son.

Legolas grinned some more.

Tauriel pressed her lips together, and Thranduil pinned her under his gaze. Uh-oh…

“Commander Tauriel. Sorry. Tauriel – there I go breaking my own rules. I really want to hear your opinion on what Erestor has just said. Please. I am not going to eat you.”

“I remain uncertain about that due to the nature of your facial expression, O sovereign type person,” she coughed and smiled winningly. “But you asked and insisted so my opinion is sweet mercy of Our Lady of Sorrows we should have been doing this a century and a half ago except it should have been public floggings and time in the prison cells and even if that would have included you beating the uniform off of me too! This gossip is the worst and I know who I’d like to flog! That would be my, uh, opinion which is all to say I think Erestor’s ideas are very sensible and conservative compared to anything I would, ah, conjure. Yes. Sire. Please recall that you did ask. Lord.”

“Tauriel, now tell us what you really think,” Legolas deadpanned. “I am sure you were holding back with that response.”

“See if I help you with the paperwork next time,” Tauriel answered cryptically.

“Legolas is shutting up now,” the Prince decided.

“So two people here definitely feel I am being far too lenient if not negligent in this regard. Legolas, do you agree with them?” Thranduil inquired pointedly.

“I…like the sound of doing something,” Legolas thought carefully. “But I feel that the reality would not be so easy as it sounds. Do I have your consent to speak very openly, Adar?”

The silence seemed very heavy, for a moment. Finally Thranduil waved at his son. “Go ahead, I will not object. Perhaps I have objected for far too long.”

“Alright,” Legolas said mildly. “The structure of the problem is, this gossip is not coming from the ordinary people. The dynamic is that high or higher ranking ellyn in positions of contact with information sources outside the Realm bring tidbits home to their bored, uneducated and small-minded wives. My mother had actually created a long term plan that she implemeted by which to try to turn around the attitudes of these ladies and it met with success, but the forest abhors an empty glade. Obviously these events and the year of her pregnancy complicated matters; she could not continue to ensure all remained as it should. For all intents and purposes, Nana disappeared from the public eye of the Realm, though this is not her fault. So slowly, a new…well, infestation occurred. It is the ellith that distort the facts – or invent them from thin air – to match something that sounds suitably scandalous, and then they gossip. This then circulates to the general population as some new and titillating thing, and when it has run its course, some new inanity will show up or be created to take its place. It is a game to them, except it is one in which often people can be hurt.”

Erestor’s lips parted. The scholar had been reduced to what Glorfindel would later think of as ‘apoplectic speechlessness.’ Had this been Imladris, a tirade would already be underway but here he had to mind his words carefully. The strain played out all over his face.

“You may say it, Master Erestor,” Thranduil articulated. “There is no need to struggle so much.”

The pale face flushed beneath the gray eyes.

“It is not my place to harshly criticize the governance of a monarch, Thranduil. Even one to whom I have not sworn my allegiance,” Erestor said, his voice unusually unsteady. “But unless I have not been informed of an important mitigating circ*mstance, to tolerate this within any community will have extremely deleterious consequences for its well-being. It must be stopped at once, if it is my opinion that you request. This is your Realm; surely the means is best known to you if my idea is incompatible.”

“One thing bothers me,” Glorfindel spoke. “Erestor’s suggestion has merit, the idea of attaching a real consequence to being caught spreading these vile sentiments about my daughter. At the very least this is a wildly disrespectful and unkind way to treat a person who willingly defends them at risk of pain and death without hesitation whenever called upon to do so. She has done everything asked of her, and this is their show of loyalty? It is quite disgusting. I am not sure military service is as appropriate as having to do manual labor at tasks that are onerous and unclean. Grooming horses, stalls. My only fear is that the punishments will fall disproportionately on those of lower rank, and the viper’s nest responsible for all this will elude their reckoning.”

Thranduil paced the small area, stopping. Glorfindel, I know why I have allowed this to go on. I am trying to find the courage to speak it aloud because it reveals a complete failing and weakness of my rule. I am not supposed to show those flaws, ever, but I find myself questioning everything.

Do you want to tell me?

It…it is all because of her. Adonenniel. When I lost her. All these problems were caused by ellith. I did not want to interact with ellith. Even lost forever, I still only wanted my wife, and other women – the sympathy in their eyes, their attempts to curry favor, their…too many things to list here – were intolerable. Unbearable. Repugnant in a manner I cannot begin to explain. Tauriel has been one of few exceptions precisely because she is not like an elleth. Hard, and fierce. I am not blind, there is a female underneath, but it has been kept well out of my sight therefore we reached what I would describe as a moral parity. It is precisely because Tauriel belongs to another world that she was useless to assist with this problem.

So I turned a blind eye to this because doing something about it would have meant interaction with them, even in discipline or meting out punishment. Some of them were peers of my father and are far older than I. You cannot imagine the difficulty, for me.

I see. I think you may not need to tell them, unless you truly wish to. You are entitled to be imperfect and have struggles, Thranduil.

I feel they deserve to know why it is falling to them to clean this mess up that I allowed to become normalized, and has now reasserted itself after my wife made a clean sweep of the worst offenders..

Would you allow me to try to help you? Glorfindel asked.

You may, but I should begin…the edict is the right idea, but it must be structured carefully…

Thranduil inhaled deeply. “I believe the solution lies with Erestor’s idea. I also believe you here deserve to know, if you have not been able to surmise, why this has gone on unchecked for centuries. It is only right…especially for you, Legolas. I have not been blind to the consequences for you. This must be added to the list of things my loss of your mother cost you through no fault of yours whatsoever.”

“You do not have to do this, Adar,” Legolas went to his father and grasped his hand, unsure if any further affection would be tolerated under the current circ*mstances. Meeting be damned, he had to do at least this much.

Drawing his son against him, he gazed down. Anguish filled his gaze. “Oh. But I very much do. Otherwise the shadows of the past will continue to rule this kingdom, and not truly me.”

*****