Far Horizons 9:  Safety Lines 

Finarfin observed the elf who had captured his daughter’s hand.  It was rather ridiculous, millennia after the date, to find himself jealous of the ancient silver-haired lord. It was even more ridiculous to want to test him in some way to insist that he prove himself worthy of her love.   However, nonsensical or not, he was conscious that the feeling was there.

The look in his daughter’s eyes suggested that she was only too well aware of the emotions coursing through him, even as it warned him that he was to keep to himself any ideas he might have.  Moreover, he had to admit that she was clearly happy to be here with her husband by her side and, for that at least, he should be prepared to offer friendship – fully and wholeheartedly.  And he would.  Even though he found it hard to forgive him the years when she had suffered, bereft of power and passion and purpose, longing for a reunion that seemed ever less likely.

‘He is good for her,’ his wife observed quietly, for his ears only.

He was:  Finarfin had to agree.  She had been a wild and rebellious child when she turned her back on him and the Blessed Realm and headed across the vicious Grinding Ice to seek a life of her own choosing.  She had been a subdued, exhausted, triumphant, but above all lonely elf when she had returned with Elrond, Mithrandir and the Halfling with the news of Sauron’s defeat.  Her husband’s arrival had warmed her and completed the healing in a way of which nothing else was capable.

‘Send him to me, my daughter,’ he requested silently across the crowded hall.  ‘I would speak with him without your standing by his side to protect him.’

‘He would consider,’ she replied, ‘that I am the one who needs protection.’

‘Shall I say, then, that he does not know you well?’ he asked.

He felt her laugh with a softness he had not heard since she was an elfling. ‘He knows me, Adar.  He chooses to shelter me anyway.  And, on occasion, I choose to accept it.’

Celeborn appeared by his side, the gleam of starlight in him, polished with the strength of mithril.  ‘My lord king,’ he said politely, bowing his head.

‘My lord prince,’ Finarfin replied.  After all, nothing was lost in behaving with courtesy and since his son-in-law appeared not to care for titles, that was all the more reason to ensure that he was given them in plenty.  ‘I understand that Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower has ridden forth with a party to seek the homes for which you hunger.’

As he conversed cautiously with the king, Celeborn allowed his eyes to consider the elves before him.  Surely, somewhere among these, would be the answer to the trouble about which he was concerned.  Did he really need, he thought, to bring the matter to Finarfin, or would it be better to resolve it without him?  Galadriel met his eyes.  He could feel her encouraging him to reveal the problems and thought, with amusement, that if he did not, then she most certainly would.

The silver-haired queen inclined towards him, apparently listening to the meaningless small talk, before placing her hand on his arm.  ‘Cousin,’ she said, acknowledging him openly as kin to Olwe’s family.  ‘I believe that some matter concerns both you and my daughter, but I doubt that this is the best place or time for discussion. Perhaps you would take breakfast with us tomorrow in our private rooms.’

A slow smile lit Celeborn’s face. ‘My lady,’ he said. ‘Cousin – I would be honoured.’

The look that Earwen flicked at her husband was delightfully smug and made the king’s lips clench briefly.  He was aware of the flash of enjoyment in his son-in-law as he recognised the attributes of his wife revealed in her naneth and Finarfin suddenly felt a kinship to the elf who had his daughter’s love.

‘Manipulative,’ he said softly, but clearly.

‘Quite,’ Celeborn agreed.  ‘And devious.’

‘But remarkably successful,’ Finarfin sighed.  ‘I will see you tomorrow, my lord.’

***

Elerrina was paler than he ever remembered, Thranduil thought.  She had not reacted well to the idea that someone, here in the safety of Valinor, had deliberately injured her husband.  She had been almost as shocked by the cool response of all to the actual wound.

‘It is nothing,’ Legolas insisted, taking her hand.  ‘It will be fully healed within a few days.’

‘Truthfully,’ Miriwen assured her. ‘It is a clean puncture and is merely a flesh wound – painful, but not life threatening.  Elrond did not even find it necessary to come himself.  He knew that I am perfectly capable of dealing with it.’

‘How can you take it so calmly?’ she asked incredulously.  ‘It is an arrow wound. Calion shot him on purpose!  These people are willing to return to kinslaying to get what they want.’

Her brother cleared his throat.  ‘You do not need to become hysterical, little sister,’ he said reprovingly.  ‘Legolas himself thought the incident might have been an accident,’ he added, looking pleadingly at his brother-in-law.

‘Is that truly what you think?’  Thranduil raised his eyebrow.

‘I do not believe that Calion is capable of shooting accurately enough to be sure of wounding me thus,’ his son replied somewhat ambiguously.

With a slow nod, his adar informed them, ‘This is not my realm – I do not have the authority to deal with the accusation and even if I had, I would be obliged to leave the case to the hands of others, since my son is the victim of this incident.  Elrond has taken a full report from all those who would speak to him and a copy of the information has been forwarded to the king.  We will see what action Finarfin takes.’

His voice suggested that he would withhold judgement until such time as the king proved himself willing to behave impartially to Sindarin and Noldor alike. 

‘You show great wisdom,’ Camentur said with relief.  ‘Any action on your part would stir up further trouble, whereas King Finarfin is the lord to whom all these are sworn. They will have to accept his decision.’

***

‘You are an idiot!’ Artamir screamed.  ‘I am ashamed to have such a stupid fool as a son!  How did you begin to imagine that you could get away with such a reckless action?   All this time we have been working carefully and attempting to show these refugees for the inferior pieces of Moriquendi dross they are – and with one moronic move you have place our entire house in jeopardy!  You have shamed me and put your brother in peril.’

‘But, Adar -.’

‘Do not speak to me!  And stand up straight.  You are a disgrace, Calion.  I am inclined to disown you as my son without waiting for the king to decide to exile you.’

‘But, Adar,’ the nervous voice repeated.  ‘I did not -.’

His father lifted his hand and administered such a ringing slap across his son’s cheek that he had to step back to keep his balance.  ‘Do not lie to me!  You had the bow in your hand – you and only you.  Did you see anyone else? Can you tell me who is guilty, if not you?’

Calion lifted his hand to dab at the blood from the cut his father’s ring had opened, but he said nothing.  His shoulders sagged.  Did his pompous father not realise that, if he had shot the Arda-marred husband of Taryatur’s daughter, he would be only too delighted to claim the credit?  But he would not attempt to do such a thing – not now, when the time was not ready. 

Artamir squared his jaw and glared at his dejected son.  ‘You will ride to the king,’ he decided, ‘and throw yourself on his mercy.  If you arrive before that Thranduilion goes whingeing for vengeance, you might be able to pre-empt him.  Whatever happens, I do not wish to see you again until the matter is resolved, do you understand me?’

His son refused to meet his eyes. ‘If that is your command, Adar,’ he said stiffly.

‘I will not give you my blessing,’ his adar finished spitefully.  ‘You do not merit it.’

Calion bowed his head. ‘Farewell, Adar,’ he declared bitterly.

***

Elrohir leaned on the door frame, watching as Elerrina busied herself with Galenthil. ‘I do not understand,’ she said.  ‘Why are you so interested in this?  It is not unusual for ellyth to be distressed over ellyn – Nessariel did not seem to me to be saying anything that would account for you wanting to discuss the matter.’

As she brushed her fingers through Eleniel’s soft fair hair, Sirithiel looked thoughtful. ‘It did not feel right, Elerrina.  I know she is your cousin – but she did not seem truthful to me.’

Her friend stood and turned to her.  ‘Why not?’ she asked in surprise.

‘I saw her talking to Minyariel,’ Sirithiel answered softly. ‘It was not that sort of conversation – Minyariel was being as gracious as she ever is.  What is more, Nessariel was too tearful – and she recovered too quickly.  And why did she want to cry on your shoulder?  You are cousins, yes, but you are not close.  There were others she should have gone to first.’

‘I had not thought of it,’ Elerrina considered.  ‘You are right.  I wonder why it did not occur to me.’

Elrohir grinned.  ‘You have a tendency to imagine that pretty ellyth are innocent victims of evil schemes rather than their perpetrators.  If you think what Nessariel’s words achieved, rather than  feeling sorry for her – what do you see then?’

‘She accused Minyariel – and through her Artamir!’

‘No details – no proof – nothing concrete, but what was the outcome?  She left you convinced that Artamir is masterminding the opposition.’

Elerrina picked up her son and placed a loving kiss on his brow.  ‘There you are, my sweet,’ she said absently.  ‘What do you want me to do, Elrohir?’

‘I would like you and Nisi to draw her into your company more.  It will not seem odd – you are bound to want to protect her from nasty cruel Minyariel, and Nisi will want to spend as much time as possible with her kin.  And then I want you to be gullible. Accept what she tells you – rage at what angers her, show your doubts about your kin by marriage, reveal little details that we want to pass on.’

The green eyes gazed into his.  ‘It sounds as if it could be rather fun,’ Elerrina observed cautiously.

‘It takes intelligence and a good memory to do it well,’ Elrohir admitted.  ‘And it can have repercussions.  It should not matter to you too much – you will not be here in years to come, but Nisi might find that she comes under some suspicion.’

‘I will do what I must,’ Elerrina said with determination.  ‘Nobody is going to harm my husband and get away with it.’

Sirithiel smiled.  ‘Well said, my friend,’ she approved.  ‘I, too, will do anything I can, Elrohir.  I do not think they will be able to hide from us.’

‘Good,’ he replied, wondering with a qualm just what kind of sleeping dragon he had roused in these well-brought-up, gentle ellyth.

***

‘I am concerned,’ Celebrian said flatly, walking in on Elrond and Thranduil.

Her husband stopped his account of the information he had gathered and sent on to his wife’s daeradar and turned to her enquiringly.

‘If they have descended to physical attacks, I am worried that the elflings might be at risk,’ she elaborated.  ‘They must realise that in them we have a weak spot – someone will be bound to exploit it.’

Their stillness suggested that this was an aspect of the situation that had not occurred to Thranduil or Elrond.

‘Surely not,’ Elrond frowned.  ‘Things have not descended to the point where infants will be used to gain political advantage.’

‘Would you care to risk Elrin’s safety on that?’ she asked.  ‘Or would you take a chance that Eleniel and Galenthil will be excluded from any threat?’ she added, turning to Thranduil.  ‘We no longer live in enclosed communities where all present owe us their loyalty.  Anyone can approach us – and Elerrina and Sirithiel, particularly, have no concept of protecting themselves from danger.’

‘You are right,’ Thranduil accepted without hesitation. ‘However small the chance, it is there and measures must be taken to guard against it.  Have you any ideas?’

Celebrian smiled at him approvingly.  His long centuries of defending his realm without the aid of a ring had given him a much stronger need for practical solutions than Elrond, who was still considering the justification for any suspicion.

‘What I do not suggest is surrounding ourselves with armed warriors,’ she told him.  ‘I cannot imagine anything more likely to enrage those who are currently neutral.  But I do know that there have always been some ellyth in Lasgalen who have trained to serve as protectors, just as there were in Lothlorien.’

‘How did you know that?’ Thranduil asked suspiciously.  ‘It is not supposed to be general knowledge.’

Celebrian laughed.  ‘How do you think?’ she said.  ‘Adar allocated me my first protector when I was little older than Eleniel.  I had at least one close to me until I married and went to Imladris – and after that, until Arwen was grown.  Then Lithiwen wed and I decided to dispense with their service, although I imagine Adar reinstated it after -.’  She stopped briefly before continuing, ‘You do not imagine that they were unaware of each others’ existence, do you?  Laerwen was guarded by them, and so was Legolas until he was old enough to pass into the care of the novice masters.’

‘It is a long time,’ Thranduil said slowly, ‘since their service has been required.  What makes you think that any still exist?’

‘Apart from the one who already serves Elerrina as her nursemaid?’ Celebrian enquired dryly. ‘I do not know.  I hope.  And I am optimistic that Adar will know of some he can ask to join my household.’

‘I think you might be aware,’ Elrond said, ‘that there is already one who appears to be rather more acquainted with the skills required of a warrior than those of a seamstress.’

Celebrian smiled.  ‘Well, Miriwen insisted that she wanted to care for Elrin herself,’ she pointed out, ‘and until now there did not seem to be any need for protection to be more than nominal.’

‘Perhaps,’ mused Elrond acceptingly, ‘when Sirithiel has a child, it will be possible to transfer her to the nursery.’  He regarded his wife seriously.  ‘Our daughters-in-law need to be told, Celebrian,’ he told her. ‘Both the possibility and the solution. They are not elflings – and neither am I.’

Her touch on his mind was both warm and apologetic. ‘It did not seem important,’ she said. ‘At first, I thought you knew and thereafter it grew increasingly difficult to mention.’ She grinned.  ‘Take it up with Adar,’ she suggested.

***

‘Are you convinced that Calion is responsible for your injury?’  Elladan asked.

‘It would seem so,’ Legolas commented.

His friend raised his eyebrows enquiringly. 

‘No,’ Legolas conceded, shifting uncomfortably.  ‘He is incompetent and a fool, but he is not that stupid.’  

‘Did anyone other than Camentur see him fire?’

‘I do not believe,’ Legolas considered, ‘that Camentur said that he saw him fire.  He heard the arrow and saw Calion, and no other, with a bow in his hand.’

Elladan linked his fingers and put them behind his head, leaning back on to them. ‘I am not certain,’ he said.  ‘Calion is certainly hostile to us, but he is a follower – I truly cannot see him taking this sort of action.  Although,’ he added, ‘it would seem that his friends are quite happy to sacrifice him to save their own skins.  According to Adar, the High King is unlikely to be gentle with him.  He tends to make an example of those who deliberately endanger other elves.’

‘I am not at all certain that would be helpful.’  Legolas sat up and gazed at the bright sunlight through the window.  ‘I really do not know why I am being confined to my bed – I have escaped my room before with far more serious wounds.  And, although it is pleasant to spend time conversing with you, Elladan, I do not require a minder.’

‘It is simply to keep Elerrina happy, I think,’ his friend stated, dismissing his complaint.  ‘Miriwen has no worries about you, but says a day of rest will do you no harm. Make the most of it – your wife will soon become accustomed to your habit of coming home covered in blood and with assorted broken bones, and begin to find it an irritation rather than a cause for tender loving care.’

‘Thank you,’ Legolas replied with heavy sarcasm, ‘if I find I need advice, I will be sure to come to you.’  He paused.  ‘We will need to ride to the king’s court, will we not?  He will want to speak to us before coming to a decision.’

‘Probably.’  Elladan looked keenly at his friend.  ‘What will you say?’

‘What can I say?  I do not know who fired.’  He inspected at his hands. ‘But I do not think that will save Calion from being convicted.’  Raising his head, he turned serious eyes on his friend.  ‘I would ask for mercy for him,’ he said.

Elladan nodded slowly.  ‘I thought you would,’ he remarked. ‘Although I do not believe your adar will be pleased. And neither, if it comes to that, will your wife.’  

***

Galadriel admired the cool elegance of her husband’s attire.  The dove-grey silk of the robe was understated and the clothing beneath, in soft greens and greys, toned beautifully, whilst at the same time being clearly practical, as suited a meeting set for the early morning.  Only his face contrasted with the image he conveyed.  Celeborn was obviously not impressed at being put on display before he had eaten.

‘Is it really necessary to dress up?’ he asked in irritation.

Her smile answered him.  ‘You will be able to shed your robe once the formalities have been observed,’ she consoled him.  ‘It is better to start the encounter well.  It is my adar’s right to dispense with protocol, after all.  Are you ready, my husband?’

Celeborn turned to look at her and softened as he took in her sparkling eyes. ‘I suppose I can endure it,’ he commented, ‘since the prospect appears to give you so much pleasure.’

‘I have seen little of my parents since I arrived in these lands,’ Galadriel admitted. ‘At first I was not ready to be reminded of the past– there are too many missing faces – and later, I had no wish to return to my childhood.  They did not understand altogether, but they were prepared to wait.  After all, time is of little concern here.’  She took his hand and lifted it to her cheek. ‘I wish them to know you, my lord, and see what I see.’

‘That might not necessarily be a good thing,’ Celeborn observed, shifting the grip on her hand and drawing her arm through his as they left their rooms.

Finarfin was waiting.  His wife thought that she had not seen him in such a state of nervous anticipation for many centuries and wondered briefly if her daughter was also busy calming her husband in preparation for their meeting.

‘They are late,’ the High King snapped.

‘They are not,’ Earwen returned.  ‘They are on time.’ 

One of the warriors standing on ceremonial guard at the door tapped to signal the arrival of invited guests and the door opened to let in Galadriel and Celeborn. 

‘Let us dispense with formality,’ Finarfin said immediately, catching the reproachful look his son-in-law sent to his wife.  ‘Please, shed your robes – unless you feel more comfortable with them,’ he teased, keeping his face sober. ‘We will eat as family, nothing more.’

Earwen put her arm around her daughter’s waist and kissed her cheek before leading her towards a wide balcony overlooking the blue waters of the bay.  ‘I love to spend as much time as I can watching the water when we are staying here,’ she said.  ‘It is always the same, yet always different.  But,’ she continued, ‘it is framed by trees and vines and the homes of those who live here.’  She turned to inspect Galadriel.  ‘You are happier than you were when last we met.  I worried for you – you were turning inward and I feared that you might choose to leave us.’ She smiled wryly. ‘But you have found purpose.  Will you be happy in these new lands, my daughter? Will you not miss the sea?’

Shaking her head, Galadriel replied softly, ‘We will not be divided, Naneth – only distance will be between us and that can be crossed at will.  We need the challenge. What we do not need,’ she said a little louder, so that her husband and adar looked towards her, ‘are those who are scheming against us.’

‘I have not been told of this,’ Finarfin stated, raising his eyebrows.

‘There is little to tell, my lord,’ Celeborn countered swiftly.  ‘It is all very vague – it consists of loud bluster and quiet hostility.  It is a situation where nothing can be proved, until it is too late – and then everybody sits back wishing that action had been taken earlier.’

‘Then tell me what you suspect,’ the king said, as they served themselves before sitting at the table. 

As they sat drinking tea and considering what had been said, a courtier entered unobtrusively.  Finarfin looked up in irritation.  ‘I said we were not to be disturbed,’ he reminded the soberly-dressed elf. 

‘I know, my king,’ he replied.  ‘That is why I have chosen to bring you this missive myself, rather than put it in the hands of a servant.  I judge that both you and Lord Celeborn would wish to be informed of this immediately.’

The king put out his hand and took the package, looking at the broken seal on the letter.  ‘From Elrond,’ he stated in surprise, unfolding the paper and reading.  He froze, his body stiffening as the words sank into his mind.  ‘You were right,’ he told his advisor.  ‘This was too important to wait.  Summon my council for late this morning, would you please.  I will discuss the contents with you then,’ he added, nodding dismissal as he handed the letter to his son-in-law.

Earwen and Galadriel waited impatiently for the two elf lords to decide to impart the information that was clearly upsetting both of them.  On reaching the bottom of the page, Celeborn looked up at the king.  ‘Shall I, my lord?’

Finarfin nodded briefly, turning his eyes to his daughter’s face.

‘Something has happened,’ Galadriel said with conviction.

‘Legolas has been shot,’ Celeborn announced succinctly.  ‘Apparently the chief suspect is Artamir’s son, Calion.  It is not, at it turns out, a serious injury, but it could have been.  I think the potential threat has just become real.’