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Time's Turnings  by daw the minstrel

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter for me.

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4. Taking on Responsibilities

“In consideration of the risks I will need to take and the effort I will need to make, I believe we will have to renegotiate the arrangements,” said Educ.

Thranduil gave a small snort. “Perhaps you should simply tell us what it is you want?” he snapped. Ithilden hid a grimace. He had known that his father’s patience, never very plentiful, was wearing thin. Indeed that was why he had suggested that he and Thranduil meet with the new representative from Dale privately, without the other members of Thranduil’s council in attendance. Ithilden had guessed that the representative was intimidated by the presence of so many Elves at one time and that his nervousness was causing the delays that were so trying Thranduil’s patience.

Educ drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders. His face was pale, but he was plainly determined to elicit some sort of concession from Thranduil before he would agree to go back to the Dwarves and arrange for the next shipment of iron. He had been dancing around his concerns for several days now, but from the way he was bracing himself, Ithilden judged that in this more private setting, he had finally decided to speak up. “I believe that I deserve a larger commission than the previous representative received,” Educ said and then snapped his mouth closed and sat tensely waiting for Thranduil’s reaction.

He did not have to wait long. Thranduil stared at him for an incredulous second, with color creeping up his neck. “That is out of the question,” he said, slicing his hand through the air. “The percentage we have always paid will compensate you well for your efforts.”

Educ’s mouth tightened. “I grant you that if the past arrangement were to continue, then my return would be sufficient, but under the current circumstances, King Bram is unlikely to allow me to continue to serve as a go-between for you and the Dwarves, and I must earn my reward while I can.”

Ithilden’s attention suddenly sharpened. What was Educ talking about?

“What circumstances?” Thranduil asked scornfully. “Bram and I are on good terms. You cannot use that as an excuse for your greed.”

Educ blinked and then looked uncertainly from Thranduil to Ithilden and back again. “Everyone has heard the rumors, my lord,” he said cautiously.

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed as it apparently dawned on him that Educ might be speaking the truth as he knew it. “What rumors?” he demanded.

Educ swallowed. “That you are preparing to break off relations with the Men of Dale and Esgaroth.”

“Where have you heard that? From whom?” Thranduil asked.

Educ shrugged helplessly. “Everywhere from everyone, my lord. It is in the air in Dale.”

Ithilden stared at the Man, trying to decide if he was serious. Thranduil sat back in his chair and regarded the Man too. Under their combined gaze, Educ dropped his eyes. “The rumors are untrue,” Thranduil said flatly. Then he added, “You may go.”

Educ’s eyes came up with a snap. “But what about our arrangements, my lord?”

“I will send word to you,” Thranduil said, waving his hand to summon the guard who stood in the doorway, his eyes discreetly fixed straight ahead. The guard hurried to Educ’s side. “See that our guest’s horse and escort are made ready for him immediately,” Thranduil instructed, and the guard placed a hand under Educ’s elbow and helped him to his feet. Educ pulled his arm from the guard’s grasp and, with a clutch at his dignity, bowed to Thranduil and walked from the room.

For a moment, Ithilden and Thranduil sat in silence. “What was that all about?” Ithilden wondered.

Thranduil frowned. “I am still not convinced that he was doing anything other than angling for a larger payment, but I confess that his manner was genuine enough to make me uneasy. I fear we will need to send someone to talk to King Bram and sound him out.” He tapped his fingers on the table and thought for a moment while Ithilden considered which of Thranduil’s advisors might be best to send. “Send for Eilian,” Thranduil finally said.

Ithilden blinked but rose to obey, finding another guard in the hall and sending word to summon his brother to the small council chamber. He returned to his seat. “You intend to send Eilian?”

“Yes,” Thranduil said. “Rash as he can sometimes be, he has dealt well with Men before, and Bram would be likely to receive him because he is my son. Moreover, as you know, he is a good judge of people. He might be able to tell if Bram lies to him.”

“He is on leave,” Ithilden ventured. “I would not like to see him go back to the Southern Patrol without a rest.”  The effects of the Shadow hung heavily on the warriors of the Southern Patrol, and all of them needed time away. Eilian tended to think of himself as immune to shadow sickness, but bitter past experience had taught them all that he was wrong.

Thranduil grimaced. “Extend his leave if you can. This is important, Ithilden.”

“I know.” Ithilden ran his hand over his hair. A disruption in their supply of iron would be dangerous. He would see to it that Eilian had time to himself before he had to go back to his patrol, but he would have to do it without delaying someone else’s leave. He would have to work out the details later.

A single knock sounded at the door, and Eilian entered the room. “The guard said you wanted to see me, Adar.” He looked a little apprehensive, and Ithilden had to stop himself from smiling. Sometimes Eilian reminded him quite strongly of Sinnarn.

“I have a task for you, Eilian,” Thranduil said and then outlined the vague information that Educ had given them.

As Thranduil spoke, Eilian’s face brightened. “You want me to go to Dale?” He was obviously delighted by the idea.

“I want you to find out if King Bram is aware of these rumors, and if he is, I want you to set his mind at rest,” Thranduil said. “Do not ask him directly, Eilian. You might put ideas in his head. Treat this as a courtesy visit and see what you can find out about his attitude toward us. You might also see if you hear any rumors in the town. If they are indeed worried about Elves, they should react to your presence.”

Eilian grinned. “I will be diplomacy incarnate, Adar.”

“This is not a pleasure trip, Eilian,” Thranduil said sharply.

“Of course not.” Eilian obediently sobered, but Ithilden could see his eyes dancing and their father undoubtedly could too.

Thranduil sighed. “Be careful. If Educ was telling us the truth, you could meet some hostility. Perhaps the Dwarves are poisoning the Men against us. Keep an eye out for any sort of trouble. You will take Maltanaur, of course, and when you get to the eastern border, get Todith to give you two of his warriors as a guard. Having an escort will make you look more like my representative any way.”

“Yes, Adar.” Eilian had not sat down during this discussion and now he was edging toward the door. “I assume you want me to leave at once?” he asked hopefully.

Thranduil leveled his gaze at Eilian and waited until he was at last serious. Then he said, “Yes, you should leave as soon as you and Maltanaur can get ready. And I repeat: take care.”

“I will,” Eilian pledged and left the room.

Thranduil sighed. “Tell me I have not just committed a grave error.”

Ithilden could not help laughing. “Eilian will do this task well, Adar. He will simply enjoy himself while he is doing it.”

Thranduil smiled ruefully. “I trust you are right.”

***

Ithilden let his book drop into his lap and stretched out his stockinged feet to the fire. In the chair across from him, Alfirin looked up from her embroidery. “Did you have a long day?” she asked.

“Long enough.”

“You should not worry about Eilian,” she said, knowing as always exactly what was weighing on him the most heavily. “By the time he is finished, everyone in Dale will be his friend.”

Ithilden smiled at her, amazed yet again at the degree to which the Valar had smiled on him by making this slender, deceptively fragile-looking Elf-woman love him. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

She smiled back, but before she could answer, Ithilden heard the door to Sinnarn’s room open and shut, and their son came down the short hallway to the apartment’s sitting room. He plopped down to lie on the rug in front of the fire. “I finally finished,” he moaned. “I cannot believe how much work my tutor gave me.”

Ithilden exchanged a look with Alfirin but said nothing. He thought he could predict the way the next few minutes of conversation would go and Alfirin probably could too. Sinnarn blew out his breath and sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Adar,” he began, “when I become a novice in June, I will stop having lessons.”

Ithilden sighed. “Sinnarn, are we going to have this discussion again?”

“I do not understand why you are so stubborn about it!” Sinnarn exclaimed. “Why can I not stop having lessons now? What difference will a few more months make?”

“They will make whatever difference you let them make,” Ithilden said sharply. “If you refuse to let the time make a dent in your ignorance, then they will make no difference at all, but you will still have lessons until you become a novice, so you might just as well try to learn something.”

Sinnarn looked at his drawn up knees and bit his lip. Then he jumped to his feet, strode off down the hall, went into his room, and slammed the door.

Alfirin sighed. “At least he did not say anything rude.”

Ithilden laughed. “I suppose that is progress toward self-control.” He stood and stretched. “It has been a long day. I, for one, am ready for bed.”

Her eyes met his, and she slowly smiled. “I believe I am too.”

A pleasant warmth spread through his belly. “I will take care of the fire. You go on.” She set her embroidery aside and, touching his arm as she passed him, she went down the hall to their room. He banked the fire, set the screen carefully around it, and then followed her to their sleeping chamber to find her already in her dressing gown, much to his disappointment. He had been looking forward to helping her out of her clothes.

She was sitting in front of her mirror, untying the ribbon from the end of her long braid. She folded it carefully and put it in the carved wooden box that Sinnarn had made as a begetting day gift for her three years ago. She began unraveling the braid. Alfirin had the most beautiful hair Ithilden had ever seen. When she loosened it from its usual confinement, it fell in long thick waves to her hips. He crossed the room to pick up the brush from the table and began to run it through the dark mass.

She met his eyes in the mirror, and he felt a little thrill to see the mischief in them. “Tell me a story,” she smiled.

He laughed. “What kind of story?”

“One about the youth of a serious, self-controlled troop commander, one that perhaps even his adar has not heard.”

He laughed again and worked the brush gently through a knot in her hair. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Yes. I want to know where Sinnarn gets the difficult parts of his character because I assure you they do not come from my side of the family.”

He smiled a little ruefully. “Then I do not know where they come from. I was a problem for my parents, but a very different kind of problem than Sinnarn is. He wants to enjoy himself; I wanted to take on as much responsibility as I could get. I think I believed it would give me the respect of those I cared about. I was younger than Sinnarn is when I decided I was ready to be a novice, but I could not convince my parents that I was old enough.”

 

~*~*~

Ithilden strode angrily across the bridge, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tunic. His father had ridden away without having conceded Ithilden’s readiness to become a novice, and all that his mother would say was, “Go outside and enjoy yourself.” Enjoy himself! He had responsibilities to his father’s realm and would soon have more, and she wanted him to enjoy himself. Sometimes he thought she had no sense at all, although he had kept that opinion to himself since the one time he had voiced it in his father’s presence.

Without thinking, he turned onto a path that led to Anin’s cottage. His friend would be there by now, probably finishing the kite he had been building the previous day. Ithilden scowled at the forget-me-nots poking through the previous autumn’s fallen leaves. Anin would be there today, but in another month he would have joined the novices and left Ithilden behind. Anin was only a year older than Ithilden, and Ithilden was taller and at least as good as Anin was with a bow and a sword. It was not fair that Anin could move to the next step in the training while Ithilden was held back by his benighted parents, especially when it was Ithilden, not Anin, who was going to have to lead the troops some day.

He rounded the bend and came in sight of Anin’s cottage to find his friend crouched over the bright form of a kite with Celedë standing next to him. Ithilden’s mood lightened a little. He had not seen Celedë in at least a month, for she had been visiting her married sister. “Mae govannen,” he greeted them both with a smile. “When did you get back, Celedë?”

“Yesterday.” She returned his smile.

Anin stood up, looking eager. “We have been waiting for you. I think the kite is ready to fly.”

Ithilden looked at the kite spread on the ground before them. It was one of Anin’s best efforts, he thought. It was shaped like a large bird, and Anin had painted its body gold and its wide wings with detailed feathers of purple, green, orange, and grey. The bird was a good four feet long and three feet wide from wing tip to wing tip. Anin had just been securing string to the wooden strips that formed its framework. Ithilden looked up to see the wind bending the treetops and grinned. “The day is perfect for it.”

Anin grinned back and carefully picked up the kite. The three of them started off toward the hill that was used for sledding in the winter and formed a perfect place to launch a kite in the spring. It was one of the few large spaces near Thranduil’s stronghold that were clear of trees. Ithilden followed his friends to emerge from the trees and begin climbing the hill. Celedë looked back over her shoulder at Ithilden. “Do you remember when we were elflings sledding on this hill, and I tried to stand up on my sled and fell and broke my wrist?”

Ithilden grimaced slightly. “I do. That was my fault. I was the one who suggested that we try to jump our sleds over the snow hills and stand up while doing it.”

Celedë laughed. “My adar always said it was your fault and I was happy enough to let him think so, but you could not have stopped me from standing up once I saw you do it. You can very provoking sometimes, Ithilden.”

He laughed. “And that is what my adar says.” It really was nice to have Celedë back. He had missed her good humored ease with life. He did not have so many friends that he could happily tolerate any of them being away.

They had reached the top of the hill, and Ithilden’s hair whipped around his face. It was a good day to fly the kite, he thought. Anin handed the kite to Ithilden. “Will you hold it?” he asked and then backed into the wind, playing out the string. Ithilden could already feel the tug of the wind on the kite, and when Anin suddenly jerked the string, the painted bird lifted out of Ithilden’s hands and edged tentatively up into the sky.

Ithilden backed to one side, craning his neck to see the kite. Beside him, Celedë clapped her hands, and he glanced at her. The wind was blowing her light brown hair in a cloud to one side of her head and bringing high color to her cheeks. Why, she is beautiful! Ithilden thought in surprise.

“What a wonderful kite, Anin!” Celedë cried. “It looks like some sort of exotic bird that has sailed into our skies by mistake.” She tore her eyes from the kite, looked at Anin, and grinned. Ithilden felt his chest tighten. The kite was just a toy, a childish pastime! Anin’s kites were beautiful, true, but surely that did not entitle him to Celedë’s wholehearted admiration.

Anin’s usually serious face broke into a slow smile as he watched the glorious kite, letting out more string so that it could climb higher. Suddenly, Ithilden realized that the wind was pushing the kite toward a tall stand of beech trees along one edge of the hill. “Watch out!” he called, but Anin had already seen the danger and was tugging on the string, trying to draw the kite away from the trees’ outstretched arms. For a moment, Ithilden thought the peril had passed, but then, at the last possible second, the kite snagged on the topmost branch of a tree.

“No,” groaned Celedë. “We will never get it down from there.”

Ithilden ran toward the tree, hearing Anin’s steps a short distance behind him. He knew what Celedë meant. The kite had caught in branches too slender to support any of them. Anin ran up to stand on one side of him and Celedë trotted up on the other. They all stood looking up. “It is lost,” Celedë mourned. “Oh, Anin, I am so sorry.”

Ithilden glanced at Anin. “It does not matter,” Anin said. “I can always make another.” His face was impassive but Ithilden heard the unhappiness in his voice and, judging from the look on her face, so did Celedë.

“In another month, you will be in training all day,” Celedë mourned, “and you will have no time for kites or for us either.”

Ithilden’s mouth tightened. He would be sorry to lose Anin’s company, but even more, he wished he too would be leaving the world of childhood and entering into the real responsibilities of his life. And most of all at this moment, he longed for Celedë to wish for his company rather than Anin’s, to admire him rather than his friend. Suddenly, he found himself moving toward the beech. “I think I can reach it,” he said and started up the tree.

“Are you sure?” Anin asked doubtfully, but Ithilden ignored him and kept climbing skyward. Under his not-inconsiderable weight, the branches gradually bent further and further, and the humming that the tree had begun when he entered it took on a concerned note.

Do not worry, Ithilden reassured it, but his heart beat quickly as the branch on which he stood bent dangerously far, threatening to slide him off or perhaps even break. Ithilden grasped the trunk, trying to take some of his weight from the branch beneath his feet. He looked up. The kite was slightly above him and further out toward the end of the branch in which it was caught. He considered his options. If he edged out along the branch on which he stood, he would be able to reach the kite and work it free of the tree’s clutches, but he was not certain the branch would hold him. Indeed, he was almost certain it would not.

Looking down, he saw Anin and Celedë, with concern-filled faces turned up toward him. “Be careful!” Celedë called, and he waved at them as coolly as he could before turning his attention back to his problem.

Perhaps if he distributed his weight over several branches, he might be able to maneuver into position. Still holding onto the trunk, he moved one foot to a nearby branch. Then he reached up and grasped the branch that held the kite, using his handhold to take some of his weight off the branches under his feet. Slowly, he inched his way toward the kite. The branches under him bent further and further until he was afraid he would slip off them, and they were gradually diverging, leaving him stretched awkwardly across them. He could go no further; he would have to act now.

He flung one arm over the upper branch, supporting himself on it as much as he could, and leaned out to try to dislodge the kite. The branch holding the kite bent, but his finger tips were now brushing along the kite’s surface. Carefully, he prodded it, and he could see the string tightening and assumed that Anin was pulling gently from below, although he did not dare to shift his weight enough to look down.

He could see now that the kite was almost free. His prodding and the flexing of the branches had helped to loosen it, but the tip of one wing was snagged on a spray of twigs at the very end of the branch. He leaned out just a bit farther and pushed at the kite with the tip of his index finger.

And then two things happened at once: The kite slid free from the upper branch, and the lower branch on which he had most of his weight gave way, pulling him off the other low branch. For a second, too surprised to be afraid, he hung from the upper branch, with his feet swinging in the air fifty feet above the ground. Then he heard a cracking sound and felt the branch from which he hung start to drop. With a desperate agility, he flung himself forward and down, reaching for a slightly sturdier branch lower on the tree. His toes scrambled for a foothold and then the branch to which he clung also bent under his weight, and he swiftly left it for a still lower one. In what was more or less a controlled fall, he rapidly descended a third of the way down the tree before he felt solid wood beneath his feet. With his heart pounding wildly, he stood on one tree limb clinging to another at chest level.

“Are you all right, Ithilden?” cried Anin, and Ithilden looked down at his friends.

“I am fine,” he forced out and then began to edge his way toward the trunk and make his way to the ground. His hands shook, and he drew in deep gulps of air to try to steady himself. He had never taken a chance like that before! What in Arda had possessed him to do it now?

At Thranduil’s insistence, Ithilden had been trained from childhood to be honest with everyone, even himself, and now he had to admit that he knew why he had been so daring in the beech tree: He had been showing off for Celedë, trying to prove that he was every bit as grown up and capable as Anin. And even though he was ashamed of his jealousy of his friend, he could not help still being resentful that Anin was to be allowed to move into the world of adulthood, while he was not.

He jumped the last five feet to the ground, and Celedë ran toward him. “Thank the Valar you are not hurt!” she cried.

Anin approached, holding the kite. “You should not have taken such a chance, Ithilden. It is only a kite, and even after I am a novice, I will always have time to build kites and fly them with you two.”

Celedë turned and flashed him a glorious smile, and Ithilden felt a sudden, horrible desire to cry. “I have to go now,” he said stiffly and walked away from them, heading toward home, where if he could dodge his mother, he could at least be alone with his anger and pain.

 

~*~*~

Alfirin nestled her head in the hollow of Ithilden’s shoulder, and he turned his face to inhale the scent of her. As he had told his story, he had undressed and she had shed her dressing gown, and they had climbed into bed, where they now lay with his arm around her. She sighed. “I wish I had known you then. You needed someone to appreciate you.”

He laughed quietly. “If you had known me then, you would have run a mile in the other direction.”

She laughed too, but she rubbed her cheek against his bare chest. “I do not know Anin or Celedë. What happened to them?”

“They bonded. Even that day with the kite, I knew they would.” He hesitated before soberly adding, “Anin was one of the warriors who were with my naneth when she was attacked.”

Alfirin gave a soft cry and propped herself on her elbow to look at him. “I am so sorry.”

He stroked her hair away from her face. “We had grown a bit apart by then. I was the troop commander and could not afford to have close friendships with those under me, but I still felt the loss.”

“What happened to Celedë?”

“She sailed west. She wanted to be in Valinor when he was released from the Halls of Waiting.”

Alfirin bit her lip. “I can understand that,” she finally said. “If I were in her shoes, I might do the same thing.” She regarded him for a moment with serious eyes, and then she leaned down and kissed him, sliding her tongue tantalizingly along between his parted lips. He moaned, feeling the swift swell of arousal. And then he was fully in the present moment, with no more inclination to think about their son or his own youthful troubles. He took his wife in his arms and began the serious, joyful business of making love to her.





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