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The Valley is Jolly  by Canafinwe

Chapter XXIX: Discord Among the Council

On the seventh day since his ignominious arrival in Rivendell, Halion awoke.

Gilraen was at his bedside, watching over him, when bloodshot eyes stirred beneath crusted lids, struggling to open. She had not strayed far from him since the day after Elladan and the healer had removed his rotting leg, leaving his side only to sleep or to assure herself that Estel was in good hands. Otherwise she sat with her kinsman, bathing his face and his body, holding him as the infirmarian changed the bandages on his chest and his arms and the poor hewn stump, coaxing water down his throat. And all the while praying, pleading desperately that he would survive this ordeal, hoping against hope that his young body was strong enough to cope with the damaged organs and the broken ribs and the unspeakable trauma to his limb.

When she saw the movement in his eyes, she sat up sharply. There was a basin of water on the table near the bed, and she wetted her handkerchief, dabbing carefully at his lids. A sound issued from his throat, a rusty creak like a brittle leather hinge in the wind.

‘Hush,’ Gilraen soothed. ‘Hush, my brave one. Do not try to speak.’

The flecks of yellowish matter were freed from his lashes, and Halion’s eyes fluttered and opened. For a moment the familiar grey-green orbs were vacant, and then there was a hitch of breath and they flooded with anguish. The body beneath her fingers tensed, and a bandaged hand jerked against the sheet. Gilraen clasped it as tightly as she dared, and stroked the black bruises that still marred the Ranger’s jaw.

‘I know you are in pain,’ she said, leaning nearer so that he could make out the features of her face. ‘Elladan said you would be in terrible pain. Now that you are awake we can give you some draught to ease it. I will go and fetch the healer.’

She tried to pull away, but the battered fingers gripped her hand and a soft sound of supplication came from lips swollen grotesquely and crusted over with scabs. Gilraen hastened to lean near again.

‘You are safe,’ she promised. ‘You are in Rivendell. All will be well.’

His head jerked to one side. ‘’Il—’ he croaked. ‘’Ilra—ah! ’Ilr...’

She realized abruptly that he was trying to say her name. Tears glistened in her eyes. He was cognizant enough to recognize her! ‘Gilraen, yes. Yes, it is I. You are safe now. You will heal.’

‘The-en...’ he moaned softly, closing his eyes and letting his head loll onto the cushion beneath his head. ‘I am dead...’

‘No!’ Gilraen sobbed, understanding. She kissed his pain-furrowed brow. ‘No, no. You live. I am sorry... secrecy was needed... only a few knew... oh, Halion, you live!’

He whimpered softly. ‘Gil...’ This time the plosive first letter came out as a click from back of his throat, imperfectly formed because he could scarcely move his mouth. There was another keening noise, and he closed his blackened eyes.

‘Please, let me bring you something for the pain,’ Gilraen begged. The grip on her fingers did not loosen. She straightened instead, turning towards the door. ‘Help!’ she cried. ‘Someone – he has awakened!’

There was a sound of movement in the corridor, and she turned back to the wounded man. ‘They are coming,’ she promised, stroking his hair. ‘They are coming.’

Halion’s eyes opened again, searching her face. ‘You live...’ he breathed.

‘Yes. There was no time to leave word, and those who knew were sworn to secrecy. I had hoped one day... that you might visit Imladris. That I might explain.’ Hot tears coursed down her cheeks. He was the dearest comrade of her childhood, and for eight years he had believed her dead. This was not the reunion she would have chosen.

He made another halting sound, but she could not decipher it into a word. She shook her head, perplexed. Into the room came the healer, Elladan hobbling behind her. The elf-maiden knelt by the bed and held a phial to Halion’s lips. ‘This will ease your pain,’ she suffered. ‘I am Faeliel, one of the folk of the house of Elrond. You were grievously wounded, and you are fortunate to be alive.’

The Ranger drank, the bitter fluid catching in his throat. Gilraen offered water. Halion’s eyes found Elladan, standing at the foot of the bed with anguish writ upon his face. At the anxious question in the Man’s eyes, the Elven warrior shook his head. ‘The others live also,’ he said. ‘Their hurts are less grievous than yours. I am so sorry. I had no choice.’

Halion did not seem able to comprehend these words. He turned his head once more towards Gilraen, and again repeated the unintelligible syllables. Gilraen looked helplessly at the two Eldar. Elladan frowned.

‘Say it again,’ he instructed, his brow furrowed as he listened. His expression softened and he looked at Gilraen. ‘He said “baby”.’

Realization dawned, and Gilraen drew in a shuddering breath. A sorrowful smile touched her lips. ‘He lives also,’ she said softly. ‘He is ten years old now.’

‘Ha—aah...’ Halion exhaled, the lines of suffering eased somewhat as a measure of peace washed over him. ‘Then there is yet hope...’

His eyes closed and he fell still beneath Gilraen’s hands.

lar

As if by design, the members of the Council assembled as dawn was touching the peaks of Methedras, gathering in the hall by the lake where they had been taking their meals. Only Saruman was absent, and although they waited there seemed no sign of their host. At last, as Elrohir rose to announce that he was going to seek him, a servant entered to inform them that the master was waiting and that he would attend them in the tower.

Saruman stood this time in the open doorway at the top of the stairs. There was a moment’s hesitation as Elrond looked upon Galadriel, inviting her to ascend first. She shook her head almost imperceptibly. He was the chief proponent of this action, not she. If he did not move with authority now, his later words would have less weight. Acknowledging her wisdom in this, he took the lead. The others followed, up the long stair and through the door. Saruman ushered them down a curving corridor to a large windowless room. In its centre stood a large stone table, circular, surrounded by seven chairs. They were all alike in stature save one with a high, intricately carved back. This, of course, was Saruman’s seat, and he took it, waiting for the others to choose their places.

Gandalf moved first, selecting one of the two chairs furthest from Saruman and most directly in his line of sight – a perilous place for one entering into a difficult debate. Celeborn assumed the seat at the White Wizard’s right hand. It was a shrewd tactic on his part, Elrond reflected: of the three who might have laid claim to the seat of honour, the Lord of Lórien would benefit least from a place where he might make easy eye contact with the Head of the Council.

With three places filled, the other four were easy to allocate and the White Council sat: Saruman in his grand chair with Celeborn on his right, then Elrond next to Celeborn, then Radagast. Gandalf sat beyond the Brown Wizard with Galadriel upon his right hand. Beyond her was Galdor, at Saruman’s left. Elrohir took up a post behind his father’s chair, standing as proud and unmoving as a statue.

‘Do you feel threatened here, Halfelven?’ Saruman asked courteously, nodding at the stationary Peredhil. ‘None of the others have seen fit to bring a personal guard.’

‘If it please the Council, I pray you indulge a father’s caprice,’ Elrond said with equal grace. ‘My son is not so learned in the arts politic as is his elder brother. He would benefit greatly from an opportunity to study our debates. Furthermore, he knows more of warfare against the orcs than any commander in these latter days. He might prove most useful to the business at hand.’

‘I know something of orcs myself,’ Saruman said, somewhat more coldly now. ‘I hardly think we need the testimony of an insolent cockscomb who lacks the good grace to stand silent before his betters.’

‘I assure you that my son will not interrupt our talks,’ promised Elrond. ‘Though if all the Council stands against me I will of course suffer him to wait outside.’ He looked around the table with his query in his eyes.

‘I would be happy to have him stay,’ Galadriel said. ‘I have found him to be a canny advisor and a trustworthy general.’

‘It cannot hurt to have the benefit of a soldier’s viewpoint,’ Galdor added. ‘The Council has lost the insight of Alatar, and as Glorfindel could not be present it seems reasonable to include one of his compatriots.’

‘Ought we to fetch a chair for him, if he is taking Glorfindel’s place?’ asked Radagast.

‘It occurs to me that we have strayed rather badly from the purpose of this gathering,’ remarked Celeborn. ‘Let Elrohir stay or let him depart, but we must return to the question at hand: what is to be done about the Necromancer?’

‘We cannot delay: he must be cast down,’ Gandalf said firmly, his strong voice resonating through the room. ‘Daily his power increases, and the threat that he poses to the Elven realms cannot be ignored.’

‘His power certainly is growing,’ Radagast put in. ‘Southern Mirkwood used to be a pleasant land, filled with peaceful creatures. Now only dark things dwell there, and my own dear friends fear to enter its eaves. From such among them as are still bold enough to venture in at my bidding, I have learned that there are orcs in the Tower of Sorcery now, roaming forth to hunt and to scar the forest with their filthy knives.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Something has to be done.’

‘And you propose that we muster our pitiful little armies and march upon the Necromancer?’ Saruman asked. ‘Tell me how you think we might possibly succeed.’

‘I have three hundred strong marching for Caradhras,’ Elrond said. ‘They will muster in Lórien and await us there.’

‘And what has Lórien to offer?’ Saruman asked, turning to Galadriel.

It was Celeborn instead who answered. ‘Nineteen score are preparing to march. I could muster a further hundred if we were sorely pressed, but I am reluctant to leave my realm’s defences so bereft. Dol Guldur is so near to the Golden Wood that its hateful walls can be seen from within our borders. If aught were to go amiss—’ Galadriel cast him a look of warning, and realizing what he had said Celeborn fell silent, but Saruman had of course heard him, and he pounced upon the weakness.

‘Ah, then you think something will go amiss!’ he said triumphantly. ‘You ought to inspire greater confidence in your co-conspirators, Gandalf the Grey! Their private misgivings once made public serve to compromise your argument.’

‘The Lord Celeborn is not my co-conspirator,’ Gandalf rebutted coolly. ‘He is a beleaguered monarch who dwells nearer to danger than you can imagine. He is entitled to his misgivings, for in a counter-attack Lothlórien would be the Enemy’s first target. You and I are not the only members of the Council with disparate opinions.’

‘I did not say we were of disparate opinions,’ Saruman placated. ‘What of the Havens? What aid is Círdan willing to send against such a distant foe?’

‘Círdan would empty Lindon of its folk if such aid were needed,’ Galdor said; ‘but we were given to understand that it was the power of our counsel and not of our might that was sought.’

‘I did not send such a statement,’ Saruman remarked.

‘It was I,’ said Elrond. ‘Any aid from Lindon would come too late, and we have need of haste. Furthermore their coming would be long foreseen and anticipated: theirs is a busy and an open road. We have nearly seven hundred assembling, and could muster eight if pressed. I had also hoped that you might offer some of your own soldiers to aid in our cause. It is my understanding that you are building a formidable garrison.’

For a moment Saruman looked almost startled. ‘A lord of influence must have forces with which to safeguard his holdings,’ he said brusquely. The spell of his voice was not so strong now, and he sounded almost defensive. Elrond felt a thrill of apprehension. If the Head of the Council felt cornered, how would he lash out? ‘And to offer in good will to his allies. My garrison is sufficient only unto those ends and I had no intention—’

‘Then as we are your allies, you shall surely offer them in good will to us,’ said Galadriel sweetly. ‘How many can you spare from the all-important task of guarding your impregnable fortress?’

‘If we can reach an agreement then seven, perhaps eight dozen,’ Saruman said. He did not look at all happy to be making such a concession. ‘But that only if they may march with the forces of Imladris, who are not unaccustomed to taking the commands of the Second-born.’

Behind him, Elrond heard Elrohir stiffen at those words. ‘What, pray tell, do you mean by that?’ the Master of Rivendell asked serenely. He was well aware that he was opening himself to derision on the grounds of his mixed heritage, but such a slight would serve more to undermine Saruman’s position than to weaken his own.

‘Come now, Peredhil,’ Saruman sneered; ‘it is no secret that there is a new Lady in the Valley. If your folk will suffer the rule of your mortal concubine, then they will not scorn my lieutenants.’

Elrond’s jaw went slack. He was seldom surprised, but these words caught him entirely off-guard. ‘My what?’ he exhaled in a strangled voice.

Saruman’s lip curled. ‘Your human paramour,’ he said with relish. ‘It is well known that you have taken a lover from the ranks of wild Northern women, and that she and her bastard offspring reside in honour in the Last Homely House.’

By the word honour, Elrond had quite regained control of his faculties as he realized the rumour’s origins and its meaning. Elrohir was not so collected. Had he been bearing a weapon, Saruman’s life would at that moment have been forfeit. The warrior sprang forward with a wordless ululation of rage. With agility that belied his aged form, Gandalf sprung up and caught Elrohir, holding him at bay lest he should attempt to wring the lies from Saruman’s throat with his naked hands.

‘Slanderer!’ Elrohir snarled, rage in his eyes as he writhed against Gandalf’s ever-adapting grip. ‘Viper! Recreant! Base-born conjuror!’

Saruman looked mildly affronted. ‘It is not I who has betrayed your noble mother, young Peredhil,’ he remarked innocently. ‘Though I admit it to be in poor taste to mention the indiscretion of the son-in-law in the presence of the wronged lady’s parents.’ He nodded as if in apology first at Celeborn, then Galadriel – both of whom were sitting stony-faced and impassive, long hands folded before them. The others were not so circumspect: Galdor looked torn between dismay and denial, and Radagast was gaping at Elrond.

Elrohir was still shouting, struggling to free himself as if he had not the might to overpower the Istar who held him. ‘Spy! Liar! Filthy rumour-mongering cur—’

Elrohir!’ Elrond said sternly, raising his voice so that it sang off of the walls and overpowered his son’s seething. ‘Be silent! You will leave the tower and await me in my chamber. Go at once. I shall deal with you at a later time.’ Elrohir fell instantly still, and Gandalf released his grip. ‘Go,’ Elrond repeated.

Casting a look of blackest hatred at Saruman, Elrohir stormed from the room without argument. The great door slammed shut behind him. Elrond steeled himself and turned his gaze on the Leader of the Council.

‘Do not fear, Halfelven,’ said the wizard magnanimously. ‘I will not hold your vice against you. Though I confess I was amazed to hear of the fruit of your unholy union. Common wisdom holds that among the Eldar the capacity and the desire to procreate are swiftly spent once the begetting of offspring has been accomplished, and you have three already.’

‘Perhaps it is only the desire that fades,’ said Galadriel, fixing her gaze upon Elrond. If he was accepting this ghastly pretext, she assured him, she would aid him as she could. ‘And that, it seems, might be rekindled.’

‘It is also held that the Firstborn mate but once, and that two spirits once joined cannot be sundered,’ Saruman went on. His tone was that of the puzzled academic, working through a particularly sticky conundrum. ‘Yet once before an exception was made, in the earliest Ages of the world. Perhaps Finwë’s long heir cannot be held to the same constraints of morality as the common Elf. Or perhaps, being part mortal yourself, you do not feel bound by the laws and customs of the Firstborn? Certainly Men do not shirk from infidelity. In any case, considering that your wife forsook you utterly, you can scarcely be blamed for seeking comfort and accommodation elsewhere.’

Gandalf cleared his throat, and all eyes moved towards him. ‘Really, Saruman,’ he said. ‘If we are to debate the proclivities of the Wise, then we shall next have to discuss your fondness for a fine old vintage, and my own inclination towards the pipe. From there we can proceed to Galdor’s overindulgence in song, and as for Radagast…’

He paused pointedly, glaring out from beneath his eyebrows. ‘Or we can return to the matter at hand. There is no doubt that the Enemy is planning military action, most likely against Imladris and Lorien. If he can bring about the fall of the two mightiest Elven realms yet left in the world, Sauron will strike next the easier targets: Thranduil in the north and Isengard in the south. We must drive him out before his position becomes utterly unassailable.’

He waited, expecting a rebuttal from Saruman. None came. The other Istar was leaning on one elbow, plucking at the black strands of beard near his ear and watching his colleague thoughtfully.

‘We have devised several stratagems for attack,’ Elrond said, stepping into the silence. ‘None are without peril, but I favour a tactic whereby we leave the Enemy an avenue of escape to the South. We cannot hope to cast him down utterly while his power endures elsewhere in the world, and so we must settle for depriving him of his strategically advantageous fortress.’

‘A laudable goal,’ Celeborn remarked. ‘You think, then, that he will fly rather than standing forth to fight.’

‘He is not yet so strong that he will gladly risk the assembled might of our forces,’ Elrond said. ‘The power of Galadriel unmasked would be enough to give pause to a fell foe. If so many princes of the Eldar and so many of the Istari chanced to march upon your borders, would you not rather retreat? Even if he does not, there is hope that we might drive him forth by force.’

‘Something must be done,’ Galadriel said, and her radiance was dimmed for a moment by a grim frown. ‘Perhaps we are already too late: to delay further could well prove disastrous.’

‘Lindon will stand by the Council however we decide,’ Galdor said. ‘It is my only regret that the folk of the Havens cannot offer more useful support.’

‘I don’t want war in my barn-yard,’ Radagast said unhappily; ‘but neither do I like living a stone’s throw from ruin. I say we march.’

‘I defer to the wisdom of Elrond and Mithrandir,’ Celeborn said. ‘I, too, vote to stand forth.’

There was a long stillness. All now had spoken, save he whom they had long ago given the power to veto any such decision. Elrond felt his heart hammering in his chest as he waited for Saruman to voice his opinion. If they had not convinced him by now, what hope was there to win him over with charts and maps and projections of war? If he forbade action and they went forward regardless, there would be discord within the White Council itself, and who would defy Sauron if his watchers were divided? And if they were forced to abide by his judgment, what then? Inaction and ignominious return to the North, and in the end ruination.

‘It seems,’ Saruman said, and his voice wove a tale of somber certainty and infinite patience; ‘that Gandalf and the son of Earendil have long schemed together to bring this plan to fruition. Much labour have they spent preparing their proposals and practicing their arguments. Whatever questions we raise they have the answer ready-made. Against such skilled rhetoric what hope have the rest of us for objective judgment? I have seen each of you, wisest of the folk of Middle-earth, raise your concerns, and forget them, and accept what these two have said.’

He paused, looking around the table at each of the delegates. No one moved or spoke. At last, Saruman set his eyes upon Celeborn, studiously impassive by his side. The Istar shrugged his shoulders.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Your tenacity and careful preparation has moved me. We will march against the Necromancer. I suggest we depart in five days’ time. That will give me long enough to gather the seven dozen soldiers I have pledged to the enterprise.’ He rose from his seat. ‘The Council is in agreement,’ he pronounced in a deep, resonating voice that seemed to ring to the very heavens. ‘Let he who defies us beware!’

Gandalf’s eyes grew wide. Victory unlooked-for had been handed to him almost effortlessly. Celeborn wore an expression of pensive surprise, and even Galadriel seemed startled by this sudden reversal. For the second time in a single hour, Elrond found himself robbed of coherent speech.





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