Year 2658 Third Age
HOME - the Woodland Realm
Amdirion turned the ponies into their far paddock. The little cave in the hill behind that served as a stable and barn for fodder in the winter would be an adequate place for the baby for now. She was still deeply, limply asleep in the warm woolen sling Aki had used to carry her on the trip home. Amdirion piled clean straw so she would not roll anywhere dangerous if she woke, and left her there. He did not notice the young raven winging to a soft landing on the stone ledge above the cave entrance.
Amdirion headed for his own rooms where he quickly cleaned up and changed out of his travelling clothes. Being in his parent’s quarters nearly made him weep with grief. He clenched his teeth. There was no time for that. He finished dressing and went in search of his friend in the King’s Guard.
His eyes roved across the Guards’ dining hall until he saw Berenon’s wavy, dark bronze hair. His friend was off duty at the moment. Berenon was only a few years older than Amdirion. In addition to being an exceptionally skilled fighter, he was also one of the youngest ever appointed to a captaincy of the Guard by Prince Legolas. This was partly because he was decisive; given to action rather than contemplation.
At the moment, Amdirion valued this trait as much as Prince Legolas did. Berenon never pressed his friends for more information than necessary to come up with a plan of action in short order. He didn’t ask a lot of questions.
As if he sensed that he was being searched for, Berenon looked up from the meal he had been sharing with his second, Himdir, and several other Guard leaders. When he spotted Amdirion’s dark hair near the door, he rose, smiling, moving around tables and other diners. “You’re finally back!” The smile faded as Berenon took in Amdirion’s grey-tinged face and weary, grieving expression. “What happened?” He asked shortly.
Amdirion started to speak, stopped, and tried again. “There was an Orc raid,” he replied slowly, “larger and better organized than the rabble that come from Emyn Nu Fuin. There were Easterlings with them, so they probably came up from Dol Guldur. My father is dead. So is my mother.” He stopped for a longer moment, struggling to master his inner pain. “They had sent us ahead with the ravens to find a good camp. I could not get back in time to save them,” he finished wretchedly. Berenon reached out and clasped his shoulder tightly.
“I will tell the King for you,” he said. “How near our borders was the raid?”
“Not anywhere near enough for you to have helped us. It has taken me days to get home and I came straight here.” Amdirion clenched his teeth against another wave of grief.
Berenon turned into the kitchen, startling the elves working there. He started piling food randomly into a basket. “You will need food, and wine,” he said, snagging a heavy wineskin from a nearby hook.
“And rest,” Amdirion finished for him. “I just need some time to….” His voice trailed off to nothing. Berenon pushed the full basket into Amdirion’s hands, setting the wineskin on top.
“You will have it,” Berenon said. He gripped Amdirion’s shoulder again with sympathy. “I will keep everyone out of your way until you are ready to deal with them all.”
“You have my thanks, Berenon. You are always a good friend to me.” Amdirion turned wearily away, feeling totally unready for the long trek back to the pasture stable and his new secret responsibilities.
A day later, Amdirion entered the library quietly, trying to complete his errand unnoticed. This was not a great library, like the one in Gondor, or as extensive as Lord Elrond's at Rivendell. But even here in the Woodland Realm, there was need for some collection of history and lore. He hoped he would find the information he needed to keep his tiny baby sister alive. Though he was competent at many things, he had no idea how to care for an infant. And now there was no one he dared to ask.
She had been cut in the womb with a Morgul blade. Even if he could keep her alive, he could give no guarantee that she would not fade as she grew. If the Morgul-taint took hold, her body would gradually disappear from ordinary sight. Worse, she might become a danger to those around her if her mind came under the control of the Ulairi, the Nazgul – the servants of the Dark Lord.
He examined her face every day, fearfully looking for any sign of greater transparency in her flesh. So far, her delicate skin remained porcelain-pale. Her developing mind seemed bright and joyful, interested in the world around her. But the wound was still not healing. It remained as bloody fresh as if the blade had just been withdrawn. Amdirion shuddered at the thought.
King Thranduil would not tolerate such a risk to his kingdom. The King might cast the baby out to die or have her killed outright. Amdirion’s fear of her and for her was as great as his grief. In this miserable state of mind, he searched through the scrolls and volumes on the shelves. He desperately hoped to find what he needed, and hoped more not to be caught looking for it.
Having not found anything to the point elsewhere, he was looking with increasing frustration in the section on genealogies. Maybe among the records and journals of births, he might find comments on how to deal with those newly born. A slender shadow slipped into the row behind him, ethereal as a shaft of early spring sunlight, with her dawn-gold hair, delicate features, and pale grey eyes. “What are you looking for,” she asked softly. “Maybe I can help.”
He nearly jumped out of his skin as he whirled about to face her, hand dropping to his belt for the dagger he had forgotten to wear. “Ai,” he gasped, "Saeleth.”
She smiled. “Who else did you expect to see here?” Then she caught a good look at his haggard face. “Oh, Amdirion, I am grieved to hear of your parents’ deaths.” She reached out sympathetically to touch his arm.
He flinched and pulled away. “I…I have to go…now…” He turned and fled.
He tried again and again to find what he needed in the library secretly, but invariably, Saeleth was there. She seemed to know when he came in, no matter how carefully he planned. He had rounded up a nanny goat from one of the local human farmers to keep his tiny newborn sister fed. But his searches through the books grew more frantic as he realized the wound on her arm was still not healing, despite his repeated applications of athelas leaves.
After Amdirion's fourth attempt on the library, Saeleth's gentle face took on an uncharacteristic look of determination. She was certain something was very wrong. She was equally certain that she could help. Since she could not seem to catch him in the library, she might be able to ambush him at his rooms. If she remembered correctly, those were in a distant wing of the palace.
She found the rooms that now belonged to Amdirion easily enough. The door was carved, not with vines or trees or stars, but with an abstract, angled pattern, like a crystal. An alcove in the corridor provided a place to watch the entrance to what had once been his father's home. As Saeleth settled in to wait, she realized that there was dust on the floor in front of door and a recent cobweb on the latch. Amdirion had not been back to these rooms since his return. This was a puzzle, but not unsolvable. She went back to the library to await his next covert appearance.
Two days later, at the absolute end of his resources, Amdirion slumped against a lower bookshelf in despair, not sure if he would start throwing books or simply scream himself hoarse with frustration. Neither choice would help. He dragged himself to his feet and headed back to the pasture stable, oblivious to the light step behind him.
The baby seemed determined to acquire the tiny leather pouch on the thong around his neck today. He pushed her left hand away again and concentrated on binding the compress of athelas tightly enough that she would not dislodge it as she became more active. Looking at the raw wound made him wince as it always did. It was ugly, the flesh a greyish color where it was not still bloody.
"What happened to her?" The soft question whipped him around, dagger drawn. Saeleth looked at the knife, then up at him, waiting for his decision. He sheathed the blade with some embarrassment.
She slipped past him, picked up the baby girl and hugged her close. "She's beautiful," Saeleth said, kissing the pale silken curls and laying her cheek against the baby's head.
"Don't, I mean, you shouldn't touch her...she might be..." Amdirion stopped.
"This one might have what you need, I think," Saeleth said as she shifted the baby to her hip and extended a scroll to him. He shook his head, but unrolled the scroll anyway and started to read. Miracle of miracles, she had brought him a human healer’s treatise on the ailments of the young.
He looked up in wonder. "How did you know?"
She smiled tentatively back. "I noted all the places you were searching, but it took me awhile to put it together. Will you tell me what happened?"
Once he started to talk to her, it all poured out: grief, fears, facts and speculations. Saeleth simply listened and rocked the baby, who was now burbling happily. When he finally wound down, she responded.
"I agree that her life might be in danger, either from the wound itself, or from King Thranduil. I think I also know why the wound is not healing.” Amdirion stared at her like a drowning man seeing rescue. “The Numenoreans called athelas “kingsfoil” because it heals most effectively in the hands of a King, or someone of royal descent.”
Hope drained from Amdirion’s face. “She will fade then, or die. My father told me that he was a master jewel-smith: part of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain in the city of Ost-in-Edhil. He was not related to any royal line. My mother was of the Avari. She was not royal either.”
Saeleth looked hopeful. "I am, however. I am distantly related to Thranduil. So I will try to heal her, if you will help me. Young as I am, I have no more than book knowledge of these matters."
Amdirion took the baby from her, holding the tiny body awkwardly. Saeleth took a deep breath and set her hands over the compress of athelas. Breathing out, Saeleth chanted the words to shape her intent. Amdirion felt his hands grow warm, cradling the baby more easily. The air around Saeleth glowed briefly as she released some of her own life and strength into the wound. The baby gasped, then giggled as Saeleth unwrapped the bandages. Amdirion winced a little when the wound was revealed, but the flesh was no longer raw and bloody. Instead, the deep cut was thinly closed over with an ugly, yellowish-grey scar.
Saeleth sighed wearily, shaking her head as she looked at the scar. "I don’t know if the healing is complete, but this is the best I can do for now. We need to keep her away from King Thranduil until we are certain. I will keep her secret, and yours." She hesitated. "But you can't keep her out here in the stable forever," she added firmly. "This is no place for an infant."
"Well, I can hardly take her back to my parent's quarters in the palace.” Amdirion snapped, frustrated. “The villages are also out of the question. Everyone there knows everyone else’s business. Hiding her would be impossible.”
"She can stay in my rooms behind the library until she is older," was Saeleth’s calm reply. "That will give you some time to make this place more livable and more secret. If you are going to hide her, you will have to do better than this. What is her name?"
"My father was going to call her Mirien."
She lifted the baby, who squealed with delight, displaying a toothless grin. "How appropriate. Come, pretty Jewel, we will take you to my rooms where you will be warm and happy." Saeleth started out the stable door. She stopped as the infant started first to cry, then to scream piercingly.
"Here." Amdirion snatched up a wool wrap that looked like it had once been a shirt. He pushed it into the reaching baby hands. The screaming stopped at once. "She won't be parted from it."
"There is no need to part her from it," Saeleth said lightly. "Hand me that skin of goat's milk, would you?"
