Part Three
There was a draught coming from somewhere, but she was used to that, there was always a draught. The rows of cottages occupied by families serving the barracks were very basic structures and not proof against bad weather. Meldis found the rain easiest to deal with, the tell-tale wetness quick to spot and reseal. The wind was more troublesome, bringing in loose sand and the moist air from the river.
She finished brushing her hair and crossed the room to put the brush away on the table with her hair clasps, the little jar of salve for cuts and bruises, and the rosemary oil she used sparingly on Síladon’s hair. Looking over the jewellery that morning had left her feeling tired and depressed, and the mood had stayed with her all day. The little voice of fear that whispered it could not feel Thavron’s presence within as it had since they were bound was speaking louder tonight, and she tried to block it out with memories of happier times.
She had been raised just outside of Mithlond, part of a close-knit family who had crossed the sea shortly after her binding. Her father had been reluctant to give his permission at first, but Thavron’s glowing description of the valley realm under Lord Elrond had finally won him round. Their departure had left her perhaps a little more reliant upon Thavron than might otherwise have been the case. She had always been shy and took a while to make friends, spending most of her time with her family. Tonight, thinking back, she realised once again how much she missed the brother and sister who were now safely over the water in Aman
.
One thought followed another, leading her to the corner where the box holding her valuables was kept. Taking it she went back to her bed, pausing as she passed Síladon’s to tuck the covering in more firmly over his shoulder. He murmured in his sleep but didn’t wake. He had slept in a little curtained alcove off the living room once he was old enough for a proper bed, but since Thavron’s departure she had moved him in with her, as much for her own comfort as for his.
The world was very quiet outside. There were no footsteps or voices, she thought perhaps her neighbours were already in bed. The flame of the single candle flickered a little, sending shadows leaping and dancing about the corners of the room. Meldis sat with her legs curled under her and emptied the contents of the little box into the centre of the bed. Candlelight winked and glittered off garnets and topaz, lit a strand of moonstones, brought out the sheen on a string of pearls, and fastened on the gold of the opal ring.
She picked the ring up slowly, turning it again between her fingers. Colours seemed to slide beneath the surface of the stone, rendered strange by the dim, golden light. She looked at the size of the band then tried it on her middle finger. Too loose, in fact so loose she didn’t trouble to move it past the knuckle. Instead she tried it on her thumb, to see how it would look there. She turned her hand, watching the glitter, and was startled by a strange thrumming sensation that passed from her thumb right up her arm to the elbow. Startled and a little afraid she pulled the ring off and stared at it in the palm of her hand, harmless and yet — not.
She had the strangest feeling, as though someone stood in the shadows watching her. She looked around sharply and then stared hard at the darkened doorway that led into their living room. Nothing moved, there was no sound at all besides scraping branches from the tree at the back of the cottage and the river noise which was a constant in their lives, so familiar and somehow comforting that it normally lulled her to sleep. There was a moment, just one moment, when she seemed to feel the familiar presence of Thavron, almost as though he had stepped into the room. Once again the ring lying in her hand pulsed – and the candle went out.
Almost throwing the circle of gold onto the bed, Meldis sat absolutely still, her heart thudding, blood rushing in her ears. When she could breathe again she listened carefully, but heard no foreign noises. The sense of someone there, of Thavron’s presence there, had vanished with the light. Síladon turned over in his sleep muttering something and settled again. The tree creaked outside. Finally she found the courage to leave the bed, cross the small room to the table, find the tinder box, and strike a light.
It took three attempts before she succeeded and light spread through the bedroom. She looked around fearfully, but everything was as it had been, including the muddle of jewellery on her bed. She tipped everything back into the box, picking up the ring with the amber necklace and dropping it in hastily. Before she closed the lid she looked down at it lying innocently within amber coils. Like an orange dragon guarding its hoard, she thought. Then, embarrassed at what had clearly been overactive imagination coupled with the loneliness she so often felt, she closed the lid hard.
The ring had belonged to Thavron, she reminded herself firmly, and because she was so worried about him, her emotions lent it characteristics that she would laugh at in the light of day. Putting the box away where it belonged she went back to bed, placing the candle on the little nightstand beside her. It took a while though before she found the nerve to nip the wick and let in the night.
~*~*~*~
“What’s wrong?”
Erestor had barely slid into sleep when he was woken by movement in the bed beside him. Squinting up through tangled hair he saw Glorfindel sitting bolt upright beside him, blond hair silvered by moonlight. As he watched, Glorfindel leaned forward, arms resting on drawn-up knees and sighed gustily. “Gods. That was not good.”
It had been a long day, busy and a little frustrating, and Erestor needed a minute to clear his head and wake up properly. Finally he reached a hand to rest on the nearest part of Glorfindel – the top of his thigh, as it turned out – and asked carefully, “Another dream?”
Glorfindel nodded without turning. “Another dream, clearer than the last one. Something spreading like dark smoke through the valley, and eyes, eyes following our every move. It was — unsettling, Ery. Creepy.”
Erestor sighed deeply and sat up next to him. It was late but not yet midnight. Usually at least one of them would still be up, but Glorfindel’s day had been equally long and sleep had seemed more inviting than a few hours in the Hall of Fire or walking in the moonlight or — the things people did when they weren’t dead tired. So much for an early night, he thought.
The drapes were open and the light from the almost full moon had wiped out the colours in the room, painting everything in shades of black and grey. The night was quiet, unusually so Erestor thought with a vague sense of unease. He shook it off at once; Glorfindel was making him grow fanciful. “Eyes and smoke? That’s from worrying if you can trust people and being concerned that the war will find its way down here…”
“I am not imagining this, Erestor,” Glorfindel snapped, all warrior now. “These dreams are a warning, a sign of impending danger…”
“Findel, the whole of Eriador is at war. We have men unaccounted for, your men. It is vital that no trail leads to our haven. All the rest. Of course there’s impending danger, but I cannot imagine Lórien bothering to send a special warning at this point. I know the Valar think we’re not all that bright, but…”
“Erestor, that is blasphemy.”
“Yes, I know. And true, too. Anyhow. Someone spying, following? That would be Maeglin. You told me yourself, you were never at ease about him and that Idril said…”
“This has nothing to do with Maeglin.”
“Well, there’s no need to raise your voice.”
“I wouldn’t have to raise my voice if you would just listen. This has nothing to do with the past, this is here, now. There is something very wrong right here in Imladris, Ery. Can you really not feel it? Something…” he reached for words, “… something out of place.”
Erestor frowned at him, the whisper of a touch of concern creeping back and shivering his skin. Glorfindel had the steadiest nerves of anyone he knew, or seemed to, but the current situation bore enough similarity to the last days of Gondolin to put that steadiness to the test. Fortunately, he told himself, there were no Balrogs anywhere near Imladris.
“Baby, no, I can’t sense anything out of place. Not to say there isn’t,” he added, trying to be fair, “because you would be more likely to pick up on that than I. But – Elrond’s said nothing and seems no more concerned than he should be with men missing and towns burning. If you like, I can ask him if he’s noticed anything? It’s his valley, he’s – attuned to it.”
“Spoke to him earlier.”
“And?” Erestor placed a hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder and made soothing movements with his fingertips. He felt Glorfindel tense for a moment as though about to pull away, and then slowly relax under his touch.
“Nothing. Though he’s so busy feeling out every bunny trail in the valley through Vilya that he might not notice a fire-breathing dragon setting up camp in the cow pasture.”
“I think we’d smell the burning flesh.” Erestor suggested, ducking his head to kiss Glorfindel’s shoulder softly. “Come, love. You’re worried about your men, you’re frustrated that Elrond wouldn’t allow you to go with them… everyone’s a little tense, to say the least. That’s why we’re having the festival – follow the custom, send out the signal that everything is under control. And it is. You just need to try and relax.”
Glorfindel put an arm around him and ran his fingers through Erestor’s sleep-tangled hair. He said nothing, but his posture suggested he remained unconvinced.
~*~*~*~*~
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Beta: Red Lasbelin