A Deed Unforgiven by LadySternchen  

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Chapter 2- Círdan

Note to my non-regular readers: Thônwen is the name I gave to Elmo's wife in my stories, and Celebren the name of Galadhon’s wife and mother of Celeborn and Galathil.

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Círdan did eventually make the journey he had promised Elu on his deathbed to make, though it was many years later, after the Noldor had come out of the West and driven the Orcs away. It felt strange to wander the lands freely again, after so long a time confined between walls and sea, and still stranger to meet the Noldorin patrols here and there along the way, securing the roads, hunting any orcs that might have hidden during their initial purge of Beleriand. Círdan had much to be grateful for, he would never be making this journey to Menegroth after all were it not for the princes of the house of Finwë, and yet… unease twisted his insides every time he thought of them, especially of the princes of the house of Fëanor. There was an air of mystery about them he did not like at all.

What he liked even less than the mystery surrounding the Fëanorians was the errand on which he had set out. He dreaded the conversation he was to have with Melian, who had held Menegroth valiantly all these years. How much did she know? How much had she and the others guessed? Who else had fallen in battle? He had learned of Denethor’s destruction by emissaries of the Greenelves, but who among the Eglath had died at the hands of those fell orcs he knew not. Was Elmo alive? Galadhon?

The caves seemed grim to Círdan when at last he reached the gates of Menegroth, and was lead on into the Hall. Only when he beheld Melian did he realise that ‘grim’ was not the right word. Rather, the whole of Menegroth seemed to feel and live its queen’s grief, her pain, for while she looked as breathtakingly beautiful as Círdan remembered her, her very aura was one of deepest sadness. She hurried towards him through the throne-room, flinging her arms silently around his neck. Círdan smiled in spite of himself. She had never been one for protocols.

“Oh Círdan… you are alive! We did not know… so few returned. All our captains were slain or grievously hurt, and Denethor fell with all his house, and Elu… we learned that he was taken by the enemy alive but… he is dead. I can feel it.”

Círdan disentangled himself from her, noting as he looked over her shoulder that Elmo stood there beside Lúthien, as did his wife. Celebren was there as well with her sons and her brother Oropher, but as Melian’s words started to sink in, the horrible realisation of the likely fate of Galadhon himself struck him. Galadhon, merry, careless Galadhon, Elmo and Thônwen’s only child, dead. For a moment, Círdan had to suppress the impulse to walk over to Elmo and comfort him, but he managed. This grief would have to wait a bit longer, as he first had to do what he had come hither to do.

Forcing himself to look Melian in the eyes, he said firmly:
“I bring confirmation of that.”

She did not flinch nor acknowledge her pain in any way other than her bright eyes watering, holding his gaze calmly, silently begging him to go on, to which he complied.

“He died in my arms, and I have come to bear you his dying words and his farewell.”

A strangled sob made Círdan look around again, only to see Elmo pulling a weeping Lúthien into his arms, while tears ran down his own cheeks. So the two of them had still hoped, despite what Melian must have told them from the start, and so likely had others within the court, as there was many a stifled cry among the onlookers as well.

Melian’s voice was still surprisingly steady when she spoke again, gripping Círdan’s hand tightly to regain his attention.

“I need you to tell me everything. Please, Círdan.”

Círdan looked at the queen in despair.

“You do not want to know! Trust me Melian.”

If the news of her husband’s death had not drawn any visible reaction from Melian, Círdan’s last words certainly did. She flinched as though he had slapped her, and when she spoke again, her voice trembled for the first time.

“I do. I need to know. We all need to know. Not even the most gruesome truth can be as terrible as our ever wandering imagination. But you said you held him when he died… which in itself is a tremendous relief, just… was he… aware of your being there?”

“Yes. He passed peacefully. We sang and… well, I sang him to sleep. I did that when he was a small elfling as well.”

Círdan looked up at the starry ceiling of the hall, desperately blinking away tears, yet it was no use, he could not keep them from spilling down his cheeks. Nor now could Melian, and the sight of her tears somehow made Círdan talk, and tell her how Elu died with a smile upon his face, how his dying words had been about his loved ones only.

“We gave his body to the sea.” he finally concluded “Had there been any way to reach you, I swear I would have…”

“I know. There was no way for a goodbye, and I am immeasurably glad to know w…what happened to his body, and above all to know that you were with him, and that he knew you were there. I know what a comfort that must have been to him.”

Círdan could but press her hand in reply, words utterly failing him.

“Not that I doubt the reason for Elu spending the final moments of his life in Ennor with you being a hideous one. Bauglir used him as bait for you, did he not?” Melian added bitterly, and Círdan could but affirm her suspicions with a nod.

Elmo had buried his face in his hands, while Thônwen stroked his back gently, grief and disgust etched upon her beautiful face. Círdan knew that she had had her disagreements with Elu, but still she had loved him as a brother, the grief of losing him heavy upon her as well.

“What did they do to him?” she asked, her fury at Bauglir’s deeds etched into every syllable.

If Círdan had thought the situation could get no worse, he had been vastly mistaken. He did not want to tell any of them what the orcs had done to Elu, least of all tell Lúthien in which ways her father had been assaulted. It was unthinkable.

Melian seemed to guess at least part of his thoughts, for she bade the court leave them alone, and the assembled elves did so, to grant the royal family some privacy. And yet Círdan would not have minded them staying. If Lúthien had to hear, everyone could.

“You do not want to know.” Círdan repeated once more, even though he knew this was vain.

Melian would not rest ere she knew exactly what had happened to her husband, and had their roles been exchanged, Círdan would have done the same. Learning of a loved one’s death was a terrible pain, and yet not knowing -having to endure the meandering of one’s own imagination- was still worse. Steeled himself to go on, therefore, he added:
“… but I know you need to. I only wished I could spare you all this pain.”

The hall was utterly silent now, with the court having left and the few remaining members of the royal house grouped closely together, all waiting with mingled anticipation and dread for what Círdan was going to reveal to them. They would be relieved, he guessed, at first. After all, the orcs had spared Elu’s face, and he knew that this would almost certainly have been their first and foremost fear. It would have been his, at any rate.

“The orcs that besieged Eglarest lead Elu before its walls, using him, as you already guessed, as bait to draw me out, seeing that they could not overcome the walls of the city. They tortured and wounded him there, forcing us to watch, until a thunderstorm rose…”

“Ulmo…” Melian whispered, her wet eyes out of focus. “…oh Ulmo. Thank you!”

“Indeed, though I wondered whether it was not Ossë who was primarily behind it. But however that may be, the tempest made the orcs flee, and one of my guards braved the danger and fetched what we all thought to be Elu’s body. To find him alive was a…”

A what? Círdan mused. He could hardly call it ‘a shock’ in front of his cousin’s widow, even though that was exactly what it had been.

“We never anticipated that he might be alive. And not only that, he was more or less awake as well, though he did slip in and out of consciousness over the hours that followed, being quite delirious at times. My healers did for him what they could, but the orcs had mutilated him, and tortured him for many days. It became clear rather soon that his hurts were to great to be healed by any means we knew of, so we decided to make him as comfortable as possible and let him pass once he was ready to go.”

“They… did they blind him?”

Elmo’s voice trembled so much that Círdan could hardly discern the words. His cousin’s agonised question proved Círdan right about what had been their deepest fear, though, and he hastened to put his mind at peace at least a little bit.

“No. They did nothing to his face at all, at least if you do not count his ear. They cut it off, along with a couple of his fingers, but… well.”

Even he could hear how forced his tone sounded, how unbefitting his words were. But he wanted, no, needed to tell them without any emotion, and quickly, before the images of Elu’s mutilated hand could appear before his eyes again. And it mattered not, for as he had expected, a general feeling of relief outweighed the terror of what Círdan had just told his listeners, even if they had all winced a little at the mention of the mutilations.

“There is still something you have not told us!” Melian said sadly after a while, and Círdan shook his head.

“No. But really, I… no, I understand your need to know everything, but this… Lúthien, you, at least, need not hear that!”

As he might have expected, Lúthien did not take particularly kindly to being patronised like that. She frowned at him, tears replaced by a very grim expression.

“I am not a child, Círdan, and have not been one for two ages of this world!”

Círdan locked eyes with her, and for a long moment, they just stood, holding each other’s gaze. Oh, he wished she had not inherited her father’s eyes.

“But you are his child!”

“I am also -as my mother is restricted by the laws of her race- the regent of Eglador and I want to know what Bauglir did to my father so that I can…”

“They raped him.”

Círdan had not meant to say it like this, nor to cut Lúthien off, but he found himself unable to stand the tension a moment longer.

“It is apparently what Bauglir will do if he wishes to destroy an Elf utterly. His spells will force his victim to remain in their body despite all torture, and then he gives them to his orcs for their pleasure. At least this is what we could deduce from the evidence. Elu himself could not speak of it.”

Círdan did not dare look at any of them, but still could not block out Elmo’s anguished gasp, nor Thônwen’s cry of mingled wrath and pain. Melian just sank to her knees, her face buried in her hands.

“No… oh no, please, no”

“I am so sorry, Melian. That was why I did not want to tell you. I knew how terribly it would grieve you to learn.”

Thônwen, apparently deciding that her sister-in-law’s need for comfort was in this moment greater than her husband’s, knelt down beside Melian to cradle her softly, until the queen was finally able to speak again.

“No, there is no reason for you to apologise, Círdan. I… I ordered you to tell me, after all, and I did need to know, but… oh Elu, beloved…”

Círdan was well aware that there would be no getting another sensible word out of Melian for the time being, so he too crouched down beside her to stroke her hair gently.

“He asked me to tell you how much he loved you. I told him you knew anyway, but it was so important to him that I tell you, so this I do now. He said he would go through all torture again if only he could be reunited with you by that, and I know that your memory was his greatest comfort in his final moments.”

Melian, unable to control her weeping enough to give any answer, grasped Círdan’s forearm briefly in a silent thanks. Círdan’s heart felt sore within him from all the pity he felt for her. How long had she battled to keep appearances, how long had she denied herself to mourn properly? Deeply saddened though he still was by Elu’s death, he could not fathom the vastness of Melian’s grief.

Lúthien, unlike her mother and aunt and uncle, had shed no tear. She just gazed into space, her eyes burning with a fierce light. There was something formidable about her, a power Círdan had never before sensed in her awoken.

Still looking at nobody, she said in a deadly calm voice:

“You need to go, Nana. You need to be in Valinor. Elves are returned to their bodies after a while, are they not? You need to be there for him. If he is to have any chance of recovery, you will have to be there. And make sure he knows. Whoever you need to persuade or bribe to have him know, you must let him know!”

Nobody replied, frankly because there was nothing to reply to it. Little though Círdan -and surly Elmo and Thônwen alongside him- wanted to lose Melian as well, it had always been obvious that she and Elu could not be separated without suffering terribly. And Melian could of course cross the sundering seas when the Children of Eru could not, and she had likely only endured staying in Ennor and her Elvish body for her daughter’s sake anyway. 
Lúthien herself went calmly on, and her words made Círdan’s blood run cold.

“I, meanwhile, shall seek healing in different ways. I will not rest ere Bauglir, Morgoth, as the Noldor call him so fittingly, has paid for this crime. I will make him pay. I only need to think of a way how.”