The Rescue of Celebrian

Some days later, three or perhaps four, Elladan had found time away from his grandparents and siblings and made his way undetected to the practice field. Part of him was thankful that it was deserted by the Marchwardens. He grew tired of constantly throwing every ounce of strength, will, and skill against man after man of his grandfather’s fighting companies, though his brother thrived on the competition. For some time now, he had thought, he would prefer peacefulness, to wield his knives with only a chunk of wood to parry against and no chance of losing a limb in a training accident, to remember the grace and beauty to be found in the flash of light on blade and the bond between man and weapon.

There was a comfort in the routine of it that he found as he turned and swiped and spun through the exercises Glorfindel and Erestor and his father had put them to time and again. The day he had pummeled Erestor so relentlessly that the advisor had lowered his Noldorin head in yield and looked back up with tears of pride in his eyes still brought a choking feeling to Elladan’s heart. One by one he had bested his teachers, and now felt concerned that he would fall into the trap of the talented: that he would forget that his reputation— and his brother’s of course— preceding them was never enough to stop a stray arrow or a chance slip in the mud of a battle field. While he would not want to be crippled by an unwary Marchwarden bent on besting the best of Rivendell’s fighters (save Glorfindel of course), he did not wish to become complacent on any field, practice or otherwise, and constant competition did not do as much for his ability to concentrate or focus as simple time alone with his thoughts often did.

So it came as a surprise when he noticed he had a spectator.

“Veon? What are you doing here, lad?”

“Hello, Lord Elladan. I…” the boy began, entering the circle where Elladan had spun and parried and thrust at the unopposing air for the better part of an hour. “I… don’t know how to explain myself.”

Sensing where the conversation might go, Elladan put up his blades and dropped into the grass, where thankfully the boy sat beside him.

“When Auntie Nin and I left home, my parents were with us too,” he began, sitting very straight-backed with his hands folded tightly in his lap. Elladan nodded. “But, before we’d gone far, the spiders came. One of them picked up my pony, Holly, and then another one picked up our neighbor Oron. And then another one picked up Mama, and wound her up in its string and ate her. That’s what spiders do, you see, even the big ones. They pick up what they want to eat and wrap it tight in special string they make and turn its insides to jelly and drink them. Daddy told me, long ago, when we found a normal spider in the pantry and Mama had been frightened. She wouldn’t have wanted to… she wouldn’t have wanted that to happen to her. But it did.

Then later, after we’d gotten out of the woods, the goblins came. And Daddy hid me under the wagon and told Auntie Ninde to watch after me and drew his sword and went to kill the goblins like he did before with the spiders, but… he didn’t come back.”

Unsure of what Veon would need most, Elladan put an arm around his little shoulders, and swallowed hard when the boy held tight to his ribs and buried his tearful face in his shoulder.

“You have had a very difficult journey,” Elladan said when the boy had calmed himself again.

“And it’s not over yet,” Veon said sadly. “We’re to go to the sea and sail to the Undying Lands, and we’re not even half the way there. But I’ve never been this far from home, and I don’t have a family any more. Auntie Nin isn’t my real aunt, she’s just a neighbor that was friends with Daddy and Mama, so I call her Auntie because all the rest of my family is in Rivendell and I’ve never met them. And I’m scared, but I don’t want to be scared because warriors aren’t scared and my father was one and I want to be one too just like he was.

“Will you teach me how not to be scared?” Veon asked all in a rush looking up at Elladan with sad grey eyes. “Will you teach me how to use swords and not be scared of spiders and goblins and balrogs and dragons and dwarves? I want to be like Daddy was and make him proud of me, and you’re already like him, it will be easy for you to teach me, won’t it?”

It was hard not to laugh at the child’s surety that warriors were never afraid, but Elladan managed, though only barely.

“Veon, I think we are talking about two entirely different things. Just because one can use a weapon calmly when faced with danger does not mean that he or she is not frightened; usually, for me at least, being frightened helps me concentrate and use my knives or my bow better.”

“Really?” Veon asked, incredulous.

“Really. But, using a weapon is a very, very big task in itself,” Elladan continued, drawing one of his knives for the boy to see. “Do not touch the blade or the tip. I keep them very sharp.”

“How long have you used it?” the child asked, wide eyed.

“For longer than you’ve been alive, I don’t doubt. And it’s been the last thing many goblins have ever seen, the poor souls.”

“Poor souls?” Veon yelped. “They’re goblins! They kill people and eat them and make their skin into clothes!”

“Do you know what they were before they were goblins?” Elladan asked, turning the pommel toward Veon’s hand.

“Thralls of Morgoth, Mama said,” Veon answered, the blade forgotten. “But I don’t really know what a thrall is.”

“They were elves and men once,” Elladan said, “many many years ago, but just like a spider isn’t evil for its own sake or by its own will, neither are goblins. They are the result of a much greater evil, something so twisted and befouled that the valar themselves couldn’t even contain it for long. And he was named Morgoth by an elf who was very wronged by him, and went on to do many very wrong things himself out of anger.”

“That doesn’t excuse it,” Veon said stubbornly. “Doing something bad to someone who has done something bad to you just makes you bad too.”

“A very wise statement,” Elladan said as Veon took the blade from his hand. “Which leads me to why you are holding my knife right now. Why do you want to learn to use it, really? You said you don’t want to be afraid and want to be like your father, but is that really all, or are you angry too?”

“I… I’m angry,” Veon said, thinking. “But mostly I’m sad. I miss my Mama,” he choked, his eyes tearing once again. “And I miss Daddy and I want them back and I want her to stop crying! I want to make her stop crying.”

“Who, Veon?”

“Auntie! Auntie Nin. She cries at night too, and she shouldn’t have to. She killed the goblin that hurt me and bunches more besides, but she cries herself to sleep every night. And maybe if she doesn’t have to take care of me, she’ll stop.”

Closing his eyes tight against the image Veon’s loving words painted, Elladan sighed. So many worries on those little shoulders, and he thought that becoming a warrior would lift them. If he only knew.

“Using a sword or a bow cannot do all that, lad. The ability to kill does not remove the burdens of loss and sorrow, though I think you’ll learn that with time. All it does is change the sorrow to a different kind. Sometimes we still lose those we love, even when they’re right in front of our faces. But sometimes we can prevent that loss for a while. I think you’re old enough to begin to learn, but there are many, many years yet to go before you will be the kind of warrior your father was. I have no doubt, though, that you will make him proud. But, I want your word of something before we even think to begin.”

“What is that?” Veon asked.

“That you will never, and I cannot stress it enough, never pick up a weapon in anger. If the other children in Rivendell tease you, you do not fight them, or if you do, you use your words and your hands, not a blade, not a branch, not a bow. Do you understand me?”

“Yes… but no,” the child said, puzzled.

“What troubles you?”

“The goblins hurt your Mama too, didn’t they?”

“Yes,” Elladan said, hoping he could answer the child honestly and not appear the hypocrite.

“And now you go and kill them whenever you can, because they hurt her. Don’t you use your weapons when you’re angry then?”

Elladan paused for thought, to decide how to explain to the lad at his knee, brighter than any child so young had a right to be, what his quest with his brother had done.

“I don’t kill them because I’m angry at them, though you’re right that I’m angry too. But mostly, I’m sad, like you are. The goblins don’t have a choice but to be how they are, but they used to be something better, and I believe deep inside them somewhere is still a spark of what once was. I don’t kill them because I hate them, or because I’m angry with them,” he finished thoughtfully. “I think their deaths are kinder than the life they have had.”

“And they can’t hurt more good people that way,” Veon said, nodding.

“That too,” Elladan added. “Protecting your people is important too. And that is what I’m willing to teach you to do, eventually. I will help you start to learn how to kill if you need to, but you must promise me that you will not do so unless you absolutely must. Is this fair?”

“Fair,” the lad said, jumping to his feet. “Shall we shake on it?” And they did, arm in arm as men, though the urge to hug the child tight to his side again didn’t fade easily.

“Then let’s start with the basics,” Elladan said, dusting off his seat and taking his other knife in his right hand. “Which is your dominant hand?”

An hour passed in the practice field while Elladan explained the parts of a fighting knife and how to hold it, where to strike an opponent to do the most damage quickly, and what would cause one to be injured by his own blade. The child showed remarkable aptitude for it, though the knife did prove to be heavy for his size and build. Elladan let him continue to hold it anyway to build the muscles in his arm and back that would one day be needed for any number of activities besides defense as well.

“Keep your tip up. That’s the lad. Now, show me the pommel? Good, and the hilt? Good, and where is the tang?”

“Inside the handle… I mean, grip.”

“Good. Well done,” Elladan said, smiling, struck by the notion that this was how Glorfindel or Erestor must have felt when he and Elrohir were this age.

“And that’s enough,” an unexpected voice called from the edge of the field, turning Veon the color of spoiled milk.

“Auntie Nin! Elladan was—”

“Trying to teach you to use a weapon two times too large for you,” she finished sharply, reaching for the blade. Reluctantly, Veon handed it over and hung his head, but Elladan was surprised to see Ninde stoop and pick the boy’s chin up to meet her eyes.

“Your father was the bravest and most talented warrior I have ever seen among the Green Elves. But your mother was of the Noldor, lad, the people who brought swords to Middle-earth. If you’re going to learn how to use one, you’re going to learn it right,” she said, looking up at Elladan.

“You should have started with the footwork.”

“I thought it best to teach him the terminologies first before even attempting a swing,” Elladan replied, somewhat stung. “And in the mean time, plan to make him a practice sword better suited his reach and strength. It’s what Glorfindel did for me.”

“Oh Glorfindel,” Ninde snorted. “That show off. I must talk to him long before he comes anywhere near my nephew in a practice ring.”

“You know Glorfindel of Gondolin?” Elladan asked.

“Of course,” Ninde said, untying her worn leather apron and dropping it in the grass. “I am a single woman. He made himself well known to all of us. On guard, if you please, Lord Elladan. Veon lad? Watch my feet,” the little dark haired woman said, kilting her skirt one handed to expose her calves and ankles.

“We will… You intend to spar with me, lady?”

“I do. It’s what he wants to see, and it’s been a while since I’ve used a knife. Or is the best of Glorfindel’s students afraid to spar with someone who learned to parry before his teacher was a golden gleam in his father’s eye?”

“Lord Elladan says that he fights better when he’s afraid,” Veon added helpfully, and there was no hiding the smirk that flashed across Ninde’s face.

Yes, Elladan thought as he adopted a ready stance, this must be exactly what Erestor and Glorfindel felt like all those years ago.

“I said that only to assure Veon that fear is a natural part of the necessity of combat,” Elladan said.

“Of course, lord Elladan,” Ninde replied through that maddening but surprisingly pretty smile. “Any good warrior knows that. Now, on your guard, if you please,” and when Elladan responded, Ninde proceeded to systematically drive him in circles until, backed against a tree with the flat of his own blade at his throat, he was forced to yield.

“Were you watching my feet, Veon?” she asked, panting and smiling all at once.

“I tried, Auntie Nin, I really did, but…”

“Distracted by the sword play?” Elladan asked knowingly.

“No, my lord,” the child said, clutching his aunt by adoption around the waist. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you smile since we left home Auntie. But I’m sorry, I’ll try to do better next time, I promise.”

Ninde’s smile wavered momentarily as she looked down at the one-eared head buried against her chest. “And I’ll try to do better too, my heart. You are right; it has been a long time since I have smiled.”