Go direct to story

11 The Journey Home

Gwirith had no clear memory of the journey back to Caras Galadhon. Instead there were fragments, moments of heightened sensitivity, as vivid and richly coloured as a painting, but disconnected from each other. Years later he could call to mind the soft murmur of Tathrenil’s voice as he spoke the strengthening ritual over Celinn’s motionless body wrapped in his green wool cloak. He could still remember the soft colours of the autumn sky, fawn and grey and violet like a ring dove’s breast. And of course he remembered Celinn’s face, as still and white as marble, except for the long livid scar on his cheek and the shadows like stains under his eyes. Then nothing until Tathrenil’s sudden urgent command halfway home to put the stretcher down, and his broad hands pushing on Celinn’s breastbone to urge the blood through his unmoving heart, and Celinn’s grey-blue lips slowly blooming back to warm pink again.

And then darkness had fallen and they were at the white bridge of Caras Galadhon. Gwirith could see the lights glimmering in the mellryn as they entered the great gate. He stood cold and wretched behind Haldir, with no clear sense of what to do next. But then he felt a change in the air around him, like the first warm and scented breeze of spring, and rubbing his face with the palms of his hands he saw that Galadriel was standing at the door of the healing house.

Gwirith followed her inside. It was immediately quieter and somehow more peaceful, and the air was rich with the tang of drying herbs. Haldir was there, and said, ‘Go home and rest, Gwirith. We will take care of him.’ But Gwirith shook his head and went with them into a big light room that looked out on to the forest. Celinn’s long-limbed body was stretched out on a work table and Helevorn and the other healers were gathered round him, beginning to work on his wounds. Helevorn glanced round and seeing Gwirith, said, ‘If you wish to see your brother, he is still sleeping, but you can go to him later.’ Gwirith nodded.

‘Where is Aiglin?’ he asked.

‘I have given him another sleeping draught,’ said Helevorn. ‘He has been severely shocked.’

They heard Galadriel gasp as she saw the damage to Celinn’s body. ‘If it were not for Aragorn, I would say that men must have neither heart nor soul,’ she said, bitterly.

Gwirith watched Helevorn and the other healers remove the makeshift splint from Celinn’s leg and begin to cut off his stained and torn clothes. The bandage below his ribs was soaked through again and Helevorn cut through it quickly to examine the wound.

‘How is it?’ asked Haldir, who had just come back into the room after dismissing his company. ‘Is there infection?’

Helevorn put his face to the wound. ‘It smells clean,’ he said, ‘but it is not knitting as I would like.’ He passed his hand over Celinn’s leg. ‘Nor is this,’ he said, ‘and no doubt the arrow wound, which is older, will not be faring any better.’

With Tathrenil’s help Helevorn raised Celinn and removed the dressing from his shoulder. ‘This one is not so good,’ he said, worriedly. ‘Fetch me the strong salve,’ he said to Tathrenil, and he cleaned the wound with an astringent before loading a dressing with the salve and binding it in place.

‘Why has he not returned to himself? Is it the head wound?’ asked Haldir.

‘It is possible,’ said Helevorn, running his fingers over the broken skin just above Celinn’s brow. But I fear it is more serious,’ he went on. ‘His fea does not wish to return. With the energy leaving his hroa, it would not have the power to heal itself.’ He glanced at Celinn’s still white face. ‘I can barely feel his heart or his breath,’ he said sadly. ‘He may be too far for us to call him back.’

Gwirith felt his own heart tighten within him at these words. Galadriel turned very slightly and glanced at him, and he wondered if he had made a sound or shown something on his face. She said nothing, but as she went past him to Celinn’s side, he thought he felt a fleeting touch on his shoulder.

Galadriel rested her hands gently on Celinn’s brow. Gwirith saw that she was speaking very softly, and there seemed to be a pearly light issuing from her fingers as they stroked Celinn’s cropped hair tenderly. Galadriel sensed his gaze and glanced at him, and in his mind he heard her voice calling Celinn’s fea to return to his body and to those who waited for him with love. Gwirith watched her and Helevorn working on Celinn’s body and suddenly wished deeply that his own craft were to make objects of healing rather than death. He turned away and went to the window, looking out at the leaves drifting down from the beech trees on to the plants in the physic garden. Despite the fire that burned in the hearth, he felt cold again, and there was a knot of dread in his gut. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window and closed his eyes.

‘I think you can help him,’ Galadriel’s voice said.

He turned to her, frowning. ‘I?’ he said, incredulous.

‘Yes. You have helped him very much already. Now we need to bring his fea back to his body.’

‘But I’ve done nothing,’ protested Gwirith.

‘You are wrong,’ she said, coming to him. ‘You have touched his fea. Did you not tell Haldir and Helevorn that you reached his mind during his ordeal?’

‘Yes, I did. I wanted to help him, so I imagined I was in his place and tried to take some of his adversity on to myself.’

‘And you felt him respond to you?’

‘Yes,’ said Gwirith, ‘It was as if we touched each other.’

Galadriel took his hands in hers. ‘There is a chance, then. If you were close to him at the worst time, he might still be able to find his way back.’ She looked at him intently. ‘Will you help me?’

‘What must I do?’ said Gwirith.

‘He may come back if you are the one to call him. There is an energy between you.’ The resonance of her last words seemed to continue long after she had finished speaking. Gwirith looked into her face, and he felt a strange tremor pass through his heart.

‘Then I will call him,’ said Gwirith.

‘Thank you, my dear,’ she said, in her deep, musical voice. ‘Wait now while I speak a word to Helevorn, and we will begin at once.’

Helevorn’s hands did not stop their work as he tilted his head to listen to Galadriel. Then Galadriel called Gwirith.

‘We will do what we can to hold you,’ she said, ‘but I do not know what you will have to endure. If it becomes too difficult, look to the power of your heart and feel the constancy of the earth beneath your feet and all will be well.’

Gwirith nodded and put down his weapons. ‘I will prepare you,’ Galadriel said, and placed the palm of her hand on his forehead and spoke some words. Then, turning him to face Celinn, she placed her other palm on Celinn’s forehead and spoke again. Gwirith felt a tingling as if a fine chain of energy had linked him to Celinn through her hands. ‘You must touch him,’ she said, placing Gwirith’s hand on Celinn’s forehead and removing her own. ‘Put your other hand over his heart,’ her voice said softly, and Gwirith felt the energy increase in vibration as he laid his hand on Celinn’s chest.

‘I will make the circle,’ said Galadriel, and in a deep lilting tone, she spoke a word of power to each of the four quarters, then turned a full circle, her arm extended as she marked out the healing space. Gwirith felt the air contract around him, holding him into the container she had made to focus their energy. Finally she took a candle in a bronze holder and lit it.

‘This light now stands for Celinn’s fea,’ she said, and placed it where they could all see it. The flame was small and tremulous and although it was not near the window, it shook and guttered as if blown by a strong wind.

‘We must make haste,’ said Galadriel, and she came to Celinn’s side, and placed a hand on Gwirith’s so that they were connected to each other and to Celinn. Around them, Helevorn and the other healers continued to work with quiet persistence on Celinn’s broken body.

‘Now we are ready,’ said Galadriel. ‘Go wherever your heart and your fea take you, and we will try to bring him home.’

Gwirith opened his mind as he had when he had touched Celinn’s during his ordeal, and began to call along with Galadriel. He felt his fea drift out of him, so that although he was in the room, watching Helevorn setting the long bone in Celinn’s leg, yet he was also above him, looking down on the beautiful white face which even the ugly scar failed to disfigure, and also outside the healing house, in the forest, and above the trees in the ink-blue sky among the stars.

He saw Galadriel’s hands move to Celinn’s brow, and through his link with her he sensed her call the energy of the One to move through her and heal him. In his mind he moved towards her, and with the eye of his fea he saw a shimmer of translucent colour flowing from her hands and surrounding Celinn’s head. With astonishment he saw the same pearly light spreading out from his own hands.

‘We will gird him round with light so that he may see his way back to us,’ she said wordlessly to him, and perceiving her purpose, he let the light of the One flow through him until the sacred space Galadriel had bounded for the ritual glimmered and rippled with it. Then Galadriel began to rest her attention on Celinn’s injured body, beginning with his head. Gwirith made to follow her and with his fea searched for the ragged wound above Celinn’s brow and felt an echo of pain from the scar on his face. But Galadriel’s voice sounded in his mind. ‘I will hold his body. Stay near me if you wish but remember you seek his fea.’

So he let himself open further and the sense of a twofold consciousness intensified as he was able to feel his hands on Celinn while at the same time he drifted high above the healing house, surrounded by a soft blue light. He sensed other feas around him, but none he recognised as Celinn’s. He moved effortlessly as though he were in something like water or air, yet even lighter. But though he called again and again, there was no sign of Celinn.

He closed his eyes and moved his hands down Celinn’s body, searching for a way to reach him. Maybe it was the light of the One which heightened his senses, but he found he could feel the pulse of Celinn’s blood and each difficult breath that he pulled into his lungs. He could touch the heat of his wounded shoulder and feel the unknit tissues below his ribs. But none of these things helped him. A flickering light caught his eye and he saw that the candle Galadriel had lit was burning fitfully, guttering so low that it seemed it must go out at any moment. Filled with a redoubled sense of urgency, Gwirith met Galadriel’s hands on Celinn’s solar plexus. At once both felt a thread of connection, a high painful vibration like a distant scream.

At the same time Gwirith’s fea far above the healing house heard an echo of something familiar: at first it was gentle, like the string of a harp vibrating with a musical note. But as it came nearer, the vibration became disturbing, then agonising and difficult to bear. The blue light faded and was replaced by a dead twilight. Gwirith knew Celinn was near, but so changed was he by his ordeal that his fea was barely recognisable. Gwirith called to him, but when he tried to approach he met a strong resistance. Now Gwirith knew in his own self the anguish of being rebuffed when one sought only to bring comfort and healing. Staying humbly at a distance, he called out with an effort,

‘Celinn, do not leave us, Mandos does not summon you yet. Please, come back to those who wait for you. We can help you to bear this torment.’

But Celinn’s fea drifted away from his, and as if the wind itself sighed, he heard him say in a voice calm and empty of emotion,

‘It is too late. I cannot come back,’ and in an instant seemed so far away that Gwirith thought he had lost him again. Desperately, he cried out with his fea,

‘You helped me to come back to myself, when I was alone and suffering. Please, Celinn, let me help you now, for the sake of our friendship.’

For a long while he waited in the cold darkness, and it seemed as if the stars in their implacable orbits wheeled around him many times. In the far distance he could sense Galadriel’s presence, but her touch was no more than a feather against him. At last, just when he was about to give up all hope, he felt Celinn come near, his fea a mere breath.

Gwirith moved closer to him, reaching out, and at the same time his hands on Celinn’s body felt impelled to move downwards. All at once the healing house and the far twilight were gone and it was Gwirith’s body which was stretched out helpless against a tree, struggling against Adanwath’s violent abuse. His fea screamed and instinctively strove to escape this agonising vision, and he felt it break free from his hroa as his very self was invaded. But as his consciousness began to leave him, Galadriel’s hands seized his and his eyes snapped open and looked straight into Adanwath’s. His gut heaved with fear and disgust but her hands held him even more firmly and suddenly he remembered where his help lay: in his own heart and in the solid earth beneath his feet. With a tremendous effort he opened his heart and called his fea back, and asking the earth to hold him, he let himself inhabit the vision Celinn’s body was sending him through his hands, knowing it was the price of bringing him home.

‘Celinn, you have suffered,’ his fea cried out to Celinn’s, ‘but we suffer with you. Let us be with you, please, don’t leave us!’

Celinn’s fea did not respond, and Gwirith felt his strength beginning to fade when Galadriel’s voice sounded strongly nearby.

‘Dear Celinn,’ she said, ‘you need to be healed of your grievous hurts. Come back to us, and all will be well.’

But still Celinn did not reply, and they sensed his fea drifting even further out of reach. Then Gwirith called out helplessly to Elbereth, and found himself looking down on Celebrant, and deep beneath the cool green waters, he saw something blue and gold, sparkling on the river bed. He cast down until he could see what it was, and touched a smooth blue stone, inscribed with tengwar in golden letters. One by one, he read out the words, and they were the names of all the members of his company, finishing with Celinn’s own name. As he read, he could feel Celinn’s fea coming closer again, until it was right by him.

Gwirith said to him, ‘You are still our captain, and we are still your company, whatever has happened. You are not free to abandon us while you are bound to us in the name of the Holy Ones. Whatever is broken must be made right, no matter the cost in pain. But you are not alone, and the pain will be shared.’

Then he and Galadriel approached Celinn again, and this time they felt him reluctantly submit at last to their entreaties, and they surrounded him tenderly with the comfort of their strong feas, and he came to them.

And then Gwirith felt hands gripping his shoulders tightly and he opened his eyes and saw that he was in the healing room. Directly in front of him the candle Galadriel had lit burnt straight and unwavering. Galadriel and Helevorn were staring at him, their eyes full of concern.

‘What’s the matter?’ he said, ‘What happened? How is he?’

‘Let us see,’ said Galadriel, and Gwirith became aware again of the others in the room as Haldir, Tathrenil joined them at Celinn’s side. There was a little more colour in Celinn’s face, and Galadriel took his hand and held it. As they watched his eyes fluttered open and he gazed at them, frowning a little as if he were not sure if he were dreaming. Then he took a laboured breath and his lips moved silently. Galadriel leaned closer.

‘Let me go,’ Celinn whispered. The Lady’s eyes filled with tears.

‘It is not yet your time,’ she said softly

‘Please,’ he begged, the word a mere breath.

‘We cannot let you go,’ she said, pressing her lips to his hand. ‘Do not leave us, Celinn.’

He gave a harsh, rasping sigh and then his eyes clouded over with pain. His hand moved fitfully on the sheet as he tried to touch the wound on his side but he did not have the strength to do so. Helevorn raised his head and held a cup to his mouth, and Celinn drank a little, swallowing with difficulty.

‘It will help with the pain,’ Helevorn said. But, if anything, the pain worsened, and Galadriel and Tathrenil quickly recast the circle and surrounded Celinn with healing light.

‘You too, Gwirith,’ said the Lady, so he stood beside her, his hand touching hers on one side and Tathrenil’s on the other. The current of energy they had focussed on to Celinn’s injured body tingled as it passed through his fingers. Celinn was moaning softly, and Gwirith was filled with a deep sadness as he looked down on his fair face shadowed with pain. All at once he had a vivid recollection of Celinn on the day of his braiding, straight-backed and strong and joyful, his long hair streaming across his shoulders, his face alight with happiness. From some deep place in himself, there arose in Gwirith a longing that Celinn should be well again, that his body should be restored and remade and that Gwirith should see him again as he had been, free from the shadow of this evil day.

At last Celinn fell silent and his breathing slowed.

‘The pain has eased somewhat. At least now he will be able to sleep,’ said Galadriel quietly. Then she and Haldir and Helevorn were suddenly laughing with joy, and Tathrenil was mopping his eyes with a square of cloth. Gwirith was laughing too, but then his strength suddenly gave out and he found he had to sit down heavily in the chair Tathrenil had already placed behind him, and cover his face with his hands. A long time seemed to pass, and then the healer touched his shoulder and Gwirith looked up to see him holding a cup of something hot to drink. ‘Helevorn’s own recipe,’ he said gently, but Gwirith found his hands were shaking too much to hold it, so Galadriel held it to his lips and he drank. Whatever Helevorn had put in it seemed extremely efficacious and he felt his strength returning as he watched Galadriel undo the circle she had made for the ritual. Soon he was able to ask again, ‘What happened? Why did I have that …vision?’

‘You were moving through the aura of his hroa,’ said Galadriel, ‘and since you were open to him, your fea felt the strong memories which he had escaped.’ She and Helevorn glanced at each other. ‘We feared for you,’ she said quietly. ‘You endured a great deal.’

‘But did it help him?’

‘I cannot say, but it may help him later to know that you did this. I think it was your finding the blue stone that called him back. How did you know where to look?’

‘I have no idea. It was after I called to Elbereth. All I know is that it is an important place for him, his own place.’

Gwirith watched as Celinn was laid in a bed by a tall window of coloured glass and covered with blankets with a warming stone at his feet. Then Galadriel made a sealing charm to make the healers’ work more efficacious.

‘Will he be well now?’ Gwirith asked Helevorn, who was nearly at the end of his own strength.

‘His fea can begin to help his body to heal,’ answered the healer, ‘but his injuries are deep and serious, and he has been long away. In addition, his suffering is not only of the body. I wish I could give you a certainty, but I cannot. May Elbereth protect him,’ he said, bringing his fingers to his lips and kissing them in homage to the Starkindler. ‘He is in the hands of the Holy Ones.’

Gwirith felt Galadriel’s hands resting gently on his shoulders, and a powerful issue of strength radiated through him. He looked up at her, and heard her say silently, ‘Well done, my dear. Your heart has gifts you did not dream of,’ and then in her own voice, she said,

‘Rest, Gwirith, or you will be no help to anyone, least of all yourself.’

‘Yes, Lady,’ he said, and felt the gentleness of her compassion as she smiled at him. She thanked the healers and then left them to go and visit Aragorn.

Gwirith stood up and looked around for his weapons, preparing himself to leave. But instead of doing so he found himself sitting down for a moment beside Celinn’s bed and tentatively taking Celinn’s hand, only to see if it was any warmer than before. He wondered at the change that had come over him in the last weeks, he who had been so defended and fearful and was now sitting here before everyone, using the strength of his body and his heart to help another.

He wanted to see Luinil again. His brother would want news of Celinn, and of course so would Aiglin. Gwirith wondered whether he might be awake now, and made to get up, but his body would not obey him, and within a surprisingly short number of minutes, he had fallen asleep sitting up. Haldir came back into the room to see that Helevorn was trying to release his hand from Celinn’s so that he could make him lie down, but was having little success.

‘Don’t waste your effort trying to separate them,’ said Haldir. ‘That story is just beginning, by my reckoning, and there will be many storms ahead before they come this close again.’

Helevorn shrugged his shoulders expressively, and they looked at the two elves, hands firmly clasped, their faces lost in exhausted sleep.

‘Well, I need sleep, even if you don’t, Guardian,’ said Helevorn. He glanced round the room to see all was in order, and nodded at the healer who had just come in to begin the night duty. ‘Call me if you need me, Arodir,’ he said, yawning, and he saw Haldir out into the night before closing the heavy door behind him.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Galadriel stood beside Aragorn’s bed, looking down on his bruised and lacerated face, frowning even in sleep. Bound to his body was a pungent-smelling compress which Tathrenil had made to encourage his internal injuries to heal, and his left arm was folded across his chest and held securely in place with a broad linen bandage. When Tathrenil had stripped off Aragorn’s shirt on their arrival at Caras Galadhon, he had found an ugly wound on his back, and a cracked shoulder-blade beneath.

A moment ago Elrond’s voice had been speaking in Galadriel’s mind, but now as he looked through her eyes at his foster-son, all she could hear was the absolute silence of his anguish.

Her hands rested on Aragorn’s brow and heart as she sent him what healing light she could, but as Elrond’s pain intensified, she directed another stream of healing towards him far away in Imladris, and slowly she sensed him begin to release his torment in gentle tears.

‘It was too soon, Galadriel,’ he whispered in her mind. ‘I should have waited.’

‘He is called to confront evil, dear husband of my daughter. You knew there would be pain, even if you had waited until he had lived half a century to tell him who he truly is.’

‘You are right,’ he said softly. ‘But I had forgotten the depth of this pain; the pain of being helpless before the suffering of someone you love.’

Galadriel knew her daughter Celebrian was in Elrond’s mind as she was in her own, and that Aragorn’s suffering had opened that wound again.

‘I will come to him at once,’ said Elrond. ‘I will leave now. Tonight.’

‘No,’ said Galadriel. ‘He will be well, my dear. He will be on his feet again before you are halfway here.’

‘Nevertheless…’

‘Trust me, Elrond. What he must face now is his own burden, the burden of leadership and of the evil that comes from even the best-intentioned actions. You cannot carry this for him. You have let him go: now leave him to come to you when he is ready.’

‘But…I wish to see him, Galadriel!’

‘And that is your burden, my dear. He will come to you, in his own time. Be patient, Elrond.’

He had withdrawn from her then, more abruptly than was courteous, but she had understood he had no energy to spare for farewells. Aragorn stirred and tried to turn on to his side, but at once abandoned the attempt, wincing a little in his sleep. She had stayed with him a little longer, until she was satisfied she had given him as much healing as he could bear, and then had left him, her heart bruised by his youthful, shadowed countenance.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

In the darkest hour of the night, Gwirith suddenly lurched awake, rigid with terror. His eyes darted around, looking for something familiar, but in his terrified state everything appeared strange and monstrous. Staggering to his feet, he began to crash his way blindly around the room, searching for a way out, his heart pounding wildly. Moments later the door opened and he stood blinking in the sudden blaze of light from the hallway. Then Tathrenil’s strong hands were holding him.

‘Gwirith, it’s all right, you’re safe,’ the healer said, looking into his face. But Gwirith was too deep in dread to comprehend his words. He pulled away from Tathrenil and stumbled into the hallway, then began to struggle to open the main door.

‘I have locked it, Gwirith, let me fetch the key,’ said Tathrenil, less calmly, trying to pull him away, but Gwirith flung off his hand and stared at him.

‘Let me out! I have to get out!’ he pleaded. Without another word, Tathrenil pulled him down to the other end of the hallway and opened a door. Gwirith pushed past him into the garden. The cold air hit him in the face like a blow and he stood gasping for breath as if he had been running a long way. Both Tathrenil and Helevorn were beside him now, one of them trying to make him drink something, but he didn’t want anything to drink. Suddenly he was overcome by a wave of nausea and pushing them aside, he ran into the shadows and, clinging to a tree, bent double and vomited on to the earth, his ears ringing and his brow clammy with a cold sweat.

It seemed a long time before he had finished. When finally he stopped retching he felt so dizzy that he had to sit on the grass and hold his head in his hands. He could hear himself groaning and wanted to stop, but apparently he had no control over his voice. He almost hoped he would pass out, but the cold air kept blowing in his eyes, and he thought he felt rain on him too. No, not rain, it was someone trying to wipe his face. Gwirith pushed them away and threw his arms round the smooth trunk of the tree.

‘I must hold on,’ he gasped. ‘Until the ground stops moving. The tree will hold me.’

‘It is the shock,’ said someone anxiously, close to his ear. ‘We have attended to everyone but to him and this is the result. We should never have left him alone so soon.’

Gwirith felt a heavy cloak settle on his shoulders. He released his grip on the tree for a moment and pulled a fold of it across his face and sat shivering, his cheek pressed against the bark. The tree was strong but the ground still swung dizzyingly below him. Disconnected images flashed into his mind and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to block them out. He had to talk, it didn’t matter what he said: anything, as long as he could drown out the sounds that crashed and wailed in his ears. For a long time he struggled, but at last his strength gave out and he knew he could not hold them back any longer. And although he took in a huge shuddering breath of air, they washed over him like a great wave and at last his breath ran out and he was still.

After a long time he felt a little warmth creep into his stiff body, and though his teeth were not chattering quite so much, his gut ached as if he had taken a beating. Finally after what seemed like hours, the ground beneath him was still and the singing in his ears quietened. A familiar pleasant smell came to him from the heavy folds of the cloak and by the sound of gentle breathing beside him he knew he was not alone. With infinite care he straightened up and uncovered his face and saw Helevorn and Tathrenil sitting beside him on the grass, patiently watching him.

‘My poor boy, I am sorry we failed to prevent this,’ Helevorn said sadly. ‘We should have known you would feel the shock of it. At least we could have warned you.’

Had Gwirith been more lucid he would have reminded Helevorn that he was probably several centuries older than him, but in fact his gentle words touched Gwirith deeply and he felt as he had not felt for a very long time: a child in the presence of comforting elders. The feeling brought tears, and Helevorn held him as between shuddering sobs he poured out the story of the horrors he had seen.

‘We couldn’t help him … he was suffering, there was so much blood … and then that foul creature … he touched him … against his will … he shouldn’t …’ He had to stop then, to be sick again, before crying and talking incoherently in alternate bursts. ‘I tried to help him. In his mind. I tried to hold him somehow. But his hair, why his hair? He was going to kill him. I thought we would all die. And he still might. He was kind to me. Why did it happen to him? He is kind, he didn’t want him to hurt us. And he used him. The foulest thing anyone could do. None of us will ever be clean again.’

Then a familiar voice said, ‘Gwirith,’ and he turned and looked into his brother’s face. Without thinking he put his arms round Luinil and clung to him, eyes closed, listening to the sound of his heart beating strongly in his chest. Luinil’s arms held him firmly and when he gently raised him to his feet, Gwirith did not resist. Within a very small space of time he was sitting in the still room in front of a fire which Tathrenil had coaxed into a blaze, drinking something hot and sweet.

‘Slowly,’ said Helevorn. ‘You have had too much to stomach in the last few days.’

Gwirith sipped the drink, his body relaxing into the bonelessness of exhaustion. The murmur of the healers’ voices reminded him of his father and his uncles talking together in Eregion so many centuries ago.

‘Do you remember when ada used to tell us stories before we went to sleep?’ he said to Luinil, his words slurring a little with tiredness. But before his brother could answer, Gwirith’s eyelids drooped and Luinil reached out to catch the cup before the tea could spill. For the second time that day, Gwirith fell asleep sitting up.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^