Jorje barked greeting repeatedly to the Elf and two men that they found under the outcropping.
"We greet you!" cried Ędegard. But then he marked that three of them were missing. With rising trepidation he asked, "Where are Raefindan, Aeron, and Indil?"
The three stood to meet Ędegard. Mellondu met Ędegard’s gaze, but did not speak. Erebemlin put his hand on Mellondu’s shoulder, and was also silent.
Bergil stepped forward, and his jaw worked. “The child, “he replied, “has been stolen. By Tharonwe. He took the little one.”
Ravion stepped forward, face ashen. “What would he want with the child? But—Aeron. Where is Aeron? And Raefindan?”
“Dead.”
“What—both? Ah, vile fiend!” Ravion snarled, his hand now on his hilt. “Foul villain and most vile!”
Erebemlin spoke. “Villain indeed; but he did not take Aeron’s life. Raefindan did that.”
Ravion stared.
Mellondu seemed to shake himself awake, and toward him faltered Mellonin, pale and wan. She paused beside Ravion, and placed a slender hand on his shoulder. Ravion started, Mellondu scowled, and Mellonin spoke.
“Friend, I grieve with thee. Alas for the boy. But who is this Raefindan? I see a red haired man, with a long past and deep pain. He was once thy friend as well?”
Ravion stared at her, his jaw working, but no speech came. Mellondu stepped to his sister.
“Mellonin.”
Mellonin met his gaze. “She is here.”
Mellondu’s jaw dropped. “Mellonin!”
Her eyes closed, and she swayed. Ravion started, and steadied her; Mellondu, a moment behind, took her shoulders, and barely heard her whisper, “Brother mine,” before she went limp. As she fell both men caught her, glaring at one another in baffled disbelief. Finally Mellondu cried out, “What have you done?”
Ravion snarled at him. “I would die for her; I did nothing to her. As you do, she bears an elven fea.”
Mellondu went silent, and clasped his sister to his breast. Ravion, torn between grief over Aeron and indignation at Mellondu, turned toward Bergil.
“Did you kill Raefindan? And what of the girl? You have tracked her and her captor? How far are they?”
*~*~*
Erebemlin's gaze seemed clouded, and Nethwador slid off of his big red
horse. The tall powerful elf stared down at the small slender Easterling,
and the boy looked up, waiting. Erebemlin touched the boy's mind.
Where is the king?
Asleep in prison.
I wish the blacksmith were kinder to him.
As do I.
I wish I could speak into his mind, as you speak into mine.
As do I.
Can you not speak to the blacksmith?
Erebemlin did not reply to the boy, and the boy wondered how many times Erebemlin had tried.
Mellondu called for water. Bella brought a water flask to the half-conscious Mellonin, and she drank.