The Elfstone

Summary:
A trio of ficlets; the common theme being The Elessar – The Elfstone, Featuring a vignette with the stone’s creator as he remembers a happy moment in his childhood; a vignette with Galadriel and Celeborn and a vignette in the Houses of Healing with Aragorn. Written in response to the Happy Birthday Challenge at HASA.

A/N: mirdan - jewel smith
Telperinquar - Quenya equivalent of Celebrimbor (Silver-fist)

1. Wings of Memory
Celebrimbor

The green stone hummed almost imperceptibly in its silver setting as it was lifted into the narrow shaft of light. Its smooth surface reflected the distracted smile of its creator even as it gathered the sun’s energy and shot emerald beams into the darkest corners of the workshop. The eyes of the mirdan looked through the bright heart of the stone, to a place and time forever lost to him except in memory...

His family watched as he carefully unwrapped the small set of fine tools. With a gasp of delight he gazed up at his father’s father who stood by smiling in approval. ‘Your talent has not gone unnoticed, Telperinquar,’ Feanáro said. ‘It is time you began to learn the craft of the Noldor.’

Telperinquar rose and bowed respectfully to his grandfather then found himself swept into the warm embrace of his grandmother Nerdanel’s arms. She smiled indulgently down at him; then catching her husband’s hand she drew him into the circle, and Telperinquar felt Feanáro’s arm curl about his thin shoulders. Joy and pride sang together in his young heart. ‘One day I will be a great smith also,’ he vowed silently,’ and I will craft wondrous things of precious metals and gems.’

Suddenly a cloud drifted over the sun and the stone dimmed. Celebrimbor frowned as the vision evaporated. Lowering the piece he laid it gently on the table, and noticed the silver eagle’s outstretched wings were smudged with ash from the forge. Sighing deeply, he picked up a piece of cloth and resumed his polishing.

***
A/N: This piece perhapstakes a bit of liberty with canon... Tolkien did not tell us when or where Celebrimbor (maker of the Three Rings of the Elves) was born and there is more than one version of the creation of the Elessar. Here I have placed Celebrimbor’s childhood in Aman and I utilize the notion that he created the Elessar, but I have retained his position as Curufin’s son. Telperinquar is the Quenya equivalent of Celebrimbor (Silver-fist) as given in the index of The Silmarillion.

2. Wings of Hope
Celeborn & Galadriel

The green stone glowed softly in the moonlight, held aloft in his lady’s slender hands. Celeborn hesitated for she seemed deep in thought, but at last she lowered her hands and sank slowly to the carven bench. Though the brooch now lay in shadow, emerald fire continued to swirl in its depths. Moving to stand behind her he placed his hands on her shoulders, gently massaging the tense muscles.

‘Where do your thoughts wander, meleth nin?’ he asked quietly.

‘On trails of memory,’ she murmured, briefly closing her eyes. ‘But there are other roads I see; veiled in twilight; ways that lie before us where no feet yet have trod; and I cannot say which path holds the greater sorrow.’ She reached up and caught his hand where it rested on her shoulder and leaned her cheek against his fingers. ‘On the morrow I shall give the Elessar to Aragorn as Arwen requested.’

‘You know where his road leads from here.’

‘I do,’ she answered. ‘Dark his way may appear; even so, it is the path of hope and perhaps this jewel may yet heal some hurts before…’ Her voice trailed away and Celeborn tightened his grip on her hand. A single strand of luminescence writhed across the face of the jewel; as thin and fragile as the strand of hope that their hearts now held to. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.

***
A/N: meleth nin - my love

3. Wings of Healing
Houses of Healing, Gondor

Bergil took the stairs two at a time, clutching the small bundle to his chest as he ran. The herbmaster’s urgent orders spurred him on: Faramir’s life hung in the balance and all haste was needed. He raced down the long hall, skidded around the corner, and burst through the doorway. It seemed that almost every head in the crowded little room turned his way.

A grey-cloaked man knelt beside Faramir’s bed, his hand resting on the Steward’s brow. He called Faramir by name but his voice sounded faint as if he were calling from somewhere far away. The man sighed wearily and then he too looked up at Bergil. Quickly the boy held out the cloth-wrapped leaves. ‘It is kingsfoil, Sir,’ he said; ‘but not fresh, I fear. It must have been culled two weeks ago at the least. I hope it will serve, Sir?’

As he finished speaking the cloaked healer straightened and Bergil could better see Lord Faramir’s face. Grey it was, and deathly still. Was he too late? His young heart broke at the thought and suddenly Bergil could not hold back the tears. He turned towards the door, choking back a sob of grief, but someone caught his arm. The cloth bundle was lifted gently from his fingers and he found himself looking up into the healer’s smiling face. ‘It will serve,’ the man said reassuringly. ‘The worst is now over. Stay and be comforted!’

Bergil swiped at his wet cheeks with his sleeve, as hope flared in his heart once more. His father moved to his side and drew him close; they stood together and watched as the healer crushed some of the dried leaves in his hands sending an aromatic freshness sweeping through the room like a spring breeze.

Bergil studied the stranger as he worked; and in the flickering lamplight he caught a glimpse of green and silver on the man’s breast. The mysterious healer dropped the bits of leaves into a bowl of water and the fragrant scent filled the room again. He stood, then, seeming to throw off his great weariness and Bergil could clearly see the brooch he wore – a green stone in a setting of silver with wings like an eagle in flight. For an instant the boy was almost sure a light radiated from the heart of the stone – as if it held a tiny captive star in its emerald depths. Bergil rubbed his still damp eyes, and when he looked again the light was gone, and the stone was dark in the dim room.

Then the man turned and held the bowl near the Steward’s face and Faramir awakened and spoke and Bergil and his father were overcome with joy and relief. They stayed with Faramir through the night and so it was that Bergil thought no more on the green stone then, but in days after he did think on it, and he wondered.

***
A/N: Bergil and Aragorn’s dialogue is from ‘The Houses of Healing’, RotK

Summary
In the light of morning a father and son contemplate impending battle and think of each other as they prepare for war in different parts of Middle-earth. The Battle Under the Trees in Mirkwood and The Battle of the Pelennor Fields both took place on the same date, March 15, 3019, III.
A/N: Elvish words in the story:
Ai, ion nín – Ah,my son,
Ai, adar nín – Ah,my father

This Day

~*~*~*~*~*~
_Thranduil

They come. The forces of Dol Guldur stand less than a day’s march beyond our borders now, and I do not doubt that tonight we shall meet them in battle. We have done all we can to prepare. Our people have taken refuge in the stronghold and our warriors stand ready; every heart and every hand steeled for what will come.

I would that you were here, ion nín, for you are needed, and though my heart grasps at hope that where you are there is less peril, I dare not hope overmuch; for war now runs like fire across the face of Middle-earth, and none, I think, will escape it. My eyes stray to the south, as they often do, for I shudder to recall the lands you purpose to tread, and I wonder where you are and how you fare. Ai, ion nín, what will this day bring?

~*~*~*~*~*~
_Legolas

At last we have reached the Harlond and doughty Men bind the ships to the quays. Fierce battles rage within the Rammas and the Fields of Pelennor harbor foes beyond count, yet my heart is lifted in hope for the sun shines again and the wind from the Sea has at last cleansed the sky of that reek of Mordor.

Even so, smokes from the battlefield drift over the River and veil my sight as I look northward, and a shadow touches my mind as my thoughts turn towards home. If war has not already assailed your borders it soon will. I fear now you face the hour of your greatest need, and I am far from your side. Yet there or here we fight one foe and I shall deal him such wounds as I am able wherever I may be. Ai, adar nín, what will this day bring?

I Navaer Veth – The Last Farewell
A Letter from Celeborn to Arwen

My dearest Arwen,

This writing bears my last farewell to you. With the dawn I will journey to Mithlond and take ship for Balannor. I want you to know that your brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, will go with me.

Long they thought to remain in Middle-earth, but, with the changefulness of the years of this New Age, their strong ties with the Dúnedain have become sundered; for, save Aragorn, the Men they knew well have passed beyond the earth and their hearts have not been closely knit with the following generations.

Your brethren send their love to you, and to Aragorn, and their hope that your life will continue to be filled with blessings for many years to come.

I, myself have at last wearied of life in Middle-earth. The settlement in East Lórien thrives, and my hand is no longer needed to guide its affairs. I have enjoyed my sojourn here in Imladris; it has been an interlude of quiet contemplation and reflection. But even here the wearing of time and sorrow gnaw at the foundations of my resolve. The fading is evident all around me. All that we had and held dear is gone and it cannot be reclaimed. What I had sought here could not be found.

I love the forest as I always have, but the peace I once found among the trees now eludes me. At night I dream of the Sea, and I hear the call of the gulls in my mind even in my waking hours. I miss my Lady, and I long to see Celebrian again. The luster of this world is dimmed in my sight, and though I even yet loathe leaving it, I know that my heart shall no longer rest here in these lands. I must seek my peace, if any can be found, across the Sea.

I had thought to visit you again, but now that I have set my course, I find that I am anxious to depart. Indeed all those who had remained at Imladris have chosen to go at once and we shall embark upon our journey together. It seems as though all have been seized with an urgency to be upon our way, as though the grief of parting is so great that we would seek to escape it with hurrying feet.

Ai, Úndomiel, at last the tides of time that we so long held at bay have rushed in upon us, and sweeping over us have washed away all – all but the bonds of love and the star of hope. Love binds to me each one I hold dear – wherever they may be. And the jewel of hope is a beacon in the darkness of my soul, entreating me to turn my gaze before me rather than behind, as so often I have done. Whatever the morrow holds, I shall tarry here no longer and I shall not cling to that which no longer belongs to me. I know your heart, and you know mine. I will carry your love in my heart forever, dearest granddaughter, and we will meet again, if Eru wills, when the Song of Arda is ended and a New Song is begun.

Until that Day, Navaer,
Grandfather Celeborn

Author’s Notes:
Elvish words in the story:

Mithlond – ‘Grey Havens’
Balannor – Sindarin for ‘Valinor’
Imladris – ‘Rivendell’
Úndomiel- ‘Evenstar’ (a name of Arwen)
Navaer – ‘farewell’

Quotes:

It was probably at Great Smials that The Tale of Years was put together, with the assistance of material collected by Meriadoc. Though the dates given are often conjectural, especially for the Second Age, they deserve attention. It is probable that Meriadoc obtained assistance and information from Rivendell, which he visited more than once. There, though Elrond had departed, his sons long remained, together with some of the High-elven folk. It is said that Celeborn went to dwell there after the departure of Galadriel; but there is no record of the day when at last he sought the Grey Havens, and with him went the last living memory of the Elder Days in Middle-earth.

Prologue, FotR

"Lady Úndomiel," said Aragorn, "the hour is indeed hard, yet it was made even in that day when we met under the white birches in the garden of Elrond where none now walk."

The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, Appendix A, RotK