Stories of Arda Home Page
About Us News Resources Login Become a member Help Search
swiss replica watches replica watches uk Replica Rolex DateJust Watches

With Hope  by AfterEver

(Author's Note:

Since writing/updating again, I noticed a phenomenon with the page click counter that I'd never seen before: every other chapter has nearly double (or half) as many hits as the next. I'm afraid what's happening is that most readers are only opening the last chapter on the list every time I update. Problem is, I've been adding two chapters simultaneously for each update of late. Eep! So it would be worthwhile to check each chapter as of Part Three - Chapter Two just to make sure you've seen the whole story -- judging from the discrepancy in hits, half the people reading this will find some new material.

Thank you!)

-AE


***

"My friends and family, I do not keep secrets unnecessarily, or lightly." Arwen stood alone upon the dais. The hall went still, save for the kitchen staff finishing their hurried arrangement of each table with the evening meal. "Already some among you wonder at what it is that others know indeed." Many Elves averted their eyes. Gilraen had never ceased to be amazed at the speed with which rumors travel in Rivendell. Arwen raised high her hand, palm turned inwards. "I say to you here that it is true, though I say it not for the world without to hear. Please be discreet, as with all matters relating to Estel." Finally she smiled and bade everyone to be seated.

The feast began with sang prayer initiated by Arwen, acting on as comfortable in her role as host as Gilraen felt uncomfortable at Elrond's absence. But here was the Lady of the Last Homely House, graceful and dauntless, who made giving her company more care then her father's empty chair look easy. Yet no one seemed quite at ease.

Gilraen sat beside her, and even so, little talk passed between them. Arwen fielded cursory questions about the Golden Wood and her mother's kindred there. Some tried to engage her brothers with talk of their travels, but neither elaborated. Most conversation that evening belonged to the Lothlórien escort -- who had had more time than anyone to adjust. Someone asked of Aragorn twice before Gilraen wrenched her attention away from his ring that Arwen openly wore, realizing the Elf spoke not to his betrothed but to his mother.

"He shall return soon, or so he said, soon enough. As to his wellbeing, of course I have not seen him in many years, but his last letter was...good." Gilraen took a drink as if to clear her throat, half hoping to choke and so excuse herself from the table.

"When he is here, a celebration should be made, as would be customary." The gathering fell silent at Glorfindel's proposal. He had arrived late and somber to the table, thereafter making an admirable effort to behave naturally; but his companions' reluctance towards formal recognition of their Lady's betrothal did not visibly hearten him.

Arwen raised her glass in gesture of appreciation. "How thoughtful you are, Glorfindel. It shall be considered."

All drank in unspoken accordance -- Gilraen went through the motion, though her cup was empty. She spoke no more with Arwen before their words of parting.

"Tomorrow will be a brighter day," said the Lady lastly, seeing Gilraen off at the door.

That brighter day would never come, if the night were any indication.

Gilraen lay in bed for what seemed like hours of sleeplessness, yet every turn towards the window revealed no lighter sky, no changed stars. Once convinced that anyone with so much as a drop of Elf-blood would consider it morning --if in the earliest sense-- she rose and dressed, and thus returned no sooner than tomorrow.

The familiar doors with their incomprehensible runes were ajar; the lamps aside had gone out. She stepped within, waiting near the threshold while her eyes adjusted. Scarce moonlight illuminated something white on the stairs of the dais. She mistook the shape for cushions until it shifted, revealing two points of light that blinked at her.

"He would not speak with me," said Glorfindel.

Gilraen crossed the hall to stand before him. Swathed in shadow, Elrond's empty chair loomed behind the Elf where he sat.

"I tried twice, and twice failed." He paused, turning his head until it seemed that he looked over his shoulder. "If he would speak to anyone at all, I wonder." With a sigh, he said as if to himself, "Though I wonder not that he named Gilraen daughter of Dírhael foresighted." Then he shut tight his eyes, held his breath, and pointed straight and firm in a very exact direction.

Gilraen came within an inch to his outstretched arm, looking out the window and beyond, following through her mind's eye the path disclosed. Confident in her envisioned map, she turned to leave, glancing back from the entryway; Glorfindel sat by then with elbows on knees, and head in hands.

She turned the lamps alight for him before heading out of doors, and ultimately into the woods alone.

The going was neither fast nor comfortable. Her right knee she had fallen upon tripped by a rock, some time after stubbing the left foot's toes on a protruded root. If the ground sloped, she went doubly cautious but determined; if the trail became too obvious, she doubted her place upon it and wavered; but always if she felt lost, she imagined herself looking down Glorfindel's arm as he pointed the way.

There came a stretch of path trodden smooth that inclined into rocky unpleasantness; that surmounted, Gilraen closed her eyes and went diagonal from two ways more inviting, and arrived at last in a clearing where fresh air blew and no enchantment lay.

A secret place. A sacred place? Great arches overgrown with vines formed a crescent, at the cusp of which a single bench, and knelt before it Elrond, weeping as though his daughter were already dead, as though no one spied.

At once she knew, certain and abashed, that she did not belong. Bearing uninvited witness to this grief beyond the comprehension of either Kindred alone, she felt again as a stranger frozen by his very presence pending a warm smile or word. Remembrance of that warmth came now as the happenings of a fever dream: fanciful, weightless, over. Why did I come? Why do I stay?

Save for darkness blocking the way, she would have retreated. All light from moon and stars seemed concentrated upon Elrond, somehow unkindly. Let him hide. Leave him be. For I have not.

Just as Gilraen gathered the courage to force speech, her eyes darted towards a sudden rustle in the bush, where some startled creature had taken flight. Looking back, she found herself deserted.

A curse came to mind, someone else's; once her father wounded a deer he had aimed to kill, its escape ending her first hunting lesson. Tolerant of his daughter begging to know if she had distracted him, if the deer might live, and what if they gave chase, her father replied when able, 'What is done is done, though intentions were otherwise; ours no less than that hapless deer who --yes, Gilraen-- soon shall die.'

Gilraen realized where she stood. From certain places on the higher valley plains, out of particular windows facing the right direction, she had occasionally glimpsed patches of whitish stonework, of this ancient structure.

Moved now to the edge of the ridge outside of the crescent, she looked down upon Elrond's house, grey in the dusk, greyer than memories of when she had last scaled to any mentionable height. At her son's request, they used to hike above the dell and camp overnight, counting lamplights in windows and naming each after a star until sleep claimed them. Tonight the house slept lightless, no glow to be found even from those lanterns she lit herself not an hour before.

Her thoughts returned to Dírhael, how long ago since she saw him, how old he looked then, that he might already be dead.

Gilraen began the slow and difficult descent, resolved to return home.

*******





<< Back

Next >>

Leave Review
Home     Search     Chapter List