Duty

Only one who knew her really well, she hoped, would have any idea just how exasperated she was.

Arwen sat in her daeradar’s chair serenely, observing the elves who had found it necessary to come to her with her problems now – at this time when the Lord and Lady had departed to debate pointlessly with the White Council.  Of course, she thought, eyeing them cynically, that was precisely why most of them had chosen this moment to bring long festering disputes and dubitable requests for her judgment.  Elves were not, after all, above seizing advantage when they saw it – and even the most naïve among them knew that Celeborn would be reluctant to disavow decisions she made in his absence.

In the corner of her eye, she could see Harthad fidgeting, clearly longing to interrupt Neldin’s tedious list of grievances and put him in his place, yet struggling to remember Celeborn’s calm insistence that his granddaughter would take command of running the Golden Wood while he was away.  Arwen fixed her eyes on the sullen elf before her and concentrated on him in a way guaranteed to make him take a step back.  It took longer than she thought it should: he was too involved in admiring his own performance to pay attention to her response.  She would clearly have to practise if she were to hope to come close to her daernaneth.  Finally Neldin sensed the sharpness of her gaze and faltered.

‘Why have you chosen to inform me of this?’ Arwen said softly.  ‘None of what you say has any relevance to the safety of Lothlórien.  Your concerns about the design of new flets and the trees on which they are sited should be taken to the chief engineer – and, should you wish to debate his decisions, there are meetings of advisors to whom he reports, before they bring your thoughts to me.  Harthad, can I rely on you to analyse Neldin’s concerns – and report briefly on your findings?’

The advisor nodded.  ‘Indeed, my lady,’ he said briefly.  He stretched out an imperious hand and beckoned.  Neldin drew closer to him reluctantly and allowed himself to be drawn from the Great Hall.

‘Is there anything further?’ Arwen asked pleasantly, whilst managing to convey the impression that there had better not be any other time wasting demands.  A flurry of slight bows assured her that the morning’s business was complete.  ‘Then I have other tasks to which to attend,’ she said, dismissing the company.

‘Not quite up to the Lady’s standard,’ Cúraniel murmured in her ear, making her grin.  ‘A little too direct – and not quite scary enough.’

‘I am practising until I find my own style,’ Arwen said impishly.  ‘My naneth never quite achieved Daernaneth’s level of intimidation – but she was good.’  She stretched and yawned.  ‘Come, Rívwen wishes to talk to us about weaving and I believe she is concerned about winter stores.’

‘There is more to keeping the Wood running smoothly than I had imagined,’ Cúraniel said thoughtfully.  ‘Lady Galadriel keeps it operating so easily that I had never noticed how much she does.’

Arwen smiled.  ‘Do not forget that elves who would not dream of challenging my grandparents – at least not without waking in a cold sweat – are taking great pleasure in trying to get the better of me.’

‘They are not getting very far, though.’  Cúraniel looked at her friend consideringly.  ‘You are more experienced at this than they think.’

‘I spent around two thousand years helping my naneth run Imladris,’ Arwen pointed out, ‘and much of the last few hundred watching Daernaneth.  I know what needs to be done.’

‘But what about taking on your daeradar’s role?’ Cúraniel played with a braid the colour of dark honey.  ‘Surely your adar and brothers kept you away from those tasks?’

‘They are much the same,’ Arwen shrugged.  ‘It is a matter of making sure that the right things are in the right place at the right time.  Whether you are talking arrow-heads or flour, musicians or warriors.’  She grinned.  ‘As long as no-one expects me to plan battle strategy, I will manage.’

‘Battle strategy is not a great deal different,’ Harthad’s deep voice informed her.  ‘It is still having people in the right place to carry out the necessary actions.’

‘Though what is the right place is the part I am not competent to judge,’ Arwen answered dryly.

‘Knowing your limitations: that is probably the most important part of ruling well,’ he shrugged.

‘And delegation – choosing the right person in each position to carry out your directions,’ she added.  She looked at him.  ‘Does Neldin have a point?’ she asked.  ‘Or are his words just bluster?’

Harthad shrugged.  ‘It seems to me,’ he informed her, ‘that, underneath his irritating manner, he has a point.  He is good at what he does – he has vision – but he is dealing with a group of designers who are very much of the opinion that traditional styles cannot be improved.’  He smiled wryly.  ‘Or, as one of them put it, ‘How do we know that his constructions will still be standing a thousand years from now?’  And, of course, without building some of his flets, no-one will ever know.  I am not surprised that he can be sharp.’

‘A matter best left for Daeradar, I think,’ Arwen concluded.  ‘A few seasons delay will alter nothing.’

Harthad nodded his agreement as the two ellyth left the wide chamber.

‘We are spending too long indoors,’ Cúraniel sighed, as the golden light of a sunny afternoon greeted them and a gentle breeze stirred their hair.  They started down the winding stairway.  ‘Who runs Imladris when you are here?’ she asked curiously.

‘Delegation,’ Arwen reminded her impishly.  ‘On the whole, the same people run the same areas as when Naneth was in charge – and Erestor keeps an eye on things.’  She frowned slightly.  ‘And it is only recently that I have been constrained to remain here in the Wood.  While it is true that I have spent much of the last centuries here, I have always returned to Imladris often enough and for long enough to ensure that things run smoothly in my absence.  I really do not understand why Adar and Daeradar are being so dogmatic now.  If I could get Daernaneth to support me, I would fight them – but she refuses to intervene.’  She sighed.  ‘And more of our people are sailing, just as they are leaving Lothlórien.  There are gaps, now, in my network,’ she frowned, ‘– if Iavas should decide to leave, I would definitely have to go home.’

‘Could I come with you when next you go to Imladris?’ Cúraniel asked.  ‘I have spent all my years in the Wood and I would like to travel a little.’

Her friend looked at her cynically.  ‘You could, certainly.  But you would see no more of Elrohir there than you do here.  He and Elladan spend their time riding out with the Dúnedain – they are rarely at home.’

‘It is not that at all!’ Cúraniel flushed.  ‘I did not even think of that!  I am not interested in either of your brothers in that way.’   She lapsed into an offended silence.  ‘I could be,’ she added wistfully as they reached the ground, ‘but they do not even see me.’

‘Their loss,’ Arwen told her friend.  ‘But the wood has many leaves.’  She nudged Cúraniel gently.  ‘And many of them are far more attractive than my brothers.’

‘Then why are you not interested in playing among them?’ Cúraniel was not alone among the ellyth who had tried to interest Arwen in the large number of young elves who were enchanted by the lustrous dark hair and luminous beauty of Galadriel’s granddaughter.

‘I do not know,’ Arwen shrugged.  ‘They are just – ordinary.  Perhaps I am looking for what Naneth saw in Adar – or the enchantment that keeps Daernaneth at Celeborn’s side.’

‘Rúmil, now,’ Cúraniel suggested.  ‘He could be more than interesting, surely?’

Shaking her head, Arwen pursed her lips.  ‘I will know when I see him,’ she said with certainty.  ‘And I am not prepared to compromise.’

‘You will be like Elu Thingol,’ her friend sighed. ‘You will catch a glimpse of the one for you and be transfixed – and spend an age gazing into each other’s eyes.’

‘It would be terribly inconvenient, would it not?’ Arwen mused.  ‘What would you do about bathing?  And eating?  Not to mention all the tasks that you are obliged to carry out and all those who have expectations of you.  Then think of all the people who would be stepping awkwardly round you as birds nested in your hair and spiders used you as a framework for their webs.’

‘It would not happen like that,’ Cúraniel denied.  ‘Your daernaneth would see that you were dusted regularly.’

They both giggled at the thought.

‘I suppose love at first sight is in my blood,’ Arwen admitted reluctantly.  ‘What with Elu – and Lúthien – I cannot ignore it as a possibility.’ 

‘I suppose things were different then,’ Cúraniel shrugged.  ‘We are three millennia into the Third Age.  I cannot see a Maia turning up in Lothlórien to be stunned by your beauty.  Nor, come to that, one of the Edain.  If you want love at first sight, you will have to look elsewhere.  Mirkwood, perhaps.  I understand that Thranduil’s son is – rather attractive.’

Arwen wrinkled her nose.  ‘I would much prefer a more patient kind of love.  One that is prepared to wait and learn and grow.  Like Adar and Naneth.  They waited more than a thousand years for each other.’

‘It seems a little unromantic,’ Cúraniel complained.

‘Romance is over-rated,’ Arwen said with certainty.  ‘And not a good basis for a life-long bond.’  She smiled. ‘And there is no point in talking about it.  Not when we have to discuss important topics, like the weaving of grey cloth and the manufacture of leaf brooches.’

‘You can be very annoying, you know,’ the fair-haired elleth murmured.

Her friend laughed.  ‘It has taken years to get to this level of skill,’ she agreed.  ‘But my brothers trained me very well.’

***

Elrond closed his eyes wearily.  He rather wished that he had not given in to Celeborn’s demand that he should return to Imladris by way of the Golden Wood, so that he could spend some time with his daughter.  He was not sure that he wanted to spend time with his Evenstar while these thoughts churned within him.  He would rather imagine her, serenely beautiful, resting among the tranquil sunlit trees in an environment safe from the stresses and demands of a world that was twisting under his hands.

‘Her happiness will make it worthwhile,’ Galadriel said, her soft voice rich as honey.

He frowned.  Was his wife’s naneth incapable of making a remark that had only one simple meaning? 

‘She will be pleased to see you, my son,’ Celeborn told him.  ‘And I am sure that Elladan and Elrohir will be able to manage Imladris for a few weeks without destroying what has taken you thousands of years to build.’

His son-in-law winced.  ‘It is a long time since I have left them without Glorfindel to keep an eye on them,’ he said.

‘They are much older now,’ Galadriel pointed out.  ‘They are unlikely to make quite so many . . . errors of judgment.’

‘It was not any one thing that they did that was foolhardy,’ Elrond pointed out defensively.  ‘It was only when the events all came together that they produced chaos.’  He sighed.  ‘I would trust them to cope competently enough, were all things equal – but Estel can be as unpredictable as ever they were.’  He smiled ruefully.  ‘He is an interesting charge – as endearing as the twins were, but with a determination not to be beaten that would make him take on a dragon if offered the opportunity.’

‘He will have dragons enough to face,’ Galadriel said sadly.  ‘He needs to have a heart as big as his foster-adar’s – and the strength of his many times andaeradar, if he is to succeed in carrying out the tasks that face him.’

Celeborn and Elrond exchanged glances before turning their attention to the Lady.  ‘To which particular andaeradar are you referring?’  Celeborn asked mildly.  ‘Because some of his ancestors offer an example that is a good deal better than others.  Isildur, for instance, he would do better not to copy.  Are you referring to Eärendil, who pursued an impossible quest until, beyond reason, he succeeded?  Turgon, perhaps, who guarded a white city against the venom of Morgoth?  Finwë, who led his people to safety?  Or are you, by some chance, thinking of Beren?’

‘Isildur was corrupted by the ring he carried,’ Galadriel returned, ignoring the sharpness of his dart, ‘but he was a hero and a great warrior before he allowed a moment’s folly to lead him astray.’

‘But it was a moment’s folly,’ Elrond said softly, ‘that has led to a multitude of sorrows.  I have long wondered whether I should have taken the choice from him.’

Galadriel placed a white hand on his blue robe.  ‘You cannot take away people’s choice,’ she told him with conviction, ‘without becoming what it is that we are fighting.  It was Isildur’s decision to make, not yours.  You did your best.’

‘And failed.  As I had failed before and as I have failed since.’

The Lady of the Golden Wood leaned closer and took his face between her palms before kissing his brow affectionately.  ‘We all fail, Elrond Eärendilion,’ she told him. ‘We fall, and miss our path, and wish we could go back and start again – but we do the best we can.’  She looked at him seriously.  ‘Do you not think that my failures still keep me awake at nights at times?’  She shivered involuntarily.  ‘Faces haunting my dreams that accuse me of weakness, of rashness, of not caring enough, of being too ready to interfere – of being too reluctant to intervene.  It sometimes seems,’ she smiled narrowly, ‘that added years only give added opportunities for error.’  

‘It would seem, my lady,’ Celeborn said lightly, ‘that you have spent too many hours in my cousin’s company.  Thranduil would be horrified to find himself agreeing with you.’

Elrond smiled reluctantly.  ‘He does not mean all he says,’ he said mildly.

‘Just enough to sting,’ Galadriel nodded.  ‘And there is just enough truth in what he thinks to make me want to slap him back.’  She lifted an eyebrow at her lord.  ‘I hope you realise the cost of my self-control,’ she told him.

‘Indeed I do,’ Celeborn replied, his face straight.  ‘I have been paying it for a long time now.’

Even as he smiled, Elrond felt a stab of pain at the emptiness within him where his wife’s warmth should be.  One day, he determined, one day he would be free to join her.  One day his family would be whole again.

Celeborn rested his hand on Elrond’s shoulder.  ‘But this was no failure,’ he said.  ‘Against all odds, the White Council has driven Sauron from Dol Guldur.  Matters should improve here in the north.’

Elrond frowned as he considered the actions they had taken.  ‘It was too easy,’ he insisted.  ‘I expected that we would have to fight harder to expel him.’  He reflected.  ‘Curunír may be arrogant enough to believe that his very presence forced the Necromancer to withdraw, but I am not.  We have overlooked something.’

‘Which will become apparent soon enough,’ Glorfindel’s cool voice interrupted them.  ‘Do you intend to spend all night debating here, or will you deign to join us by the fire?’  He lifted an eyebrow of dark gold and fixed his gaze on the Lady.

‘It is a joy to have you here with us,’ Galadriel informed him with apparent sincerity.  ‘We have missed you over recent centuries.’

His lips stretched into a smile.  ‘I have been busy,’ he told her solemnly.  ‘Nursemaiding the Lord of Imladris is singularly time-consuming.  It does not leave enough time for pleasure-seeking.’ 

***

‘Do you think we might have been over-indulging him?’ Elladan asked quietly as they looked at the scowling boy.

Erestor cast his eyes up, but said nothing.

‘Caring for Estel is more difficult than I thought it would be,’ Elrohir agreed.  ‘It is different when Adar is here to insist that he should attend to his lessons and go to bed at a reasonable hour – and not eat too much of the wrong kinds of food.’  He glanced again at the disgruntled child.  ‘I was rather counting on Gilraen to keep him in line in Adar’s absence.’

Both twins turned their grey gaze on Erestor.  ‘Is she still unwell?’ Elladan asked.

‘She is running a temperature,’ the advisor told them.  ‘She apparently needs to remain in bed and rest – and she does not need to be bothered with the misdeeds of her son.’  He swallowed his amusement as the sons of Elrond heaved identical sighs.

‘You know you will have to be punished, Estel,’ Elrohir said reasonably.

Estel threw them a glance that revealed only too clearly that he did not see that at all.

‘What your foster brothers may have forgotten to point out to you,’ Erestor said, withstanding the boy’s frown with remarkable fortitude, ‘is that, although they were in constant trouble when they were your size, their misdemeanours were regularly followed by tedious periods of, shall we say, restitution.’

‘It was only a joke,’ Estel complained.

‘Ah, but you see,’ Elrohir explained patiently, ‘the qualification for being a joke is that both parties find the incident funny – and third parties are not put at risk.  Domenion did not find it funny having burrs under his saddle cloth – and, just as importantly, neither did his horse.’

‘I think,’ Elladan said reluctantly, ‘no riding for a week.  And, you will fill the afternoons freed by not being permitted to enter the stables by working in the infirmary.’

Estel folded his arms in a movement that was perilously close to a flounce, but wisely remained silent.

‘I will escort you there now,’ Elrohir sighed, ‘so that you may begin your penance.’

The child stiffened as his foster brother extended a friendly hand and Elrohir moved instead to indicate the door, following the reluctant youngster with a herding motion that was not missed by the two remaining behind.

‘Were we that bad?’ Elladan asked.

‘Far, far worse,’ Erestor laughed, sitting back and stretching.  ‘There were two of you to start with – and you encouraged each other.  Estel is generally much more amenable. The only reason you are having difficulty with him now is that he is not used to obeying you – you spend all the time you are at home treating him like a cross between an equal and a pet.  He cannot see where the boundaries lie.  With Elrond – and his naneth, come to that – he knows that he is a child and he must obey.’

Elladan’s lips twitched.  ‘It was funny, though.  I never thought I would be able to keep my face straight as we – how would Adar describe it? – reproved him.’

‘He did not believe you would, either.’  Erestor looked towards the door through which the other two had vanished.  ‘I think that perhaps, when your adar has returned, you should take Estel on a short expedition where he can learn the difference between being your brother and being under your command.’  He hesitated.  ‘It is easy to forget how quickly the children of men grow up.  They must learn in months what will take an elfling a decade or two.’ 

‘I do not look forward to Estel growing up and leaving us,’ Elladan sighed. ‘And yet he must – he is, after all, who he is, and we cannot keep him here in safety away from his people for ever.’

‘Are we ready to work?’ Elrohir breezed back through the door.  ‘There are two of us here now – we should be able to get rid of the paperwork twice as quickly as Adar.’

‘You do not think that years of experience and natural administrative talent might combine to speed Lord Elrond’s pace of working?’ Erestor raised his eyebrows.

Elrohir grinned.  ‘The difference is that we are not inclined to try for perfection,’ he teased.  ‘We know that everything we do will be inspected and checked for error once the Lord of the Hidden Valley is back in his chair – he will never count on us to have got everything right – so there is little point in poring over the paperwork until Ithil sets.’

‘You do not think that perhaps your adar expects me to ensure that you keep on the right path?’

‘The right path, perhaps,’ Elladan conceded, ‘but he would never expect you to achieve miracles.’

‘Besides,’ Elrohir said ruefully, ‘I promised Estel that we would swim with him this evening – and then tell him some stories of occasions when we were caught out and had to suffer Adar’s wrath.’

‘Well, in that case,’ Elladan grinned, ‘we had better get working – before he is released from servitude and finds a need to do something else to gain our attention.’

***

Elrond was off his horse before the beast had come fully to a standstill and his daughter threw herself into his arms. 

‘Adar,’ she cried, ‘Adar,’ and burst into tears that surprised them both.

‘I have missed you, my Undómiel,’ he choked, rubbing his cheek on her raven-black hair.

‘I did not think you would come,’ she told him, twining one of his braids round her fingers in a way that was so familiar that he could not help but smile.

‘How could I resist?’ he asked her.  ‘I could not be this side of the mountains and not make my way to the Wood.’

She gave him a final convulsive hug and turned to embrace Glorfindel.  ‘I am surprised to see you here,’ she smiled.  ‘Have you left Erestor to guard Imladris in your absence?’

He stroked her hair affectionately.  ‘I could not permit your adar to come so far on his own, Arwen.  He is clearly not to be trusted to look after himself properly.’  His eyes twinkled.  ‘But we have not inflicted on Erestor the responsibility for ruling the valley – although he probably would have preferred that!’

She pulled back and gazed at him.  ‘Not my brothers!’ she said appreciatively.

Her adar looked at her quizzically.  ‘Would you say they are too young?’ he enquired.  ‘They have, it would appear, managed quite successfully to become the siblings of a ten-year-old child.  Perhaps you are right and they do not yet have sufficient maturity to act as adults.’ 

Turning back to him, she put one arm round him while keeping firm hold of Glorfindel.  ‘They are quite capable,’ she said decidedly.  ‘They are just far too slippery!’  She giggled.  ‘I look forward to learning what kind of mess you find on your return, though.’

Celeborn escorted Galadriel to join them.  ‘And have you caused chaos among our advisors, my granddaughter?’ he asked.  ‘Or is the Golden Wood still in one piece?’

‘It is undamaged, my lord,’ she assured him.  ‘We have both survived the experience.’

‘In that case,’ Galadriel said warmly, ‘let us take time to recover from our journey, while you ensure that the Wood is ready to welcome your adar and Glorfindel – a feast, do you think?  And then you can spend as much time together as they can spare before they must return to Imladris.’

A shadow crossed Arwen’s face, but she pressed her lips together.  This was a moment for joy – it did not seem the best time to demand to know why she would be left in Lothlórien when her adar, together with Glorfindel and their guards headed across the passes to return home.  They could hardly claim that this was a matter of her safety, nor could they suggest that her presence would not be helpful in the hidden valley.  She was not a child – and her adar and grandparents would find that she was not prepared to let these matters rest.  For now, though, she was willing to hold her tongue. 

She slid her hand into Elrond’s.  ‘I will take you to your chambers,’ she said, ‘and see that you have everything you need first – and then make sure that tonight’s feast will be special enough to honour such long-looked-for arrivals.’

Elrond drew her close and pressed a kiss on her brow.  ‘Nothing more exotic than stale bread and water would be enough to turn tonight into a golden memory, my daughter,’ he told her.  ‘Just being with you is all I need.’

She squeezed his fingers.  ‘We can do better than that,’ she promised.  ‘My adar and favourite uncle will get my finest efforts.’  She glanced saucily at the Lord and Lady of the Wood.  ‘Even,’ she murmured with a false confidentiality, ‘better than I would offer my illustrious grandparents.’

Galadriel laughed.  ‘As it should be, child.  Be off with you now – or I will take over the task myself and try Elrond’s suggestions for the night’s food and drink.  It would be interesting to see if his stomach would agree with his mouth!’

As he looked over his shoulder at her, Elrond’s face seemed unexpectedly grim. ‘I can assure you,’ he said, ‘that I am prepared to make many sacrifices for my daughter.’

‘But that one, at least,’ his naneth-in-law said quietly, ‘will not be demanded of you.’