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History Lessons: The Third Age  by Nilmandra

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 15: Queen of Elves and Men

But the Queen Arwen said: ‘A gift I will give you. For I am the daughter of Elrond. I shall not go with him now when he departs to the Havens; for mine is the choice of Lúthien, and as she so have I chosen, both the sweet and the bitter. But in my stead you shall go, Ring-bearer, when the time comes, and if you then desire it. If your hurts grieve you still and the memory of your burden is heavy, then you may pass into the West, until all your wounds and weariness are healed. But wear this now in memory of Elfstone and Evenstar with whom your life has been woven!’

And she took a white gem like a star that lay upon her breast hanging upon a silver chain, and she set the chain about Frodo’s neck. ‘When the memory of the fear and the darkness troubles you,’ she said, ‘this will bring you aid.’

Many Partings, RotK

Elrond came to wakefulness slowly. He felt like he was being lifted from a deep fog, the mists clearing as the sun’s bright light burnt them away. He lay still for a moment, watching the sun’s rays dance across the wall. Then his body’s internal sense of time seemed to reset itself and he realized it was long past dawn.

He sat up abruptly, then closed his eyes as the world spun around him.

“Take your time. Nothing pressing waits on you,” said a voice from the corner.

Elrond blew out a long breath and opened his eyes, focusing immediately on the figure in the corner. Annoyance filled him.

“How long have you been there?” he asked.

“Not long,” replied Mithrandir. “You awakened in response to my entrance, if that eases your mind.”

“It does not,” said Elrond tersely, but his ill humor fled quickly. It seemed too much effort to hold on to such a feeling when he had to focus on managing the deep emptiness in his heart.

Mithrandir rose and walked to the bed, then sat down in a chair beside it. Elrond was still amazed at the change in the wizard, for seemingly the old man had been burnt away on Zirakzigil, replaced by this lighter being. His movements flowed with new grace.

Mithrandir’s keen gaze bored into him, and Elrond recognized the power of the Maiar.

Finally uncloaked, his true nature would be obvious even to one who had never seen such beings in their natural state. His eyes rested on Narya, visible on the wizard’s hand.

“What effect on you, Mithrandir?”

The wizard reached out with his right hand and took Elrond’s from where it rested on the coverlet. Vilya did not respond as it once had to the presence of another of the Three, noted Elrond absently.

“No, nor does Narya,” replied Mithrandir at length. “Its power has diminished as well.” He smiled. “Were I still Gandalf the Grey, I may have found that lost more significant, though still less than you or Galadriel.”

“Or Frodo,” murmured Elrond.

“Yes,” added Mithrandir, “or Frodo. Then you see it too.”

“The damage is deep, far deeper than he knows. His disquiet will grow, and eventually it will consume him.” Elrond’s voice sounded dull even to his own ears, and his pronouncement of Frodo’s fate so flat and emotionless that he winced.

“Much like yours,” answered Mithrandir gently.

Elrond would have pulled his hand away, but Mithrandir tightened his grip. “You have said to me that the time of the Elves is ending, that soon they will leave these shores. What plans have you made?”

Elrond closed his eyes again, the pain in his heart constricting his breathing. His thoughts swirled in turmoil. How could he leave his daughter? Yet how could he stay? How could he bear to be apart from Celebrían any longer, now that his work here was done? Would she want him to come, or stay with Arwen? With great effort he corralled his thoughts.

“I do not think that decision must be made today,” he finally said.

He opened his eyes and focused on the wizard, willing his word to be the final one on the matter, at least for now.

Mithrandir laughed. “I did not ask for your decision. I asked what plans had been made thus far.” He released Elrond’s hand, and Elrond felt abandoned, so great had been the strength flowing into him. “Take your time rising. Glorfindel guards your door.” With that, he left Elrond alone.

Elrond sank into the pillows and brooded in silence. He reached inside himself and felt for his bonds with his children. His sons he sensed as he normally did - dimmer perhaps considering their nearness, but it was clear they were well – but his daughter was already only a faint memory of what had once been. Within his heart was a dull ache, his pain echoing in the empty place she had once filled. Fragile threads tying her to him were present, and much as he had done during the night, he explored them, memorized them, already fearing the day they would disappear.

He instinctively reached his hand across the sheets, seeking Celebrían, and his heart thudded a dismal beat when she was not there. She had seemed so real last night, so close even during the wedding the day before. He drew in a deep ragged breath, struggling to gain control of himself. He felt like he was sinking into a black abyss.

Then golden light surrounded him and he felt the familiar presence of Glorfindel. He trustingly followed that presence back to the present, and soon was looking up into concerned blue eyes. Concern faded, replaced by a warm smile.

“It is time you were up,” said Glorfindel lightly. “You must be hungry, and your sons would do well to see you.”

Elrond took the hand offered to him and let Glorfindel pull him upright. The world began to spin, but as he focused on Glorfindel he felt his surroundings settle. Warmth and calm filled him as he trusted in what the elf offered him.

He rose to his feet under strength not his own and drank in all Glorfindel could give him. He chose when to release the elf’s hand and move about on his own, washing and dressing knowing that aid was only a short distance away. When he returned, he saw the approval in Glorfindel’s eyes.

Following Glorfindel from the room, he entered the common room to find many of his House about, despite the lateness of the day. He was aware of the surreptitious glances directed his way, then humbled as strength flowed into him from seemingly casual touches to his arm by those with that gift, and brushes against his mind from those more powerful. He would be a poor leader indeed if he would not accept the help of his people when it was offered.

As Galadriel’s mind touched his, he heard the call of the sea. She was buffeted by strong winds and rolling waves that tugged at her relentlessly. Yet he could feel her strength despite the loss of Nenya’s power and the growing restlessness within her. But she cannot stay came the unbidden thought.

Galadriel did not respond to that. She smiled at him, sadly he thought, and then moved closer to Celeborn. The silver elf took her hand and Elrond sensed the immediate calming of her spirit at the touch of her spouse.

“Good morning, Adar.”

Elrond felt Elladan’s touch at the same time that he heard the words, and he turned to greet his son. To his credit, Elladan did not ask after Elrond’s state of mind or body. Elrond took the cup his son offered to him and sat down to eat the food that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. He found he was not hungry, but he ate a few bites to satisfy his sons and Glorfindel. An interruption came, however, sparing him the need to rearrange the remaining morsels on his plate.

“Arwen!”

“Aragorn!”

Elrond stood as they entered the room. They were immediately surrounded, the low voices of the elves rising in joy. As bodies filled the space between where Elrond stood and the door where Aragorn and Arwen greeted their friends and family, the area seemed to expand and they diminished into the distance. His eyes met Arwen’s. Gone was his daughter, and in her place was the Queen of Men, bound and bonded to their race and their fate.

Numb and empty, he reached for the back of the chair next to him. While steadying himself physically, he attempted to gain control of his emotions. He felt Galadriel’s sea within him, the wind and waves tossing him like a ship lost in a storm. He both loathed and feared this weakness, and it helped only a little to remind himself that he had known such a time would come.

A beacon appeared, burning through the clouds and mists of turbulent waters to guide him to safety. Then he was back in Minas Tirith, surrounded by elves with their feet firmly planted on dry ground, and hidden beneath the wide sleeve of his robe, Glorfindel’s hand covered his.

Again steady, he tried to remove his hand from between the chair and Glorfindel so that he could go and greet his daughter and son-in-law, but Glorfindel clasped his hand tighter. Then Mithrandir appeared behind Aragorn, whispering in his ear. Aragorn spoke quietly to Arwen, who nodded. She cast one more fleeting glance upon her father before Mithrandir shepherded them from the room.

A cup was pressed into Elrond’s free hand, and he drank the miruvor contained within it. It revived him, but the strength and healing was far less than what Elrond anticipated. In that moment, despair filled him.

He heard the sound of voices around him, then Glorfindel took his arm and guided him from the room, speaking words that sounded like nonsense, about scrolls and history. Then he was in the chamber appointed for him, and he sank on to the bed, closing his eyes to the world around him. He felt Glorfindel’s gentle touch again and went unresisting to a sleep where rest would be found.

* * *

When Elrond next awoke, he first glanced around the room before attempting to move. Glorfindel reclined on the narrow balcony, his feet resting upon the balustrade, his hands cupped behind his head, drinking in the sun. Elrond had no idea what the time was, and he had to ponder for a moment before he remembered what direction his room faced to know if it was the morning or evening sun in which Glorfindel was basking.

He rose carefully this time, but while he felt more fragile, he also felt steadier upon his feet. As aware as he was of Glorfindel’s presence, he realized anew how comforting it was, and how comfortable he was with it. He could be weak in the presence of this friend and protector.

He walked to the balcony and looked over the square, watching as elves and men mingled beneath the setting sun. Near the White Tree, Lindir led a group of elvish minstrels. Interspersed among them were human minstrels, and Elrond realized they were teaching one another. As he listened, he could make their words, and realized Lindir was explaining some of the ways elves recognized the different mortal contributions to a particular song. He felt a smile spread across his face when he saw Frodo sitting nearby, laughing.

“I imagine Bilbo will be quite proud to think he taught Lindir a thing or two, especially after being told hobbits and humans were all sheep to him,” mused Glorfindel. He looked appraisingly at Elrond. “I have asked that a tray be sent. You must be hungry.”

Elrond raised a brow. “Sleeping has hardly roused my appetite since noon, my friend.”

Glorfindel’s face grew grave. “You have slept long, Elrond, and it has done you much good. Do not cast that look on me,” he warned, and Elrond obediently relaxed his mien at the sudden presence of the stern warrior.

“How long?” he finally asked.

“It is the third day since the wedding,” Glorfindel informed him. He paused for a moment as Elrond let that fact settle in his mind. “Only a handful of times have I feared for you since I have known you, Elrond Peredhel, and this is one of them. Therefore I am going to be blunt: you cannot stay in Middle-earth. Neither can Galadriel, and I think perhaps there are a few others who are in need of the same healing. Your work is accomplished; it is time for you to go to Celebrían.”

Elrond felt a searing pain as a vision of Arwen flashed in his mind. As quickly as it had come, he felt the pain and vision chased from him. Awareness came back to him quickly, and he looked into the face of Glorfindel, down on one knee before him, grasping his hands firmly. “You should not have seen Arwen that morning. She should not have come.” When Elrond would have protested, Glorfindel shook his head. “Her grandfather warned her that you might not be able to bear her presence when your fëar were so newly sundered. She did not heed that advice, but she now understands.”

“Do not be angry with her,” rasped Elrond, his voice suddenly hoarse with unshed tears.

“I am not angry with her,” replied Glorfindel evenly. “Arwen has wished to order events in the way that she sees fit, a trait from childhood.” He laughed softly. “A very human trait, I might add.”

Silence fell. Elrond lost himself for a moment in his memories of a daughter who had tried to do exactly as Glorfindel said. Only when he met Glorfindel’s gaze did the elf continue. “She understands now,” he repeated.

Elrond read into the words spoken the real meaning that Glorfindel was conveying. “Her happiness is marred,” he said slowly.

“She knew that her joy would be found in a cup of bitterness,” replied Glorfindel. “Knowing it and experiencing it are very different, as you well know.”

Elrond bowed his head as the implication of that took root in his heart. Would his very presence bring sorrow or joy, or both, to her? “I should speak to her,” he murmured.

“In time,” answered Glorfindel. “Aragorn and her brothers and grandparents are with her; she is not alone with her sorrows. Already today I saw a new depth to her, for from suffering is born an understanding of grief. She is strengthened, not diminished, as one would expect of the daughter of Elrond.”

“There are few in Gondor not acquainted with sorrow,” observed Elrond.

“And yet they too know great joy,” reminded Glorfindel. “Why should their queen be any different? Humans are this strange mixture of perseverance and hope despite the overwhelming grief and sorrow of their short existence.”

Glorfindel rose in response to a soft knock at the door, and when he returned he had a tray laden with food. “This is perhaps enough to feed a half dozen,” he laughed. “I asked for your sons to be found and sent to you; perhaps they can aid you in making the cooks happy. You will eat, though, and then sleep again, for tomorrow there are some who need your opinions and others your assistance. Our days here are short.”

Elrond did not have time to ponder those words, for another knock on the door was followed by the entrance of his sons. He watched as the concern in their eyes lessened as they saw him. Elladan took up his customary position nearest the door, guard and protector, while Elrohir sat at his father’s knee, offering his love and support. They entertained him with the stories of the last few days and all they had seen and heard, and he was grateful for the respite from his own pain and cares. He noted the looks shared between Glorfindel and his sons, but was too weary to concern himself with what they meant.

* * *

The next day was overcast and stormy. The servants tending the quarters of the elves kept closing the doors and windows, and the elves would prop them open again, positioning them to limit any raindrops entering the rooms while still allowing the inflow of fresh air. Elrond watched as Glorfindel again propped open the door to the balcony. Something caught the elf’s eye, for he did not move away, but remained watching. Curious, Elrond joined him.

On a low edge of the wall overlooking the great precipice to the Pelennor below, he could see two figures. One he would recognize anywhere: Arwen, her summer cloak blowing in the wind. Her dark hair she had restrained. She seemed unaffected by the unusual chill in the air as she sat watching the far off white-blue flashes of lightning of the approaching storm. Next to her was a smaller figure, a hobbit, wrapped in his Lórien cloak. If Arwen were not next to him, he might have blended into the white-gray stone of the wall.

Only when the winds grew violent and rain drops had begun to spatter the ground did the two climb down from their perch and return to the King’s House. Elrond watched until they were out of sight, passing through the arched entrance and into the gardens.

He had not spoken to her since the night of her wedding, now four days past. He had spent the day as Glorfindel had said, seeing to those in need of his aid. There were several in the Houses of Healing with wounds that had not healed. All of them, Elrond had found, were suffering from more than physical wounds. The Black Breath lingered, casting deep shadows upon their souls and slowing their healing. He had tended them all with Elrohir at his side and Glorfindel lending him strength.

With all the grace he possessed, he had allowed his son and Glorfindel to shepherd him back to his chambers when he had finished, like an elfling in need of a nap. He had bitten his tongue and restrained his annoyance, and was glad for it when Elrohir had wrapped his arms about him for a moment. He had seen his son’s tears of sorrow, sorrow for him, for the state he was in, for letting them take care of him. Elrond had seen deeper, to sorrow for the sister he and his twin would lose, despite the love for a foster brother who was now a true brother of their house. Mortality would cleave their house in half, and those tied to the fate of Arda would live long with that sorrow. Elrond had let Elrohir comfort him, for that was the only comfort he could give to his son.

Now he wished to see Arwen. He was just about to excuse himself and seek her out when there came a knock at the door. He had opened it before Glorfindel could stand.

“Elrond, Arwen wishes to speak with us,” said Celeborn. The silver elf gave a nod to Glorfindel, including him in the invitation.

Elrond followed Celeborn to the same room they had met in to discuss the wedding plans. Mithrandir and Galadriel were already present. Aragorn had deferred the position at the head of the table to the Maia, and sat to his right with Arwen at his side. Where Aragorn was dressed and groomed as a king about his day, his bride was windblown and flushed from her time out in the storm. She rose as they entered, taking a step forward only to have Aragorn take her hand, in comfort or restraint, Elrond was not sure. Their eyes met and he saw her lower lip tremble, and he read her fears. He smiled and held out one hand to her, and she rushed to him.

The room faded as she clutched him, and he almost felt rather than heard her desperate whispers in his ear. “I am sorry, Adar. I did not know. I did not understand.”

Strength came to him. He bowed his head, touching it to hers, and spoke directly into her mind. No apologies, my beloved. There is no pain I would not bear for you.

In comforting her, he was comforted. He felt both of their hearts and minds calm, and then she was looking up at him, and in her eyes he saw her bonded love for Aragorn and the hope of mankind. He released her, then guided her back to her chair, holding it and seating her. Aragorn stood still, his keen eyes moving from his wife to his father, and he bowed to Elrond before resuming his seat.

Elrond took a chair next to Galadriel, who sat upon Mithrandir’s left. The wizard looked at each person at the table in turn, then settled his gaze on Arwen. “Lady Arwen,” he said with a nod.

All eyes were upon her, but Arwen’s gaze was fixed on Elrond, and he could feel her need for him to understand what she wished to say. The new distance between them made her slightly unsure, and he exerted his will to her, encouraging her to begin.

“I have made a request of Mithrandir, for his aid in attaining permission for a gift to be given to Frodo,” she began. She looked down for a moment and Elrond saw Aragorn cover her hand and clasp it tightly, his wedding band visible. “In Imladris, when Frodo awakened after recovery from his injury, already the damage done to his soul was visible. The shard within him had caused his body to begin to consume itself, for then the shard would find his very soul, until then hidden from it. The shard was defeated, yet the clear light we had seen within Frodo continued to grow. His spirit was still free, but damage had been done and the process of his spirit consuming his body could not be stopped. We wondered then what his fate would be.”

Arwen had stood as she spoke, and now she rested behind Aragorn, one hand on his shoulder. “When Gwaihir brought him from Orodruin, there was little light left in him. The burden of the ring had scarred not only his body but his soul. Even free of it, he suffers.” Arwen took a deep breath and settled her gaze on her father and grandmother. “Much as the other Ring-bearers suffer. I cannot fully understand how a hobbit fades, but Frodo is fading. His spirit is more restless and weary than he understands. He believes he needs only to return to his beloved uncle and home, yet you, Mithrandir, agree that he will not find rest there.”

“No,” agreed Mithrandir, “he will not. But he does need to see Bilbo and return to the Shire.”

“But not forever,” continued Arwen. “The rings are the works of a Maia and the Elves, and it is because of Men that victory was not found three thousand years ago. But what share do hobbits have of that burden? Do we not owe the Ring-bearer whatever kindness and rest we can provide?”

“What is it that you have in mind?” asked Mithrandir, though Elrond knew the wizard knew the answer.

“The only hope for Celebrían my mother was the healing to be found in Elvenhome. Can not the Valar make an exception for the Ring-bearer and allow him passage over sea, to find healing?”

“Life in Elvenhome will not give Frodo the life of the elves,” reminded Mithrandir in a gentle voice.

“Of course not,” replied Arwen as she walked to kneel at the wizard’s side. “Nor would he wish it, for it is not their way or their fate. But could not he spend out his life among the elves he loves, healed and free of the burden that wearies him so?”

“Hobbits do not like to be alone. Even Bilbo wished often for his kin,” reminded Mithrandir.

“Then send Bilbo too,” pleaded Arwen. “He was the Ring-finder, and you have said that the memory of that burden still lingers upon him.”

Mithrandir sat back in his chair, deep in thought. Arwen remained beside him, quiet for a few moments, then Elrond saw her jaw take on the stubborn curve he knew so well. She straightened her back and took Mithrandir’s hand firmly. “He shall have my place. I gift it to him, my passage on the ship.”

She rose and drew a long chain from a hidden pocket in her gown. From it dangled the white jewel passed from the mother of the heir of Elendil to each consecutive bride. “This was a gift from the elves of Tol Eresseä, a sign of their friendship to Men. When my grandfather Eärendil sailed from Sirion in search of Valinor, he carried with him a token that granted him passage where none with mortal blood had been allowed before. Let this be Frodo’s token, a sign that we send an elf-friend, one to whom we wish the Elves to grant friendship, much as they did to Men long ago.”

All eyes turned to Mithrandir. He sat silent for a long while, before finally turning to Arwen, who still stood next to him. “There are many reasons why the Valar should grant your wish.” A strange smile crossed his face. “Did you know that we were not aware of hobbits? From the mind of Eru they were created, but not in the song that told of the coming of Elves and Men. A surprise to us, and yet not a surprise that the One would make small simple creatures who embodied the most humble of traits: to eat and drink and till the earth and love their children and live at peace.” Mithrandir paused, then shook his head and fixed his gaze again on Arwen before continuing.

“In honor of his service is one good reason. That you would send him in your place is another. The fate of the half-elven has long been a wonder and mystery to all in Valinor, perhaps to all who do not share the mingling of mortal blood. To choose your fate and doom is a gift beyond reason, and one most would never dare to accept. Only one who had made such a choice, perhaps, could give such a give as you offer, Arwen Undómiel. You may offer Frodo your place.”

Arwen nearly fell over in surprise. Elrond had seen in her earnest plea only the hope that Mithrandir would listen and the others would support her. She clearly had not expected an immediate response. Mithrandir laughed. “None other could offer the gift that you do, daughter of Elrond, but you are not the only one with eyes that can see.”

At that moment, it seemed to Elrond that Mithrandir changed, becoming greater than they had yet seen him, and he could not help but wonder what paths the Maia had wandered when he strayed, as he had told them, out of thought and time. Had he been in the presence of the One? Had he learned of fates and ends beyond the knowledge of this world?

“Thank you, Mithrandir,” said Arwen, and she bowed low before him.

Mithrandir stood and took her hand, bringing her upright again. He bowed his head and kissed her hand, but spoke no words that they could hear. Yet some communication passed between them. A grace passed over Arwen, bringing her peace and even greater dignity. He took the white jewel from her and held it in the palm of his hand, as if feeling its power, then he said some words over it in a language Elrond had not heard before. He gave it back to Arwen. “You will know when the time is right to give this to Frodo. Say only that the rest of the gift is before him, should he choose to accept it.”

Then their gathering was ended. Mithrandir departed, saying he had other business to attend to.

“I would not question Mithrandir, but I would very much like to know how he obtained that permission,” said Aragorn pensively.

Galadriel laughed, but did not answer, and Aragorn winked at Arwen and added, “I also would not question the Lady of Light, but I deduce she knows some part of that answer.”

Elrond did not doubt that was true also, as he had long suspected Galadriel had had some means of communicating over sea. Laughter rippled around the room at Aragorn’s comment, but none answered him, and indeed, he was wise enough to expect no answer. When Elrond looked in Arwen’s eyes, though, he saw need of his answer, of reassurance. He offered her his arm and they walked off together.

“I could not speak with you before, Adar, but as your daughter I spoke on your behalf. I told Mithrandir earlier that if Frodo were granted passage, he would not be alone, that as Bilbo has been part of your house, Frodo too would be welcomed.”

Elrond smiled his reassurance. “As my daughter, you spoke rightly. You know they would indeed be welcomed.”

“I am sorry I could not speak to you of this before,” she continued, but her voice quavered slightly and she paused, “but it was thought best that I did not see you for a while.”

Elrond laughed. “You may say it as it was really said. It was thought best that I did not see you. They were probably right.”

Arwen stopped and turned to face him. She ran her hand down his temple, pushing his hair behind the point of his ear. She traced a finger along his jaw, studying him all the while.

“What is it, Arwen?” he finally asked.

“You are fading,” she answered simply as a tear ran down her cheek. “I see it in Frodo, perhaps even in Galadriel. But I see it worst in you, my adar. I did not want to believe that my choice could cause this.” Her voice grew faint. “I may have been the only one closing my eyes to the truth, though in indulging me you took some of my denial upon yourself.”

“One cannot force another to see,” he replied gently. “Elros could not force me to see long ago. You have made your choice, and you, perhaps, would have faded had you denied your heart. I would rather bear my own pain than yours.”

“Never did I mean to cause you such pain,” she whispered. “For so many years we have waited for this day, and now that it is here I wish to stop time, that I might have longer with you. But I cannot stop time.”

“You can not, daughter, nor do you really wish to. The Elves stopped time, or slowed it at least, and now that our power to do so is gone, we must watch that world crumble and decay around us. That time is over. A mortal life is too fleeting for such fancy. You must choose now to live fully in the present.”

Despite the sadness written upon her heart, a gleam came into her eye at his words. A spark of light and hope and joy for what was yet before her. That was what he wished her to think upon and fill her mind. Elrond looked up to see Aragorn watching them and with the slightest nod of the head, beckoned him to them. With a deft turn of conversation honed by years of experience, he sent them off on that high note.

He turned to find Glorfindel, Galadriel and Celeborn waiting for him. In their ageless faces was written the same message: it was time to go home. Without need for words, they returned to their chambers.

Elrond retired early, glad for the solitude and quiet. Upon the writing table in his room he found several sketches. One was a charcoal drawing in Elladan’s unmistakable hand, of Arwen and Aragorn beneath the white tree. The other was a painted portrait of Arwen dressed for her wedding. A smaller portrait was inset in the lower left corner – a young Arwen just budding into adulthood. So alike, yet so different. Had she always been so strong-willed, so determined to make her own way? He looked closer at the smaller portrait. He recalled that dress, the scroll in her hand…

He sat down upon the bed as memory flooded over him.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Early Spring, 289 TA

Elrond entered the family dining area to find everyone waiting for him. He caressed Celebrían’s shoulder as he moved behind her to his own chair. She covered his hand and squeezed it as he sat down, and as was usual at her touch, he felt his toes tingle.

“What news?” she asked.

He smiled at her, making her wait just a moment longer. He loved that she still got as excited for news as any child. “King Eldacar sent word that another child has been added to his house.”

Celebrían blew out her breath in exasperation. “I know that! Tell us details. Another boy?”

“After four sons, his son Arantar finally has a daughter,” reported Elrond.

Celebrían clapped. “How his wife longed for a daughter! She is well?”

“The messenger says as proud as any mother could be. Four little princes are already fawning over their princess,” reported Elrond.

“We must send a special acknowledgment,” said Celebrían. She turned to Arwen. “You and I will plan this gift.”

“Will they have a special naming ceremony?” asked Arwen.

“Whatever they do will be private,” replied Elrond. “Only for the king’s heir is the public ceremony normally held.”

Arwen looked at him pensively. “Surely for a long awaited daughter something special will be done,” she mused.

Already she was far away from them, thinking, and her jaw was set in that way it always was when she was making her mind up about something. Celebrían smiled indulgently, but across the table Elrond could see Elladan’s eyes twinkling.

“Certainly we should do something special, Elrohir,” said Elladan seriously. “We must send a note immediately telling the princes exactly how much trouble a younger sister can be. She will bat her eyelashes at them, and they will become slaves to her every whim. We must warn them!”

Arwen turned a serious gaze upon her brothers. She smiled suddenly, and it was as if the stars had twinkled through the blackest night. “I will need you two to help me,” she announced.

Elladan raised a brow at Elrohir, but Elrohir reached over to casually pull on his twin’s braid. “Yes, Arwen. Whatever you need us to do, we will do gladly.”

Elladan groaned and covered his face with his hands. “See, Adar, bewitched. I must warn them.”

* * *

Elrond thought no more of Arwen’s words until a few days later when the messenger was preparing to leave Imladris. He went in search of wife and daughter, and found them in the garden room, sewing.

“Arwen, the messenger will be returning to Annúminas tomorrow. Will you have your gift prepared in time?” he asked.

“Oh no, Adar. This will take us some days to finish,” replied Arwen.

“I will send only our well wishes then, and let them know that a gift will follow at the hand of our usual messenger,” replied Elrond, smiling. He turned to leave when Arwen’s words stopped him cold.

“Oh, no messenger needed, Adar. I will take the gifts myself.”

Elrond turned back around to see his daughter’s innocent face looking up at him intently. At his look, she added, “I was going to seek your permission to go, of course, Adar. I know I must have an escort.”

In the chair across from Arwen, Celebrían had dropped her needle and thread. She looked from Arwen to Elrond to Arwen, and then laughed. Elrond sent her a quelling look as he heard her words in his mind. She is your daughter, Elrond Peredhel.

“Arwen, dearest, that is a very nice gesture, but I was not planning a trip west this summer,” he reasoned.

She smiled reassuringly. “Oh, I know, Adar. I will go on behalf of Imladris. I am almost an adult now and should take up some responsibilities. Elladan and Elrohir will accompany me.”

“Your brothers have agreed to this plan?” he asked incredulously.

“Elrohir said whatever I needed from them, they would do gladly,” replied Arwen.

Elrond closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. The twins had certainly had no idea what she was planning, for she had formulated her plan right there at the dining table, he was sure. When he opened his eyes he found her watching him, concern on her face.

“Adar?”

When had she stopped calling him Ada? Perhaps it had been several years, but he suddenly wished for her to be a small child he could simply tell ‘no’ and distract her to something more suitable. Arwen was no longer very easily distracted.

“Your naneth and I need to speak of this, and I need to learn from my scouts and messengers if the roads are safe. We will let you know our decision,” he replied. When she opened her mouth to protest, he raised a brow and used his best parental look, the one none of his children argued with.

“Yes, Adar,” she replied instead.

* * *

Elrond returned to his study shaking his head. So intent was he in his thoughts that he nearly ran into Glorfindel. “Are you contemplating some perplexing problem?” asked Glorfindel good-naturedly.

“My daughter,” replied Elrond as he pushed open his door.

Glorfindel laughed and followed him into the room. He sat down in front of Elrond’s desk and grinned at him unabashedly. “Now what has she done?”

Elrond scowled at the golden elf. “Quit enjoying this. It is serious.”

Glorfindel bit the smile from his lips, but his eyes continued to twinkle. “Do explain.”

“Arwen plans to deliver the gift for Eldacar’s new granddaughter .. herself.”

Glorfindel began to laugh. “She is your daughter, Elrond.”

“It seems to me I have heard far more stories of Celebrían doing impulsive things that I ever recall doing,” argued Elrond.

“Knowing Arwen, this is hardly an impulsive decision,” replied Glorfindel, grinning. “If we were to ask her, she would say that a daughter should be graced with the same attention as a son, and she feels it is her responsibility to assist you - and this is one way for her to do so. Now, were she like Celebrían, I’d be more concerned about her riding off with my warriors on patrol, disguised as one of them.”

“I will wait several days and then tell her no,” said Elrond with a long sigh.

“Why?” asked Glorfindel.

“If I say no immediately, she will think I did not give her idea due consideration. If I wait a few days . .. .”

“No, why can she not go?” clarified Glorfindel.

Elrond looked at Glorfindel incredulously. “You cannot be serious! I was not planning a trip west this summer and she cannot go alone.”

“You speak as if those are the only two options. Send your sons with her,” said Glorfindel. At Elrond’s look, he added, “I will go with them.”

Elrond looked up as the door opened and Celebrían came into the room. She winked at Glorfindel, then came around to sit on the edge of Elrond’s chair. He looked up into her eyes and recognized defeat. He sighed.

“She looks upon this as acting as your emissary, on her first diplomatic mission,” explained Celebrían.

“Celebrían, she is not quite 50 years old. She has not even come of age.”

“One more summer is all,” coaxed Celebrían. “And King Eldacar is not likely to have another granddaughter next year.” When Elrond did not respond, she continued, “Ask Erestor to accompany her as well. With Glorfindel and her brothers for protection, and Erestor to guide her in diplomacy, she will be in good hands.”

With all of them gone, we will have much privacy where I can remind you of how much I love you, she whispered in his mind.

“Behave yourself,” he warned her.

Glorfindel howled and Celebrían grinned.

* * *

“Of course I will accompany her!” replied Erestor. “I am thrilled that one of your children is interested in the diplomatic arts. She has much natural skill.”

Elrond ignored the reaction of Glorfindel and the twins. Erestor looked over the three like a cat about to pounce. “I am in charge of this mission, am I not, Elrond?”

Elrond laughed. “In all regards except safety on the trail. There you must defer to Glorfindel.”

“I relish the opportunity to keep you three in line,” said Erestor, grinning.

Elrond left the four to discuss the trip while he went to tell Arwen they had decided to let her go. She took the news in stride, having completely expected to be allowed to go.

“I will ask Erestor to instruct me on my duties,” she said formally. “I will represent you well, Adar.”

Elrond held out his arms to her and she came to him, hugging him tightly. Despite her outward demeanor of control and calm, he could tell she was both excited and apprehensive. “I have no doubt at all about that, Arwen. I have much faith in you.”

The group left in late spring, with plans to return in the fall. Elrond and Celebrían rode with them to the Last Bridge, where they camped together one final night before moving on. It was Arwen’s first time crossing the bridge since she had fallen from it as a child, and Elrond had been touched to see Elladan and Elrohir dismount and walk on either side of her over the expanse.

They watched until the group faded into the distance, then returned home. Elrond had felt bereft with all his children and chief advisors gone, but Celebrían had encouraged him to think differently.

“My parents are visiting the wood elves, our children and Glorfindel and Erestor are visiting Men, and the family quarters are virtually empty. There is little requiring your attention, despite the lack of help. I can think of many good ways to spend our time.”

Elrond had read books set aside for long years waiting for time and taken up his harp again, causing Lindir to rejoice at having a new student for the summer. Elrond laughed much at the young minstrel, for he had been playing more years than Lindir had been alive, but he did learn much from those skilled hands and apt mind. Celebrían had resumed painting, and spent much time singing and working around the house. Yet for all the joy of the carefree summer, both found their gazes often turning westward.

“I miss them,” said Celebrían one day. She sank down in the grass next to him, and he set aside his book and drew her into his lap. “How long do you think, before they are home?”

Elrond pulled a scrap of parchment from his pocket and handed it to her. “This came while you were out wandering.”

Celebrían read the note and cried for joy. Then she leapt to her feet. “I have so much to do!”

Elrond laughed as she ran off to the house, for surely there was nothing she needed to do at that moment, but her mother’s heart would not be satiated until her children were returned to her. For all that she had persuaded Elrond to let Arwen go, she had missed her daughter dreadfully.

Nearly a week later they had crossed the narrow bridge and entered through the gates into the courtyard of the House. Elrond had felt their presence grow stronger throughout the day, and already had brushed the mind of each of his children, assuring himself they were well. They were well indeed, and anxious to be home. Glorfindel, Erestor and the few other elves who had accompanied them fell back as three horses were spurred forward. Arwen slid from her horse and raced into their arms.

As Celebrían fussed, Elrond felt a sudden pang in heart, wondering what in the world had persuaded him to send this mere child off across Middle-earth. She was so young! They would never have sent their sons out before they were of age. Then Arwen stepped back and looked at him, and he saw in her eyes a new maturity and grace.

Her brothers flanked her, and it was Elladan who spoke. “Adar, we present to you the new family diplomat. I think King Eldacar would give her his whole kingdom if she desired it, and armies would ride at the nod of her head. She enchanted them all.”

Arwen laughed, grinning up at her older brother. “Nonsense!” she replied. “We did need to leave, though, before the Men of Arnor drove us out. They claimed none could interest even their wives and sweethearts into speaking to them so long as these two were present.”

Elrond finally looked up over the three dark heads and ignored their banter, seeking instead the verdict of his chief advisors. Glorfindel and Erestor looked amused, but their looks were also appropriately serious. Erestor dismounted and walked forward. “You can be proud of all of them,” he announced. He smiled at Arwen, who blushed slightly. “As your emissary, Arwen was the picture of dignity and grace. They loved her. Eldacar said this princess of the Elves would one day be queen of us all.”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Queen of Elves and Men,” said Elrond, and the painted parchment in his hand shook.

He glanced out the window, where the sun was breaking through the storm clouds. Aragorn had reported that Éomer of Rohan would be arriving soon to escort the body of Theoden home to the Riddermark for burial. The elves had discussed this day while in Rohan, and planned at that time to return north with them. The hobbits were anxious to return to the Shire. It was time for them all to return home.

The sound of the sea filled his mind and the wind whispered Elvenhome.

* * * * *

As Queen of Elves and Men she dwelt with Aragorn for six-score years in great glory and bliss.

Appendix A, The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen

'Still that must be expected,' said Gandalf to himself. 'He is not half through yet, and to what he will come in the end not even Elrond can foretell. Not to evil, I think. He may become like a glass filled with a clear light for eyes to see that can.'

Many Meetings, FotR





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