Thank you to daw the minstrel and Karri for their help with this chapter.

Chapter 16: Cup of Sorrows

The Third Age ended thus in victory and hope; and yet grievous among the sorrows of that Age was the parting of Elrond and Arwen, for they were sundered by the Sea and by a doom beyond the end of the world. When the Great Ring was unmade and the Three were shorn of their power, then Elrond grew weary at last and forsook Middle-earth, never to return. The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, Appendix B, Lord of the Rings

August 9, 3019

Edoras

They had been two days in Edoras when Arwen came to his chamber near dusk. Elrond knew that Arwen would not ride with them further, and their parting was near.

He held out his arm to her and led her from Meduseld to the top of the far hill beyond the Golden Hall. The evening sun had fallen behind the peaks, and the cooler night air blew in from the mountain passes to their south. Stars had just begun to twinkle overhead, and in the distant sky, Elrond could see Eärendil beginning his nightly voyage. Arwen carried a blanket, which she spread out beneath one of the few trees where they might sit and speak in private.

Elrond leaned back against the tree, and Arwen rested against his shoulder, her head tucked neatly beneath his chin. They sat in silence for a long while, and Elrond allowed himself to simply enjoy being with her.

“Adar,” she finally began, and she took his hand in hers, rubbing each fingernail much as she had done as a child. “I have spoken to Daeradar. He said that on the road home you will be discussing a date when you will sail.”

Elrond tensed at her words, but then forced himself to relax. “Yes, we will.”

He felt her draw in a deep breath of air. “Then tomorrow is the last day I will see you.”

Elrond felt as if she had kicked him in the chest. He had spent many a sleepless night considering how long he might stay in Middle-earth in his current state. He was weary of his life here, but not ready to let her go. He wished to see her children, his grandchildren, and see the realm of Men established. Perhaps they would come to Imladris on the way to or from Annúminas, which Aragorn would surely re-establish in the North.

“No decision has been made yet on when we will leave,” he finally answered. He stroked her hair back and kissed the top of her head.

“No, Adar,” she replied, but her voice broke and she breathed in a shuddering breath. “Tomorrow is the last day I will see you.” She clutched his hand tightly. “You must go soon. Naneth is waiting, and you need each other.”

“Arwen …” He removed his arm from around her and sat forward, touching her cheek gently when she did not look at him.

“You think you will stay to see our children born, and then you will stay to see them grown, and as the years advance it will become more and more difficult for you to leave. You will fear for me when the end of our mortal days draw near, and all the while you will be fading. Better we part now, my adar, for I do not want to watch your spirit consume you, until you are like one of the houseless. And you must not be here when my doom comes.”

Elrond slumped back against the tree in resignation, for he had played out all of those same arguments in the long hours of the night. He knew he could not stay; he knew that if he tried, he would become so weighted with grief and weariness that he might not make the passage. Mithrandir had risked their long friendship by trespassing where he had not been invited and reading his thoughts, and bluntly informing him that if he remained in Middle-earth, he would hinder Arwen when her mortal years had come to an end.

Arwen leaned back against him and pulled his arms around her. He could feel her tears falling upon his hands, and his own tears anointed her head.

“I have given letters for Naneth into Erestor’s keeping,” said Arwen when they both had regained some control.

“I have pictures for her of your wedding. She had looked forward to that day for so many years,” replied Elrond hoarsely.

“I hope she is whole and healed,” said Arwen wistfully. “I picture her that way, smiling again, teasing you, shining like she did. Oh, she loves you, Adar. You know, I dreamed that one day I would look upon someone the way she looked upon you. And the way your eyes followed her wherever she went – I wanted someone to love me like that in return. I feel blessed that I found that kind of love.”

She relaxed even more against him. “Now Elladan and Elrohir are finally free, free of their responsibility to fight against darkness. They will see Naneth again, see her as she used to be, and they will finally be healed.”

Elrond laughed softly. “You, my daughter, have always organized your world as you wished. What do you see in your own future?”

She lifted his hand and kissed it. “Children, a houseful of children. A city at peace. Annúminas restored and the Northern Dúnedain living as they were meant to live, not as wandering guardians but honored and respected people of the king. And Aragorn,” she paused, her voice trailing off. “We have waited for so long, perhaps we will now be given two years of great joy for every one we waited. A long and glorious life together.”

Long by mortal standards, thought Elrond, and yet the brevity of that time is what had made him think he could stay for those years. He listened to her talk, about plans and hopes and dreams for everyone and everything she knew, and he realized there was both nothing to say and everything to say.

“What of you, Adar? What do you hope for in the Blessed Realm?” she asked.

He smiled as tears prickled his eyes. “Seeing Celebrían healed and holding her in my arms again,” he answered after a moment. “That is all I have wished for in that future for many years.”

Arwen squeezed his hand. “No one in all of Middle-earth or Valinor deserves peace and happiness more than you,” she said intently. “You must promise me that you will find it, Adar.”

He laughed softly. “I can promise only that I will try.”

“It has been your example of endurance that has most sustained me,” she said. “I sometimes had to remind myself that the person of Elrond who was my father was the same Elrond of all the old tales, the one who sustained and continued on, no matter what blows he was dealt. It seemed too much for one life, and yet you never gave up. When you made Aragorn wait, it seemed a harsh sentence to one of mortal years, yet I knew I must trust you, when you had waited for this mortal man for thousands of years.”

“Many times I thought Elros was the braver of us, for he chose the unknown. In Elladan I saw him again, always seeking beyond the horizon. You were as determined, but much more careful and reasoned. I did not know my foremother Lúthien, but your grandparents said that in your eyes was the same will that drove her to seek her own fate. It wasn’t until I held you in my arms that I understood the desire to lock you away in a fortress.”

Arwen laughed as she considered the image. “Did Naneth fear that one of us might make the choice of Lúthien and Elros?”

“Celebrían would have snuck you the key to the tower and helped you escape, despite her own fears,” answered Elrond, unable to keep the irony from his voice. “She could be as ferocious as a mother bear when it came to her children, but she would use that same ferociousness to ensure her children were given their wings to fly, if they so wished.”

“And you, Adar?” she asked in a low voice.

“I am letting you go reluctantly,” he admitted hoarsely. “My love is more possessive, my cup more bitter, but you have your wings and I will not hinder your flight.”

“Or in this case,” she added gently, “you will take that step off the shore and release your hold on these lands.”

Elrond released her and stretched out his hands before them. “I trust they will obey me on the morrow,” he said.

Arwen took his hands and pulled his arms back around her. “Tomorrow is soon enough.”

They sat long in silence, watching as the stars grew bright and Eärendil passed overhead. Then Arwen sighed and said, “You will finally meet your sire. I wonder what he can see, what he knows of his descendents that walk here in Middle-earth. I wonder if he will shine as bright over Imladris when you no longer dwell there.”

Elrond had often wondered what Eärendil knew. He wondered if Celebrían had met Elwing and Eärendil, and others of their family lineage. He felt a pull on his heart as he thought of Celebrían. Her presence grew stronger and stronger, much as it had done on the day of the wedding, until he could feel her with him. He was afraid to breathe, for fear she would disappear.

He brushed his daughter’s mind. He felt her curiosity and then she dropped the barriers and invited him in. He waited, pondering how to guide Arwen to Celebrían in his mind. He led his daughter to that part of his heart reserved and held by Celebrían, and felt her joy blossom as she sensed her mother’s presence.

In that moment, much was said, most of it without words. Love, acceptance and pride flowed from Celebrían to Arwen. For Arwen, it was that last chance to express her love and say her farewells, and know that her mother accepted her choice.

Elrond sought nothing from either of them, focusing all of his being on allowing them that time together. He realized in one faltering moment how weak he was, for the intensity of the experience overwhelmed him. Just when he thought he would fly apart, he felt a soothing touch upon his fëa, a cool caress from a hand that belied the strength behind it. It had come from beyond Celebrían, and it eased them all apart.

Elrond regained awareness moments later to find himself in Arwen’s arms, his daughter looking up in awe. She searched the heavens for a moment, then focused on him, bending over him and kissing his forehead.

“You have given me a priceless gift,” she breathed. “But now you must rest.” When he would have argued, she smiled and said, “I command it, Adar.”

Elrond rested until the first light of the sun appeared in the east. They rose and walked slowly back, watching as the sun turned the roof of Meduseld to gold. No words had been spoken between them during that final long watch of the night, and Elrond realized there was not enough time in Arda to say all he wanted, and yet nothing was left to be said.

The household was stirring when Elrond stopped in the garden behind the Hall and faced his daughter, taking her hands in his one last time.

“Be well, my daughter. May your life with Aragorn be long, glorious and full of joy. I leave a part of my heart with you, the part you have owned since first you were conceived. Know for all eternity how much you are loved.”

He managed to speak his words before tears silenced his voice. With tears streaming down her face, Arwen replied, “I love you dearly, Adar. Go to Naneth and be at peace. My children’s children will sing of my love for you.” Her voice broke. “Thank you for giving me wings.”

He held her close for many minutes, until the sound of bells filled the air, announcing breakfast and preparing for the burial of Rohan’s king. Amidst the sound of children’s laughter as they ran through the garden, they entered Meduseld to prepare for the day.

* * *

Théoden had been laid to rest and the feast was over, but the joy and celebration of the troth plighting of Faramir and Éowyn would continue long after they had left. The elves had offered their blessing, and Elrond had watched with paternal pride as his three children had congratulated the steward and shield maiden on a match that would further tie Gondor and Rohan together.

Elrond knew that Arwen had said her farewells to her grandparents the evening before, as well as to many of the elves that had traveled with them from Imladris and Lothlórien, and he watched now as her brothers flanked her and led her aside. They spoke and held her, and he saw her bow her head, overcome. Then Elrohir tipped her chin up and kissed her forehead, and she threw her arms around them both. Then Glorfindel was there, speaking to her one last time, bowing before her and kissing her hand in a manner that reminded Elrond of how he had sworn to protect her on the day she was born. He turned away before he lost his tenuous hold on his emotions.

Soon all were mounted save Aragorn and Merry and Frodo. Merry was still speaking with Éomer and Éowyn, and Frodo with Arwen. Aragorn finally shepherded the hobbits to their ponies, kissed Arwen goodbye, and then walked beside Frodo’s pony as they joined all of those waiting to travel north.

Mithrandir led them away from Edoras with a host of the Rohirrim before him as honor guard. Elrond waited until all had gone before him, and none remained but his sons and Glorfindel, and Aragorn and his knights. Arwen stood alone, stoic. Their eyes were locked. With great effort, Elrond uncurled his hands from the reins and held them palm out to her. With what felt like a death knell beating in his heart, he nudged his horse imperceptibly, and the stallion turned and walked away. He fixed his eyes on the horizon before him, and did not look back.

* * *

August 21, 3019

Isengard

Elrond was in his tent when he heard a soft voice ask for admittance. He stood and walked to the flap, pushing it back. “Estel,” he said in greeting, reverting out of habit to the name they had given him as a child. “Come in.”

Aragorn entered, handing Elrond a cup of wine. They sat on the cushions spread on the ground next to a small open chest.

“What are you reading?”

“Fairy tales,” replied Elrond. He handed the book to Aragorn. “Or so they will seem to Men one day. I meant to leave it with Arwen, for your children. Accounts as told by those who woke at Cuiviénen, and of those who walked in the Blessed Realm in the light of the trees, before evil came.”

Aragorn took the ancient book, paging through it. “I recall some of these stories, but you never read them to me out of a book.”

Elrond laughed. “I had no need. But they were written down, lest a day come when none would be left who remembered them.”

“May that day be far off,” replied Aragorn. At Elrond’s nod, he tucked the book into a pocket of his tunic. “Tomorrow we reach Isengard, and I will go no further. Gandalf has said he will see the hobbits to Bree at least.”

“If there is danger on the road, I will send an escort with them as well,” promised Elrond.

Aragorn hesitated. “Do you believe that Frodo will sail with you?”

Elrond closed his eyes. The sound of the waves and wind filled his mind as he cast his thought to the sea. “I believe so, though he has not given it due consideration yet. Bilbo will go gladly, I think, when so offered the chance. Once Frodo has returned to the Shire and learned that it cannot heal him, and he knows his dear uncle intends to go, he will come.”

“I owe him much that I cannot repay, as I do you. Knowing that he is in your care comforts me deeply.”

Elrond smiled, seeing again Estel, his son, and not Elessar, the King of the Reunited Kingdoms.

Aragorn pulled a packet from his breast pocket. “I know that Arwen’s choice was her own, yet I wish those who love her to know that she will be cherished for all of her days. What the elves lose, Men gain, and we are renewed and restored through the sacrifices that she and Frodo have made. She sees her fate and Frodo’s intertwined, as part of the birth of this age and the hope of mankind. She is right, for her foresight is great, as I would expect of your daughter.” He paused, then pulled one letter out and placed it on the top. “I wish I could have known Celebrían, but at least I hope my words show my gratitude to her.”

Elrond took the letters, noting there was one for each member of Arwen’s family, including those on the trail with them now. He looked at Aragorn in question.

“Hold them until Valinor,” said Aragorn softly.

They heard voices outside the tent, and then Elladan, Elrohir and Glorfindel entered. The three had spent much time in conversation together, sometimes with Celeborn and occasionally Mithrandir. Elrond had given little heed to their conversations as yet, for Arwen still filled his thoughts. He knew that Celeborn was not yet ready to sail, and it had brought him some comfort to know that Arwen would not be entirely without kin, even if Celeborn was not likely to visit Gondor.

Elladan playfully shoved Aragorn over so he could sit between them, and Elrohir sat on his other side. Glorfindel sat across from them, but did not speak.

“I feel as if I should ask you what mischief you’ve been into,” said Elrond finally. “This is the same look you have worn since you were old enough to walk and wished to tell me what you had done or hoped to do, but were unsure of the answer you would receive.”

Aragorn laughed, and Elrond remembered how he had delighted in hearing tales of these two he thought of as older brothers. The poor child had truly not grasped that they were millennia older than he for many years.

“We do have something to tell you, Adar,” replied Elladan. He looked long at Elrohir before continuing, then took Elrond’s hand. On his other side, Elrohir rested a hand upon his leg. “We were not going to mention this quite yet, but we wish to tell Aragorn.” He took a deep breath, and Elrond felt a growing sense of dread come over him. “We are not ready to take ship.”

“Yet,” added Elrohir immediately.

Elrond felt blackness surround him and for a moment his heart forgot to beat. Then his thoughts swirled around him. What if they never came? His chest tightened. Celeborn. He would not stay forever from Galadriel. He would bring them. But Celeborn was not half-elven. Elrond’s children had to sail when he did, or cease to live as the Eldar.

He could hear them speaking, but the words were to his mind like some foreign tongue he did not know. Mithrandir said. Mithrandir he recognized.

“Adar!”

Elrond focused on Elladan. He still lived in the youth of the Eldar. Elrond reached out one hand to touch the silky black hair untouched by grey and relief filled him.

“Adar, did you hear what I said?”

“You are not coming,” replied Elrond slowly.

“Yet,” clarified Elladan. “Mithrandir obtained permission for us to delay our choice. We will come, Adar.”

“We cannot leave Arwen, Adar. Nor Aragorn. You and Daernaneth must go, but we are not weary. We would see Aragorn’s kingdom come into fullness, and keep Imladris as haven for any of the elves who remain,” explained Elrohir.

Elrond turned to Elrohir. Elrohir would come. But Elladan? The vise on his chest tightened. Would he tie himself to the mortal world and bind his fate to it? He would not sunder from his twin, Elrond was sure of that. If they were each led differently, which one would sacrifice his choice? If they saw their brother and sister pass beyond the circles of the world, would they follow if none of the Eldar remained to remind them of those waiting?

“Did you tell Arwen?” asked Aragorn suddenly.

“Yes,” replied Elladan. “We were going to tell Adar first, but she was so heartbroken at their parting that we told her we would stay, at least for a while.”

Elrond replayed the parting of sister and brethren in his mind. Arwen had not looked joyful at the news.

“She was not,” murmured Elrohir, easily reading his thoughts. “She did not wish to cause you any more pain.”

Elrond sensed Aragorn’s growing discomfort at being present in the face of his pain. “We will have you for the rest of Arda. I do not begrudge any of you this time together,” he managed. “Arwen will be glad to have her brothers near. Aragorn will find some way to tolerate your influence on his children, I am sure.”

He smiled a genuine smile at Aragorn’s reaction, and felt the relief of all of his sons.

“That wood elf is going to return with others of his realm. We cannot let our sister’s children have only that influence of elvendom,” teased Elladan.

Aragorn held up his hands. “I will never take sides in an Elven argument. I will be glad to have all of you near. Already I miss the counsel of Mithrandir and Elrond and they have not yet departed.”

The three continued their banter for a few more minutes, and Elrond allowed it to lift his spirits, though he felt as if another part of his heart had been ripped from him. Then Aragorn rose. “I must speak to the hobbits yet tonight.”

Elrond rose with him, but when Aragorn began to bow, speaking his name, Elrond instead took his hand and drew him near. “May your life be long and blessed, my son.”

Aragorn embraced him tightly. “Fare well, my father.”

Aragorn departed, and at a nod from Glorfindel, the twins followed.

“You knew what they were planning,” said Elrond tiredly.

“I did,” admitted Glorfindel. “They were torn, wishing to leave with you and wishing to stay with Arwen and Aragorn. Mithrandir offered the solution.”

Elrond laughed bitterly. He turned his cup over, watching as the last few drops of wine splattered into the dirt, absorbing and disappearing almost instantly. He looked at the empty cup, thinking his heart was as empty and hollow. For a moment he contemplated not taking ship, staying with his children, at least until his sons were ready to sail.

“There is no need,” said Glorfindel gently.

Elrond looked up at his friend. He was weary to the core of his being, and knowing he sailed with none of his children left him grasping for a life line, lest the sea of despair swallow him utterly. Yet Glorfindel did not seem perturbed.

“No need for what?” he finally asked. He could not follow the trail of his own thoughts.

“There has been no easy way for your sons to tell you this. They knew they would cause you pain, but they also did not wish Arwen to think she remained alone, despite her choice. They will stay and I will stay with them,” replied Glorfindel.

Elrond had felt like he had sunk to the lowest valley possible, and now he felt like he had been jerked up from the depths into light and air, and the shock was nearly too much. The cup fell from his hand. Then Glorfindel had his arm, easing him to back to the cushions. “I am sorry, Elrond.”

Elrond began to laugh silently, but soon tears spilled from his eyes. He felt Glorfindel’s arms surround him, anchoring him in reality. Then Glorfindel began to sing softly and Elrond’s mind was filled with visions of the Blessed Realm. He saw the havens at Alqualondë and the white peaks of Taniquetil, the gardens of Lórien and the isle of Tol Eresseä, and his heart longed to behold them.

As his heart calmed, a revelation came to him. “Those are your thoughts, your memories!”

“They are,” replied Glorfindel. “I want nothing more than to go home. They are the best assurance I can give you that we will come one day.”

As Elrond’s strength returned, he saw again in his mind Glorfindel kneeling before Arwen at Edoras. “You told Arwen you would stay.”

“I told Arwen I would stay with her brothers,” amended Glorfindel. “Though, I am arrogant enough to think she and Aragorn might occasionally enjoy my presence. Arwen did not want to cause you more grief, and she knew her brothers’ staying, even with the permission of the Valar, would grieve you. She knew doubt would assail you.”

“It grieves me to have become so weak that my children fear for me like this,” admitted Elrond.

“Your sons will come,” said Glorfindel intently. “Their hearts are not called to make the choice Arwen has made.”

“Not yet,” said Elrond. “You do not know what the years will bring, or what effect their sister’s mortality will have on them.”

“Then Celeborn and I will at least remain to provide them with good counsel,” replied Glorfindel. “There have never been any guarantees, Elrond, that they would survive the Black Gates or the Paths of the Dead, but you sent them anyway. I know you know you cannot hold them, but in your heart, let them go again. They will return to you in time.”

Glorfindel began to sing again, and Elrond slowly relaxed and then drifted off into sleep. He was unaware when a light blanket was tossed over him, or his sons returned. But when he woke, he looked upon their faces and knew he would not lose them.

* * *

September 12, 3019

After speaking with Treebeard and parting from Aragorn, Elrond found his heart turned to Imladris. He longed for the comfort of his House and People. Still, he was loath to separate from Celeborn and Galadriel, who would be traveling over the Redhorn to their home. Now that they were alone, they had much to discuss about their plans.

When would they leave? Who would go? Would Círdan sail? Was this the last ship, and what help would those who came later need?

“What of you, Mithrandir?”

Mithrandir smiled. “I sail with you,” he replied. “I have much to do in the time that remains. I must go to see Círdan myself and then back to the Greenwood, to speak to Thranduil.”

“How much time does remain?” asked Elladan.

“The fall after next, I think,” answered Mithrandir slowly. He shifted his gaze to where the hobbits slept. “Frodo will understand by then.”

“Once he knows that Bilbo wishes to go, and I believe Bilbo will, then the desire will grow in his heart,” said Elrond. “As the opportunity arises, I will speak to them both.”

Mithrandir turned a keen glance upon him. “Your words will be of the most value to them. Bilbo has lived long in Imladris. He trusts you. They will have greater comfort if they go as part of your House.”

Elrond knew this was true. He heard laughter and looked up, but none of the others seemed to have heard it. Then he withdrew inside of himself, aware suddenly of the source of the music he had missed and longed for. Celebrían’s presence had come and gone often over the last few weeks. It was like being on the Path of Dreams with her, only while awake. He could feel her delight at having the hobbits join their household. Frodo would find a kinship with her in their suffering, perhaps.

At that thought, Elrond sobered and the laughter faded from his mind. He felt her loving touch caress his soul: I am well, my love. He instinctively turned his gaze to the west, anticipating the day he would see her again and the image of her broken form would fade from his memory forever. Yet fear remained and gnawed at him, that what was in his mind was enhanced by the Valar and Celebrían was not well, and he would find her as he had left her, and guilt that she had endured all those years without him would drown him in a flood of despair.

Elrond realized silence had fallen about him and returned his attention to the present. Looks of amusement, concern, love and reassurance met his gaze. He made no attempt to dissemble before this group, his friends and family.

“Pardon me,” he finally said with a small smile. “What did I miss?”

“You miss your wife, but that will be remedied soon enough,” replied Mithrandir, eyes twinkling. “Tomorrow we part. I will send word from the Havens once I have spoken with Círdan.”

Mithrandir stood, nimble and spry on his feet, and Elrond again marveled that the old man they had known truly had gone, reborn in some new ageless form. The elves did not part for their tents, however. Elladan finally stood and walked off into the darkness, only to reappear a few moments later with a large basket holding bottles of wine and cups.

“If we are loath to part and wish to spend the night in remembrance,” he said, and winked at Elrond, “we might as well have some refreshment.”

* * *

September 21, 3019

Elrond nudged his horse slightly, stopping the stallion at the peak of the final hill that plunged steeply to the valley where Imladris was nestled against the base of the mountains. Lanterns flickered about the house, casting a golden glow that warmed his heart even as his breath misted white in the cool evening air. Voices rose in song, welcoming them home.

“Lead us home, Alagos,” said Elrond softly, and the horse whinnied his answer, flicking his mane and tail in anticipation of his own warm stall, oats and rubdown.

They were met in the courtyard by those who had stayed behind, elves taking their horses and unloading their packs, preparing baths and refreshment for each traveler. Many years had passed since Elrond had been on the receiving end of the hospitality of his house in this manner, and for as great as the hospitality of Rohan and Gondor had been, there was nothing like coming home.

He watched the hobbits rush by him. That they did not take time to wash or change did not surprise him, but that they bypassed all refreshment did. Frodo just wished to see Bilbo.

“Have food and ale sent to Bilbo’s rooms,” he said to the kindly elf pressing a cup of wine into his hand.

She smiled. “Cook has already begun preparing the trays.”

Elrond felt a surge of contentment at the quiet efficiency of those around him. His pack and cloak were whisked away, and he wandered slowly down the hall to his chambers. He stopped at his door, closed his eyes, and loosed his mind to wander the paths of memory. He was drawn back nearly an age, when he again stood before this same door. He was about to enter when from the corner of his eye he saw a blur of pink ribbon tying back a long mass of black hair. The small person to whom they belonged disappeared through the door next to his. Arwen’s chambers. He let go of the handle to his door and followed her. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, the shadows turning into furniture and the ghostly movements becoming gossamer curtains blowing in the breeze.

The room was cold, and he realized that only part of that had to do with the temperature of the night air. The space had the same basic furnishings it had always had, but the personal touches, the things that made this space uniquely hers, were gone. He walked further in, ghosting his hand over the carved wood back of the sofa in the sitting area as he passed into the sleeping area. The ornate bed with its silk hangings, nondescript in color in the darkened room, faded to a small child’s bed, brilliantly dressed for a tiny elleth who loved bright colors.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Ada!”

Elrond looked down into the eyes of his knee high daughter. She held her arms out and said, “Up!” in an imperious tone that was adorable only in one so young.

He picked her up, kissing her before settling her on his arm. She smoothed her hands down the sides of his head, arranging his hair just so. Then she yawned, a yawn so great she had to press both hands against his chest to hold herself upright.

“Sleep in my bed, Ada,” she said proudly.

Elrond’s heart filled with pride at his young daughter’s dance with independence, but he held her a little tighter too, for he was not sure he was ready for her to take this step. The twins had been much older when they had moved to their own chambers, and even then the idea had been suggested to them.

He walked to her bed and sat down upon the edge of it. She twisted in his lap, kicking her feet upon the mattress. She ran her hands across his arms, which were clasped in front of her, then pulled them apart and leapt forward on to the bed. She rolled on to her side, clutching her pillow to her. She smiled at him, then her eyes darted to the door.

“Nana, see my bed!” she cried, forgetting her nana had dressed the bed and shown it to her earlier that day.

“It is a beautiful bed,” agreed Celebrían. She held out her arms to her daughter as she walked to the bed and Arwen jumped to her feet and reached too, then was quickly scooped up and kissed. “Let us prepare you for sleep.”

She pulled a nightgown from the wardrobe, Arwen’s favorite – with lace and ribbons woven across the bodice and hem. Elrond watched in amusement as Celebrían deftly undressed the child. Elrohir had been fairly attentive and easygoing, but changing Elladan meant having to hold him in one place, which at times was more than the impatient youngster could stand. Arwen was somewhere in between – more cooperative than Elladan had been, but only when she wished to be.

“No swaddle!” said Arwen stubbornly.

“Yes, swaddle,” replied Celebrían firmly. “You would not want to have an accident on your pretty nightgown, would you?”

Arwen chewed her lip, arms crossed over her chest as she considered her mother’s words. Elrond could easily see the battle going on in her very young and immature mind, too young to understand the consequences of actions. When Celebrían raised an eyebrow and cast a stern look upon her daughter, the child acquiesced. Elrond would have laughed, but then that raised brow would have been turned on him.

Swaddled and dressed in her nightgown, Arwen held out her arms to her mother and snuggled against her shoulder when Celebrían picked her up. A rocking chair had been moved into the room, though it was not the one from their chamber. Celebrían made herself comfortable and unfastened her bodice, but Arwen pulled away.

“No nurse, Nana.”

Elrond watched as Celebrían pondered how to respond to this. Arwen resolutely held her mother’s gaze, arms crossing over her chest again and her back rigid. Celebrían finally acquiesced, closing up her gown. Arwen relaxed at her victory and looked longingly at her bed.

“Sleep in my bed, Nana,” said Arwen.

Celebrían leaned back in the chair. Arwen was pushing her, and Elrond was curious to see how far Celebrían would allow her to go. “Are you sure? Perhaps we should start with a nap in here first, so you can get used to it.”

Arwen frowned. “I am big,” she insisted.

“Indeed,” sighed Celebrían. She looked to Elrond, then shrugged. I suppose she must try this for herself.

Elrond pulled back the covers from the bed, and Arwen slid to the floor and ran to it. She climbed up without help and flung herself down, hugging the pillow, then rolled over on to her back and smiled up at them. Celebrían placed her favorite doll in her arms and Elrond tucked her in. Excited though she was, when they began to sing to her, she drifted quickly into peaceful slumber.

Elrond would have stayed in the room, to comfort her if she awakened alone and scared, but he felt Celebrían tug on his arm and rose. She wrapped her arms about him and kissed him. Come, my love.

Elrond hesitated. What if she wakes alone?

Celebrían smiled and tugged on his braid. We will be in the next room, through an open door, with lanterns lit. She will find us, or call to us.

Elrond still hesitated. He did not think Arwen of suitable age to sleep alone in a separate room. He did not want her to awaken alone and be frightened.

He felt Celebrían’s gentle touch, her hands tracing along his jaw, pushing his hair back over his ears and then pulling his head down slightly to touch their foreheads together. She is not old enough, and she is going to awaken and be lonely or afraid. Thus she will learn. You must let her take this first step, try out her wings of independence, and let her fall. She will get back up and decide if she is ready to fly again, or prefers to nest with her ada and nana a while longer. She paused and kissed him tenderly. Her stubbornness is nearly as endearing as yours.

Elrond tried to scowl at her, but smiled inadvertently instead. I am not that stubborn. And I would always choose to nest with you.

A mischievous light lit her eyes. And I with you. Come read to me. I think our fledgling will return sooner than you think.

They entered their own chamber, leaving open the door to Arwen’s room. Celebrían sat down upon a bench in front of her dressing table and reached up to undo her hair. Elrond was at her side before she could undo the first clasp.

“Allow me to wait upon my lady,” he offered. He loved taking down her hair, running his hands through it, seeing her look of utter contentment beneath his touch. Of late, Arwen had decided this was her responsibility. She was thrilled to help her nana, brushing her hair and even attempting her own styles, which Celebrían wore with pride. Elrond had seen Celeborn and Galadriel laughing at the sight, and learned Celebrían had done the same to them as a child. So far, Arwen had been content to merely undo his braids. He imagined a day would come when he would wander about Imladris in pink ribbons too.

He removed the clasps and smoothed out her hair, then began to brush it. She had been sleeping with it in one long braid at night since Arwen was born. “Shall I leave it loose?” he asked. His preference, of course, but Arwen tended to tangle in it.

She lifted her arms up and wrapped them around his neck, pulling his head down to her. She kissed him. “Not yet, dearest.”

Elrond laughed. “You are so certain she will not sleep the night through in her bed?” He sat down beside her, though facing the other direction on the bench. She was always beautiful, but motherhood enhanced it. She glowed in the glory of it. He cupped her full breast gently, the slight touch enough to elicit a drop of milk. “You will be uncomfortable by morning,” he said.

Celebrían smiled. “Not likely,” she answered. “She is not used to sleeping with an empty belly.”

Elrond did not doubt her. He might be known as one who could read the hearts of people, but he had learned that no one predicted their child’s actions better than a mother. He braided her hair and tied it off, then slipped one of the nightgowns she wore when nursing over her head.

They dimmed the lights, but left more burning than normal, and Elrond browsed through a volume of poetry. With Celebrían settled against him, he began to read to her. Nearly an hour had passed when they heard the first stirrings from the other room. There was no crying, but Elrond hardly expected that. Arwen was a very determined child, and even if afraid, unlikely to face the fear with tears, though they might come later. They could not see her over the footboard when she entered the room, but she had recently taken to climbing over the end of the bed, using the carvings as footholds. Soon two small hands appeared, then her head popped up. Seeing them awake and watching her, relief flooded her face. She dove over the top and scrambled to them. Worming her way between them, she touched Celebrían’s cheek gently and said, “Nurse, Nana?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” replied Celebrían. She opened her gown and Arwen quickly settled into position.

Ah, but where will she sleep? mused Elrond.

Right here, as she always does, came Celebrían’s murmur in his mind. The empty belly is only part of the story. It is the easiest excuse for her to come back. She stroked the dark head nestled against her breast. I am not ready to give up my baby yet, nor are you, and for at least a while longer our baby she will be.

Elrond rose and undressed, then slid back into bed beside them. Arwen was finished nursing and nearly asleep, and he lifted her like a limp rag doll and settled her on his chest. She snuggled against him, falling quickly into sleep. Celebrían’s breathing became deep and slow next to him as she too fell into slumber.

“I see I must cherish every moment with you, for soon you will fly from my grasp,” he whispered. “But not yet, my Arwen. Not yet.”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond opened his eyes to the darkness. He still sat on Arwen’s bed, though it was again an elegant four poster dressed in silks. He felt the cool breeze caress his cheeks, and realized they were wet. Brushing away the tears that lingered there, he rose. This room would bring him no comfort.

He walked back to the hallway, closing the door firmly behind him, and entered his own chamber. The scent of roses drifted to him, though it was too late in the season for that. He looked about the room, but saw no filled vases. He suddenly could think of nothing but Celebrían, nothing but his desire to be with her again. The room seemed filled with reminders of her, though it was the same as when he had left it.

Mindless of any matters that might require his attention, he stripped off his travel worn garments and buried his face on Celebrían’s side of the bed. Her scent was there, as if she had slept there recently, and he had to fight down the growing disquiet in his heart. He needed her. Together they had given their children wings, releasing them in steps to adulthood. Ai, Celebrían, we would bear this better together! Do you ache as I do, knowing she is parted from us forever? She has flown from us, and one day her wings will bear her where we cannot follow. My love, I cannot bear this without you! Together we conceived her and to us together she was bound, our child. Apart, our two halves are less than whole. Already separated from you, I now feel torn asunder!

His breath came in gasps and he trembled. What Mithrandir said was true – he also would find no rest or contentment here. Galadriel would find the Golden Wood was no longer home, and Frodo would yet discover that the Shire had been saved, but not for him. In that moment his world broke, and he understood intimately what those who fled their bodies for the comfort of Mandos’s Halls felt.

You, my darling, have only to hold on for a short while longer.

Elrond heard the words as if spoken by someone in the same room with him.

Coming west will not cure your pain, but you will start on the path of healing, and I will be at your side.

As I was not at yours! he berated himself.

He heard her laugh, though her voice was stern and firm. Stop, my love. I will not listen to such self-recriminations against one I love. We each did what we had to do, and I will not judge and say which road was more difficult. Just come to me.

“Elrond?”

Elrond released his hold on the bedcovers and looked up. Glorfindel sat on the edge of the bed beside him, and Elrond felt the warm weight of the elf’s hand on his back. Grief gave way to anger. “Am I allowed no privacy?”

Glorfindel handed him a handkerchief. Elrond took it begrudgingly, wiping his eyes and breathing in deeply until he had regained control. “How many time have I had to apologize to you in the last six months?” he asked.

Glorfindel laughed. “Your sons have been standing guard over you since you went into Arwen’s room. They grieve with and for you, Elrond, but not even they dare enter to offer you comfort. Comfort is perhaps not welcome, but allow me to guide you. Take a bath, put on fresh clothes, and eat.” Glorfindel paused, sniffing the air. “Celebrían is very present this evening. A gift from the Valar, Elrond. Go make yourself presentable for her, and let her provide you comfort.”

Elrond looked closely at Glorfindel, but the elf seemed sincere. “You sense her presence too?”

“Very much so,” replied Glorfindel softly. “Her spirit is strong, enhanced in some way that makes me think she is in the presence of the Valar. I do not have the knowledge of the Maiar, or the wisdom of the Valar, and would not presume to claim an understanding of Ilúvatar’s plan when he created Elves and Men, but I will say this: the half-elven have played important roles in the unfolding of Arda’s history. Arwen was chosen for her fate, much as you were. Not even the Valar can understand your pain, but what they can do to ease it, they will. I know not how Celebrían’s presence came to be so obvious, so strong, but do not question such a gift. You have only to accept it.”

“I should be providing comfort to my sons,” said Elrond finally.

“Your sons are well and strong, Elrond. Trust in them. There is no greater gift you could give them than to start ceding responsibility of Imladris to them, while allowing them to care for you.”

Elrond paused as Glorfindel’s words took root in his heart.

“Use this time to gradually release your hold on everything in Middle-earth, even your sons. They will fly too, but eventually their hearts will turn west, and the winds will carry them swiftly to you at the appointed time.”

“I do not feel particularly wise right now,” said Elrond as his thoughts swirled around him.

Glorfindel laughed again. “You are wise, but right now you are also weakened. I think I can withstand your temper until you sail. And when I join you one day, when I am still shadowed by Middle-earth and you are again strong and wise, you can endure my temper.”

“I do not think I have ever seen you in a fit of temper,” said Elrond.

“I am saving it all up for then,” replied Glorfindel with a grin.

Tears threatened his eyes, but Elrond managed to retain control as he answered, “I forget after all this time what led you back to Middle-earth and to my side, but I am grateful. I could ask for no truer friend than you.”

“I came to serve, but I grew to love you, Elrond Peredhel. It was clear to me that you were important to the plan of Middle-earth. It seemed the more you were entrusted with, the more you proved yourself worthy. I served you to ease your burden, for much was expected of you. But you are more than lord, you who could have been king. You are friend, and always will be.” Glorfindel paused and then squeezed his shoulder. “Go.”

Elrond laughed through his tears, and rose, discarding his clothing as he went to where a bath had been prepared for him. As he sank into the hot water, he relaxed his mind, seeking Celebrían.

I am here, my love.

* * * *

A/N: I picture Arwen as about 15-16 months old in the flash back. Though elves have a long childhood, coming of age at 50 years they “learned to speak before they were one year old; and in the same time they learned to walk and to dance, for their wills came soon to the mastery of their bodies” (Laws and Customs of the Eldar, HoME X)

Regarding the fate of the twins, all we know is what Tolkien told us in Letter 153: . . . Elrond passes Over Sea. The end of his sons, Elladan and Elrohir, is not told: they delay their choice and remain for a while.