Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 18: The Straight Road

Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate;
And though I oft have passed them by,
A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun.

As the ship passed beyond the harbor, Frodo help up the phial of Eärendil’s light. It blazed brightly for a moment, a final farewell to Middle-earth, then its light faded and it became nothing more than a simple crystal gem. The land disappeared from sight in the east and the sun from the west, and finally Elrond turned from the rail. The elves had gathered together midship, singing of Valinor and the West, but Bilbo and Frodo had stayed at his side, mesmerized by the sound as much as they were seeking the comfort of his known presence in this unknown time.

“Come, Bilbo,” he said gently. “You may as well be rocked to sleep in your bunk as on your feet.”

Bilbo started from his standing slumber but was tired enough that he did not even ask the time, as he usually did. Elrond kept his hand near, guiding the ancient hobbit to his berth on the main deck of the ship. A small cabin had been prepared for the two mortals, who would need to sleep each night, and though Bilbo seldom admitted it, nap throughout the day as well.

Elrond saw Bilbo settled then left the hobbits alone. He returned to the deck where Galadriel still stood, and found himself bathed in the light of Vingilot. Never had he seen the star so low. He looked up into the piercing light, seeking as he had since he was a child a look at her captain.

And saw his father.

He gasped, truly surprised for the first time in a millennium. He saw a face not unlike his own, but evoking more a memory of Elros. Proud and stern, Eärendil’s face was awash in the light of the Silmaril bound to his brow. He stood motionless, watching the ship below him, but his piercing gaze landed on Elrond and he recognized him. His face softened perceptibly and he slowly lifted a hand in greeting.

Elrond was so stunned it took him a moment to respond. He felt small and shadowed next to that glorious light, but finally his thoughts settled and he raised a hand in return. The ships gradually passed, Elrond moving from the front to the back of the ship, keeping Eärendil in sight a moment longer. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and realized that Círdan stood beside him. He too was watching above, and he also raised a hand in greeting.

When Vingilot had passed and the night had again settled around them, Círdan said, “That is the first time I have seen his face since he left the harbor at Sirion, never to return.”

Elrond grasped the railing tightly as his world spun around him. “I did not remember his face,” he admitted.

Círdan’s hands covered his, gently loosing them from the rail and pulling him away. “Hardly surprising, giving your tender age when he sailed,” he replied, his voice strangely gentle, the usual hint of gruffness gone.

Elrond looked up at the sound of laughter and saw Mithrandir, who seemed younger, much younger than Gandalf the Grey but younger than Elrond remembered him even at their first meeting.

“I have seen Eärendil in more recent times, and he looks as he always has. One of the joys of sailing with you, Elrond, will be the number of times I witness your surprise. While you look forward to meeting your own parents and so many others, you have no idea how many can hardly wait to meet you,” said the wizard.

Galadriel joined them, and Elrond sensed already a lessening of the turmoil of the sea within her, now that she rode on the wind and waves herself. He looked out over the water, and then back at the three watching him.

“May I admit that I feel five years old again?” he finally asked.

“As long as you keep your hands off the beard.” Círdan’s eyes twinkled.

“And you do not try to touch the sea,” added Galadriel. At Mithrandir’s raised brow, she amended, “Admittedly, that was Elros who felt the need to lean overboard and touch a wave, but Elrond would have tried, given time.”

“Come to the cabin and rest and refresh yourselves,” invited Círdan. “The day has been long.”

He led them to a cabin where Elrond found his travel chest, along with items belonging to Mithrandir and Círdan. He was glad for the privacy, for he remained weary and still rested more than he had previously been accustomed.

Cups of wine had been set out for them. Elrond brought one for him and one for Galadriel, and joined her on the padded bench near an open window that looked out over the water. The sea calmed her.

Círdan opened a chest beside his berth and removed a smaller, ornate box. He pulled forth an item wrapped in cloth and gave it to Mithrandir. “As we discussed,” he said quietly.

Mithrandir unwrapped the sphere, the Palantir of Elostirion.

“I sent word to Aragorn with Elladan and Elrohir,” explained Mithrandir. “We had discussed that we would return this seeing-stone to Valinor and the master stone. They will let him know that we indeed have it.”

“No longer will Men look west at what was,” said Galadriel. “Their future is before them, and soon even the history of Númenor will be forgotten, regarded only as a fairy tale that few believe.”

“Indeed,” replied Mithrandir. “This stone has only ever looked west and is of little value to Men now. More importantly, Men will grow in both ability and desire, ever seeking beyond themselves and achieving what seems to us to be impossible. They will rise to great heights and fall to great evil before Arda ends. It is best if this view of a land prohibited to them is removed from their sight. We are the last guardians of this Palantir, and it is fitting that we return it to the land where it was made.”

Galadriel slipped something from a pocket in her gown. She opened her hand, palm up, and held out before them the ring of Barahir.

“At our parting, Aragorn returned this to me. He asked me to return it to my brother, in acknowledgement of a debt long paid. No longer will Elves and Men come to each other’s aid. Our long friendship with the noble houses of Men has ended, sundered forever by the sea.”

Elrond’s eyes stung as he looked upon the ring. What Aragorn had done was fitting and showed great wisdom and maturity, but memory filled him: of the long years he had held that ring in preparation for one of Isildur’s heirs to rise and restore the kingdom, of giving that ring to Aragorn when he told him of his heritage, and of seeing it on Arwen’s hand for these last years, a sign of her betrothal to Aragorn and her hope in him.

That they sailed in search of the straight road had been a sign of the finality of their lives in Middle-earth, but these tokens were signs of a sundering of the kindreds. Pain grew inside him, for though he had always known his heart was with Elves, Men had been his people too and their blood flowed in his veins.

“Drink.”

Elrond lifted the cup that he had been holding and obediently put it to his lips, but only when a hand tipped it up did he drink. The fluid immediately revived him, and he realized it was no ordinary wine, but cordial designed for such purpose. Weariness still weighed heavily upon him, but he again felt able to bear up under it.

He focused again on his companions. Mithrandir was on his feet again, looking west out over the dark sea. Galadriel had returned the ring to her pocket, and she too looked west. Both had come from Valinor and were going home. Círdan however, was watching him.

“I think I will rest,” said the old mariner, effectively excusing Mithrandir and Galadriel from the cabin. They took their wine and left, moving to a quiet seating area outside the cabin.

Elrond shed his outer garments and crawled into his bunk, drawing a light blanket over himself. He was surprised when the curtains that allowed for privacy fell shut behind him, leaving only a small opening near the edge. He noticed that Círdan had not laid down to rest but sat at the small table, a writing tablet in hand. Elrond thought no more about it as he found the path of dreams quickly and Celebrían waiting for him.

* * *

Some days later….

“We will enter the straight road today.”

Elrond turned at the sound of Círdan’s voice. Anor was just rising out of the sea, and it warmed his face despite the cool morning breeze. Círdan’s white hair glinted gold in the sunlight, and his eyes in anticipation.

His own heart leapt in response. He turned back west, scanning the horizon as if he might see the Straight Way, even though he knew he would not.

“Near dusk,” continued Círdan, as he came to stand at Elrond’s side.

Excitement built as word spread that this would be the day. As evening fell, they gathered at the bow. A chair had been placed there for Bilbo, for he had insisted he wished to see the change, should there be anything to see.

“Pay close attention now, my lad,” the old hobbit admonished Frodo.

“Of course, Bilbo,” replied Frodo with a smile.

Lindir, however, could not let the comment pass by. His eyes gleamed with humor as he asked, “Pay close attention to what, Bilbo? We will be sure to wake you so you do not miss anything.”

Bilbo snorted. Elrond waited for him to insist that he did not nod off and require awakening, but the hobbit just waved Lindir off. “Make your jests if you will, Lindir. We will be glad to call you to the bow when the passage happens, if you are so lost in your music that you miss it.”

Lindir grinned and Bilbo’s eyes twinkled, and Elrond could not help but smile as he set a tray with tea on a table next to the hobbit. He placed an extra blanket about the hobbit’s shoulders and looked down into grateful eyes. “Drink your tea and stay warm, Bilbo. There is a chill in the wind.”

He heard a call from the crow’s nest, and followed the elf’s line of sight to where he saw a dark protrusion arising from the sea. It was not tall, and was often lost from sight when waves washed over it. The peak of Meneltarma.

The seas became rough. Elrond kept one hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. Mithrandir stood at the ship’s rail, watching the horizon intently. They rode the great crest of a wave, then sank into the valley it had left. The craft shuddered under the force of the seas, and Elrond’s concern for the hobbits grew, for it was said that mortal flesh could not make this journey unaided. Then as suddenly as the seas had risen, they calmed. Elrond looked to the raised captain’s platform and noted that Círdan’s hands were not on the wheel. He followed Círdan’s gaze from the horizon to the wheel, which suddenly turned slightly of its own accord.

Before them, the horizon blurred. The sky turned light gray, blending with the water until it was impossible to tell where the water ended and the sky began. It was like looking through a silk gossamer curtain that flowed lightly in the wind. Then they were entering into the grey curtain, and no one breathed or moved as the mists swirled about them.

They drifted through the mists, though the winds had diminished and the air was still. There was no sound. Elrond looked down at the water, and found no ripple or wake from their passage. It was as if they were floating, sailing along in something purer than air with guidance and power from something beyond them.

The mists thinned, but the skies about them darkened. Sound returned with the lap of the water against the sides of the boat. Elrond stepped closer to the rail, and looking down he saw treacherous rocks all along the side of the ship. Waves crashed upon the rocks, and Elrond could see the deeper shadow of land. Suddenly a tower rose out of the mist on their port side. So close were they between the tower on one side and the rocks on the other that it did not seem possible to navigate the ship safely through the narrow channel.

“Before you is Tirimbrithla, the Tower of Pearl,” said Mithrandir calmly, “and the Enchanted Isles run north and south of it. These were set in place as part of the defense of Valinor, at the end of the Second Age. No ship may pass the enchantments without the aid of the Valar.”

His words had a calming effect on them all, but most especially upon the hobbits. Elrond felt some of the tension leave Bilbo’s shoulder, yet still he kept a hand on each of them.

The ship was carefully navigated through the shoals, though with no aid from Círdan or his mariners. The shadows began to lighten and then it seemed as if before them there was a wall of silvered glass. The sea began to sing, faint at first but growing louder as they approached the curtain before them. The skies grew light, and then whether they passed through it or the veil dissolved Elrond did not know, but it was gone and the sun shone brightly upon them and the tower of Avallónë rose before them amidst the rolling green hills of Tol Eressëa.

“My dream!” gasped Frodo. “I dreamed of this!”

“Much has changed,” said Galadriel softly at nearly the same moment.

The two looked at each in surprise, and Galadriel laughed. “I am returning to the land of my birth. Three ages of this world have passed and much has changed,” she explained. “Of what did you dream, Frodo Baggins?”

“Only of this moment,” replied Frodo. “In Tom Bombadil’s house. I had nearly forgotten.”

“I hope you included it in your book,” interrupted Bilbo. “Seems to me an important detail.”

“I included it; I just did not know until this moment the meaning of the dream,” explained Frodo. He smiled, but neither he nor Bilbo took their eyes from the westward shores.

Elrond grinned as Bilbo began quizzing Frodo about his experiences and what he put in his book and what he did not. Galadriel had stepped closer to the rail, her hands white upon it. It was one of the only signs of any emotion that might be apprehension, anxiousness or excitement that Elrond had ever seen in her. He left the hobbits and stood next to her, covering one of her hands with his own, and she twisted her fingers to grasp his hand.

“Three ages of the world have passed since I have seen my naneth. I know not what emotion prevails – joy at seeing her, hope that she will have forgiven my leaving . . . and fear that she will pity me,” said Galadriel softly.

Elrond could not help but notice how her chin thrust out stubbornly at her words, and he lightly caressed her hand. She accepted the comfort, and he sensed when she lowered the barriers she had erected around her own thoughts and mind, allowing him to see her vulnerability. Returning home after such an absence… Elrond suddenly wondered if her brothers again walked in Valinor, if she was in fact the last of her house to return.

As I wonder also, her thought drifted to him. Will they be returned from Mandos’s Halls, strong and confident? Will I be just the wearied younger sister, tired and thin and brittle, lost in their shadow?

Elrond turned to face his mother-in-law. He knew his face and thoughts reflected his disbelief at her insecurities; yet he understood them completely. You apparently need a reminder of a few facts, and as your son I am determined that you will hear them now, he directed his thoughts to her with mock sternness. She smiled, indulging him, yet needing to hear his words. You alone of your siblings survived the First Age and the destruction of Beleriand. You alone succeeded in settling a peaceful realm, and becoming one of the Wise of Middle-earth, a leader of not only your own elvenkind, but of the elves of the Moriquendi. You married and raised a child. You have fought Sauron, and held on to the bitter end to see him defeated. You have seen through to the end all that you began; you have faced trials and tests and passed them all. You have used your powers wisely, and allowed them to depart from you gracefully and humbly. There is no shame in returning weary from a fight well fought.

He watched as tears glistened in her bright eyes, yet none dared slip down her cheeks. She leaned into him, drawing comfort from him, and she silently thanked him. He realized at that moment what a tower of strength Celeborn had been for her, and what she had left behind. Galadriel had radiated power, but supporting and girding her had been the limbs of a tree unbent by the strongest storms.

“The Havens of Avallónë!” called Círdan from his perch at the helm, and Elrond straightened, his eyes searching as the harbor came into view. He could see elves on the shoreline, but none were distinct yet to his eyes.

An excited murmur spread amongst all those on board at Círdan’s call. Elrond heard them moving about him, sensed when Erestor came to stand at his elbow, but he could not draw his gaze away from the shore. He felt a tug on his heart, distracting him, and he brushed it aside until the insistence of it forced him to look inside himself. Celebrían!

He cried her name to the wind, and felt the growing presence of her in his mind, until he thought he might swell and burst. So overwhelmed was he that he could not even properly communicate with her; that had been lost during her time in the orcs’ den and their long separation. Her Valar-aided support of him at Arwen’s wedding and the days after still paled in comparison to the restoration of their bond. Now he could hear her gentle voice flowing within him, welcoming him, loving him, and he was the one unable to respond.

He paced in the few feet of space he had at the rail, barely noticing the amused looks of the elves who stepped out of his way. Somewhere in the recess of his mind he heard Frodo asking Mithrandir if something was wrong with Master Elrond to make him act so, and Mithrandir’s answer that a long separation from his beloved wife was about to end.

There were many flashes of colors moving on the shore, but he heard a whisper in his mind that directed him to look elsewhere. “There!” he cried aloud, and Galadriel followed his thought to the beautiful elf who stood with twilight blue ribbons wound through her hair, crowned with a garland of white flowers.

“Celebrían,” breathed Galadriel, relief in her voice. Elrond realized her eyes were on others standing behind her daughter, and it took him only a moment to place the regal elf who rested one hand on his wife’s shoulder.

“Finarfin, High King of the Noldor,” he answered quietly.

“My adar,” agreed Galadriel, and she trembled.

Elrond’s eyes never left Celebrían as Círdan docked the ship at the main gangway. She had not ceased speaking to him, though he had not managed to say much in return. She had not asked about their sons, she focused only on him, and the pain of having to tell her was growing in him.

I know, her thought settled in his mind.

He jerked his head in wonder, and she smiled at him.

The gangway was secured and the gate at the rail opened. Mithrandir stepped forward and then held out his arm, beckoning them to go before him.

“It is time,” said Círdan from behind him. “The others are waiting for you.”

Elrond looked around him and saw that all were waiting for him and Galadriel to descend first. He took his mother-in-law by the arm and they stepped past Mithrandir, who followed with the hobbits. He tried to resist the urge to run, but when he saw Celebrían lift the edge of her skirt and begin to run to him, he abandoned all pretense of dignity. She flew into his arms as he stepped off the gangway.

“Elrond!” she cried, her delight and joy surrounding him. Then, to his amazement, he felt her feä, strong and confident, wrap about his own, encircling and girding it with power and strength that he would not have thought possible ever again. He was surprised and nearly overwhelmed, but Mithrandir’s words came back to him: she will be your strength. Humbled, Elrond hid nothing from her, erected no barriers against her, and let her strengthen him.

“Celebrían,” he finally said, drawing away from her. “Arwen. . ..”

“I know,” she said gently.

“Elladan and Elrohir have promised . . .”

“I know,” she interrupted. She pulled his head down and kissed him. “I love you, Elrond.”

Elrond fell mute, all his prepared words explaining the state of their family and how it had come to be that way now unneeded. He felt Celebrían’s interest in another reunion and turned with her to watch it. Celebrían was smiling at her grandfather, who held his only daughter and wept unashamedly at having her in his arms again. Galadriel looked comfortable there, and Elrond realized that she too had given up any pretense and in humility had allowed her parents to comfort and welcome her.

“Your adar,” began Elrond, but Celebrían put her fingers to his lips to silence him, and Elrond resolved to ask her how she knew all of these things at a later time. Then he suddenly realized that he knew nothing. Stepping back, he held Celebrían at arm’s length and studied her intently. She lifted her brow and winked, her eyes twinkling in suggestion, and he felt a surge of desire for her that startled him.

Her eyes were clear and her fëa was pure again, no longer shadowed by the evil that had marred both her body and her spirit. She was whole and healthy, more perfect than had been possible in marred Arda. He wanted to know more, but her thoughts interrupted him again. I am whole and I am your Celebrían, the wife you remember and longed for. Suffice it for today to say that it was for you that I held on through healing, so that when this day came I would be well and strong for you. It is enough, my love. I want to take you home now and chase away the weariness that shadows you.

Elrond realized at that moment that it was enough. There was much he wanted to see and people he wished to meet, but nothing sounded better than going home with his wife. He looked around them, watching as elves surrounded those who had disembarked and then melted away into the crowd. These folks were of his house, had been his responsibility, and they were going off to places he knew not, and he wondered when he would see them again.

“It is expected that new arrivals stay in Avallónë for a few weeks, to settle and learn the whereabouts of family and friends. Some will choose to stay in this city, others will move elsewhere on Tol Eressëa. Some will make their way to Tirion and Alqualondë, and other areas of Aman,” explained Celebrían.

Galadriel stepped towards them, and Celebrían ended her explanation by throwing her arms about her mother. Elrond moved forward obediently at Finarfin’s gesture, and found that the elf he had met on the battlefield in the War of Wrath had not changed in the ensuing ages. The same gentle voice and hands greeted him, and he was grateful that those hands had been available to Celebrían.

“Finally you have come,” said the king, forgoing all formalities. He introduced Elrond to Eärwen his wife but did not introduce the many others of his household that were gathered behind him. “There is time enough for that,” he said with twinkling eyes. “It was said once that many could claim you, and you will find that true here, Elrond Peredhel. Your lineage is traced back to each of the elven kindreds, and they along with the peredhel and even a stray human await their chance to meet you. But now you will go to the home Celebrían has prepared for you and the members of your house that will remain with you.” The king suddenly smiled. “Well, perhaps there is one you should greet now.”

Elrond had lost sight of Círdan upon landing, but saw the ancient elf when Finarfin stepped aside and inclined his head to a reunion happening behind them. He wondered who Círdan was embracing, for he was not the sort to show affection so readily. Círdan released the elf and turned. “Elrond!” he called, a smile on his face of pure joy.

Elrond was speechless. He knew the elf, yet he did not. The slender dark haired figure before him had gathered all the elves of Middle-earth to him, ruled them and inspired them, and died at Sauron’s hand before Elrond’s eyes. Gil-galad. Ereinion Gil-galad. He had been tired and weary; he had foreseen his own death and yet faced it bravely. This elf was innocent and carefree, perfect in form, with no evidence of the wounds and burns that had destroyed his hroä.

“Has he lost his tongue? Elrond is speechless? I did not think it possible!” said Gil-galad to Círdan, his tenor voice melodic.

Elrond began to bow, to drop to his knee before his king, but Gil-galad grasped his arms and held him upright. “So tired and weary, but you won at last,” he said softly, and then he kissed Elrond’s cheek and wrapped his arms about him. Unable to form coherent words, Elrond just held on to this beloved figure of his past and let Ereinion speak instead. “I am nearly as lost as you,” Gil-galad admitted after a moment. “I have not been long out of Mandos’s Halls and am still learning my way.”

“In all my thoughts of elvenhome, I did not allow myself to hope that you would be here,” said Elrond finally. “Though one would think that knowing Glorfindel would have made me consider that you might have also returned.”

“Where is your shadow?” asked Ereinion, glancing around them.

“In Middle-earth, with my children,” replied Elrond hoarsely, his voice nearly breaking.

Gil-galad’s face softened as he considered Elrond’s words and the pain Elrond could not disguise as he spoke. “You will find peace and healing here, Elrond. I see you have already found your wife. I am glad you finally took my advice and married her.”

Elrond felt Celebrían’s arms slip around his waist, and he turned so she could press against his side. Her touch strengthened him immediately, and he was again amazed at how strong she had become. “Now it is time to for us to take our people home. I am looking forward to meeting your hobbits,” she said firmly.

Elrond looked up in surprise at those words, and then turned to see that indeed some of those of his house were waiting for him. He saw the weariness in Frodo’s eyes and the light of adventure that shone through Bilbo’s, though he was nearly dozing on his feet, and anxiousness in the eyes of other elves born in Middle-earth who did not have direct kin present. The contentedness of being needed washed over him, and he smiled at them. Celebrían stepped forward as hostess, as if she had never been apart from them, welcoming them to the house of Elrond in Tol Eressëa. Many a tense face was eased as each felt his place established, and Elrond realized his own was included. Celebrían had established his place as well.

Elrond watched as Bilbo’s eyes lit up when Celebrían turned her attention to them.

“Lady Celebrían,” greeted the old hobbit, and he bowed with a sudden grace that belied his aged body.

“Bilbo and Frodo Baggins,” she replied, giving each her hand in turn. “We are so glad you have come. Food and rest await you, after just one more short journey this day by carriage.”

They were interrupted by the clear call of a horn, and turning to the sound Elrond saw two magnificent figures approaching. Silence fell over the crowd, and even those who did not know who the two were recognized them as Valar in their hearts. Elrond instantly bowed before them

“Rise!”

Elrond looked up as the herald of Manwë commanded. Manwë and Varda had stopped before the White Tree Celeborn that bloomed in the courtyard of the Havens. They beckoned Mithrandir to them.

“Olórin,” said Manwë in a deep voice that Elrond felt in his heart as much as he heard it. “Welcome home. Well done, my good and faithful servant, steward of Middle-earth and emissary of Ilúvatar himself. Welcome home, my friend.”

Mithrandir had remained bowed on one knee before the King of the Valar, but he met the gaze of Manwë with joy. Manwë drew him to his feet, and Gandalf the White, Mithrandir, faded before their eyes. No longer embodied as an old man, he was suddenly ageless and more beautiful than any elf. Varda took his simple white robe and replaced it with a flowing mantle of some weave Elrond did not recognize. Then his view was blocked by others similar in appearance who surrounded Olórin, greeting him, including one clothed as a female who met Elrond’s gaze with a look filled with both joy and sadness.

“That is Melian, mother of Lúthien,” said Celebrían softly. “She came to welcome Olórin home, but also to see you, son of Elwing. I am to bring you to the Gardens of Lórien, where she resides, once you are settled.”

Elrond nodded to the Maia in acknowledgment, and she held his gaze for a moment longer before turning back to the reunion before her.

“Will we see Gandalf again?” asked Bilbo.

Elrond rested a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder, guiding him to the waiting carriage. “I do not know if you will see Gandalf again, but I think we will see much of Olórin.” He smiled at the hobbits. “Come, I am as curious as you to see our new home.”

* * *

Elrond looked at the long line of carriages and wagons following them on the winding road that led out of the city and into the hills. A particular carriage caught his eye, for it followed after a gap in the line, and seemed to lead its own entourage.

“Is that not King Finarfin’s device on that carriage?” he finally asked.

Celebrían smiled. “He hoped that Galadriel would wish to come home with him and Eärwen, but expected she would wish to spend at least the first few days with us. His claim might be greater than my own, for he has been apart from her far longer, but I said that I too hoped for my naneth to be with me.” She laughed lightly. “I think Naneth will need more than a few days to slip back into life in the Noldor Court.”

Across from them, Bilbo had nodded off on Frodo’s shoulder, and even Frodo was dozing. Elrond let out a long slow breath and felt some of his weariness release his soul and dissipate from him. He felt Celebrían’s fea surround him and surrendered all of his mind to her. Do you feel the change within you already, my love?

He realized he did. It was difficult to describe the change, but he tried. I feel unguarded, or perhaps rather like there is no reason to be guarded. Evil does not reside here.

Earwen says evil has scarred even this land, but it is difficult for those of us who have lived in Middle-earth to see it, so slight it seems. But you have identified what it took me long to articulate: there is a peace here that runs deep. Never did I realize how on guard we all lived until my soul was truly free.

Elrond glanced at the hobbits, but both appeared to be sleeping. He turned slightly so he could see into Celebrían’s eyes. She looked up at him, and he could read the peace and joy of her soul in her gaze. He felt her hand on his cheek, her thumb brushing against his lip. Tears sprang to his eyes and he blinked them away. “You really are well,” he whispered.

She pulled his head down and kissed him. “I am well and whole and healed, and soon you will be too.”

She threaded her arm through his and relaxed against him, her head tucked beneath his chin, and utter contentment spread through him.

The rolling hills gave way to a deep valley. A river ran through it, falling through a series of three waterfalls and disappearing below ground, rising to the surface further downstream before emptying into the bay. A large house sat on a plateau between the first and second falls, with outbuildings behind it and on the level of the lowest falls, a large field. An easy road led to the house.

“It is not Imladris, of course, nor is it meant to be,” said Celebrían softly. “But it is peaceful, and there is much to remind us of home. Finarfin showed this land to me. There are other areas on the mainland that are also beautiful, one that Eärendil in particular thinks you might like, but Gil-galad and I thought it best that we start here and let you decide where you wish to lead later.”

The carriage stopped and Celebrían pushed open the door and jumped lightly to the ground. She held her hand out to him and when he took it, she led him forward. They stood together before the house and Elrond knew it was home.

“We have arranged only to have the main house built. There is much room to grow, should we wish to expand. If some things look familiar,” she said laughing, “do not be surprised. The main architects are well known to you, for they helped to build Imladris. They were so glad to hear you were coming!”

Elrond was nearly speechless. Elves were disembarking from the carriages, milling about the grounds, but all waited while Celebrían led him inside. He stopped though, when she would have taken him to their chambers. “I would see Bilbo and Frodo settled first,” he said.

Celebrían smiled and took him by the hand, pulling him with her. “Our chambers are in this hall,” she said. “The hobbits’ suite is here.”

An elf had led Bilbo and Frodo to their rooms. They were on the ground floor, with a round door that led into a cunningly built ‘hobbit hole’. Their rooms opened on to their own garden, which must have reminded them of Bag End, for they were exclaiming over it.

“How did you know they were coming, much less all of this about hobbit homes?” asked Elrond incredulously.

Celebrían grinned, clearly enjoying his reaction as well as that of the hobbits, who had come back in and were gaping openmouthed at her. “I will keep my secrets,” she teased, but then admitted, “at least the few I have! I mostly do not know. The information was sent by messenger from Eonwë.”

Elrond saw the hobbits had been well provided for, and as Celebrían spoke he realized such a welcome had been provided to all. He let her lead him back to their chambers. Tears came to his eyes again at how well she knew him. A writing desk sat before a sunny window, and from their bed they would feel the morning sun upon their faces. The carved wood of the headboard was filled with scenes of their life in Middle-earth, and his vision blurred and his breath caught in his throat as he traced his finger along the design.

“Elrond?” she asked softly.

Through his tears, he looked down into that long missed and much loved face. “I have longed for you, but the ache had grown dull for I could not have survived it otherwise. Now that I am in your presence, now that I am receiving your love again, I realize how much I have missed you,” he said hoarsely, his voice breaking.

She embraced him, wrapping her arms and her spirit around him. “I love you, Elrond, and you are mine,” she said fiercely. “Nothing will separate us again.” She drew back and studied him. “You need to rest, my love, then I will have dinner brought to the room and a bath prepared.”

She helped him undress, then led him to the bed, settling him comfortably among the pillows. She removed her gown but left her chemise in place. She sat down beside him and he slipped his fingers under the shoulder strap, brushing it from her shoulder. The scar on her shoulder was gone. She understood immediately what he was doing, and in one fluid motion she pulled the garment over her head. He smoothed a hand over her flank, barely touching her, and she covered his hand and pressed it firmly against her. He took a deep shuddering breath, relief filling him that the pain was gone, the wounds were healed. He looked at her naked form, beautiful, and for once the image of her battered body did not haunt his mind..

She moved behind him, her hands starting with his head and hair, releasing the strands from their braids and combing through them with her fingers, massaging his scalp and face as she worked. His neck and shoulders were rubbed until no knots remained, and he did not know when she maneuvered him into a lying position, he knew only that he was boneless and without strength when she finished with his toes. She wrapped herself around him then, holding him, and she kissed away the tears that still fell from his eyes. She did not ask why he wept, and he did not think he could explain it. Yet for each tear that fell, a grain of weariness was washed away, and a strand of his soul freed.

The End

* * * * *

Author’s notes:

The only Stone left in the North was the one in the Tower of Emyn Beraid that looks towards the Gulf of Lune. That was guarded by the Elves, and though we never knew it, it remained there, until Círdan put it aboard Elrond’s ship when he left. But we are told that it was unlike the others and not in accord with them; it looked only to the Sea. Elendil set it there so that he could look back with Straight Sight and see Eressëa in the vanished West.

Appendix A, footnote 2, LotR (Thank you to Karri for helping me to locate this passage).

There King Finrod Felagund, hastening from the south, was cut off from his people and surrounded with small company in the Fen of Serech; and he would have been slain or taken, but Barahir came up with the bravest of his men and rescued him, and made a wall of spears about him; and they cut their way out of the battle with great loss. Thus Felagund escaped, and returned to his deep fortress of Nargothrond; but he swore an oath of abiding friendship and aid in every need to Barahir and all his kin, and in token of his vow he gave to Barahir his ring.

Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin, The Silmarillion

The idea that Aragorn returned the ring to Finrod via Galadriel borrowed with permission from Perelleth (see her ‘Droplets’ tale ‘The Ring Goes West’)

Thus in after days, what by the voyages of ships, what by lore and star-craft, the kings of Men knew that the world was indeed made round, and yet the Eldar were permitted still to depart and to come to the Ancient West and to Avallónë, if they would. Therefore the loremasters of Men said that a Straight Road must still be, for those that were permitted to find it. And they taught that, while the new world fell away, the old road and the path of the memory of the West still went on, as it were a mighty bridge invisible that passed through the air of breath and of flight (which were bent now as the world was bent), and traversed Ilmen which flesh unaided cannot endure, until it came to Tol Eressëa, the Lonely Isle, and maybe even beyond, to Valinor, where the Valar still dwell and watch the unfolding of the story of the world.

The Akallabeth, The Silmarillion

And these isles were strung as a net in the Shadowy Seas from the north to the south, before Tol Eressëa, the Lonely Isle, is reached by one sailing west. Hardly might any vessel pass between them, for in the dangerous sounds the waves sighed for ever upon dark rocks shrouded in mist.

Of the Sun and Moon and the Hiding of Valinor, The Silmarillion

But either in his dreams or out of them, he could not tell which, Frodo heard a sweet singing running in his mind; a song that seemed to come like a pale light behind a grey rain-curtain, and growing stronger to turn the veil all to glass and silver, until at last it was rolled back, and a far green country opened before him under a swift sunrise.

Fog on the Barrow Downs, FotR .