~ Chapter 59 ~

And on the evening of Midsummer Aragorn Arathorn’s son, and Arwen daughter of Elrond went to the fair hill, Cerin Amroth, in the midst of the land, and they walked unshod on the undying grass with Elanor and niphredil about their feet.  And there upon the hill they looked east to the Shadow and west to the Twilight, and they plighted their troth and were glad.

LOTR: Appendix A: Here Follows a Part of the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen

~oOo~

The journey to the hidden vale of the Elves is not long, should it be counted in days, but, to me, it seems I have traveled an Age of the World. 

Our small company of Rangers and my lord's family made fair time in their travels, they tell me.  We went horseback and by road, but I am no great rider and by the end of the first week was sore and weary. 

My daughter, on the other hand, seemed to take to the journey as were each day a grand adventure.  And I doubt not she found it so. For she had her mother always within call and she sat afore her father on his grey-coated steed and took in the trail.  My lord borrowed his wife’s nursing shawl and secured his daughter to him and, upon her insistence, pressed her cloth poppet against her with one hand while he held the reins with the other.  At first, she clutched at him, wrapping her fingers about one of his.  But soon she grew easy with the sway of the horse's gait and leaned forward as far as the cloth would allow, babbling, laughing, and kicking her feet, or leaning back against her father's belly and drinking in the world with her wide eyes as she idly pulled at her poppet's hair and listened to the soft sounds of her father singing to her.

Ever and anon she brightened and pointed out somewhat that caught her eye, be it the bright flash of a bird across our path, the nodding of boughs heavy with blossoms, or the hawk that circled overhead.  Then she cried out to her father, and he dipped his head to see where she pointed and share a word.  The smile that shone down on her was a thing of quiet wonder and she returned it brightly.   Atimes we halted briefly for my lord to fulfill his daughter’s whims, from gathering the flowers she desired or stilling her tears upon the discovery she had dropped her favored toy some ways back.  We pressed on, but Elenir was eager to learn of her father and his world, and he was as willing to teach it. 

But when the sun set, and we stopped and huddled about our small fire, it was her mother she sought.  Then, she wished only to curl upon my lap while we ate.  There, once he saw me struggling to manage it, her father broke off and handed me small pieces of flat crackers, dried mushrooms, and dried meats so that I might place them in our daughter’s fingers and eat of them myself. There, with my free arm about her and my head inclined to hers, I chanted soft songs our foremothers wove of the air above our cradles and she hugged her poppet close to her breast, fighting the heaviness of her eyes as she nursed.  At these times there was naught to hear above our voices but the hiss and pop of the fire.  The men who guarded us in our journey were silent as they sat about us, the flames bringing a light to their faces and eyes as they watched me ease my daughter into sleep. 

To one who was used to home and bed, the journey was hard, and I nigh despaired of matching my hardier kin who had lived off the Wild ere they settled near the Blue Mountains.  But, for naught else, at the least I can say I have seen the Wild with my own eyes; slept upon its hard earth, eaten off its thin bounty, and climbed its sharp hills.  It is beautiful, in its own, untamed way, and as equally intemperate and unforgiving.  The men watched the horizon, their tension seen in the glitter of their eyes and the swiftness of their response should somewhat give them alarm. 

My lord spoke little to me and when he did it was of the care he provided his wife and daughter.  When not occupied with Elenir or tending to my wounds, much of his thought seemed to be on the road.  When not with his daughter, his look was oft as grim and alert as that of his men.  Yet, when night fell, my lord turned his back to the wind and rain and, drawing my arm under his own, wrapped our blankets about us three, his thumb playing idly upon the hairs at the nape of my neck, and left the watching to others.  So we spent the nights, keeping Elenir warm between us.

Thus the days proceeded.  We road upon paths beneath the shadows of hills crowned with ancient walls of stone and ruined towers until, after crossing the Last Bridge, the earth fell away and I saw, for the first under the rays of the setting sun, the great house of my lord's fostering. 

Others have described its beauty.  I have not the words, for it seemed a golden light shown shimmering deep in the valley, made of mist and sun and magic.  Tall were its halls and high were its paths, and great was the water's roar from even far away.  My lord sent no messenger ahead, but plodded along, now setting an easy pace. The hair prickled upon my neck and along my arms.  From the corner of my eye I caught the flash of a fair face, dark hair, and eyes that glimmered beneath the leaves.  Yet, when my head whipped around to look more closely, it was gone.  It seems we were being watched, but the men made little of it, though I might stare between the boles of the trees as we pass, uncertain of what I had just seen. 

When we arrived and rode beneath a high arch as were they trees of stone that stretched across the path, we were not unexpected.  For there in the courtyard that opened to windows and doors, gardens and pathways, I found waiting the Master of Imladris and those of his household who must know my lord.  There, too, I saw for the first with my own eyes, Arwen called Undómiel, the Lady of Rivendell.  There she waits amongst the folk of her father’s House, silent, with a bright, clear stone upon her breast that catches the westering sun and her hair unbound and laying as a dark cloak upon her back.  I need no introduction, nor my lord to point her out, for as soon as my gaze lit upon on her, I knew her for her inability to look away from me.   

There they stand, the mighty among the Eldar-race, fair and unspeaking and grave, beneath the lengthening shadows of the mountains. 

With but a slight motion of his hand, my lord calls us to a halt.  He dismounts, and, alone, comes to the midst of the flagstone expanse between Elder and Latter-born.  There, to the murmurs and amazed looks of those gathered here, the Lord of the Dúnedain lowers himself to his knees and makes himself humble. 

In the last, my lord may have opened his heart to me, but had I thought the years had spun out the tale of his love for the Lady, then I was badly mistaken.  For there, on his knees and with emptiness around him, his look is of a man in the moment of shock when the blade is withdrawn and he knows himself overthrown.  He seems to me to be pained with an open wound as fresh as the day it was first delivered upon him.  I pity him.  I know the fire in which he burns. 

And I know now, too, the Lady suffers.  She had not attempted to hide her examination of us.  There her eyes touched upon the fading lines marring the skin of my brow and cheek.  And when my lord dropped to his knees, it seemed she stumbled where she stood as had she just truly seen him as he was.  Her gaze then searched among my lord’s men for a child I knew she would not find.  It seems that news from the Wilds of Eriador travels more slowly than have we.  Mayhap she had recovered and stands regarding us solemnly from among the people of her father’s House, but I know not, for I find I can no longer bear to look upon her.  Surely, we cannot be welcome here and we have made the long journey for naught.

Only when the Master of Rivendell steps from among his folk can I breathe freely, for his face, though grave, holds naught of censure.  Indeed, he stands afore my lord and touches upon his shoulder with a gentle hand. 

"You have returned upon the very wings of the storm, Aragorn Dúnadan," he says.  "Will you not rise?"

My lord rises from the stone to look upon the Master.  Naught is said in words, but I think my lord feels much of gratitude and relief, for he clasps the hand that rests upon his shoulder. 

He calls to us, and my daughter is lifted from my arms and I helped to dismount.  We go to him, my daughter and I, she holding onto my fingers and looking about her with wide eyes.  The clop of hoof, clanking of metal and groaning of leather gear sounds soft against the roar of the river as my lord's men dismount and lead our steeds away.  To where, I know not, but it seems they know the way well. 

At that, our hosts gather about my lord as he passes, each to say a word or touch upon his arm in welcome.  Long the Lady's glance lingers upon my lord and he cannot bear it.  She does not touch him, and should she give him but one word, I think he might bleed. 

My daughter walks by my side as we follow my lord and Master Elrond, clinging with her small hand to my fingers.  But when it comes to making our way through the crowd of these strangers my daughter turns to me, clutching at my skirts. 

"Mamil," she says, her voice high and pleading.  She raises her arms to me and, my arm yet in its sling, I go down to a knee so that she may clamber into my hold. 

Had I more the mind for it, I would stare at the gardens and rooms we pass, for we come at the height of spring and I find the sensibility of the Elves much foreign to me.  For the eaves of the forest press hard upon terraces and porches and chambers, such that their branches roof rooms of little more than one wall or two atimes.  And all open upon the rushing mist of the river as it falls from the heights.  I dare not look too far down, for, as we climb, the mountain tumbles below us.  My daughter might beg to scramble up the paths on her own, but I refuse, and, after some fussing, she relents.  For she is tired and, I think, once she allows me to hold her, would rather rest her head upon my neck and let her feet dangle. 

We come now to a strange chamber.  I know not were we standing in a common hall or in the Master's own private rooms, for there is no door that may be closed, but the furnishings are of a rich make and comfortable.  Here we stop, and the Master turns his grave face upon my lord and speaks.

"Do not doubt of your welcome, my son," he says, and my lord bows his head.

"I had no right to expect it. I have not yet met your conditions," my lord says, but this is greeted with a shake of the head and a frown. 

"Mayhap, but I trust you would not test its limits without necessity.  I will not argue the point.  But, come, take some refreshment, for I know your travels have not allowed it." 

Here Master Elrond lays afore us finely made white cakes and pours a bright wine into cups of a make I know not, for they seem as leaves frozen into fair form.  I suppose I must become accustomed to much that is strange to me.  The cup my lord places in my hand and I drink of it, following his example.  A look of startlement must have come upon my face at the taste, for the Master smiles faintly upon me.

"Will you not make me known to your lady, Aragorn?"

"Aye."  My lord's hand comes to brush upon my arm.  "May I present to thee, Lord Elrond, my wife, Nienelen, Lady of the Dúnedain," he says stiffly. 

Master Elrond's look measures me, and I feel as a small hare beneath the gaze of a hawk.  It is not that I fear him, but his gaze is deep with many lives of men and, by its power, perceives me in ways I know not.  I swallow the wine quickly and pray it shall not muddle my thoughts and voice.   It is far more potent than I have e'er drunk afore. 

"Lady Nienelen," he calls me, the silk of his voice giving my name new meaning.  "Thou art welcome in my house," he says, bowing to me formally. 

"My thanks to thee, Lord Elrond," I say, offering him a reverence. 

"This is not your son," he says to me, puzzling at the child who blinks at him wordlessly from under my chin.  I know I am expected to answer, but I have not the heart. 

"No," my lord replies.  At the Master's glance he goes on, saying in a flat voice, "My son is no more."  His face is dull, a grim, blank look I cannot bear, and I turn away.

Instead, I look upon the master of this house, on whom we are now dependent.  The elf-lord’s eyes are as a deep well.  Drained of will, he seems for a brief moment, and then he clasps my lord's shoulder, drawing him near. 

"Come then," he says and turns his gaze upon my child, "tell me of this little one you have brought to the home of your childhood." 

"Here you see my daughter, your kin from afar," my lord says, his voice gentling at the touch of one he had once called father.  "She was born in my absence and I have just come to know her, or I would have sent notice of her birth.  She is named Elenir."

Oblivious to the scrutiny she receives, my daughter has fallen into a drowse as we talk, sucking on her thumb and pressing her face into the base of my neck. 

"Elenir," Elrond repeats and, stooping to see her better, brushes the back of his fingers above her cheek.  "Bright, indeed," he says and smiles softly at the girl, though his eyes seem to see through the mists of time.  "And so now, Aragorn, you will know the grief of a daughter's father." 

He straightens and turns his smile upon my lord.  "Your heart will no longer be your own, my son, for she will wind it about her small fingers, and you will be helpless to deny her aught she asks."

Acknowledging himself already defeated by his small foe, my lord lets loose a quiet huff of laughter. 

"You are weary with grief, my son.  Your coming was looked for and the rooms that were your mother's are ready.  I do have terms, should you have come to beg safe shelter in my house, but I shall leave it to you to determine how best they may be met.  We will talk but a little now.  Take your rest, after.  We will speak more upon the morrow."

My lord bows but is slow to raise his eyes.  He toys with his cup and seems unsure what next to do.  But he then sets it swiftly aside, for the Master of Imladris has opened his arms to my lord.  They embrace as do men who have seen much loss and would not seek yet more.  Harsh words may yet be spoken.  Hard questions may yet require an answer.  But it seems no words can unbind them, for the Master’s hand comes to clasp my lord’s head to him and holds him close in his grasp, as he were his child too long separated from him. 

When he releases my lord, Master Elrond bows his good-night to me and my child.   “Forgive me, Lady Nienelen, but I must ask your forbearance for just a little.”

With that, he touches upon my lords’ arm and leads him away. 

I am not alone long, indeed, just long enough finish the cakes and offer my daughter some.  I dare not eat too quickly for my unpracticed belly, but Elenir brightens and quickly devours the pieces I pull from the cakes for her, stuffing her face and leaving her hands sticky where she reaches out for more.    

"Come," my lord says when he returns.  His face is solemn, but he gives me no sign of his thoughts.  Taking my cup from me and ushering me afore him, he then leads us through the halls, through twists and turn, terraces and balconies, until I am hopelessly lost. 

At last we come to a short flight of stairs that opens upon a terrace.  The river runs beyond its balustrade and o’er our heads nod branches laden with pink and white flowers of apple and pear. 

While there is food for an even’s meal and sweet water to drink waiting for us, there is but a single couch, and upon its surface there is just the room for one to lie upon it.  ‘Tis by this I know I will not be sleeping next to my lord.  And true it is, for once he found linens, pillows, and a blanket of good, soft wool in a chest in the adjoining rooms, he begged my forgiveness, pleading the cause of tasks which needed his attention until late, and took his leave of us. 

~oOo~