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No Man's Child  by anoriath

~ Chapter 61 ~

 

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

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

ROTK: Many Partings

~oOo~

 

My daughter tugs at my hair, mixing both mortal and elven words in a bright babble that makes me smile as I carry her from the Hall of Fire.  She needs naught but an occasional glance or word of assent from me to continue her incomprehensible tale of some event from the day.  Here, she, at least, thrives.  It seems her limbs lengthen, and her feet grow more sure most every day.  She does not cling as tightly and will abandon herself to her amusements more readily. Oft her immortal playmates take her dancing beneath the stars during the cool summer nights and there she leaps after them and claps her hands in delight.  She, at the least, lights their faces with smiles for her antics. 

Our hosts' tolerance for her capering about the pillars and chasing them around the hearth seems to have no limit, but I have mine.  Once the lords and ladies of Rivendell enter the Hall, they will begin the playing and singing of songs from far Elvenhome and tonight it is time for Elenir to retire elsewhere. 

Most oft, in our evens in the Hall of Fire, Elenir plops herself into some random, welcoming lap and stares entranced at the singer.  I, in turn, wait for the even to end.  For oft does the Lady’s gaze turn to my daughter, and, clear it is, it brings her no joy.  It takes not much wit to know where her thoughts tend.  My own thoughts run not to the rising of tall, bright walls of carven stone, nor the pounding of hooves set to a hunt beneath stars that outshone the moon of their singing, but to the sudden stillness that comes upon folk should I turn a corner and appear unannounced, the hollow windows that are the eyes of the daughter of the Lord of Rivendell, and the breaking of her father’s heart. 

Tonight, even the elves cannot get Elenir to settle.  I could not be more grateful for the reprieve. So, as we walk, my daughter croons and yanks at my hair in attempt to mimic the harp player whom we have left to his now fully attentive audience. 

She is not one to remain within the confines of our small rooms for too long, my daughter, in this she is much as her hosts.  Instead, we walk the paths and gardens, there finding faces that smile in delight and somewhat of longing at seeing a creature so young.  She lacks not for companionship, and I envy my daughter the ease of her youth, for I find my days long here in the hidden Vale. Now that I have little to occupy my thoughts, the days weigh heavily upon me.  I have little desire for aught, neither speech nor attention of another creature, nor the singing that drifted atimes o’er the valley. 

It seems even the great House of Imladris is not untouched by the troubles that befell the North.  There have been apologies for the spareness of their table and unvaried nature of the fare laid upon it, but I have little I can offer in response beyond the timeworn courtesies of a guest.  Peppery eggs stuffed with herbs and leeks, chilled soups of berries and cream, white fish in tart sauces, pies of venison and salted pork, mushrooms fried in butter, spiced honey walnuts, roasted roots, and greens of more variety than I had seen afore are set afore me.  Striking in their beauty and the craft of their makers, but, to me, they taste of naught but dust.  Now I have no need to go hungry, I find my stomach dull and wayward in its appetites.

But this is not my house and to refuse to partake of what is offered would give great offense.  And so, I put aside thoughts of the privation I have left behind so I may be courteous to my companions at table.  I eat.  I sleep.  I care for my daughter.  And, to my shame, atimes even that is too great a burden, and the effort to rise from my bed overcomes what little will I have left.  Oft do my thoughts turn to the Lady Gilraen and her loneliness, with only her young son and the mortal memories of a love too quickly lost for company.  I understand, now, the wearing burden of her care and wish I had known her.

In truth, I know not why I complain.  My hosts are gracious in all things.  The promised lady did indeed seek me out.  There she found me sitting upon the floor.  A feast of high proportions, great haunches of venison, puddings and cakes did Elenir and I conjure from the cups and tray my lord had brought with food to break our morn’s fast.  I do not recall my son playing thusly, and I wonder at the lessons taught my daughter by our seasons of hunger.  But I do not fault her for it.  How could I when her face lights with giddy laughter when I set the cups to dancing about the tray to my tuneless whistling in poor imitation of our people's pipes?

I thought mayhap the lady would look upon us with disdain, me dusty from travel, disheveled with sleep, and yet still bearing the mark of claws and teeth, the Lady of the Dúnedain sitting amidst the leaves that drift through the chambers of Imladris. But, instead, her face brightened, and she came swiftly to join us, and we made merry with what little we had.  Later, she brought playthings of better make and I learned her name, Tithiniel.  Each time she came, she brought somewhat new, and I wondered at it.

I want for naught but occupation for my hands, and my lord.  In their stead, my thoughts have too much to keep them busy.  For few among even the great of the Elder-born dared face the Witch-King, of old our enemy.  Fey and bright were their eyes.  Wild was their hair whipped by a wind strong with the scent of turning leaves and the snow gathering upon the tips of the Misty Mountains.  There few they gathered in the courtyard, the elven-lords who mounted and prepared ride out.  For the Nine are abroad and the Witch-king of Angmar, he who is the Butcher of Umbar and the Lord of the Nazgul, has returned to the North. 

Ah, but I fear for my lord and his Rangers. ‘Tis said no man can hinder their captain.   And yet it will come to them to shield the folk of the North from this threat. Mortal flesh seems a poor weapon against the wraiths of that great shadowed land we name not.  I think my fears much reflected in the Lady's mind, for her face was grim and eyes bleak.  

Pinpricks of silver dot the glimpses of the even’s sky o’erhead and, soon, Elenir will begin to yawn and fall silent.  She is heavy in my arms and we make our way slowly.  There is nowhere to be and no need for hurry.  We meet few others in the halls and terraces, for most of the peoples of Rivendell are attending their lord.  But, as we pass through winding halls, light voices draw my eye and I blink in surprise and swiftly look away. 

Beneath the lantern hanging above the entrance to the Master and his family's private rooms, I have caught a glimpse of the Lady of Rivendell with her dark hair bound in intricate braids.  In the warm pool of light, there her head inclines and she is speaking in low tones with Tithiniel, whom I have trusted. 

I turn and quicken my feet but cannot outrun the image of the Lady pressing somewhat into her companion's hands.  Their glance when my footsteps and my daughter's voice interrupt them is swift and keen.  I cannot shake the feeling they were speaking of me, for the lilt of their voices ceased hard upon my passage nearby.    

I suppose I could not have made it more plain to the Lady that I know of my lord's attachment to her.  I wish her no ill, but I could not bear the lady's glance upon me and were she to speak, I know not how or should I be able to answer.

The smiles I offer to Elenir have become thin and I cannot give her my full attention for the thoughts that run through my head.  Had it been some prick of conscience that stilled their voices?  I sigh.  Sure it is my lord should have begged my forgiveness for bringing me hither.  Not only have I no place amongst these gracious but foreign folk, but now, it seems, naught of my own.  Ever my words and movements are under scrutiny, even, it becomes clear, in my own chambers. 

What has Tithiniel told her lady of me, I wonder?  What would the Lady know of the wife of her errant lover?  Intrigue seems as a sticky net that draws ever tighter about me and I have no safe place to which to retreat to consider my path.  A last refuge from danger, my lord called this place.  Aye, but it affords little shelter from unfriendly eyes, and my neck and shoulders bear the tension of being ever watchful. 

At last we reach our rooms; my daughter having fallen silent and lain her head down as my moving feet rocked her upon my shoulder.  Her eyes are only half-closed, and she murmurs sleepily when I lay her upon the couch we share. 

"Mamil," she says, and I sit beside her so I might draw my hand through her soft curls.  "I want to see Atto." 

I marvel at what must have reminded her of her father, so short their time had been together.  "Nay, little one, he is not here, but you shall see him when he returns.  Would you like that?"

She nods and then presses her face more deeply to the pillows.  I am smoothing the covers about her shoulders and have yet to kiss her farewell to her slumbers when I hear a voice calling to me softly. 

"Lady?" I hear, and I know the voice.  It is Tithiniel and she stands just beyond the door.  It seems she followed upon my heels, her light footsteps mingled with mine so as to be disguised. 

When I go to the door, I find her eyes take me in with some slight wariness to their glance. 

"She sleeps?" she asks, peering beyond my shoulder and into the room where the still form of my daughter lies.

"Aye, I think her well-worn from the day," I say and step back from the door.

"Ah, then, lady, should you allow me, I shall watch her," she says, entering, and I wonder at the long purse she carries.  Gaily stitched it is with bright threads upon a black cloth and silken tassels hang from the cords that close it.  "Go and enjoy the music, you have had so little chance to hear it." 

She must see the perplexity with which I fix upon what she carries, for her brows rise.  "Ah, I bring you a gift.  You have not asked for it, but I know you restless." 

With that, she hands me the purse and goes to my daughter, the ends of her unbound hair brushing the cloth as she looks upon her.  Tugging upon its mouth, I find a dark wood deep within the purse.  Black it is as the Lady's hair and as fine, and I withdraw the spindle from its wrappings.  Carefully balanced and finely engraved, I spin it upon the point of my finger and can find no fault with it. 

Tithiniel seems satisfied that Elenir rests peacefully and needs no other care.   "Upon the morrow, my Lady says you may take what roving you desire.  There is wool, and flax too, ready to be spun to linen.  But I would be happy to teach you the way of working with the cocoons of the silkworm, should you like."

My doubt must play across my face and, even should it not, I have said naught of thanks. 

"You may visit the weaving hall as oft as you like and take whatever you need," says Tithiniel, and then smiles, laughing and pushing upon my shoulders gently.  "Go enjoy the music, lady.  For you are weary past speech yourself and I think you shall find refreshment in the hall."

And so I go, leaning upon her kindness yet again.  And though I can give myself up to its beauty unreservedly, not having to worry about where my daughter rests and whom she pesters with her playing, I find, rather than losing myself in the tales of times long ago, I spend my time wondering how much of what I now have, dress and bedclothes, cup and plaything, have been of the Lady Arwen's giving. 

~oOo~

 





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