~ Chapter 69 ~

“There were fifteen Chieftains, before the sixteenth and last was born, Aragorn II, who became again King of both Gondor and Arnor. ‘Our King, we call him; and when he comes north to his house in Annúminas restored and stays for a while by Lake Evendim”

LOTR: Appendix B: The Tale of Years

~oOo~

~ TA 3019 12^th day of Nénimë. 

To Nienelen, wife to our lord Aragorn son of Arathorn, Lady of the Dúnedain, your most humble servant, Pelara, sends you these brief and swiftly written tidings. 

Dearest my lady, forgive me my graceless writing in this letter, but the time is short and I have not enough ears for Elder Bachor and Ranger Halbarad and my father and this letter of the once.  

Elder Bachor begs me tell you he has indeed spent much of his family’s coin on grain and seed and other foodstuffs from the folk of Chetwood and Bree.  Our folk returned with it just ere last winter’s sowing of the fields.  He warns that things there are not as they once were, now our lord’s men have withdrawn their watch.  It is not like we shall be welcome again or should it be wise we attempt it soon.  But, I would have you know this at least: we shall have enough to last us through the winter and into the spring, should the Valar be so kind, should the hallmoot agree to continue the ration, and we not have much more unrest. 

Ranger Halbarad has most like already given you the particulars, and my father reminds me not to say too much for fear of this letter being waylaid in its course to you, but we discovered those who burned our lords’ house and nigh you and your daughter in it. They have come to the end they deserved.  In the course of things, we have learned, too, of men eager to stir up old misgivings amongst our folk.  ‘Twas not hard to tell who they were, as they disappeared from the Angle as soon as we learned of them.  They had mingled in with others come from along our south borders and made claim to a place in the Angle as true men of the Dúnedain, but now it comes to it, we could find none to vouch they’d seen or heard of them ere fleeing hither. Now we have news of the Lord Saruman’s betrayal, I doubt not he’d sent them.  I wish now we’d hung those men in the market square and left them to rot there as a warning to any who might think to listen to them as are spies sent among us.  

Master Lorn no longer sits on the Council, and good riddance to him.  He had taken most of the men in after Bachor disavowed them and some of the muck-spouts were under his oath to begin.  Aye, he’s been canny and laid low, biding his time with naught we could trace back to him.  We have no evidence against him. Had I my way, I’d call a vote to exile him myself, had we a decent chance at it.  But there are still a good number of our folk who remain loyal to him.  Still, we’ll see to it he’ll not make a move unwatched, no matter how much he complains of it.

They are not fools, the folk of the Angle.  Should the traitor Saruman not already have taken notice of empty lands hereabouts and the absence of our lord’s men within them, it is sure not to be long.  Our folk speak of naught but fears of what more may come from the south of our lands.  You have but to note who is absent from among our lord’s men when you meet them in Rivendell to reason out what steps have been taken.  

But be assured we are all well.  Do not worry for us.  We have lasted this long.  We are determined we shall hold out a little longer and hope our lord successful in his ventures.   

Your loving servant,

Pelara

~oOo~

I had not expected to see the Lord of the Hidden Vale again and thought, surely, our time together was at an end and he would not wish me his guest.  And indeed, not long after Halbarad left my company, Master Elrond sent word I was to attend upon him in all haste, forgoing all that might bring delay. 

The last I had seen of him, he had taken my daughter upon his knee and, giving her somewhat to hold to keep her fingers busy, laid afore her a roll on which was writ the Lay of Leithian as it was told ere the bending of the world.  I cannot fathom the age of the thing, but when he withdrew it from its coffer, the vellum was undimmed with time and its edges crisp.   I had never seen such a thing, though I doubt not they took up much of my lord’s time when he was a boy.  

There he spread it open upon the table afore them.  He did not read it to her, but they bent their dark heads o’er illuminations in inks of brilliant hues and leaf of gold and mithril.  Such was the picture of them it pierced my heart; he with his long hair falling atimes as a curtain about her from where he bent his head, and my child, with her dark inquisitive eyes following his finger where it pointed.  I know not which of the two took more delight in the exercise.  For she exclaimed in wonder at what she saw drawn upon the page, and he smiled gently o’er her and atimes offered explanation of what puzzled her or pointed out somewhat she had not yet spied.  

And so, I had thought, then, it would be to leave her behind.  For I could not think the lady Arwen’s father had much of goodwill left to spend upon me.  

I cannot say my daughter sped our feet thither.  Still, Lord Erestor made no comment on it, but clasped his hands afore him and ushered us down paths as had I no knowledge of the way.  

There, sitting upon a bench near the table at which we had first spoken, I found him.  Though he had pressed my visit with some urgency, he did not turn when I led Elenir there.  

Behind him, his writing desk lay abandoned, and upon the low table lay a tray of tumblers and a light-smelling wine decanted into a tall glass pitcher, and where, no doubt, he had sat with his guests and counseled them as to their course. Now, though, his work abandoned behind him, he stood at the balustrade, looking out upon the terrace and garden below his feet, and his hands held naught in them. There, his daughter sat with her brothers.  For the Lord of Imladris’ sons were to go riding to war with the last of the Rangers of the Northlands and they had come to say their farewells.  

Sweet her voice rises amidst the thunder of the river and the high twittering of the swifts.  I could not recall a time I had heard it.  Her brothers look upon her as were they seeing the dawn of the spring sun after a long and drear winter.  From the look upon her father’s face, it seems he had not heard her for some years, himself.  

The Lord of Imladris’ daughter was singing, and he wept for it.  

Elenir is much used to the time we spend in his library, and when I release her to the floor, she goes direct to the basket of toys and pulls it from beneath the table, with little thought for us, her mother or her tutor either.  Sure it is he knows we have come, though he makes no sign of it.  And so I sit at the table and await his will.  

“I welcome my daughter’s counsel,” he says without turning, once the song is at its end. “I had thought, mayhap, your friendship had reawakened somewhat in her.  For she has shared her thoughts more oft of late.   

“I thought it admirable,” he goes on.  “Despite it all, she had found purpose and wished to preserve hope for her people.”

Laughter bursts from below.  The day is fair and warm for late winter.  Only now does the sun begun his westward path and lights gold upon the bare branches of the trees and glimmers in the moving water.  

“But now this…” he says and falls silent.  

We listen awhile to the laughter and calls from his children below.   It seems the Lady of Imladris has lifted the tuning key to her brother’s harp and does her best to keep it away from him.  She threatens to throw it to the water but when her brother would grab it, they toss it from sibling to sibling with the third chasing after them through the small, private garden below.  

“I knew her grieved and angered,” he says, “but had not known her so restive.  But, it seems, these last few years have had much to teach us we had not known afore.  Indeed, mayhap she knew it not herself until now, when the choice was finally put to her.”

Ai!  He can be in no doubt of the source of his daughter’s change of heart, and I can only think I have damaged my case for his folk’s aid beyond repair.  

The calls and laughter have softened some.  The Lady and her brothers have come to an end to their merrymaking and make their way back to the terrace, leading each other by the hand.  

In the quiet that falls, he releases a long breath ere moving.  And then he has turned away from the balustrade and gathers his robes about him to resume his seat at the table, though he has yet to look upon me.

“When first I had you summoned, I confess I was angry,” he says and, though I search, I can see little of vexation upon his face now, turned away from me as he is.  Instead, I find mostly a weary sort of solemnity.  

“Had you been the one to convince my daughter such a thing was possible, that Aragorn might be free to beg her forgiveness and renew their vows, it was on you to either dissuade her from making the offer, or, should you not, then find means to remove yourself from my home.  Such had I full intended to put to you.”

My fingers have been drawn to the fur within the sleeve of my coat, where I have been plucking at it.  It takes some effort to still them.  “What do you wish now?”

“I am too greatly torn to be certain,” he says and closes his eyes for moment, as were he searching his own heart.  When he opens them, it is to no greater sharpness of gaze.  “My own forefather locked his daughter in a living tower to prevent such a thing as my daughter has asked of me.”

Ai!  Surely it would not come to such a thing as that!  

“Should I have read the tale aright,” I venture softly, “that did not turn out well for him.”  

He makes a quiet sound and I think it not in disagreement.  “Neither did his granting her what she wished,” he says, “but I would not be here to tell you of it had he not.”

With this, he settles more deeply against the back of his chair, his hands coming to rest in his lap.  

“Your kin shall leave at nightfall, with my sons.  I have until then to decide.”

Somewhat scrapes sharp against the floor behind us and catches my eye when I turn to it.  Elenir has drawn brightly painted blocks from her basket and now sits upon the floor in their midst.  She has taken of late to sorting them into the array of the colors.  Today, she has selected the blues and started with them.  

“When you came to your decision, Lady Nienelen,” I hear beside me, “Was there aught in which you found comfort?”

Lord Elrond has turned to me as I watched my daughter.  There his face is grave and seems, of the first, deeply carven with the years.  

What to say to a lord among the Eldar to whom my own years are but a pittance, and that quickly spent?

“I have known of my lord’s love for your daughter since first I married him,” I begin, choosing my words with care.

“That does not give me comfort, Nienelen,” he says, his brows rising, and indeed, I have touched upon the very heart of his concerns. “It is not his love that is in question, but what weight he gives it and the sacrifices he asks of those who bind themselves to him.  You, he has asked much of.  So much, indeed, in all our discussions I have not dared challenge your decision to reject him.”

“And yet,” I go on o’er the beating of my heart in my throat, “to honor the vow he had given me and the bond we had built o’er our time together, he offered to set aside his claim upon the throne of Gondor should I ask it of him.  All he had worked and suffered for, should I have begged it from him, he would have sacrificed much more easily than to set me aside, even though it was I who demanded it of him.  I knew asking would not be enough and I must take as extreme measures as I had available to me to force his hand.”

“Yet you did not ask him to set aside his claim,” he says, his look pointed.  

“Not for lack of faith, Lord Elrond,” I say, “but for trust that he would, and would come, over time, to regret it.”

This he considers, though I cannot tell should he take me at my word or no.  

“He would never blame me for it,” I go on, “just as he attempted to protect me from the pain of wondering had it been me who changed his course when he gave up hope of ascending to a seat in Gondor when his own folk of the North needed him so.  But should you leave, Master Elrond, and the North have no more allies on which to depend, the years of struggle against the inevitable would weigh heavily upon us both.  And I would have lost him just the same.

“I lost him the moment the Steward of Gondor sent his son to you on the thin hopes of a dream.”

He makes a small sound, as had he not considered this and now must.  For he had been there to see it, that moment when our fates turned and my lord knew himself called South by greater forces than either steward or mentor or his own will.  

“And should she fail to bear him a male heir, what then?” he asks.  “Would she struggle with the same forces that have worked upon you?”

“Let us not pretend that any daughter of hers would bear the same risk as mine.”

At this comes the same brief sound from him.  “No, mayhap not.”  His chair creaks softly as he resettles to it.  

Elenir has dragged the basket of chalk from the low shelf on which it was kept.  She searches through it, singing to herself in fragments of song I do not know.  But then, with a sharp flash of recognition, it comes to me.  For the Lady had been singing the same tune just moments afore.

“I can foresee little, but my heart but tells me our fates are yet entwined.  Indeed I have felt restless between our talks and only comforted when next we sit here together.  I can only rest when I have done all I can to further your skills in the short time we shall have.”  He shakes his head.  “And I could not tell you why even should you ask, but that my heart tells me I shall regret it should I not.”   His hand runs across the dark silk upon his knee, as would the feel of it give himself comfort.  Still, he sighs and seems no lighter of mood.  

“We have little precedent among our kind of this thing.  Those avowed to each other may grow estranged and distance come between them, and it is a grief to us.  Their hearts do not then tend to that of another’s.  It happened but the once and it brought us great sorrow after.”   

“Then mayhap, the Lady Arwen and I should continue to ensure we build close ties of mutual regard and benefit, rather than allow fear to estrange our children and their father, and breed insecurity amongst them.”

“And after you are gone?”

“I have no more control over that than do you, Lord Elrond.”

Scooting back upon the floor, Elenir drags a stone of white chalk upon the dark slate of the floor in long swathes of color.  I watch her for a little ere speaking again, softening my words as much as I am able.  

“You once gave me counsel I should not look too far ahead for griefs that may not be.  What do you think of it now?”  

This draws a laugh from him, short and sharp though it may be.  

“I do not know what shall come,” I say, “but I can but tell you this; your daughter will not be friendless, no matter what awaits her.”

With this, his eyes pierce me with a keen light, and I allow it without faltering.  Mayhap what he sees brings him some comfort, for his face softens some and he nods.

They have taken up singing again below us upon the terrace, this time all three.  With the plucking of the harp strings come their voices low and sweet, there to mingle with the twittering of the swallows and my daughter’s humming as her chalk scrapes upon the floor.

I think the Lord Imladris already deeply in grief at the sounds, for his look has grown weary.  

“I have worn myself with worry as to what I shall say to my wife when again we meet.  But, I think, now, it will be she who shall understand my dilemma far better than I,” he says, his voice low.  

“I think, mayhap, I have already lost her, my daughter,” he goes on, “no matter should I forbid her staying or allow it.  I have naught I can do but decide how much I may have of her ere she is gone, and how much of what she suffers is of my making.”

I do not think the Lord of the Hidden Vale could have said aught else that would have pierced our hearts more cruelly.  I do not know who is more taken in surprise, he or I, but I find I have taken his hand from where it lies upon his knee, and he has returned my grip upon him.  

He does not speak, nor do I, and I am unsure what else is left to say.

I think my daughter has caught our mood, for she has come upon us, slipping between the Master’s knees and the low table.  There she leans upon his thigh and stares wordlessly upon his face.

When Master Elrond pulls his hand from mine, it is then to loosely cup my daughter’s face between his palms.  He smiles on her in the midst of his tears.  She does not speak, though clearly she had sought him out for somewhat.  She looks upon him with uncertainty, her gaze flitting from his face to the piece of chalk clutched in her hand where the nail of her finger digs into its tip.  Decided, of a sudden then, by dint of handfuls of his robe and tunic, she climbs upon his lap and leans into his breast.  

In the way of the very young, she knows not the source of his distress, but, her face solemn, she seeks his comfort for the pain it prompts in her.  There, he, in turn, wraps his arms about her and holds her close.  

“My thanks to thee, Nienelen, for bringing her here,” he says o’er her head, after some moments in which he does naught more than revel in the warmth of her small embrace and the innocence with which she offers it.  “I know you thought but to soften my anger, but, mayhap, I needed the reminder.

“It is time,” he says, “and I should give greater thought to what I shall leave behind.”  

He does not wait for my reply, but turns his face to my daughter. 

“Hast thou been practicing thy letters?” he asks, and she nods, brightening. This, at least, she understands.  

“I can write my name, now!” she says and straightens from where she leans against his breast, but, with a touch, he stills her attempts to light to the floor and show him even now.

“Not today, nor upon the morrow, I think,” says he, peering down at her face, “but shall I see thee the day after?  And then wilt thou show me what thou hast learnt?”

She nods eagerly, and, with no thought for the gravity of the counsels of the Mighty, she does what her heart compels of her.  Tangling her hands about his neck, she urges him to lean down to her so she might press a kiss upon his ear.  

“Go with thy mother, little one,” he says, smiling upon her as he untangles small hands and chalk from his hair and lets her slip from his lap to the floor.  

“Treasure what time you have with her, Nienelen.  No matter what your course, it will never be enough,” he says, running a thumb upon Elenir’s cheek where he has laid his hand ere he rises.

“You and your daughter are welcome to stay, Lady Nienelen.  But your disagreements with Aragorn are your own and I shall have no part in them.  I will not hinder your plans,” he says solemnly ere he takes his leave of us, “but neither will I aid them.  I will not send my folk to take you and your daughter from here, nor countenance their departure with you should you ask it of them.  Should you choose of your own will to go, those of your own folk who would take you home would be welcomed here.  Should it come to it, and a lone woman and child use the cover of night to flee my House and should men of the Angle chance upon them outside the bounds of Imladris, I will neither prevent it nor reveal it to any who have been sent to escort them where they are unwilling to go.  Will you abide by this?”  

I nod, grateful for this, at the least.  “And of the needs of the Dúnedain of the North?”

Laughter bursts upon us from below.  Done with their song, one of the brothers strode upon the greensward afore his siblings, telling some tale that involved much of movement and gesture and miming of roles.  He must tell it well, for his eyes twinkle merrily and his brother and sister laugh and call out to him.   

The Lord of the Hidden Vale considers me for some time as we listen.  

“It is not a thing to be decided in the heat of strong feelings.  I will need some time ere we speak of it again.”

Tripping lightly down the stairs that spiral to the courtyard below, their father comes upon them, brothers and sister.  There they greeted him gladly and he took each in turn, clasping them upon the shoulders and kissing each cheek.  He then took the harp from his elder son where he had been idly plucking upon the strings, saying, “Come, give me that ere thou dost thyself a harm with it.”  His eyes bright for their laughter, he then sat among them and played upon it, joining them in their singing.  

~oOo~