Healing Hope

Chapter Thirty One

For What We Are About to Receive

“For each new morning with its light,
For rest and shelter of the night,
For health and food, for love and friends,
For everything Thy goodness sends.”
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Aradol and his helpers, alerted by a messenger sent ahead of the group by Glorfindel, were waiting in front of the last homely house to see to the care and stabling of the guest’s horses. 

Elrond walked out onto the front terrace as Glorfindel was just reaching the steps.  As the elf lord began to greet them, Glorfindel’s smile halted him.  “I have brought you a visitor.”

Elrond’s eyes went to Celeborn and Galadriel, still seated on their mounts.

“Not the lord and lady,” drawled Glorfindel, stepping aside to reveal his surprise. 

“Arwen!” 

With a small cry of delight and the flash of a blue cloak and ebony hair, she fairly flew up the steps and into his embrace.  Elrond closed his eyes cherishing the feel of his daughter in his arms after so long.  “Ada, I have missed you so much,” the elleth breathed, pulling back to look upon his beloved face with tears in her eyes. 

“As I have missed you, my Evenstar,” replied Lord Elrond.  He cupped her face with his hands, gently stroking her cheeks with his thumbs.  “Your brothers will be so very pleased to see you.”

Worry creased her beautiful features.  “How are they, Ada?  Daernaneth would only say that her mind had been disquieted over them.”

“They are healing well, daughter, but you will be just the cure they need to see the job completed.”

Glorfindel walked back to offer a hand to Lady Galadriel as she gracefully dismounted.  With a small bow, the golden warrior handed the lady over to her husband, who offered his arm as they ascended the steps towards their daughter’s husband. 

Celeborn was smiling indulgently at the father and daughter’s reunion.  “The light of the Evenstar graces Lórien, my son, but I can see that she is happy to be home in her valley once again.  We shall celebrate the Winter’s Solstice celebration together this year.”

“Mae govannen, my father and mother,” welcomed Elrond.  “Your coming is fortuitous, though I fear that not all the news I bear is good.” 

Galadriel still had not spoken.  Celeborn’s eyes grew serious.  “The twins…how are they?”

Elrond turned to lead them into the house.  “The evidence of your eyes will be more comforting than my words.  I will see whether or not they are awake.” 

Galadriel placed her hand on his arm to stop his movement.  “Their bodies mend, but their hearts are wearied; this I can feel.  I would see them now, for I have been much troubled on their behalf.”

Elrond met her gaze.  “Their hearts will be lightened by seeing their sister and grandparents again.”

“I cannot wait to see them,” said Arwen.  “Come daernaneth; come with me!”

Celeborn tarried, turning towards Elrond as Arwen and Galadriel walked into the house.  “There is much of which we must speak, my son.” 

Elrond nodded gravely.  “We will talk in the library after you have visited the twins.  Mithrandir is here also.  He shall wish to be part of this meeting.”

“Mithrandir?”

Elrond dipped his head in affirmation. 

O-o-O-o-O

The riders were, indeed, Falathar, Alma, Túrelio, and his brother Táron.  They rode into the elven camp at just after dawn, and Falathar immediately sought out his king.

“Report,” commanded the king, as Falathar knelt before him.  “And do rise, Falathar.”

“Thank you, Hîr nín,” responded the warrior.  “We aided the warriors of Imladris, and the enemy was defeated.  I regret to report that Erestor and Sariboril were wounded.”

Thranduil frowned at that bit of information.  “How badly were they injured?”

“Erestor...” at his king’s upraised eyebrow the elf caught his error, “Excuse me, Sire, Lord Erestor received a gash to his arm and Master Healer Sariboril a severe wound to her back.  I overheard Lord Erestor report that she might survive the wounds if gotten to Lord Elrond in time.  That is all I know, my lord.”

“Elrond is a master of healing,” the king mused, before looking back to his chief of guards.  “If anyone can save her, it will be he.”

“Adar!”

Thranduil, followed by Falathar, hurried to where Legolas was holding Estel.  “What is wrong, Legolas?”

“We must find food!”  The softness of his voice was belied by the urgency it held.  “Estel’s stomach is rumbling!”

Both Thranduil and Falathar’s eyes went from Legolas to the sleeping child and back. 

“But...he sleeps,” observed Falathar.  “He surely cannot eat in his sleep.”  Falathar was quite proud of his reasoning, even if he did not know much about edain.

Legolas hesitated.  “That is true, but Erestor...er....Lord Erestor,” he amended before his father could react, “said that Estel could become quite irritable if he is not fed soon after he rumbles.  What else might happen, I do not know.” 

“I, for one, do not wish to find out,” stated Thranduil.  “We are in a precarious position here until the rest of our warriors join us, and unfortunately, Estel’s supplies did not make it through the battle with us.  We do not need another setback.”  He turned to his chief of guards, “Falathar, canvass the warriors.  See what provisions we have.”

While Falathar searched for food, Thranduil knelt by Legolas watching the sky warily.  “The shadow of a storm comes upon us.  The mountain hid its warning.”

Legolas followed his Adar’s look skyward.  “We must shelter Estel.”

O-o-O-o-O

Arwen closed her eyes as she walked softly down the third floor hallway.  From every corner memories assailed her.  Her steps slowed as she passed a doorway across from the rooms of her brothers.  Glancing inside she was enchanted to see toys and even some of her books on a shelf.  This must be the room of the adan currently sheltering in Imladris.  Her home had been sanctuary to the descendents of Elros for as long as she could remember, but never had one of them quartered so near to the rooms of the family.  

“Look, daernaneth, it is a child’s room,” she marveled.  A small sigh of joy escaped her when she spied one of her favorite children’s books.  Fingering the toy soldiers on the top shelf she could not but marvel at the intricacy of the carving.  “Someone spent long hours on these.”

Galadriel lingered in the doorway, an enigmatic look upon her fair features.  “This must be the one I have seen...”

Arwen turned, smiling.  “Come, I am anxious to see my brothers!”  She hurried down the hallway.  Upon entering the room Arwen’s gaze fell lovingly upon on her brothers.  They were, of course, in two beds that were side by side, for the twins always were that way.  She was struck by the fact that Erestor was there, apparently a patient.  She had not known this. 

“Arwen!” breathed Elrohir.  “You have come home.”  As the twin tried to sit up on the side of the bed a wave of vertigo overtook him. 

“Rest easy, Elrohir,” she coaxed, as she helped him lie back. 

“Arwen!” cried Elladan, as he too attempted to come to his feet.  “Daernaneth!”

Galadriel walked into the room behind her granddaughter.  She stood assessing her grandsons, looking more for the content of their spirits than the wounds to their bodies.  Their hearts were wearied, yes, but the terrible rage she had felt for so long emanating from them no longer remained.

As Arwen fussed over getting Elrohir back into bed and his covers straightened, Galadriel saw to Elladan.  “You must remain in bed,” she scolded gently.  “To rush your recovery is to delay it.”

Elladan could not help but smile.  “That is what Ada said as well.”  His smiled widened as Arwen sat on his bed to gift him with a hug. 

“Now that Elrohir is once more settled in bed, I shall see to my older brother.”  Being ever so careful of his wounded shoulder, she pulled him into a gentle embrace.  “I have missed you both so much!” 

With his good arm Elladan returned his sister’s hug.  Her giggle made him pull back to see what she had found amusing.  His laugh joined hers when he saw what she held.

“Brother?”  Arwen inquired, as their musical chuckles filled the air, lifting the spirits of all within hearing.  She held the stuffed Fluffy, which was still faithfully being kept and protected by Elladan.

“What is this?” said Erestor.  “Is our presence graced by my aewithen, my little bird?  Cormamin lindua ele lle!”  My heart sings to see thee.

“Oh Erestor,” purred Arwen, going over to give the Seneschal a hug.  “I have missed you, too.”  She gave his arm a close look, examining the bandage running from wrist to elbow.  “Have you been sparring with Glorfindel again?” she teased.

Erestor affected an affronted look.  “I will have you know that I have been battling orcs.”

“Orcs?”  Arwen sobered.  “Here, in Imladris?”

Erestor was horrified that he had blurted out such a statement and startled Arwen.

At the look on Erestor’s face, Galadriel placed her hands on her granddaughter’s shoulders.  “Avo osto, Arwen, fear not.  Lay aside that discussion for now.  The beren maethor, bold warrior, is in need of more rest.”

“Having Arwen here again is all the medicine I need,” declared the Seneschal, duly chastised by the lady of light.

O-o-O-o-O

A mighty crack of thunder roused Estel from his exhausted slumber.  With a wail he sat up, looking wildly around him for a moment.  “Ada!”

Legolas heard Estel’s cry and rushed to his side.  “Do not be afraid, Estel.”  The prince wrapped Thranduil’s cloak back around him.  “Here child, the air is colder in this place.  Keep this on you.”

“I do not like it when the sky crashes,” whimpered Estel.

Legolas remembered the twins once telling him that violent thunderstorms were unheard of in the protected valley.  Estel would understandably be frightened by the sound and fury of the storm bearing down on them.

The warriors had the horses ready to ride.  As soon as the signs of the storm had appeared, Thranduil sent out two of his warriors to scout for possible shelter.  Túrelio found an abandoned cottage that would be suitable for shelter.  One wall of the structure had fallen in, but the other three walls and most of the roof were intact.  Best of all, a fireplace would provide warmth for the young adan.  As soon as he found the location, the elf gathered wood and stored it in the shelter in case the rains came before he could lead the group back. 

Legolas wrapped Estel warmly in both his and Thranduil’s cloaks and handed him up to his Adar, who was already mounted. 

Falathar was holding the reins of Legolas’ horse.  He handed them off to the prince, and quickly mounted his own and took the lead.  “Túrelio, lead us to this shelter,” he called.

Still somewhat sluggish from his sleep, Estel sat quietly in Thranduil’s arms as they rode.  Before long he twisted to look up into the king’s face.  “King Thran-due, I am hungry.” 

Thranduil patted Estel’s tummy.  “We will have food for you soon, young one.  See there,” he pointed, “there is the cottage where we will keep you from the storm.”  As if to accent the king’s word, another terrific crash of thunder rent the air causing Estel to shrink back against Thranduil’s chest and clasp his hands over his ears.  As the first drops of rain began to fall, Thranduil pulled his cloak more securely around Estel and urged his horse to move faster.  “Noro lagor, my beauty, ride swiftly

The king’s mount did just that, and they reached the cottage as the deluge began.  Thranduil jumped from his horse and ran into the structure with Estel.  Táron took the king’s reins and led the horses around back to a lean-to that still remained attached to one of the standing walls of the cottage.

The inside of the cottage was dark, dusty, and draped with cobwebs.  The only furniture left was an ancient bed.  Its moldy mattress reeked of unwashed bodies, old age, and worse.  “I am not sitting on that thing,” sniffed the king as he held Estel. 

“Here, Hîr nín,” offered Alma, spreading his cloak on the floor in front of the fireplace where Túrelio was busy lighting a fire.  The sound of the knife rasping against the flint was drowned out by the torrents of rain lashing the roof and splattering through the downed wall.  “It is good that the missing wall is not on the side from which the rain is falling,” observed Alma. 

Estel was busy eying the dark corner with almost as much trepidation as Thranduil eyed the bed.

“Do you think there are spiders in here?”

From the corner, one of the warriors snorted so softly that Estel could not have heard, but Thranduil did, and gave the offender a look that promised reprisal should the sound be repeated.

The offending elf did his best to look invisible and not further insight the wrath of his king.

Thranduil settled himself and Estel on the proffered mantle.  Legolas gathered the food they had and spread it out on the edge of the cloak.  The cook at Imladris, Elbereth bless her, had stocked them with bread, cheese, a variety of raw vegetables, dried venison, and apples.  Estel’s stomach growled again as he looked at the food.

The king nodded in satisfaction at the offering.  “Here, Estel, eat.”

Estel looked from the food to the expectant faces of the elves, which were now gathered in a circle around him and were watching him with avid curiosity.  “All of it?” he asked meekly.

“We do not know how much you eat,” explained Legolas, “so we have given you all that we have.”

Estel looked back down at the food.  “My ada tells me to clean my plate...” his voice trailed off as he contemplated trying to eat so much food.  After a moment his face lit up as a new thought came to him. 

“He also says that I must share!”

The elves continued to look at him.

Estel reached out picking up the round, crusty loaf of bread.  Holding it awkwardly by the hand of his broken arm, he used the hand of his good arm to pull off large chunks of bread and begin handing them to the nine elves, starting with the king.  Next he chose the cheese.  He pondered the round of cheese for a moment before turning and handing it to Legolas.  “I am not allowed to use a knife yet.  Would you cut ten slices of cheese, please?”

Legolas smiled and began slicing the cheese as Estel turned back to his duties.  One by one he went through the items, seeing that a portion was given to each elf.  He omitted giving himself any of the raw broccoli explaining that he did not like the green vegetable.  Once the task was completed, he settled himself comfortably back in King Thranduil’s lap, much to the amusement of the warriors. 

Three of the elves started to munch the bread, only to be stopped by a shake of Estel’s head.  “No, no, we do not eat until we have thanked Ilúvatar for the bounty of arda,” instructed Estel.  He carefully bowed his head and intoned the blessing he had heard so many times before.  “For what we are about to receive, we are thankful to thee, Ilúvatar.”

This time the elves did not move until Estel took a bite, and then they knew it was correct to begin.  Legolas looked around the group enjoying the sight that would have been impossible to imagine just a few weeks earlier.  There sat his father, King of all Mirkwood, contentedly sharing a warrior’s fare with a small human perched on his lap.  The light from the fireplace threw shadows around the darkened corners like merrily dancing elves, and for that moment, Legolas could not have envisioned being any place better than in this broken down cottage in the foothills of the Misty Mountains. 

TBC