Chapter Five: One Breath at a Time

0o0o0

“Is she asleep, Brother?” Elrohir asked as his twin strode into the Hall of Fire looking utterly exhausted. It was not loss of sleep that had worn his twin out, Elrohir knew, but the strain of sitting with a suicidal widow. He remembered feeling the same upon leaving the young woman’s bedside the day before.

“She sleeps again, yes, but for a time she was awake. Quite awake, in fact.”

“Quite awake?”

“She seemed more her former self is what I meant.” Elladan collapsed on the sofa next to his brother.

“How so?”

“She laughed.”

Elrohir’s eyes widened. “At what? It seems an odd time for merriment, especially for one who has known nothing but sorrow these past months.”

“I agree. Perhaps there was simply nothing remaining for her but to laugh. She has to run out of tears sometime, one would think.”

“Did she say anything? Anything of note?”

Elladan considered whether to tell his twin of the conversation concerning Celebrían’s departure but declined. Their mother was a subject that neither had broached for centuries, and Elladan was loathe to be the one to mention it even though he secretly yearned to talk about Celebrían.

“We talked a bit about Estel, and she began to say something about him but was unable to get the words out. All she said was ‘What if?’ I have pondered those words; could she have meant what if she loses Estel, as well?”

“I would think so, yes.” Elrohir nodded decisively.

“You would? You sound not the least surprised.”

Elrohir shrugged his shoulders. “I imagine she feels as Mother felt before she left.”

Elladan tensed. So, there it was: the forbidden subject. And Elrohir had approached it so casually.

“And how was that?” Elladan asked.

“I have no doubt she feared some tragedy would befall us. Often have I wondered whether she so feared losing us to death that she no longer saw us living right before her. Little wonder she could no longer find joy.”

“Her love for us had not diminished then?” Elladan’s voice was so hushed that Elrohir had to strain to hear him.

“Of course not, Elladan. Did you really think so? Why did you think she gave you her pendant?”

“I never really knew why,” confessed Elladan.

“You knew how much that pendant meant to her; Grandmother gave it to her on the day she and Father wed. Do you not remember her telling us when we were small that she wore that pendant so that she would always remember she was loved?”

“I—yes, I remember now. But I am sorry to say that I had forgotten her words.”

“She gave you that pendant so you would always remember that you are so loved by her.” Elrohir felt as if he were lecturing a child. His brother was so unschooled in the ways of the heart it was a wonder they had shared the same womb!

“Why did she not give it to you then?”

Elrohir looked to the floor. He had hoped Elladan would not ask that question.

“Because I asked her to,” mumbled Elrohir.

“You what?!” Elladan was unsure whether to be infuriated or grateful.

“The day she left, she told me that she wanted to give something to each of us. To Arwen, she gave the stone given her by Grandmother, but she knew not what to give to you and me. I told her that I needed nothing but that I hoped she would give you her pendant. I know you too well, Brother; I knew you feared her love for us had waned, and I thought that if Mother gave you her beloved pendant, you would surely understand how much she still loved you. You should have seen her, Elladan. Her face lit up when I suggested it. It was the first time she had smiled in ages.”

Now, Elladan smiled, too, and though it was not the first time in ages, it surely felt like it.  

0o0o0

“Gilraen, it is good to see you up and about,” called Elladan as he made his way down the steps leading into the courtyard where Gilraen stood looking out over a grassy knoll dotted with wildflowers. This courtyard had been his mother’s favorite and she had often read or stitched here among its gardens.

“Thank you, Young Lord,” replied Gilraen, hoping she sounded cheerier than she felt.

Young Lord, noted Elladan. Arathorn used to call the twins by that title. “The two Young Lords of Rivendell,” he would say, before breaking into laughter at the thought of calling beings millennia his senior “young.” “I must do something to distinguish between you and your father, and I think it improper to refer to him as ‘Old Lord.’” Arathorn would burst into a fresh, and rare, bout of laughter; he had been a serious man, whereas Gilraen’s mirth had always been prepared to spill forth at the merest invitation.

Gilraen cast a wan smile at Elladan—he noticed that her face was still ghastly pale—before turning back to whatever had held her interest. Elladan followed her gaze to where Estel played, scooping mounds of soil with his bare hands into what appeared to be some sort of dirt fortress he had fashioned.

Gilraen and Elladan watched him in silence, Estel’s normal playtime chatter noticeably absent; over the past months, the boy had become increasingly sullen and withdrawn.

Elladan was the first to break the silence: “I apologize, Gilraen.” He looked her full in the eyes, seeing only confusion.

“Whatever for?”

“I fear I have been less than . . . warm to you over these past few months. I cannot say whether your loss reminded me of my pain over my mother’s absence or whether your distance from Estel had the same effect. Both, I suppose. In any case, I mean these words only as explanation not excuse.”

Gilraen smiled and squeezed Elladan’s hand. “Thank you for that, Young Lord.”

The two fell silent once more, watching Estel carry a fresh mound of dirt to his fortress, a most serious expression on his young face. Too young to be stern like his father, thought Gilraen. He builds a fortress around his heart. May it be as penetrable as the one he builds of dirt.

“I never told you, did I?” Gilraen asked after several minutes.

Elladan furrowed his brow. “You never told me what, precisely?”

“Why I have been unable to see Hope when it—he—is right before me.”

“No, I fear you did not, but I certainly understand if you would prefer not—”

“No, Elladan. I must say the words to someone. Perhaps if I say it aloud the thought will hold less sway over me.”

“Very well then.” Elladan braced himself.

Gilraen closed her eyes and drew a deep, ragged breath.

“What if—” Her voice choked, and Elladan feared she would fall to pieces again, but she drew another breath and seemed to calm a bit. “What if I lose him, too?” The words tumbled out in a rush.

Elladan nodded, his suspicions confirmed.

“All I know is this, Gilraen: if you so worry about some evil befalling the boy that you shut him out of your heart, you lose him of your own making.” Elladan thought he sounded remarkably like his brother, and of that, he felt uncommonly proud.

Gilraen looked Elladan in the eye and nodded subtly, her heart recognizing the truth of his statement even if her mind was not quite prepared to cooperate.

“But how does one stop one’s mind? It has become my enemy even more so than have orcs or any of Sauron’s other minions.”

Elladan looked away, narrowing his eyes against the setting sun. “I wish I knew, Gilraen.”

“You begin by taking a deep breath,” came a familiar voice.

Elladan and Gilraen turned to see Elrohir striding across the courtyard.

“Forgive my intrusion. I came seeking only a sunny spot in which to lounge—”

“My brother, the reptile,” quipped Elladan, amused by his own wit.

Elrohir ignored the interruption. “I fear I simply could not resist partaking in this most intriguing conversation.”

“Very well, Young Lord. I take a deep breath,” which Gilraen promptly did. “And now? What further lessons has the ever-so-wise son of the ever-so-wise Elrond for me?”

“Repeat,” stated Elrohir.

“True brilliance, Brother. And to think Father nearly sold you to a band of traveling minstrels.” To Gilraen, Elladan added, “They needed some sort of side-show, you see, and we all know how difficult it can be to train a dog to play the lute.”

Gilraen could not help but giggle, and even Elrohir cracked a grin.

“The point, Elladan, is that if Gilraen wishes to cope with her grief in a—shall we say in a less destructive manner?—then she must take it one breath at a time. I regret that there is no elvish magic to help you, Gilraen—to help any of us cope with such a loss.” Elrohir eyed his brother with import. “But the grief is made all the worse by attempts to skirt it when the only way through it is precisely that: through it. And we are each of us strong enough to bear whatever pain we must, lest none of us would still be here.”

“There you are mistaken, Young Lord; I am yet among the living because of your skill and that of your father, not because of any strength of my own.” Gilraen cast her eyes downward, suddenly ashamed of her weakness, as if she felt not shame enough already.

“I disagree, Gilraen,” countered Elladan. “I believe that the healing arts were only part of what saved you. You deserve the most credit, for none live who do not truly wish to do so, even if they have experienced moments when they thought otherwise.” Elladan’s mind strayed to his mother, and he suddenly felt overwhelmingly proud of her strength. A lesser woman would have succumbed to grief; his mother had not. No, Celebrían had departed Middle-earth with the earnest intent to live joyfully once more.

“For once, my dear brother speaks with the wisdom befitting him,” teased Elrohir.

Elladan rolled his eyes; Gilraen giggled. The brothers’ banter was something she had often enjoyed when Arathorn had still been among them. Had they tempered this habit over the past several months, or had she simply been unaware of it? Perhaps both, she decided.

Elrohir broke into laughter, prompting Gilraen and Elladan to turn their heads to see what had amused him: Estel had successfully concluded building his dirt fortress and now wiped his muddied hands across his tunic, a good portion of the soil also clinging to his hair and face.

Gilraen’s laughter rang out. “That boy! That beautiful, wonderful boy!”

She opened her arms wide, and Estel ran full force into them, allowing himself to be scooped up into his mother’s love.

The sun dripped her honey-sweet rays on this newly-formed family, and for the moment, they were content. Pain was still their constant companion—though that pain presented a different face to each member of the party—and would surely continue to be. How could it be otherwise in a world so tainted by Sauron’s Shadow? Yet they could bear it for just one breath. And one more after that. Each moment was all they needed; each moment was all that remained.

That and a little Hope.

The End