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Happily Ever After  by Nilmandra

Chapter 2: Into the West

Elrond awakened in the early dawn with his heart beating quickly. Celebrían was curled against him, her chest rising and falling with each breath, and he reassured himself she was well by running his hand along her side. She moved instinctively into his touch and even in his state of unrest, he smiled.

He slid from his bed and walked out on to the balcony. Water cascaded over the falls, their song a balm to his soul. In the night sky, Eärendil approached, having completed his nightly journey. The ship drew near, lingering over him, and the star’s light dimmed and briefly disappeared before the ship continued as if under a veil to where it rested each day.

And Elrond knew. The threads of his spirit had strengthened; he had healed and grown strong under the loving touch of Celebrían and the extended family he had found here. But like a harp with many strings, the breaking of one beyond the reach of his fingers was still felt acutely, and the music of his soul was changed. I knew also with Elros, he reminded himself, as the dull ache grew within him.

He felt Celebrían at his side, and he drew her close to him, wrapping his dressing gown around them both. Her tears were damp against his chest. They held each other silently as the sun rose around them to begin a new day.

Many elves had noted Eärendil’s unusual dimming over the House of Elrond. Messengers and visitors began arriving that night, and Elrond was more grateful than he had ever been to Erestor. It was he who prepared the house for a time of mourning, and who answered callers wondering what trouble had befallen the house. “The Evenstar has passed beyond the circles of this world,” he would answer calmly, though with great sorrow in his voice.

“Many will come,” said Celebrían. “I feel selfish in wishing to be alone with our household, but they will come because they love us, and we must let them.”

“I have arranged pavilions to be spread upon the lawn,” answered Erestor. “Do not trouble yourself with preparations. They are in order.”

In this, Elrond was confident. In his house had resided the mortal hobbits. They had been a curiosity to many, and they had seemed to enjoy meeting the many elves who had come to visit them. Not long after Sam had arrived, Bilbo had given up his life, and a time of mourning and remembrance had been held. Frodo and Sam had gone on their final journey as close together as any two mortals could several years later, and their home had again known mourning and sorrow. On both occasions, great numbers of elves, along with many of the Ainur, had come to remember and celebrate their lives.

Yet in lands that do not know death, there were few who could comprehend what it meant to be separated from their kin by mortality. Many elves remained in Mandos’s Halls, some who might never be re-embodied. Their kin suffered this separation, and it was perhaps the closest thing to what Elrond’s family now endured. Yet only Lúthien before her had so chosen the fate that Arwen had embraced, a parting that rent the bonds of their souls.

Idril and Tuor arrived the next day by ship with Galadriel’s family. Gil-galad came also, for he had not forgotten that it was he who sat with Elrond the night that Elros left Lindon, as well as the night Elros died. Elwing and Eärendil arrived with Eonwë, and perhaps most unexpectedly, the Valar Nienna and Estë.

Elrond had been young when he had first met them, having just been sundered from his twin by Elros’s choice. He had never forgotten their words, nor had he missed the fulfillment of them with Arwen’s choice. His destiny had been in the shared blood of the secondborn, as Eönwë had said. He was glad that the meaning had not been clear to him for nearly two ages. Yet despite the pain he felt now at Arwen’s death, he was still thankful for the age he had had her.

Three evenings after the passing of the Evenstar, they gathered in the great hall of Elrond’s house.

“The fate of the Peredhil has been filled with grief and sorrow, for elves and men were not created for each other,” began Eonwë. “Yet both are children of Ilúvatar and dear to his heart, and a great role has been played out in the annals of Arda by those of mixed race. The marriage of Arwen and Aragorn tied up the lines of the half-elven that began in Gondolin with Eärendil and in Doriath, with Dior son of Lúthien. In their son Eldarion the kingship of men is renewed, for the blood of the Eldar flows strong in his veins, and the dignity of Númenor is restored through the valor of Aragorn. With the Fourth Age begins the dominion of Men.

“The fate of Men is not known to us,” continued Eönwë. “Yet it is a Gift of Ilúvatar and one that we should not fear, though the One also knows the pain of kin separated by this Doom. Yet the Peredhil have been faithful, answering the calls and summons we have set before them, despite the great griefs laid upon them.” He paused, resting a hand on Elrond’s bowed head for a moment. “None, perhaps, more so than you. Mortality’s touch will leave a gap that cannot be fully mended, but peace will come to this house in time.”

Eönwë bowed before them. Nienna and Estë moved among them, bringing comfort and peace to those present, in particular to the line of the half-elven and their families. The minstrels played, and Elrond and Celebrían were particularly moved by Lindir’s composition, for he had known Arwen from birth and Aragorn too, and his ballad celebrated their lives while mourning with those who had been separated from them.

Elrond found his mind filled with memories, and while the perfect recall of the elves often pained him, he found himself grateful on this day. He could recall every detail of his beloved child, every moment of her life.

“Did you know that she forbade me to see her again when we parted at Edoras?” he said to Celebrían. At Celebrían’s surprised look, he continued, “She was afraid that if I saw her children born, I would stay in Middle-earth to see them grow. She told me I was thin and brittle, and I needed you and must go. She did not ask: she commanded me.”

Galadriel laughed. “I received much the same directive. Arwen was wise, and more far-seeing than I sometimes realized.” She smiled sadly. “She did not so command her grandfather or brothers, however. She conspired with them instead, and Glorfindel. For this I am glad, for knowing they were there to watch over her has brought me great comfort.”

Elrond felt a warmth spread through him at the thought of Glorfindel. The elf indeed stayed to watch over one he thought of as a daughter, but he suspected that Arwen had commanded him to ensure that grandfather and brothers did not linger too long, either.

Elrond felt joy seep into his heart, and knew Celebrían and Galadriel did as well. As grievous as was Arwen’s passing, hope filled them that sons and husband would arrive soon.

* * *

Celeborn awakened to find Elladan at the wheel of the ship. His grandson stood tall and proud, his gaze on something far off in the distance. He rose and tossed aside his blanket, and when he had gained his sea legs, he joined him.

“Where is Elrohir?” he asked.

“I did not wake him for his watch.” Elladan glanced at Celeborn and smiled. “Sleep agreed with you, Daeradar.”

Celeborn looked over Elladan with a careful eye. The grim, torn person of the day before was gone, and before him stood a soul who seemed content with the future. Had he read the situation correctly, then? What had transpired between his grandsons?

Glorfindel came yawning toward them a few minutes later. His weariness was also less obvious, and his eyes brightened as he looked west. He is going home, Celeborn reminded himself. A home he knows and has missed.

“Is it my turn to steer this boat yet?” asked Glorfindel, his hands reaching for the wheel.

Elladan laughed and released it to Glorfindel. “Ship, Glorfindel, it is a ship.” Glorfindel spun the wheel slightly and released it and the ship turned a little off course, but then seemed to put itself back on course.

Celeborn had been knocked off balance by the sudden turn and forced to grasp the rail. He glared at Glorfindel who laughed in delight.

“Perhaps not,” retorted Elladan, pushing Glorfindel aside.

Glorfindel laughed joyfully and tweaked the wheel again, with the same reaction. Then he turned and called out over the water, “Take us home, Ossë!

“Quit tempting Ossë to dash us on the rocks!” answered Elladan, slapping Glorfindel’s hands away. When Glorfindel merely grinned and started turning the wheel again, he added, “You are making Celeborn sea-sick with your maneuvers.”

“I am not sea-sick!” protested Celeborn as he grasped the ship’s rail. “I am annoyed.”

Glorfindel laughed again, but he ceased from his fun. “Is it not good to know that this voyage does not require any great skill on our part? It gives me hope that Legolas and his dwarf also managed the trip.”

“Gimli,” muttered Celeborn.

“What is that you said?” asked Glorfindel.

“The dwarf’s name is Gimli. He is not ‘Legolas’s dwarf’,” he answered.

“Galadriel’s dwarf, perhaps,” mused Glorfindel, stepping lightly out of his reach.

Celeborn glared at the golden haired elf, but he felt his heart lift as each minute passed. Glorfindel was much lighter of heart and less burdened with weariness, and Elladan seemed far less restless. He let his mind drift to those they had left – he would miss them – but the pain of watching Arwen die had ended, to be replaced by a grief that would endure – the pain of missing her. But in time he knew that would become a duller ache.

“I will make breakfast,” announced Glorfindel. He kept out of Celeborn’s reach, but tweaked the wheel as he walked past Elladan.

Celeborn thought to give Elladan a rest from his watch, for it seemed unwise to give Glorfindel free rein to gleefully annoy Ulmo and make them all stumble with his many corrections, but Elladan waved him off. “Eat first, Daeradar. I am content here.”

He went into the ship’s cabin below. Glorfindel was making his usual mess in the galley. Through the door there was a sleeping area, still dim with night. The curtains were drawn about a lower bunk. The other berths were undisturbed, for he and Glorfindel had slept on deck.

He quietly pulled back the curtains, but Elrohir did not awake. His eyes were closed, and his face drawn and gray. Celeborn laid a hand upon his grandson’s head and probed gently at the surface of his mind. Elrohir’s light was dim and his soul wearied, yet even in sleep, his mind was guarded.

Celeborn pondered all that he observed, but understanding did not come.

* * *

“Perhaps you might try waking your brother,” said Celeborn as he took over the watch from Elladan.

They had been at sea for two days, and still Elrohir slept.

“It is better if he rests,” replied Elladan, but he did not meet Celeborn’s eyes. “I asked Glorfindel this morning to deepen his sleep, for at least a few more days.”

“Elladan, do you know what ails him?”

“Yes,” answered Elladan softly. But he did not explain.

When Glorfindel returned, Elladan gave the wheel to his grandfather and went below.

“Did you do as Elladan asked?” asked Celeborn.

Glorfindel sighed. “I did. I do not know why he asked, but I did not think there was any harm in doing so, when Elrohir was so clearly exhausted.”

Celeborn gripped the wheel tightly. He wished to wake Elrohir if for no other reason than to get answers! He gazed west. He wished to see Galadriel again, and his daughter. He was glad to be away from the land where he had buried his granddaughter. Yet he felt perhaps like this ship did – without anchor, at the whim of the seas and some controlling force that was as unpredictable as the storms that blew in unexpectedly.

It was many hours before Elladan returned, and when he did, he sat staring out to sea without speaking.

* * *

“Hello, Daeradar.”

Celeborn turned in joy. “Elrohir!” He walked to him and clasped his arm, using the moment to steady shaky feet and assess his grandson’s wellbeing. “I am glad to see you awake, at last!”

Elrohir held on to the upper bunk as the ship rode a wave. “How long have I been sleeping?”

“We are five days at sea,” replied Celeborn. He watched Elrohir closely for a reaction.

There was no reply, no reaction at all. Celeborn frowned. Whatever his grandson’s thoughts, they were masked to him. But, Elrohir’s color was better, and he did seem stronger. “Come, you can wash up in here while I prepare you some food.

When they went on deck, Glorfindel was at the wheel. That sight did bring a smile to Elrohir’s face. “Glorfindel! Elladan and Celeborn have trusted you with the helm? You do not know a thing about sailing!”

Glorfindel grinned and let go of the wheel. It did not move. He turned it slightly, and the wheel moved back into position. “These many years Círdan has led me to believe that sailing took some skill. It turns out that the sea does all the work.”

“I will not be surprised if we sail into the harbor at Avallónë and Ulmo throws the ship up on to the docks, just to be rid of us,” said Elladan.

“And dashes it to pieces in the process, ensuring we – or at least Glorfindel - never sails again,” added Celeborn.

Elrohir walked up to the ship’s rail. His eyes closed as he lifted his face to the sun and drank in the warmth. Celeborn looked from Elrohir to Elladan, and found Elladan watching his twin intently. Then Elrohir turned and their eyes met, and some unspoken conversation occurred. Celeborn did not enter into the conversation unbidden, yet there was some he could read: in Elladan’s eyes there was a request for forgiveness, and in Elrohir’s, there was an answer of love and patience. For the long sleep? wondered Celeborn. Or is there more to this mystery? Then Elladan walked to his twin and embraced him, and Celeborn could see him imparting some of his strength to his brother.

“Now it is my turn, even if no skill is required.” Elrohir relieved Glorfindel of his watch and stood at the wheel.

The days passed. Then, one day, Glorfindel called them all on to the deck. “There!” he cried. “The peak of Meneltarma!”

They followed his line of sight to a spot of darkness rising from the sea. It was nearly dusk, and the spot was barely discernable. Then it seemed that a grey curtain appeared suddenly before them and the ship shuddered as a mighty wave crashed across her bow. They crashed down into a chasm. Another wave swept across the ship, soaking them all. Celeborn loosened his grip on the wheel, and the ship turned hard under the force of the wave. He gripped it again, pulling them back on course, if their course was the curtain ahead of them. He felt Elladan at his side, bracing him as yet another wave crashed over them. This one flung Elrohir to the deck, and Glorfindel skidded backwards to him.

Fear was in his face. He grabbed Elrohir by the arm and they made their way to the shelter of the benches in front of the cabin. Leaving Elrohir there, he joined Celeborn at the helm.

“Surely Ossë has been with us, as all of your testing has proved!” cried Celeborn as a gust of wind threatened to steal his words. “Are we abandoned now? Is the Straight Way closed to us?”

Glorfindel’s face was pale and his eyes wide. “The Valar would not . . . ,” he began.

He stopped. Celeborn glanced quickly from the sea to Glorfindel. Elladan was between them, and his face full of fear. He let go of the wheel and walked forward to the bow, even as the waves washed over the deck. Celeborn feared he would be swept overboard as another wave broke over him, but when the water receded, Elladan was still there. He reached the bow and raised his hands. They could hear him crying out to the wind, but the words were not discernable.

A moment later, the seas quieted and all grew silent. Mist surrounded them, the air as grey as the sea. Rugged shores and jagged cliffs rose around them, and Celeborn felt the wheel tugged from his hands. He released it. The ship navigated unseen channels, passing so close to the rock faces that they could have reached out and touched them. Then suddenly the curtain was drawn back and the skies were clear and full of stars, and far in the distance an island arose before them.

“Tol Eressëa!” cried Glorfindel.

Celeborn sighed in relief. At the bow, Elladan had fallen to his knees. Behind him, Elrohir sat as if in shock.

Above them, they saw a ship flying. Eärendil! He blazed with a sudden brightness and dipped low over them, and looking up, they could see her captain’s face. Then Vingilot tilted in greeting, dimmed and resumed her journey.

“I had forgotten his face. So like him are you two, especially Elladan,” said Celeborn in wonder.

“I think we have been announced,” said Glorfindel.

Soaked and battered, they wrapped in blankets and spent the night on deck, watching as the Isle grew closer. Celeborn could feel Glorfindel’s excitement rising. Elladan got up several time to walk to the bow, his impatience growing. Elrohir, though, seemed impassive.

“What is wrong, elfling?” asked Glorfindel finally.

Elrohir flushed. Avoiding looking at any of them, he kept his eyes on the sea before them. “I am wondering if Naneth will be healed, and if she will have forgiven us. . . and we bring news of Arwen’s death. . .” his voice trailed off.

Celeborn studied him carefully. He sensed that this answer, while partially true, was incomplete. How he wished to break through this wall his grandson was building around himself!

“Your naneth is healed, she never blamed you and they are already well aware of Arwen’s death,” interrupted Glorfindel quietly. “Your adar and naneth await your arrival with as much anticipation as they did your birth, however, and therefore you will put aside these thoughts and think instead about the joy you will bring them.”

Elladan grinned. “Is that an order, captain?”

“Yes,” answered Glorfindel. “And so is this: go find us something for breakfast, if all isn’t soaked below decks.”

Celeborn watched his companions as he ate. Of all of them, only Glorfindel was completely at peace. He was going home, to scenery he would recognize and people he would know. “What are you looking forward to most, Glorfindel?”

Glorfindel considered the question with a thoughtful expression on his face. “When I left Middle-earth, neither King Turgon nor any of my House had been released from Mandos’s Halls. There are many old friends I hope to see, but I wish to see Elrond and Celebrían most of all.”

“And you, Daeradar?” queried Elladan. Celeborn contemplated his answer too long. “What then do you fear?”

“I fear nothing,” replied Celeborn tersely. “I merely wonder at what to expect.”

“The Ring of Doom is really not so bad,” began Glorfindel, but stopped when a large nut bounced off his head. He smiled as he cracked and ate the nut. “We will disembark at Avallónë on Tol Eressëa, which is peopled primarily with elves returned from Middle-earth. I really do not know much about the city, as I lived in the Gardens of Lorien in Valmar after returning from the Halls of Mandos. But there are forests and many elves of the Teleri and Sindar, and I expect you will be surprised at all those you will meet.”

“And you, Elladan? What do you most anticipate and what do you fear?” probed Glorfindel.

“Seeing Adar and Naneth, and all of those who have gone before us. Telling them about Arwen and Aragorn and their children and grandchildren, for they will treasure every memory we share. I fear not knowing what we will do or purpose we will serve.”

Glorfindel smiled as Elrohir nodded his agreement with Elladan’s choices. “Time is different in Aman than Middle-earth. It moves slowly, and there is time to learn and do and be all that you wish. You will not want for vocation.”

Anor was rising when they approached the harbor at Avallonë, where, despite the early hour, throngs of elves awaited their arrival.

“Naneth!” called Elladan joyously. “Elrohir, there, with Adar!”

Elrohir did not answer, but his hands gripped tighter on the wheel and his gaze wandered back and forth from the task at hand of docking their ship to the faces on the shore.

All sound faded as Celeborn laid eyes upon Galadriel. He had felt her in his mind not long after entering the Straight Road, and her presence had grown steadily. But seeing her took his breath away. And he knew suddenly that he was home, that being with her was greater than his love for any land.

When he finally turned from Galadriel, he saw his daughter. She was waving and trembling, and Elrond pulled her to his side to steady her. Elladan readied the gangplank, and as soon as the ship was near enough to the quay he flung it over and leapt to the ground. He wobbled only briefly from the long days at sea, and then he ran to his naneth. She met him half-way, flinging her arms about him as he lifted her off her feet and swung her around in him in abandon. He showered kisses on her and wept into her silver hair. Celebrían laughed and laughed, crying only tears of joy as she ran her hands over his face, as if reassuring herself that he was real.

Elrohir had followed more slowly, walking into his father’s outstretched hands and allowing those arms to surround and hold him. After a moment, Elrond turned Elrohir in front of him, keeping one arm wrapped around his son’s chest, until Elladan became aware of his twin waiting. He turned Celebrían in his arms, she cried out with joy, and then walked the two steps forward to pull Elrohir into her arms.

Celeborn watched all of this as he moved slowly forward off the ship, and was comforted. What his grandsons needed was to be here, to be home. Then Galadriel came to him, and he took her hands in his. You are at peace, he said.

I am, and I am filled with joy that you have come, she replied.

Then there was a blur before his eyes and the unquenchable spirit that was his beloved daughter was in his arms. He lifted her and swung her around as used to when she was young, so long ago.

“My Celebrían, you are my Celebrían again,” he finally said and he did not mind the tears that fell from his eyes.

Celebrían turned then, still holding his hand and she had reclaimed Elrohir with her other arm. “Where is Glorfindel?” she asked.

The crowd seemed to part, and they could see a reunion happening a short distance away. A dark haired, noble appearing elf was standing surrounded by a formally-dressed honor guard. Kneeling before him was Glorfindel, his golden head nearly touching the ground. As they watched, the kingly elf reached down to raise Glorfindel to his feet, and then took his face in both hands and kissed him on each cheek.

There was no need for anyone to identify the elf: there was only one that Glorfindel would bow to in such a manner, and that was Turgon, son of Fingolfin, son of Finwë. Celeborn looked at Elrond, who stood with Elladan, and saw sadness in his eyes. When he next looked at Glorfindel, he found him looking quickly at Elrond, then back to his king. Glorfindel’s gaze was longing, but then grew impassive.

Turgon had not missed the look, however, and he turned to Elrond, gesturing for him to approach. When Turgon stepped aside, Elrond embraced Glorfindel.

“Thank you,” said Elrond hoarsely.

Glorfindel pulled away first, looking over Elrond as a father would a son. “An age has fallen from you,” he murmured. He smiled at Celebrían then, and she ran to him. He lifted her off her feet, hugging her, and then set her down next to Elrond. Facing them, he studied them for a moment, then pronounced, “Like newlywed elves again. I am content.”

Turgon laughed then, clapping his hands, and his guard stood at attention. “Seeing you again, Glorfindel, has been a boon to my heart. I have waited long for this day. Now, though, it is time to go home.”

The smile faded from Glorfindel’s face, and from Elrond’s and Celebrían’s as well. Celeborn understood the sudden dilemma: for Glorfindel, home had been where Elrond was for the last two ages of the world. Yet, he had served that home in the service of his king. Whose house was he to belong to now?

Turgon laughed again. “Go with my great-grandson, Glorfindel. I have no need of a warrior and captain here, only a friend. But you are part of his family and shall remain so as long as you desire.” He looked over at the twins, then. “I see I have new great-great-grandsons to meet as well. They look stunningly like Eärendil.” He turned to Elrond. “I will send word of a visit after you have had time to reacquaint with your sons.”

With that, Turgon marched from the shoreline, his guard falling in around him, his banner held high before him. A nudge at Celeborn’s side caught his attention, and he felt his grandson’s warm breath on his ear. “He is not exactly what I had expected.”

Celeborn laughed aloud. “I expect that may turn out to be true of many things!”

The crowd around them had grown, with many relatives and friends gathering to glimpse the long awaited arrival of the rest of Elrond’s family. It was overwhelming, and he saw Elrohir actually take a step back. There were so many they wished to greet and embrace, but the crowd seemed to have no beginning or end.

“Everyone feels that way on arrival.” Elrond stepped in between his sons, slipping an arm around each of them. He smiled at the crowd, who waved and smiled in return. “No one expects anything of you; they merely wanted to see you. Come, let us go home. You will have as many visitors as you might want in the next few weeks, plus you have to meet all of our relatives and it appears we really are related to everyone. That alone will tie you up for a decade.”

As they turned to follow their mother and grandparents, Elladan began to laugh. “Oh, Adar, I have missed that sound.”

Elrohir began to laugh also, then Elrond. “They have over a century’s worth of time to argue and discuss and ensure that each is happy with the actions of the other,” said Elrond. The three of them looked over their shoulders to see Erestor and Glorfindel walking together, Erestor with his arm about Glorfindel’s shoulders and smiles on both of their faces, despite their bickering.

* * *

Elrond opened the door to the suite he had prepared for the twins, and ushered them in. They had been speechless upon entering the valley, and Elladan had said he had not thought the beauty of Imladris could be surpassed.

“You are welcome to change whatever you wish, or to move to any other part of the house, but I thought familiarity might be comforting to begin with,” explained Elrond. The suite was laid out in a similar plan to their rooms in Imladris, and very comfortably furnished.

Elrohir walked to the sofa set in front of the open balcony and flopped on it, lounging in the sunlight. “This is perfect, Adar.”

“We will leave you to rest, then, until dinnertime,” said Celebrían.

“Adar, Naneth, we have something for you,” said Elrohir tentatively. He had been holding a well wrapped package since disembarking, setting it down only to hug his mother, and while curious to know what Elrohir treasured enough to guard so carefully, they had waited patiently for him to tell them. “This might not be a good time, though . . .”

Celebrían’s eyes were alight with anticipation, and Elrond thought he could guess what the package held. “I would like to see what you have so treasured, Elrohir,” answered Celebrían. She sat down next to him, and he laid the large package in her lap. She carefully untied the string holding the waterproof wrapping tight and folded the paper back.

Elrond heard her sharp intake of breath, and though he remained silent, he was equally surprised and pleased. Elrohir looked worried, though, and tried to cover the item when tears began streaming down Celebrían’s face. She pushed his hand away and lifted the portrait carefully, studying it.

“There are others in our luggage, a large portrait of Aragorn and Arwen on their wedding day; one of them with their young children, and a more recent one, of them with their children and grandchildren. In here you will find many smaller paintings and sketches, as well as,” and Elladan paused, drawing in his breath, “letters from Arwen. She wrote faithfully to you, Naneth, and especially so after she married.”

Celebrían gathered the bundle of letters to her breast as she wept. “She loved you so much, Naneth, and this was her one regret, that she did not see you restored to health and say goodbye,” choked Elrohir.

“She was happy?” asked Celebrían through her tears.

“Very happy,” confirmed Elladan when Elrohir could only nod. “She loved Aragorn and she loved their people and she was a fine mother. If you had known Aragorn, Naneth, you would understand that she, like Lúthien, could give up all for him. He was worthy of her.”

“Then I will be content,” answered Celebrían. She hugged the letters again and pulled out a sketch of Arwen holding an infant in her arms. “This is a treasure. Thank you, my sons, thank you for bringing this with you.”

Elrond lifted the package from Celebrían’s lap, leaving her with the stack of letters that she was clearly eager to read. She rose, kissing each son gratefully, and they left their sons to rest. Returning to their own rooms, they told no one else about their treasure, but spent hours reading and looking through the sketches. Together they laughed and cried and remembered their daughter, and with the legacy she left them in word and pictures, they had something tangible to enhance their memories. Eventually all would be shared with their family, but they would first read each letter and gaze upon each sketch together.

“Elrond, I have never played matchmaker, but I think we need to start thinking about suitable wives for our sons,” said Celebrían after several hours.

Elrond glanced at her, noting the picture of Arwen she held, infant in her arms and surrounded by her other children. He laughed. “You want an infant to hold.” He had been aware of her longing for some time, but was waiting for her to speak of it.

“Yes, but I doubt that you will oblige me after all of this time, so I must encourage our sons to marry and father children,” she replied cheekily.

Elrond rolled off the cushion he had been lounging on and crawled to her, nipping at the bottom of her gown and then pulling her to the ground with him. “I would consider practicing,” he whispered into her ear, then traced the tip with his tongue.

She gasped, as he knew she would, and then said, “We have been practicing for a century. Are we not yet perfect?”

“I was not informed of your end desire,” he answered in defense, “and thus have not been working toward it.”

Celebrían looked at him wide eyed. “Elrond, are you serious? Would you consider it?”

Elrond lowered himself to the floor, propping himself on his elbow next to her. He thought of the joy Aragorn had brought to Imladris only a few centuries earlier, how much joy a child could add to a household. How much joy a child would bring to Celebrían. Were they not starting a new life together? They were not replacing Arwen, for that was not possible. A child in her own right, her own position in their home… was he willing? But, were they not past the years of the children, as the elves here called them? Well, the elves here did tend to find the elves who had come from Middle-earth a bit unconventional.

“A daughter,” he finally whispered. “A daughter with your eyes and hair.”

Celebrían squealed with joy as she pushed him on to his back and rolled on top of him. “A daughter!” she agreed, and it was his turn to gasp as her fingers danced upon his skin.

Amidst a floor strewn with the joyful memories of a daughter beyond their reach, a daughter was conceived.

TBC

Daw the minstrel gets a medal for beta reading this chapter. .





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