First part of the long overdue birthday fics for Jouri. What can I say other than I'm sorry, life sucks, and hey, at least it's not been four years::blushes::
Part one calls back to events in the earlier chapters of "Lullaby of Love." This first story set, called, "Words of a Sermon No One Will Hear" is Elrohir-centric, well, my version of Elrohir-centric and, at the end, will have its own soundtrack as it is full of music.
Words of a Sermon No One Will Hear
"Father McKenzie, writing the words of a sermon that no-one will hear,
No-one comes near
Look at him working, darning his socks in the night when there's nobody there,
What does he care?
All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
All the lonely people, where do they all belong?"
-The Beatles, "Eleanor Rigby"
Part One: Mother's Love
This is the dread
TA 289, Lothlorien
Elrohir found it fitting that of all the places he could attempt to find himself, his grandmother's realm of foresight and contemplation was not one of them. His mind, focused more on the whispers of the wind and the rushing of the water, would not submit to his own will. It was, with the clarity born only of both desperation and a self-effacing attitude of one's being, that Elrohir realized his mind was more settled amidst chaos than tranquility. Time in his grandparent's peaceful woods only left him more at odds with himself.
It could be worse, of course. He could be stuck in a traveling party with an irate Glorfindel and an even more irate Morwen. Elrohir, whether embracing the good of the elves or the deviousness of his human blood, took a deep satisfaction in his brother's plight. Though if his brother did not cease in sending all those birds with their messages, Elrohir would be forced to rethink his satisfaction and his flet, with its gathering pile of avian refuse. The desire to leave these woods, to ride fast and hard to catch the party going to the coast, was proving difficult to fight. He could almost taste the salt on his lips and hear the waves rushing in the air.
Elrohir looked to the west and let out a sigh. He jumped down from the flet to branch after branch until he landed on the ground. The blades of grass were soft against his feet as he walked over to a bright patch of sunlight. Elrohir lowered himself until he was flat out, unmindful of the detritus from the trees in his hair, and stared up into the defiant rays of the sun which fought against the canopy of Lothlorien's trees. He closed his eyes and let the wavering sunlight cast interesting shadows inside his eyelids. He could hear the whispers of the elven sentries above him, hidden both by branch and leaf, wondering over his curious behavior. Lothlorien and its elves worshipped the moon and had little regard for the sun but Elrohir, an elf of Imladris, appreciated both the moon and the sun. Moonlight was for secret games and meetings, blankets on dew-covered grass and gathering of friends. Sunlight was for running through the fields, juggling apples in the orchard, training with the sword and the bow, reading by the riverside. It was the oddity of elven people that while the elves of Lothlorien came alive during the night, the elves of Imladris never rested. How his mother managed to survive the transition between the two realms he could not even comprehend. Yet how Elrohir managed to get through his days anywhere, especially now, were a matter of some contemplation, especially since he did not have everyone fooled.
Your mask of false joy is sickening, you know. Those were the words whispered by Morwen as she tried to suffocate them both with bed pillows. That day reminded him of their youth, hiding under the linens and whispering their secrets while Elladan was chastised for some matter or other. Elladan and Morwen were close friends, siblings of the heart, but Morwen and Elrohir had always been each other's confidants; whether they wanted to admit it or not. Now, resting in the sunlight with dark thoughts running through his head, Elrohir would give anything to be back in that bedroom, under the linens, whispering like elflings. If Elrohir ever needed a perspective love lost derided from every angle, including their lack of logical argument, Morwen was willing and able to describe them in an ever entertaining list of insults. It had saved Elrohir from more than one shrew, as Morwen called them, or female imitators of the rumored Nazgul, as Elladan termed them.
It was not that Elrohir felt a great love for Nithiel. She was a beauty, yes, with a voice gifted from the Valar and the soft temperament of a doe. She was not abrasive or willful, not outspoken or able to command obedience with a single glance. She held a quiet strength which demanded respect. She was different from all the other females in Elrohir's life, even his mother, who rarely raised her voice but could quiet detractors with a hard look. It was not Nithiel's fault that her difference made her attractive to Elrohir, nor was it her fault that her happiness laid with another person of her home realm. While it hurt to admit, since he had invested so many years in his infatuation for Nithiel, Elrohir knew Elladan's words on the she-elf were true. Elrohir would have grown bored with Nithiel as the years passed. He needed passion in his lover, an eagerness to be heard and a willingness to risk everything, or he needed someone to understand those needs of his own. Nithiel, for all her musical knowledge, regarded history and its battles like most of his age did, as mythological stories and songs for the fireside. Nithiel had never seen the scars on Glorfindel's back, the deep cuts on Lindir and Erestor's sides or the deep knife wound that ran up his own father's right arm. She had never witnessed the darkness that all their eyes held under the elven brightness. She did not know how often all the laughter was made just to fend off the tears and despair. His elders were so good at wearing their own masks that sometimes even Elrohir missed the truth.
Still, Elrohir was more aware of his own mind and heart than any gave him credit for.
Elrohir knew, just as Elladan did, Nithiel was not the way to happiness. She was, by Elrohir's own admission, the way to distraction. The past few years of his life had left him craving for distraction. Elrohir's dreams had turned to visions on many nights. Visions he would never tell his brother. A condition of foresight, a condition he did not dare share with his father for fear of adding to his cares. A gift he would not reveal to his mother for the way her people revered such a thing. Elrohir heard enough whispers because of his lineage and his standing; he did not need any more about his curious family line and their talents.
There was a fear within Elrohir's heart of his own future. His brother, he worried not for him. Elladan's path was clear, even if he did not see it. Elrohir, however, knew his own would be a matter of much debate. Life of limbo; that was his life, one of uncertain times. Elrohir did not wish to spend the possible rest of his life in contemplation of his body turning as brittle as fallen leaves, as life left both body and the trees. Elrohir would not be one of the elves who wasted his years sitting in silent thought. They had scholars and politicians for that.
The sound of fabric over grass brought Elrohir to alert. He smelled lilies and knew who stood near him. He opened his eyes to the familiar bead work and weaving of his mother's dress, just a shade darker than her mother's. Celebrian became someone else when she walked these woods. His mother became more adult, more refined, her childlike persona shown in Imladris shed as she passed through the mountains. No signs of the colors of Imladris were on her body. Here his mother was pure and wholly in one state, not straddling the cares of two homes. Her silver-gold hair was loose of its normal braids and a look of peace was in her eyes. The smile on her lips was mischievous.
"Contemplating the skies is not the best escape. Perhaps you should watch the water." Celebrian said.
Elrohir sat up and brushed the leaves and sticks out of his hair. "The water?" Elrohir asked.
His mother nodded, "Ripples in the steam are not merely metaphors, Elrohir."
Elrohir's eyes latched on to the pathway to his grandmother's grove. The sky was already dark there. "Must I?" Elrohir asked.
Celebrian held out a hand and helped him to his feet. "My mother will not let me rest until you do, and if I cannot rest, neither shall you, my son. Just let her do this, Elrohir."
"I do not need this, mother." Elrohir insisted.
Celebrian shrugged and began to guide him down the path. "Sometimes we need to see, even when we think we do not."
If ever Elrohir wished he had spoken of his visions, now would be that time.
Elrohir stood stock still at the entranceway to his grandmother's grove. His mother lead him this far and expected him to go the rest of his way on his own power. He knew he could just as easily run away, but then his mother would be disappointed and his grandmother would know his plan before he even did. Father, among many other things, was insistent on hospitality and good manners. Elrohir had listened to Elrond's own grumbles at being forced to look at the images in the water when he received the same ones in his head, but still, proper behavior was needed. Of course it was also required when one's grandmother is one of the most powerful beings on Arda.
Elrohir's body tensed as he felt someone behind him. He could hear their steady breathing and even though the elf tried to be quiet about it, there was a faintest hint of boot on grass. Vanity had clearly taken this elf as a scent of spice wafted on the air. Of course, the elf could also be doing all this in a deliberate manner to throw Elrohir off guard. He was about to turn around when he caught the flash of silver metal in the moonlight, a sentry's mark. Only one elf would do such a thing to Elrohir. Haldir flicked the back of Elrohir's ear with just enough force to hurt. A move that made Elrohir agree with Morwen's sentiments of hatred against the Lothlorien elf. Even Arwen found annoyance as her most common emotion in regards to the elf.
"Yes, Haldir?" Elrohir asked, not clenching his jaw at all while he spoke.
"Though we may be immortal it is improper to make the Lady wait for you to emerge." Haldir stepped around to face him. "Though, perhaps, you can follow the odd habit of that orphan friend of yours and study the sun. Tell me, is this a common practice in Imladris or is it just for she-elves who should know better?"
Elrohir fought the natural inclination to defend his land and his friends and let a smile come to his face. "Why, Haldir, do you desire to follow in our path? You seem oddly interested in my people's ways. Have you finally decided it is time to leave behind this life of leisure and join a realm where the sentries are more than mere figureheads?" Elrohir patted Haldir's stomach. "You are getting a little soft around the torso, I fear, but then again what else do you expect from someone who spends all day in tree branches?"
"Perhaps you should ask your brother." Haldir said, arms crossed over his front, "I hear he spends plenty of hours spying on people from trees."
"He is only applying all the skills he has learned here." Elrohir said, biting back his laughter.
Haldir glared, "Morwen is a bad influence on you. Perhaps I should tell my Lady to have your time with her limited."
"I would delight in seeing you try." Elrohir said. "Though, it is my grandmother's opinion that Morwen's caution saves Elladan from rash action. You see, she finds her to be a good influence on Elladan and would you, Haldir, like to be in disagreement with my grandmother?"
Haldir was silent as he grasped Elrohir's arm to drag him down the path. "Just look at the blasted mirror." Haldir hissed. "Then we can all return to our peace."
"Inactivity." Elrohir said.
"Peace." Haldir stated.
Elrohir extracted his arm from Haldir's hold. "Thank you for your escort, but I can find the rest of the way myself."
"I hope your future is full of hair loss." Haldir said, a sweet smile on his face.
"And yours full of broken limbs!" Elrohir yelled back.
His grandmother came into his line of sight. Her hair was also loose down her back, the wind only catching the ends.
"You are late." Galadriel said.
"Can you be late for these things?" Elrohir asked.
Galadriel turned around, a soft smile on her face. "You remind me so much of Celeborn with that tongue of yours."
"Mother says it is my father's trait." Elrohir replied, mentally counting the moments she had expressed such a sentiment. Two hundred, perhaps, maybe three.
"Only because your mother has never heard such smart language from her father's mouth." Galadriel held out her hand, "Come, Elrohir."
"Must I?" Elrohir asked. Three. Three hundred was certainly closer.
"Yes, and do not drag your feet and disturb my ground. You had dawdled enough today."
Elrohir held back, "I do not need a pitcher of water to show me what I have no desire to see."
"Fate changes." Galadriel replied.
"Some things do not." Elrohir argued.
"They could." Galadriel said.
Elrohir felt his face warm and a ringing passed through his ears. "Could Gondolin do anything but fall? Could Gil-galad do anything but die? You, most of all Grandmother, know there are things that must pass. Old must make way for the new." Elrohir said, tone cool and quiet.
Galadriel's answer was calm. "It will be so, indeed, it is a universal truth. Do you honestly believe, Elrohir, that your own future is so important that it cannot change?"
"You have eluded to such in the past." Elrohir said.
"For your brother and sister, perhaps." Galadriel replied.
"Are you trying to raise my insecurity and fear for my own future in order to cause a motivation within me and a desire to look at your mirror, because, I must say, that could created a lack of trust." Elrohir answered.
Galadriel's lips twitched. "Elrohir."
"Yes, Grandmother?"
"Look into the water or I will force you, and you do not want me to force you." Galadriel said.
Elrohir laughed, his head shaking, strands of his dark hair catching the moonlight. "Yes, Grandmother."
A sure stride brought Elrohir to the fountain. He took the pitcher of water from Galadriel's hands, ignoring her look of surprise, and poured the water himself. Placing his palms on the rim he caught his grandmother's gaze and with a sure smile reminiscent of his father, he said, "Well, let us have a look then."
Elrohir's eyes rested on the letters clutched in Celebrian's hands and the open book beside her. All were covered in Morwen's distinctive scrawl. He had not rested for many days, the visions from the mirror a private matter weighing heavy on his mind. Taken with his own dreams, Elrohir could not be sure if the open book of his mother's did have Morwen's writing in it, or rather, if he just wished to see it to calm his yearning for home.
"Morwen wrote a synopsis of the last fifty Arda-wide councils for me." Celebrian said as she caught his gaze. "I thought something in the Lothlorien archives might put an end to the most common disputes."
"Unless Lothlorien has the ability to produce a large and powerful sleeping drought which also manages to erase long-standing disputes in the mind, I do not believe the archives will be of much help."
"You never do know what my mother has hiding around here." Celebrian said as she gestured to the shelves in her room. "She has lived for many years and seen many things."
"So has my father." Elrohir said.
"Indeed. But Elrond's knowledge stems more towards…." Celebrian trailed off. "Well, yes, I suppose a healer would be the best one to ask about the most powerful sleeping drought Arda knows."
Celebrian closed her book. She pressed a hand to Elrohir's cheek. "If you truly wish to hide your fears and thoughts, my son, you have to work harder."
"Secret fears must be kept secret, yes." Elrohir said. "I will do my best." Elrohir clutched his mother's hand, leaned into her touch.
"You can tell me." Celebrian whispered. "You may feel better."
"No, I have to keep this…" Elrohir took a deep breath. "It is mine to decide."
Celebrian nodded and pulled him forward to press a kiss on his forehead. She smiled again before re-opening the book in her lap.
"Whatever you decide, you do not have to do so now or even a century from now. When you need the answer, truly need it, you will have the proper one." Celebrian said.
"How do you know?" Elrohir asked, kneeling at his mother side.
Celebrian looked up from her book. She studied him for a moment and then gave her answer, short thought it was.
"I have faith in you."