A\N. I want to thank MistressofImladris for her immense help in the next five chapters (including this one): I would not have posted if she hadn't had the patience to go through it.

~.~

Arwen restored the book to the fireside alcove. Outside, she could hear the eager cry of spring larks and the murmuring call of wild doves. Through the full-length windows, there were long drifts of bluebells sparkling in the dark boles of the trees.

Spring was once more in the world. And as Kementári sang herself into the woodlands, the Elves joined the song, all save she.

Her heart was too heavy to rejoice. Her brothers had often made forays, she had often been with them, and they had always come back with a scar to thrill the maidens and a tale to delight the Elf-children. No more, no less, but this was different. Although reports varied and were slightly changed under the misapprehension that tender maidens' ears could not hear such things, she felt sure that some of the trolls roaming the birch woods were Olog-hai, a large and clever breed of troll.

~.~

"Get him away! Get him away!" shouted Glorfindel, blade crossed against the mighty hammer of the Troll Chieftain. "Elladan! Get him away!"

Elladan raised himself on his elbow, grey eyes dazed. Beside him, the limp form of Elrohir stretched on the blood-soaked grass. Although the caltrop had moved too fast to be seen, blood gushed out of his brother's body, dark in the dawning light.

Elladan writhed towards his brother, but he had not the strength to stand. The golden-haired warrior came as a flame, but dawn came swifter. Arien's boat sailed higher and higher to clear the trees, and the trolls could not withstand the glory of the Sun Queen.

The club was raised above the troll's head for a crushing blow upon both sons of Elrond when the first light broke through the trees, dazzling gold and bright.

A streak of grey sped down the club, widening and broadening, and the troll stood unmoving, bewilderment on its dull-witted face.

The hands, then the arms, then the head and then a full flood of golden light broke through the birch leaves and the glade went silent. The roars of the trolls faded away into the glens, echoes outliving their masters.

Glorfindel stumbled, tears trickling down his cheeks. He had lost many a warrior, he had lost many a friend. This newfound hope that had saved him the lives of those he had counted as sons brought him to his knees.

"Oh dawn, we bless thee and praise thee

Arien, golden Queen of the day star

Shine upon us brightly from daybreak

To the ending of the day!" he whispered, a soft prayer his mother had taught him.

The sun dazzled him through his tears. He climbed to his feet and went besides the twin sons of Elrond. Elladan was conscious, but Elrohir was insensible, eyes closed. Blood trickled from his nose and stained a dark red patch on his stomach, just above the belt. A curved spike of the caltrop was still visible, protruding in iron contrast from the once-green garment and pale skin.

"We conquered!" Tawarian's fiercely triumphant voice sounded-she had climbed up onto the stooping shoulders of a petrified enemy. Her pale green eyes ranged over the glade, alight with conquest. She did not look to the ground, she did not see the wounded. She only saw the heads of a vanquished foe, she only saw the black blood on her blade, she only saw her comrades that stood and did not lie in grievous hurt.

Glorfindel did not grudge her joy. She was young and hot blood still pulsed through her veins. Nonetheless, it angered him to hear the rejoicing, as he strove to staunch Elrohir's blood.

"Avadion," he called to a silver-haired Laiquendë, one of the hardiest of his warriors. "Go swift and bring back the healers from the camp!" ¹

He turned to Elrohir. He dared not remove the caltrop, it was all that kept this youth from bleeding to death. Instead, he cradled Elrohir's head on his lap, and tore off strips of his cloak to bandage the wound, keeping the protruding spike of the caltrop motionless.

"Elladan," he whispered, turning his head without moving his body. The oldest son was staring at Elrohir, but Glorfindel was glad to see the cloud slowly clearing from his eyes. He had a head-wound, blood matted his black hair.

"I am here." His voice was dull and strained.

"Ask for water."

"He cannot drink," protested Elladan faintly.

"Not for him. For you. You have lost much blood. I see that, so do not say nay."

Elladan was trembling when he rose, too weak to argue. Glorfindel saw that he was given a skin of water.

Elrohir stirred, murmuring something. Glorfindel bent down, till the faint breathing of Elrohir was loud in his ear.

"Itarille…..I'm sorry for breaking her harp," he whispered, a crescent of silver flickering briefly beneath his lids.

Glorfindel rubbed the young one's cold hands between his own. "She forgives you. It is all made right." he encouraged gently.

"'Dan?" he queried, using the childish name that Glorfindel had not heard for thousands of years.

"Elladan is near." Indeed, the other twin had come stumbling back to crouch by Elrohir's side, saying nothing. Hûenon whined at his master's side but Elladan paid him no heed.

A distant horn sounded, and then its blast rang through the woodlands clearly. The healers were coming. Warriors cradled their wounded comrades and prayed for swiftness.

There was the dull sound of many hooves and the Healers entered the glade, led by Avadion.

A young Elf-maid was first to dismount, and she hurried to Elrohir's side, sighing, "Oh, my friend."

Her face was growing tenser as she saw the protrusion of the caltrop. "I can't heal this," she said, shaking her head and rising her eyes to Glorfindel. They were wide and grey, terrified eyes. "I can't heal this." she repeated. "I don't know how."

Glorfindel put a hand upon her shoulder. "Gwindel, all will be well. Find a healer who can."

A tear trickled down her cheek as she fled to do Glorfindel's bidding.

"Gwindel thinks it is the end." said Elladan slowly, staring beyond his brother's body to the dark green of the forest.

"Gwindel is young." encouraged Glorfindel. "She does not know all."

"She and Elrohir studied as healers together. She knows as much as he does, and he is a great healer." answered Elladan, but his voice was rising to a higher pitch.

"Hush!" answered Glorfindel urgently. "Keep your voice to a murmur. Now Elladan, listen to me."

Empty grey eyes were turned to him, and hollow answers were given to him. Something hounded Elladan. Shame, anger….guilt? Did he and Elrohir have some conflict unresolved, that now he feared would remain so forever?

Glorfindel heard quick breathing and saw Gwindel come, followed swiftly by Amdirion, a healer whose only better was Nestànu.

~.~

Standing on the open balcony, Celebrían lifted her head sharply, a gasp of pain escaping her lips. Far off in the hallways of her fëa, a weak voice was calling. She withdrew from the sunlight and hurried down corridors that were hung with dark gossamer veils of mourning.

Elrohir? Why was the House thus in mourning? Surely…..but no, never! Never, a mother's heart protested, but a warrior's instinct spoke more truly.

Celebrían closed her eyes and retreated back, repeating the first lesson of foresight that her mother had ever taught her when first she taught her of the arts of indemmar and òsanwe. Even the Wise cannot tell all.

In her mother-sight, she make haste down the wide hallways she knew well, and found the windows shuttered against light and veils hung over the rich tapestries.

The House sat in mourning for the son of the House's Lord.

The stairs to the Healing Wing fled under her feet as she ascended. Her youngest son was lying alone in a bed, face waxen-pale in death.

It was death that hovered in the room, she could smell it, feel it. She could see it, lying in the bed, taking the form of her son as if he was still there and not wandering the Dead Halls.

Blood stained the white coverlets. The trolls had taken their weregild ere they were slain.

Celebrían had seen death before. She had smelled it, heard it and touched it. But never had any died so dear and yet so unknown to her.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, felt it dip under her weight. Elrohir loved books, yellowed tomes of Elvish history. He would sit in the library for days if she had allowed it. He loved all the gentle arts of healing, save music. The one peaceful thing she loved he cared not for.

She had never understood him, like she never understood Elrond. But she loved them all the same, loved the soul the dead body on the bed had once encased.

It was a husk now, nothing to love, nothing to understand. Not even the disordered braid could remind her of her son now…

"Naneth?"

A cold sweat was on her brow as she pulled herself to the world of the living. The balustrade was biting into her hands, so hard had she gripped it. It was a moment before she could turn towards Arwen. "Yes, little Star?"

Arwen was dressed in riding clothes, her hair pulled back, and the cast of her mouth bespoke determination. "I am….I want to go to Elrohir."

Celebrían looked the most peaceful of her children in the eye. "I want to go to Elrohir too." she said. "The battle should be over, if Glorfindel lives up to his repute. I will speak to Elrond, and we shall leave within the hour."

"You will come with me?"

"I am a mother." said Celebrían simply. "A mother does not forsake her children."

Arwen looked very grave. "Foresight was on you." she said, and did not ask.

Celebrían breathed deeply. "A foresight was on me, and it was grim indeed. But take comfort, dear-heart, for even the Wise cannot tell all!"

~.~

"Calwen, you just returned!"

"Arwen had requested my presence. As a warrior sworn by the sword to stay with my lady, I must obey."

"Cal, I missed you so!" Itarille reproached.

Calwen shrugged and buckled on her baldric. "I shall return soon."

"To leave again!" she exclaimed. "Lady Arwen is as restless as any young one has the right to be! You stay here for a week or more and then are gone again. And I get lonely, Calwen."

Calwen sighed. "Itarille, I am a young one as well. Though older than Arwen, I am still restless for new lands and undertakings. I cannot stay here, locked up with harps and viols and old scrolls. You know that!" She paused for breath. "Itarille, you cannot come with me on this venture, but join us hunting someday. You will not be lonely then. We spend merry days together, and you will learn much and more."

"You have been trying to persuade me for a long time," answered Itarille tartly. "I don't belong in the wild. But," she added, softening her tone. "I'll come with you. I promise. However, it must be after Tuiléris." ²

Calwen hugged her sister gleefully. "Of course! Sister, you will not regret this, I swear!"

Caught up in Calwen's enthusiasm, Itarille laughed. "I am sure that'll be so."

When her sister left, she turned to her harp, flexing her hand in an attempt to loosen it before she played. Its stiff joints plagued her still. A sheet of paper lay in front of her, words scrawled out.

Ai! Vàna Everyoung, give us your love

May the sweet spring days endure for long!

Praise to thee, Vàna, may all be reborn

And may the flowers most loved by thee

Blossom long and bright ere winter's bite!

Itarille stared at the paper for a moment. She did not want her prayer to end with winter, but with the hope of spring. Finally, she sat down, dipped her quill in the black ink, but the words that she began to etch onto the thick, cream-colored paper was neither a prayer nor an accolade to spring.

But sleep, love, safe-guarded by hills and pine

Summer days dawn bright, when we rise as one

And down through long, green grass, we will run.

Itarille poised the quill to blot out the doggerel, but something restrained her. "It is a meaningless verse." she said firmly to herself, and raised her hand up over the parchment, back to where the tribute for Vàna was written. She had to finish it by today, and set the melody for it as well. She had no time for daydreams.

~.~

"Celebrían, this proposal is folly!"

Celebrían's jaw was jutting out in clear avowal that this was a folly she would follow through with. Elrond knew the futility of attempting to persuade his wife once her mind was made. "I am well aware that you cannot accompany us, that the realm must be seen too no matter the cost, but I must see my sons. The battle is completed now."

Elrond turned, gripping his wife's shoulders as he looked into stubborn blue eyes. "And if the battle is lost? What then? How can I lose all once more?"

"The battle is not lost." averred Celebrían. "But Elrohir is hurt. He may be dying."

"He is my son as well."

"I know," she said softly. "And one of must be with him. Shall you or I?"

"You go," said Elrond thickly. "You have had the mother-sight. Perchance the Válar will it that you will be by his side."

She turned to go, but he caught her hand as she was leaving. "I will follow soon."

Celebrían kissed his forehead. "I pray you do, my dearest love."

She hurried down, meeting Calwen in the stables. "Are you prepared to ride again?"

Calwen clasped her sword in one hand and laid her right fist to her heart, bowing her head shortly. "Always."

"Very good."

Arwen entered a moment. Although sobered by fear for her brothers, she held an inborn joy rarely quenched. She looked around with a smile. "Shall we go?" She looked to her blue roan. "Naneth, do you think that Mithdal is fit to ride yet again?"

Celebrían looked to her own horse. "Why do you not ask her?"

Arwen stroked the stippled muzzle. "I think she is. She is young, you see, and eager."

Calwen was already astride Belan. The stallion whinnied, eager at the scent of the mares and the apple his mistress gave to him. She trotted the horse out the stables and stood in the court, waiting for her lady and her lady's mother.

The sun was clear but without overmuch warmth, and the cool breezes raised the hair on her arms and prickled her skin with chills.

April rains would be coming, she reflected, as she led the company under the architrave and along the narrow bridge, down towards the Loudwater Ford.

From the window, Itarille watched them go. "Farwell." she murmured. "May all your ways be green and gold." Worry creased her brow. She was not so war-innocent that she was not aware that dark times loomed. Seeing Calwen returned had brought her relief. But she was gone again.
The lives of warriors did not endure long.

¹ And the Eldar deemed that the dealing of death, even when lawful or under necessity, diminished the power of healing. ~ (Of the Laws and Customs Among the Eldar, Morgoth's Ring)

² Vána, in Qenya ( the earlier version of Quenya) is the eponymous Valië of April: the word Tuiléris can be applied to both Vána and April, her month.