Chapter Eight: An Unexpected Letter

Elrond was not often taken by surprise. But the missive that was brought to him that morning gave him considerable pause for thought.

Truth to tell, it was surprise enough to have communication with the Woodland Realm; while there was no specific animosity between himself and His Most High Majesty, King Thranduil of Greenwood the Great, they were not exactly the dearest of friends.

His grey eyes sliced through the plethora of titles and flourishes until he got to the meat of the text.

'From his Most High Majesty, King Thranduil, to Elrond Half-Elven, Lord of Imladris called Rivendell, greetings…'

'Having been lately informed that a lady of the Imladris families has come to the notice of our son Iauron, we wish to seek information as to whether, should the lady prove to be of suitable standing, her family would permit her to be considered as his future wife and consort…'

What? He vaguely recollected having been told that when his daughter and her company had been travelling fromLórienback to Imladris, an honour-guard from the Woodland Realm had insisted on conveying them through some disputed territory. It was, he supposed, possible that Crown Prince Elect of the Overactive Libido could have been part of this guard, and that one of Arwen's ladies in waiting had caught his eye…

'And so we would hold it most advantageous if you would enquire, on our behalf, concerning the family of the Lady Gaelbainil…'

'Ha, yes, all very good, O Friend of the Forest… but there is no Lady Gaelbainil in Imladris…'

At which point a thought occurred to him and he laid down the letter, put his hand to his brow, closed his eyes and shook his head…

'Arwen!' he called out. 'Bring the Lady Arwen to me at once!'

While he waited, he pondered. He loved his children, of course he did; but every time he looked at them, he saw their mother in the tip of a head, the wing of an ear, the timbre of a laugh. But Celebrian was gone, over the wide seas to the Undying Lands to complete her healing, and although she was not dead, still, she haunted him.

Time had not yet softened his sense of loss, but he had always born in mind that his children had lost their mother; it was not only he who suffered.

And while his sons had found some outlet for their grief by purging the mountains of as many orcs as they could find, in memory of their mother's torment, Arwen had no such recourse open to her, which might go some way towards explaining her – on occasion – outrageous behaviour.

It was not as if she had lost her mother during her formative years; Arwen had been well into adulthood when the family had been sundered, but she had not responded in precisely an adult fashion.

It had been thought that a visit to her maternal grandmother, Lady Galadriel of Lórien, might be of service, that the support and advice of an older kinswoman might supply any lack of Elrond's parenting, but no. Galadriel had sent messages back saying that nothing she could do had been able to impress on Arwen that her behaviour was in any way inappropriate, that Arwen loved her father deeply and had no wish to cause him and sorrow or worry, and that the girl promised repeatedly to try to do better… and then the next night had been spotted in conversation with some of the more worldly of the warriors, or with her skirts around her knees as she paddled in the streams of Lórien…

But really, what could be done? If Arwen wanted to flirt and favour herself through Lórien, there was nothing Galadriel could do or say to stop her

Arwen meant no harm, Elrond reminded himself. She was simply going through a difficult phase, perhaps made worse, extended due to the loss of her mother and she would come through it. They would come through it.

And, if Elrond's guess was correct, he may have found something at last to help…

He shuffled the papers around on his desk as he mentally prepared how to approach the interview. There were several points at which it could become difficult… or simply difficult not to be amused, and he would not wish to hurt Arwen's feelings by appearing to laugh at her.

'The lady Arwen, my lord.'

He glanced up at the servant's voice.

'Thank you, Duinor, show her in and that will be all – ah – wait... Have Erestor come to me later; inform him I will wish to discuss the contents of a letter I've had from the Woodland Realm.'

'Yes, my lord.'

Presently, the rustle of skirts and the faint aroma of perfume made him lift his eyes again.

'Father?'

'Arwen.'

Her hair was dark as midnight and her skin flawless. Her expressive eyes were deep and clear, and he had no doubt that every one of those Galadhrim she'd flirted with would not have been able to believe their luck. Elrond began again.

'Sit down, my dear daughter. I have a letter here from the Woodland Realm…'

'Oh?' Her eyes had brightened and she had moistened her lips unconsciously as she'd lowered herself onto the chair. 'I hope all is well in the Greenwood?'

'Alas, no. From the tenor of this missive it would appear that one of their young swains is suffering from the most acute lovesickness and the only cure is a young lady residing here in Imladris…'

Elrond noted the swift flush on Arwen's cheek, the lowered lashes and the way her mouth parted in a small smile of triumph.

'And you wanted me, Father?'

'Indeed, for the lady in question, the fair Gaelbainil, is unknown to me and I wondered whether she might be one of your retinue I have not yet met?'

'Oh… I… that is…'

'Because Crown Prince Iauron is most eager to discuss the matter with her family…'

'Prince? He did not say that he was a prince!'

'Who did not say, Arwen?'

She gave a little gasp and her flush turned to a blush of shame.

'He called himself Belegornor…'

…which roughly translated as 'Mighty Tree'... Elrond shook his head. Why was he not surprised?

'Oh, so you have met him, then? I take it you were making sure your young friend Gaelbainil was not spending time with someone inappropriate? That is very responsible of you, Arwen, to look after the welfare of those who are your friends…'

Her lip trembled. Elrond was torn between triumph at bringing Arwen to the point of a confession, and guilt at causing her distress. In the finish, neither won; instead, he found himself battling a smile and so he hid it by coming to stand behind her and drop his hands on her shoulders.

'My dear child…'

'Father, oh, I am sorry! I pretended Gaelbainil was my name – you cannot know how hard it is, to be Arwen all the time! Everyone looks at me as if I ought to be weeping, even though the years have lengthened since the loss of my mother, and so even when my heart would let me sing again, I am kept in mourning for one who is not dead and I am ever trying to behave with decorum so as not to displease you, father, for you lost her too, and sometimes it becomes too great and I break free… and I thought it better to pretend not to be Arwen, both for freedom of my spirit and so as not to bring disgrace upon you.'

'My beloved daughter!' Elrond found unexpected emotion filling his throat. 'I want nothing more than for you to be happy, again, for you to sing and laugh, if that's what you feel like doing!'

'And, father, I did not indeed do anything to disgrace our house, although I must confess it was more by fortune than by choice…'

No, this was too much information! While he dearly wanted his daughter's confidence, he did not want a blow-by-blow account…

'… but as I was sitting with Belegornor, an alarm went up that there was a spider in the tent of one of my ladies in waiting, and all the honour guard from the Woodland Realm were called to arms! Belegornor went towards the tent with his sword drawn in one hand and a knife in another, and his commander had the tent surrounded with archers, and when the spider was discovered, it was not even the size of a daisy's golden heart! And while all were laughing, Belegornor explained to me that around his home, the spiders grow larger than horses, and that they are always seeking prey, taking humans and even elves, if they can… and there was something in his eyes then, father, and I knew I did not want to deceive him with a false name and hope, because he lives in constant danger and to toy with him would be unkind.'

She threw up her hands. 'And now I learn that the wretch gave me a false name! Oh, the deceiver!'

Elrond laughed.

'But this is wonderful, Arwen! If you liked the simple warrior, and he liked Gaelbainil, then that is far better than being enamoured of a prince and a great lady, for you know your fondness has a basis in genuine friendship. Did you, really, like him?'

'I really did, Father. Do you think he really may have liked me?'

Elrond returned to his desk and tapped the missive there.

'This message says he does. Well, child. How shall I answer him?'

Arwen's smile, the first real smile he could remember in a very long time, blossomed and she giggled and clasped her hands and laughed. Elrond raised a backswept eyebrow.

'As you wish, of course. But tell me – how are you spelling that?'