Fields of Gold 2015
Chapter IX: Far Out Under a Windless Sky
"Erestor, have you seen-" Bronwë stopped, and quickly offered a smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt." If she'd been paying attention, she would have heard voices conversing and not barged into the room.
The boy had looked up at her entry and now he smiled, grey eyes full of curiosity. "I'll keep working on this if you need to speak with the lady, Master Erestor."
He spoke Sindarin, but there was a hint of accent to it, the vowels broader than those an elf would use. Sea grey eyes, black hair and a gangly frame promised height and breadth of shoulders that few elves possessed. Hardly anyone outside the haven knew of the sheltered Dúnedain heirs, but Bronwë had been in on the secret for many generations. She smiled and turned her attention to Erestor who nodded.
"I want to see that conjugation perfect, Aravorn. No more short-cuts."
With a nose wrinkle, the youth nodded. "Yes, sir."
Following Erestor out of the room, and far enough to be out of range of the sharp ears of youth, Bronwë arched an eyebrow. "Don't tell me. Adûnaic."
"None of them like it at first, but it is their heritage." With a glance back to be certain the curious boy wasn't following, Erestor focused on his visitor. "Were you looking for me or for your two companions?"
"Neither actually." She had been a visitor to Imladris enough to know her way around, and had stayed as midwife when Celebrían had been carrying the children. And yet there were always new things to discover about Imladris. It was one of the things she loved best about the haven. "I was hoping you could tell me where the drying sheds were moved to? Last time I was here they were on the far side of the gardens, but those have been converted to conservatories."
Erestor smiled, dark eyes warming. "Ah, yes. Elrond requested they be moved farther from the falls. The moisture was making drying herbs quite difficult." He took her arm and guided her along a passage that led towards the back of the house. Past the weaving room where laughing ladies worked, through the kitchen where they were stopped by Radhruin, who had yet to say hello to Bronwë, and finally outside. The cook's garden was right outside the door, a large series of raised beds where vegetables and herbs for cooking were grown. "You know where the kiln is and the woodworking area. Just beyond that, up the path, where it is sunniest, you'll find the new drying sheds." When she didn't move, Erestor put a hand on her shoulder. "Is there anything else?"
Bronwë bit her lip, hesitant to ask but finally she nodded. "Has Elrond been out there at all? I know there are other healers to see to those things, but he was always so particular about his own methods..."
Methods Erestor knew she was well-versed in, having been trained by Elrond. A sigh and he shook his head. "He spent many hours there when the lady was ill, but I haven't seen him return since."
Since Celebrían sailed. That was all she needed to know. "I'll see to it then." She took a step and turned back. "They're not driving you to distraction, are they? Faelon and Thalion. I know they were going to search the library and I did bid them to seek you first but..." The Library was Erestor's, regardless that Elrond was the lore master. If one wanted to know if a tome existed in Imladris, it was Erestor they asked. His memory for such things was incredible, and he was generous to those who were respectful of his beloved scrolls and books.
The smile he offered was impish. "You must have put the fear of the Valar into them, Bronwë. They very nearly agreed to wear gloves to handle the books, though..." He laughed. "I was not serious and showed them to the correct section to search." Erestor shook his head. "I have no memory of what they're looking for, however."
Which meant it likely was not in Imladris. Bronwë nodded, and squeezed his arm. "Thank you, Erestor. If we find anything, I promise we'll bring a copy here to you."
That lit his entire expression up, and with a bow, he turned, leaving her to her task.
A short hike up the path just as Erestor had said and Bronwë found the drying sheds where the herbs and plants healers used were hung. The sheds were all the same, but the one closest to the grove of ancient pines had a spider web across the door. Making sure the web spinner wasn't in residence, Bronwë opened the door, and sighed.
It was dusty, the detritus of plants scattered across a long table. Clearly untouched for quite some time. There was a broom in a corner, and after braiding back her hair, Bronwë set to work. She threw out the plants that were improperly dried, and tucked the ones that were good into containers clearly labeled. Dust filled the air, and she opened the windows to let the shed air out as she continued to clean the dead insects from the room. The shelves were cleared of dust, and wiped down, bottles set in order and also wiped to shining spotlessness. When she was done hours later, it looked much like it had when she had worked with Elrond on her last visit. But some of the bottles were empty, mostly the ones used to ease pain and heal muscle aches, and so Bronwë scooped up a basket and went to the healer's gardens to gather what was needed. Mentally categorizing what needed to be done, she didn't notice the figure standing near the trees when she returned and when it moved forward, she almost dropped the basket in surprise. "Elrond!"
Grave expression, somber eyes, Elrond inclined his head and gazed at the room. "You've been busy."
"I hope you don't mind." Anxious that her deed would be taken wrong, Bronwë twisted the basket handle in her hands. "I know how you like things just so, and had been busy with other ..." When he continued to just look at her, she looked down. "I'm sorry. I should have asked first before just -"
"Bronwë."
She looked up, apology on her lips, but Elrond surprised her by stepping forward to gather her into a hug. For a moment she was so surprised she stood motionless before regaining her wits enough to embrace him tightly. "I'm sorry," she whispered into his shoulder. "I shouldn't have stayed away so long."
Elrond stepped back, hands on her shoulders and gave her a long look. "My dear friend, thank you for giving me time." He brushed a hand across her cheek and smiled at the dirt now on his fingers. "I was going to say thank you for saving me what had to be a very dusty, tiring afternoon."
"I don't mind." She didn't. In Mithlond she had a drying shed, a much smaller shed, that was almost exactly like the one they were standing before. But that one she tended alone, and often missed the close camaraderie the healers in Imladris shared. Mithlond was where most elves went to sail West and few lingered. Even fewer had need of a healer, and so most of her patients were human, the men and women and children who made the city outside the haven their home.
"I know." The smile reached his eyes which relieved her enough to return a smile.
"I was going to sort these if you'd care to assist, my esteemed mentor?"
Elrond's smile widened a bit, and he gestured for her to enter before him. "If you think I can properly aid you."
They sat on opposite sides of the table and began to sort the herbs and plants she'd picked in quiet communion. This was a familiar task, one they had shared since the early days of Lindon and Mithlond. First as student and mentor and then as friends. Bronwë knew Elrond had no peer in the realm of healing, and that he called upon her from time to time to aid him meant a great deal to her.
"Glorfindel tells me you go to Lothlórien soon."
She looked up, hands automatically continuing to tie the twine that would suspend the herbs from the ceiling. "We found no record of the mold growing on the trees in Mithlond, nor even anything close." Bronwë shook her head. "Black mold, not white or yellow. I've never seen its like."
Trees were not his specialty but Elrond considered the problem for a moment. "You asked our arborists?" At her nod, he shook his head. "Then I would say you are wise to consult with Celeborn and the Avarin Elves."
"Did Glorfindel tell you all? About the lost ships and dead animals?"
"Oh, yes." A mild smile curled Elrond's lips. "I was treated to a detailed retelling of his encounter with the jellyfish, though..." He arched an eyebrow. "I suspect he toned down the seriousness of the injury, knowing Glorfindel."
"He nearly died."
That stilled Elrond's hands, and he took in the quiet tone and stiff posture of his friend and fellow healer. "Bronwë." Tone kind, Elrond tread gently, well aware of the seemingly unrequited affection she had for their mutual friend. "Glorfindel is Glorfindel. He despises being anything but healthy and hale. The healers here won't touch him, you know. It's just as well that he rarely needs anything from us."
Bronwë nodded. "I know, but Elrond." Meeting his gaze, she couldn't have helped the pain that showed so clearly if she had wanted. Elrond would have seen it, regardless. "I..."
"I know." Elrond reached across the table to take her hand and squeezed it. "I do know, Bronwë."
His admission and the pain raw in his voice was like thorns to her senses and she laid her hand atop his. "I should have come here sooner. I am sorry."
Eyes closing, Elrond gently removed his hand and leaned back. "For what? Not doing what I was unable to do as well?" Shaking his head, he picked up a sprig of lavender and brought it to his nose. "I am learning to console myself with this." Elrond met her gaze. "Celebrían is not dead, not consigned to the Halls, but is in the Blessed Realm where the greatest healers in all of Aman tend to her. Glorfindel assures me she will find healing if she is willing and I know it was her greatest wish." He sighed and stood. "And it does help, but I cannot help but long for her presence here, with me." Eyes that were the shade of snow clouds met Bronwë's eyes, several shades a lighter grey. "I will tell you what I told Glorfindel, Bronwë. Don't deny your heart's desire or allow any perceptions of duty to hold you back from finding love. It is utter foolishness and years wasted to fear or hold back. Does it hurt at times?" He spread his hands and Bronwë saw the pain clearly in his face. "Yes, but I would not give up one single moment I spent with Celebrían, even in the last days she was here, to avoid this pain. Loving her is worth every sleepless night and long day no matter how much it hurts. The hope that one day we will be together again eases that aching sadness more every day." He leaned forward, setting his hands flat on the table. "To love means to risk all, and I promise you it is well worth every last bit of sorrow and pain to experience the joy and contentment of love." Elrond straightened and nodded. "This world grows dark, Bronwë. It could use all the love we all hold back in fear or uncertainty."
Tears standing on her cheeks, Bronwë sat stunned, and watched him leave. His back was straight, shoulders strong, far from bent and broken. Elrond might have taken a huge blow in the loss of Celebrían, but he was not defeated. Not hopeless.
Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, she drew in a shaking breath and finished sorting the herbs before tying them to hang. Then she closed the door and headed for the river.
Glorfindel found Bronwë leaning over the railing of a bridge, staring down into the churning river below. The day had turned cold and grey, and the Bruinen was a pale shade of slate that signaled it was snowing higher up in the mountains. He walked over and leaned against the railing next to her. "Are you all right?"
She was pale, and the grey eyes that turned to meet his gaze were unfocused as if her thoughts had been on far distant things, unseen by eyes. "I spoke with Elrond."
Ah. "And?"
Silent a long moment, she blinked and looked away, back to the water. "I still have so much to learn."
The comment was not what Glorfindel had expected and he studied her for a long moment before reaching out to put his hand on hers. It was ice cold and he took hold of her shoulders, turning her to face him. "How long have you been standing here?"
"I don't know." Eyes still on the water, Bronwë shook her head. "Hours?"
Biting back a rebuke, Glorfindel pulled her under his arm, tucking her against his side, and lead her off the bridge, away from the icy spray of the falls blowing down the river. That she didn't resist told him a great deal, and leading her to the conservatory, he opened the door. A puff of warm air brushed across their faces, followed by the rich scent of earth and green, growing things. "In you go." Door closed, he guided them to a bench deeper in the building and gently pushed her into sitting. Tossing off his own cloak, it was warm in the conservatory, Glorfindel sat and took her hands in his, warming them. "Don't tell me you were listening to the water's song all that time?" He'd seen her stare at the waves for hours, entranced by the light on the water, and the song of the ocean. It wasn't sea longing, he'd seen that before, but it was an entrancement that seemed to mostly affect those with Telerin blood.
"No." Gaze finally focusing on him, Bronwë read the concern in his gaze and looked down to his hands. There were minute white lines on the backs of his hands, scars that faded more every sun-round. Scars gained from fighting and sometimes from when he worked at the forges. Strong hands, callused from ages of sword work, the tendons and muscles clearly defined. In the summer the skin would lightly tan from hours spent outside, something unique to the Vanyar, or so he had told her when she had remarked on it years before.
"Bron? Are you all right?"
Words deserted her, and her mind circled again and again on what Elrond had said. But still she didn't speak. A nod and she offered a smile, looking up to meet his gaze again. "Just thinking."
"Hmm." Glorfindel chaffed her hands until warmth returned. "Anything you care to share?"
How many times had her heart said the words that only she could hear? How could he not see in her eyes what others read so easily? Bronwë let her gaze drop and shook her head. No. Elrond was probably right but she was not that brave. To be spurned and possibly lose a friend who was precious to her? No, she couldn't do that. Not yet. "We cleaned out the drying shed and talked a little bit."
Glorfindel waited, but after a long pause where she didn't offer any more, he bit back a sigh. Sometimes he could prod her into talking but many times he just had to wait it out. Like the sea, the wind, she did things in her own time. "Erestor told me he wasn't able to help with identifying the mold."
"Faelon already pestered me about leaving."
It was a faint smile, but encouraging to see. "Do you agree?"
"There's no reason to linger." She looked towards the river; the roaring of the falls was audible even inside the buildings. At night its song twined with the wind in the trees and the distant howls of wolves. "Can we send a hawk to let Lord Celeborn know we're on the way?"
"We should." Glorfindel couldn't help the smile that curled his lips. There was an odd contentment to sitting there, holding hands, just conversing with each other. One he was not keen to break. "I suppose Faelon is all for leaving at dawn?"
"Not dawn." Laughing, Bronwë shifted closer to lean in against him, and he freed one hand to circle her shoulders with his arm. "Elrond said you believe Celebrían will find healing in Aman. That gives him hope, you know."
Cuddling her closer, Glorfindel smiled as she rested her head against his shoulder. "I do believe it."
"Maybe Aman isn't so bad."
"High praise from you!"
Bronwë wrinkled her nose. "I didn't say it was awful, I just can't imagine wanting to leave Middle-earth and go live where the Valar and Maiar are everywhere." He laughed at that, and she poked his chest. "I'm quoting you, so don't deny it."
"Perhaps not everywhere."
"Mmm."
"Bron-"
The door slammed open, and a blond whirlwind staggered in then struggled to close the door against the push of the wind. Faelon turned and shoved his wind-blown hair out of his face to huff at the pair watching him. "There you are! I've looked all over this haven and here you are lazing about in the ...are those oranges?"
Biting back a laugh, Glorfindel winked at Bronwë who was grinning. "They are."
"You have orange trees here." Faelon moved closer to gently touch one waxy green leaf. "I've never seen them. We get the fruit in Lindon from the ships coming into port from Harad, but..."
"The blossoms are amazing, but t'is early yet. Come back several moons from now and this building will be full of their perfume."
"Maybe I will." Snapping out of his distraction, Faelon prowled to where they sat. "When are we leaving for Lothlórien? There is nothing here for us, Bronwë."
She sat up and met his gaze. "Would you climb the trail out of the valley in this weather, Faelon? It is snowing and doesn't look to clear out before tomorrow."
"Oh." Pursing a lip, Faelon looked outside where snow was coming down harder than before. "How much of that is going to fall?"
"Not so much as to hinder us, if you're truly determined to go." Glorfindel stood and offered his hand to Bronwë. "We'll take the old road, towards Hollin. The High Pass will be too dangerous with snow falling this low. If the weather holds fair, we can make it to the base of Caradhras in fourteen days or less." Shaking his head, he pulled his cloak around his shoulders. "I cannot guarantee the Redhorn Pass will be open, but we can try."
Faelon hesitated. He knew Imladris' lady had been attacked at the Redhorn and Caradhras was, at best, temperamental. "The other option is the Gap of Rohan?"
"Yes, but that will delay getting to Lothlórien." Glorfindel shrugged. "The Redhorn drops you practically at the feet of the forest outside Lothlorien."
"What does Thalion say?"
That earned a quirky smile. "He is willing to go whichever way we decide. But he did ask that we wait until the snow is not blowing sideways."
Bronwë laughed. "I agree! Can you bear to wait another day, my friend?"
A long sigh was her answer, and Faelon held out his hand. "If I must, but come with me and let me show you what we found! I've never seen these drawings of Doriath, and Lindir, he's a bard here, said he knows some very old tunes he learned from someone who claims to have known Daeron himself!"
Pulled along by enthusiasm and an insistent hand, Bronwë allowed Faelon to draw her out of the conservatory and they ran, laughing, up the path towards the main house. Glorfindel followed at a more sedate pace, both amused and annoyed. Fate seemed to be conspiring against him.
That would have to change.
"I thought I'd find you here." Erestor leaned against the entry of the room, a knowing smile curling his lips. "You intend to lead them to the Redhorn and return here?"
"No, I'm going to Lothlórien with them." Glorfindel grabbed a shirt from his armoire, sniffed it to see if the cats had been in there again, and folded it before putting it in his saddlebag.
"I'm sure your cousin will be thrilled to see you again. Especially after the last time when you-"
"It wasn't just me, and I assure you that Haldir was fine."
Erestor wasn't fooled. He knew the marchwarden had as much pride as the elf in front of him, if not more. "It wasn't Elrond that he was vowing vengeance upon."
"Of course not." An extra cloak, and...where was...ah. There. He tucked the last item into a secure pocket inside the saddle bag. "Elrond is Elrond." Straightening, Glorfindel brushed back the braid that had fallen into his face and met Erestor's gaze. "I'm not worried."
"All right." Erestor shrugged and pushed away from the door frame. "And Galadriel?"
"Is always the same." Sitting on the leather chair nearest the fireplace, Glorfindel gestured. "Come in if you're going to stay and gossip."
A shake of his head, and Erestor arched an eyebrow. "I don't gossip. And you should be in the Hall of Fire."
A blatant lie. Everyone knew if you wanted to information of what was happening in Imladris, and often in any of the havens, you went to Erestor. His web of informants would be frightening except Glorfindel knew he was on their side. "I thought you were trying to get rid of me again."
The smile that curled Erestor's lips was genuine. "Get rid of you? I want a much longer-term solution than that, and, to the best of my knowledge, that solution is seated right now in the Hall of Fire, swapping stories with Lindir and the other minstrels." When no response came to that, Erestor sighed and turned to leave. "Glorfindel, really. Wipe the frown from your face and go sit with your healer." He paused at the door. "It's not polite to keep a lady waiting."
His healer. Deciding he liked that, Glorfindel stopped to change his shirt and re-braid his hair before heading for the Hall of Fire.
"Fate truly is not on your side."
"You too?" Glorfindel set his mug down with a thump and scowled at the merry face of the one person in Imladris he was very careful to never anger. It never paid to make a bard angry at you. They would make up the worst songs and always with catchy tunes that stuck in the minds of everyone around you and those people would sing and whistle the song... No, far better to keep the bard happy. "Does everyone know?"
"Not quite. Give it a bit more time though and they might." Pushing a long fall of silver hair over his shoulder, Lindir shrugged. "Who could have predicted Mireth would go into labor? And right in the middle of my new song." A sigh and the bard leaned one elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand. "Never try to compete against children."
He had to smile. Lindir had that effect on people. "I would say it was more her screaming the walls down that distracted everyone."
Shrugging a shoulder, Lindir poked at a pastry. "Likely, but the result was the same. The mood was ruined." He wrinkled his nose. "As was one of my favorite cushions. Must she have broke her water on that particular cushion?"
"So inconsiderate," Glorfindel said, deadpan then laughed. "It's not ruined!
The look became one of horror. "Glorfindel, for you bodily fluids might not be a huge concern seeing that you go out and cut orcs and the like to bloody bits. I, however, saw enough blood and other nasty things that belong inside a person but were not during the Last Alliance. Enough for an elven lifetime and then another lifetime." He picked up the pastry and broke it open to see what the filling was. "Oooh, raisin and apple!"
"Blood and bodily fluids can be washed away."
The bard shuddered. "I still dream. Vividly." He looked at the pastry with a moue before dropping it, now in two pieces, back on the plate. "Dreams, my friend, cannot be washed so clean." Lindir stood. "I need tea. Strong, copious amounts of tea."
Chuckling as Lindir swaggered away, mug in hand, Glorfindel looked out to see the snow was easing. One thing, at least, was on his side. They would be able to leave the next day.
Morning dawned cold and clear, the breath of elves and horses steaming in the crisp air. The sun was slow to reach the valley floor, but it was bright on the mountain peaks, promising warmth to come.
Elrond caught Glorfindel on one of his trips back inside to fetch his boot knife and pulled him aside. "Old friend, I know how protective you are of those in your care, and this one time I cannot find it in myself to gainsay that instinct." He pressed a sheathed sword into Glorfindel's hands. "I know you have a blade, and it is a good one, but humor me, please."
The sheath was battered and scratched, but the sword that Glorfindel pulled halfway from it was gleaming, and honed to an edge so fine he had no doubt it would cleave through nearly anything short of granite. There were runes etched on the blade and he only read a few before looking to Elrond in astonishment. Returning the blade to the sheath, Glorfindel held it out. "I cannot. This is yours."
"I have put away the sword, my friend. Save the direst need, I cannot see myself needing it."
That was a lie. Elrond was a deadly foe, fighting with a cool precision that few could match. "You stand there and tell me should the need arise to defend this haven you will not take a sword in hand?"
Smiling for the dubious look, Elrond arched an eyebrow. "No." He pressed the sheath back and met the blue gaze. "I am telling you to take this sword and defend those in your care as you journey over lands we know are filled with shadow."
Leaving unspoken what Glorfindel could hear even so. His heart ached anew for what was lost. "I should have been with her-"
"Glorfindel."
The tone brooked no argument, not even from one close as a brother. Bowing his head, heavy gold braids brushing the sheathed sword, Glorfindel closed his eyes and let the moment go. "Thank you." He looked up, eyes bright with the fire of a heart tried and found true. "I will use it in honor of her memory and those I defend."
"Stars light your path, old friend." And the smile he gained in return was fierce.
TBC
