Chapter 40 - Bliss and Midsummer
May 3rd, 3019 (Third Age)
The air was sweet and fragrant, full to bursting with the scents of mown grass and budding flowers. A gentle breeze slipped over the higher levels of Minas Tirith like gusts of perfume. From the top of the city near the doors to the Citadel, one was afforded a magnificent visage. The Pelennor Fields were alive with busy figures and the soothing sway of the grass, unbroken save by Rammas Echor. The landscape galloped away from them, swallowed up by a warm haze and pleasantly obscuring the rather grim peaks of Ephel Dúath.
Elanor stood at the brink of the wall, upon the peculiar jutting rock formation which thrust outwards from the walls of the city. The breeze tickled her hair, which curled to the base of her spine in sunlight waves. She was staring dreamily out at the scene spread below her, and it seemed rather like a child's play-mat in it's magnificent form and vivid colours.
Had one compared the woman lost in a reverie upon Minas Tirith's battlements with the woman who first appeared upon the plains of Cardolan, one might notice several immediate, physical differences. The close-cropped hair about her chin had given way to the lustrous mass which glowed in gilt ringlets. The polyester fabric and machine-stitched seams of the dress worn to the medieval festival was lost in memory, replaced instead by a silken gown of softest green, the colour of sea-foam and pale, budding birches. It's collar was high, clasped about her throat and traced in tiny beads, whilst the bodice fitted her slim form like a glove.
Still, there was much the same about the scarcely-more-than-girl. Her skin was not quite so brown as the Elanor's of old, though she maintained the smooth, golden complexion which made her stand out amongst the fairer-skinned Rohirrim. The deep-set green eyes no longer appeared so shadow-rimmed, despite the lack of concealer in Middle-earth—a tragedy which Elanor could never entirely reconcile herself to. The lashes were still black, the nose small and upturned—albeit devoid now of freckles—and the face slim and tapering to a pointed chin. Her lips curled up a little at the corners, and she had acquired a pair of droplet earrings which sparkled upon her lobes in fairy-like flashes of green. Altogether, she maintained much of her former appearance. To a casual observer, she was Elanor Ravenscroft, playing at dress-ups in an exceedingly well-fashioned medieval gown of finest silk.
Nonetheless, there was a certain alteration in her air. Her posture was unfalteringly good, though this could have perhaps been attributed to the unrelenting corset which hugged her figure. The light in her eyes—the vivacity, wit and bright interest—was no less diminished, yet it had been tempered. There was compassion there in greater measure, and patience grown in the face of exasperation; the sarcasm and yearning for control had been softened by a kind of wry acceptance; she had learned better to notice, to care and to love. Altogether, the fresh-faced woman of twenty-two had come to tastefully encompass both the spirit of the girl and the grace of womanhood.
And—dare she tempt fate—she was rather happy.
Minas Tirith was, undoubtedly, not Rivendell, but Elanor found immense relief in returning to the White City. It was a bastion of strength, and a humbling reminder of the soldiers who had given their lives to save Middle-earth and it's beauty. The Tower of the Guard had housed her for some time, through greatest joy and deepest sorrow. Ruefully, she recalled the self-interested desperation for her loved ones to survive during those days—and felt rather sheepish as she considered that, to a large degree, her selfish desire to become a recluse in an Elf-haven had not been quenched.
If you'd been named the foster-sister of Boromir and Faramir, or some other hoity-toity title, and given a place in high court, you'd be happy to stay here—admit it! It's just because here, you're a nobody, and you don't like being a nobody. You'd rather go back to Rivendell, where Elrond will dote on you, and Elladan and Elrohir will treat you like a princess, and…
A frown creased her brow, and she glanced away from the breathtaking landscape.
Well, it's not like I'm a complete nobody here! That's hardly fair, anyway. Besides, I'm perfectly happy; I get to join in, but not made a fuss of.
To be fair, they don't know what to do with you! You're human, but not of the Rohirrim, even though you're friends with the King's sister and future wife of the Steward of Gondor. Faramir and Boromir know you, but cannot vouch for your rank. You're tightly woven amongst the Elves, being betrothed to one of their greatest and foster-sister to one of the greatest Elf-lords, yet that means nothing in Gondor.
If anything, it makes it worse… Elves are almost taboo.
True. So they awkwardly place you and Georgia amongst the ladies of Gondor—with whom you have no acquaintance—and you're whispered about because you're constantly gallivanting off with peculiar folk.
Not to mention we're well-clothed but of unknown heritage, and somehow manage to spend time in company with—
"Good afternoon, Lady Elanor."
She twisted hurriedly away from the wall, surprised that she had missed hearing the footsteps of a newcomer. The astonishment was doubled when she saw Boromir standing before her, with a tread heavy enough that it would, ordinarily, have woken her from deepest slumber.
"Lord Boromir," she said, hurriedly, curtseying with appropriate deference. She grasped hurriedly for an appropriate remark, but found none. They had not spoken directly since before the celebration at Cormallen, and whilst that interview had passed smoothly, Elanor felt none of the ease as when she spoke with the gentler, soft-eyed Faramir.
She flushed as the silence grew a little heavy.
"You appear well, my lady," he proffered. He glanced at her from beneath his dark brows, grey eyes steely but filled with a kind of gruff politeness.
"I am, my lord; well indeed. The hospitality of the Minas Tirith is indeed—magnificent," Elanor managed, glad to find her tongue.
Boromir smiled, his hard face changed even with so small a gesture as the tilting of his mouth. "I am glad you find it so. Gondor is close to my heart; I love the White City dearly."
Elanor studied him for a moment, discarding awkwardness to stare directly into his face.
"I can see as much, my lord."
He gave a slightly stiff nod, and Elanor subdued a smile.
She could not be rid of the memory of her first impression of Boromir of Gondor; "stern, and proud, and rather awe-inspiring" but "certainly not unlikeable" with his other-worldly air and chiselled, noble face. To own the truth, he no longer appeared so very other-worldly—the Elves were difficult to grow accustomed to, but Elanor found the fair and proud race of Men reasonably easy to accept. Boromir was gruff, gentlemanly and, she imagined, possessed of a very hot temper, but she was deeply glad she had not allowed him to perish near the Falls of Rauros.
Smiling a little, she stepped away from the wall and gestured back towards the citadel.
"Will you walk a while with me, my lord?"
He nodded. "I should be glad to, Lady Elanor."
The pair began a gentle amble back towards the core of the city, Elanor absently toying with the fabric of her skirt whilst Boromir clasped his hands stiffly behind him. They were not the only ones abroad upon the Place of the Fountain; several others had ventured out to the Embrasure to drink in the scenery. A flock of noblewomen were loitering about, fanning themselves and speaking quietly. Elanor noted with amusement the furtive glances they stole in her direction, and silently dared them to speculate about her friendship with the Steward's brother. Her engagement to an Elf had not been wantonly publicised.
Not till Elrond gets here, anyway.
"I do not mean to intrude upon private matters, Lord Boromir," Elanor began, the latter thought stirring a question, "though I do have a question I should ask of you, if I may."
"Speak as you will, my lady."
"You have made good your promise to abdicate in favour of Faramir," she said. "I am a little curious, though more desirous to know what you shall occupy yourself with in the stead of the role of Steward."
They walked another dozen paces before Boromir answered.
"Perhaps you shall consider me foolish," he remarked, with the ghost of a smile. "Yet I believe I am ill-suited to the Stewardship. I—we have spoken of this before, I believe. I maintain my supposition that the reins of power are better placed in Faramir's hands."
Elanor glanced over at him, her lip quirked as if she could read his thoughts. "And I stand by my earlier assessment."
"You must remind me, Lady Elanor."
"That you are wise to take such a course; a weak man could not have done as much. Also, that King Aragorn shall rule well."
Boromir shook his head and smiled wryly.
"Forgive me," Elanor broke in, with a sheepish grin. "I am ever swift to speak and sometimes a little heedless."
You could say that. Good thing he's more patient now than he used to be, or he'd—
"Not at all, lady," he replied, an unforeseen twinkle in his grey eyes as he looked down at her from his mighty height. "'Twas well-spoken. Nay, I have been humbled, though I daresay I will ever be as proud a man as my father; and still better, perhaps, for never having been Steward of Gondor." He paused before diverting the subject. "My wounds have healed swift and well, thanks to the ministrations of thy foster-kin and betrothed. Nevertheless, I still cannot comprehend the swiftness and timing of Lord Glorfindel in coming to my aid upon the banks of the Anduin; should he have tarried but a moment, I should not stand before thee."
Well, at least the one change you did manage to instigate in Middle-earth turned out pretty well!
Elanor smiled warmly. "It pleases me to hear this. Still, you have neglected to answer the second and more important part of my query." Boromir attempted to look chastened. "What shall you do with yourself?"
"I shall continue as Captain of the Guard," he replied, with yet another smile—that's got to be a record!—and shook his head. "It is a task to which I daresay I am well-suited, and it should please me to serve Lord Aragorn and my brother in this manner. After all," he added, with a look which might have passed for an roguish grin, "I know well that younger siblings need looking-after."
Elanor laughed merrily, the girlish sound tinkling across the courtyard and causing several of the Gondorian noblewomen to turn with looks of envy as green as the Elvish fosterling's gown. The impishness of Boromir's remark was unlooked-for, yet pleasing.
"Ah! You read my thoughts most aptly, lord! What impression have you formed of Georgia?" Elanor grinned, seemingly unfazed by her sister's incorrigibility. Boromir's diminished awkwardness and her sense of satisfaction lent her a playfulness which merely added to her beauty—and the jealousy of the nearby women. She was wickedly curious to know what Boromir thought of Georgia's impulsive and, often, unseemly behaviour.
"One cannot help but observe the kinship between you."
The lady stopped short in unfeigned amazement. "Kinship! I hope you do not mean to insult me, my lord!"
"Nay, never!" Boromir replied. "If I speak frankly, I considered you outspoken, uncouth and peculiar during much of our sojourn in Rivendell—" Elanor held back a half-biting remark "—and yet cannot employ those terms now. Perhaps it is the life of a soldier, yet I have rarely encountered women of intelligence and wit—" Oh really, Boromir? "—and it is refreshing to converse with a woman who is… equal in the faculties of the mind."
Elanor glanced downwards, caught between horror and laughter at the man's remarks.
"I am flattered," she half-stammered, ocean-eyes twinkling in soundless mirth.
He nodded thoughtfully, wandering deeper in contemplation. "Still, there is a similarity with your sister, which is altogether foreign to the ladies of the South."
"I see."
There was a pause.
"Ah, forgive me; I am most remiss. I have neglected to congratulate you on your engagement to Lord Glorfindel, though I am aware that such an arrangement cannot be formalised until Lord Elrond gives his blessing. Still, it brings me joy," he said, looking down at her in a fatherly fashion. "I pray you shall be very happy."
Elanor smiled. "Thank you; few in this land have dwelt among the Elves for a time as you have, and I believe they look askance at our engagement. My heart is gladdened to know our friends do not say as much."
"Nay; Lord Glorfindel hath doted upon thee for months." He grinned again, astounding Elanor with his cheerfulness. "I should have prophesied as much in Rivendell!"
Boromir seemed to run out of words then, for he was not by nature fond of such introspective conversation and soon reverted to the quasi-stern, painful politeness which Elanor could not help but find rather endearing. They continued to the far edge of the courtyard, zigzagging aimlessly from side to side once or twice until the silence grew burdensome and the remaining polite civilities had run dry. As the would-be Steward bowed and departed, Elanor indulged in an amused smirk.
That was fun.
One of the noblewomen shot her an acid look as Boromir's back was turned. Feeling rather mischievous, Elanor ran her middle finger along the side of her face and paused with it upon her chin. The gesture felt triumphant, though it appeared to befuddle the ladies mightily. Laughing into her sleeve, she turned and departed the courtyard for the wing in which she and Georgia had been housed during their previous stay in Minas Tirith.
Boromir strode away with a light expression that appeared almost foreign upon his countenance. As his heavy boots made tremors upon the marble floor of the citadel, he shook his head. His sense of pride appeared to have fled, and he marvelled at his own frivolity in dealing with Lady Elanor.
The latter's question concerning her sister, Lady Georgia, had thrown him off balance. His earliest calculation of the peculiar women from another land had led him to the assumption that the younger lacked something the elder possessed so fluently. The precise deficiency remained a slippery object, for Georgia was far more ebullient than Elanor; prettier, too, with her light brown hair, and hazel eyes which had caused him to start at her appearance. Such tones were almost unknown in the south, though he believed that the folk of Dale tended towards such colouring. Elanor was friendly and straightforward; her sister could captivate an audience like a practiced politician.
Nevertheless, he was forced to conclude, he should choose Lady Elanor's company over her sister's without hesitation. The guilelessness which he so admired in the golden-haired woman with her understanding eyes was utterly lacking in Georgia; he felt as if she were watching him with foxlike calculation whenever they spoke, and it unnerved him. Much of Elanor's appeal was in her disregard for the cunning machinations of the Gondorian court.
Lord Glorfindel is fortunate indeed!
True enough. They shall be happy.
That, he discovered, gave him a great sense of satisfaction, rather than jealousy. Whilst Elanor no longer appeared to be a lost girl, Boromir was unable to shake the flickers of paternal interest he had concerning her. To see the bewildered child with the deer-like eyes transform into the composed and pleasing woman so at home in Gondor's court—for, you see, he did not observe Elanor giving the rude finger to the other ladies—was immensely gratifying. He was able to forget her moment of indiscretion in the corridor of many nights ago, for she had proven repeatedly that such unseemly behaviour was as distasteful to herself as to him. He found it difficult to overlook her unknown heritage, for blood was of paramount importance amongst the nobility of Gondor, but her decorum, intelligence and pleasant manners logically dispelled many doubts.
Still, 'tis a pity she should not have wedded Faramir. He appears very much in love with Lady Éowyn; yet I cannot help but think…
That Elanor should have been a sweet presence in the Citadel? A hint of Lady Finduilas perhap, like a breath upon the air?
Boromir smiled a little wistfully to himself as he wove the corridors with practiced feet.
Aye.
It had been only two days since their return from the Field of Cormallen, and in that interlude Elanor had spent the majority of her time in company with Éowyn and Georgia. Both Glorfindel and Faramir had been swept up in helping to establish Aragorn upon the throne, and the women had taken comfort in one another's company. In less than a week, Elladan and Elrohir would join the Riders of Rohan and depart for Edoras and—in the case of Elrond's sons—travel thence to Rivendell. Éowyn would join them as far as her homeland.
To Elanor's delight, she discovered that Aragorn had pleaded with the members of the Fellowship to remain; he was loth for it to be dissolved. Thus, Glorfindel, Elanor and Georgia would all stay longer in the city. Aragorn had also spoken in veiled phrases of a day long-awaited, and whilst none of the others could discern the meaning of this riddle, Elanor had rejoiced inwardly for her foster-sister's coming happiness. Glorfindel and Georgia were also aware of the impending wedding through various means, and the three frequently exchanged furtive glances to that effect.
Elanor sighed in mild exasperation as she made her way back to Éowyn's suite of rooms where the three women had taken up residence during the day. Georgia's manner was diluted by Éowyn's presence, but it could still be a little wearing. The Lady of Rohan was far brighter than Elanor had ever seen her, and her musings on Boromir were cut short as she turned her thoughts to Éowyn.
Gone was the intrepid hopelessness which had been cause for concern in Elanor's books. She was no longer grim and cold; Éowyn might never be a match for Georgia in high spirits, but in these days her grey eyes held light and mirth and she was particularly animated when the conversation turned to Lord Faramir.
I guess spring really is the time for romance, Elanor laughed to herself as she arrived at the suite next-door to her own. Hearing laughter from inside, she entered without announcing herself.
Over-exuberant as she might be, Elanor had to give Georgia credit for being a fearless hostess. For, sitting on the elegant seats in Éowyn's suites were a peculiar assortment of individuals, enough to make Elanor raise an eyebrow at the potential for disaster. In the centre was Georgia, presiding like a queen who called forth an offering of mirth from her subjects.
Seated upon one couch were Elrond's twins and Legolas, the brown head wedged between the two black ones. They sat upright and broad of shoulder, yet maintaining the relaxed and careless grace of the Elves. Gimli was in an armchair nearby, distracted from mourning over the short red stubble which grew on his face as he let out a rumbling chuckle about something Georgia said. He appeared remarkably short and squat between Elladan and Éomer, who occupied the next seat. Unlike the Elves, who managed to appear easy, he perched painfully straight upon the edge of his chair. Georgia was immediately to his left, and he surveyed her out of the corner of his eye distrustfully, as if he did not know what to do with such a spirited and unrestrained individual.
Elanor paused upon the threshold, spellbound by Georgia's ability to captivate an audience.
Wasn't it just like this at the festival?
Well, yeah.
Her arrival had, as yet, gone unnoticed by all—save one. Glorfindel was standing behind the couch to Georgia's left hand, upon which sat Éowyn and Faramir, rather distracted by one another. Her fiancee's blue eyes glinted as he smiled in greeting.
Good to know Georgia hasn't got everyone wrapped around her little finger…
Not wishing to cause a disturbance, Elanor slipped around until she stood at Glorfindel's side. His hand sought hers wordlessly, and she was struck by a rush of satisfaction. The company assembled was a pleasant one—except Éomer, who looks like someone just waved a nasty smell beneath his nose—and the laughter issuing from all about the room indicated that Georgia probably hadn't put her foot in it—yet.
Thus, Elanor decided it was a good opportunity to tune into the conversation.
"—wouldn't know quite how to describe them; I took them for granted, mostly," Georgia was saying. "Rather like a wagon, or carriage of some kind, but not pulled by horses. They were moved by a special piece of machinery—very advanced—that propelled them forwards."
Oh… no.
Elanor would have thrown something to distract her sister, if there had been anything to hand. As it were, the tension in her body must've betrayed her to Glorfindel, who leaned down to whisper into her ear.
"Do not trouble yourself; she has said naught to betray you. I should have prevented it had she trod dangerously. She has been speaking for some time, and shown surprising caution." Elanor detected a smile in the last phrase. As he stood upright, Glorfindel squeezed her hand.
If she does, I'll…
Throttle her.
Yep. The last thing we need is someone to burn us at the stake for being witches, or… something.
"How does one encourage such objects to move?" inquired Faramir mildly. Hearing the Steward of Gondor discussing automobiles was almost enough to make Elanor laugh.
Georgia grinned. "One waters horses, doesn't one? Well, it is much the same. Except these—things—their proper name is a 'car', or 'automobile'—need an odd drink. It's like, well—you're the chemistry whiz, Elanor, how would you put it?"
Elanor stared blankly at her sister for a moment before she realised she had been addressed. The remainder of the party watched her expectantly.
"Oh," she managed, after a moment of gaping like a goldfish. Then, rising to the occasion, she smiled. "It's a highly-flammable hydrocarbon with chains of generally between four and twelve atoms in length; a petroleum hydrocarbon."
This was met with stunned silence; even Georgia was lost for words for several seconds. Then she gave an almost imperceptible nod, something which caused Elanor to smile; the nod plainly said, "Well done."
24th June, 3019 (Third Age)
The sky was blue as sapphire and white stars had opened in the East, but the West was still golden, and the air was soothingly cool. Elanor ambled along in perfect bliss, the breeze causing her hair to blow becomingly about her cheeks. Glorfindel, half a dozen metres ahead, turned to survey his fiancee.
The summer suited his lady well, for the setting sun glinted upon her hair and heightened the colour of her golden skin. She wore a gown of very fine, light silk in soft grey to combat the warmth of high summer. It swayed as she moved; not sensuously, for Elanor was unsure how to be sensuous, and any attempt would have made her look awkward. Rather, it was an abstracted grace, as she gazed out from the city walls to the eastern twilight.
Glorfindel smiled to himself as he turned back to the path, moving slowly as he sought among the flowers for one that he desired. The weeks of May and June had been uncompromisingly peaceful, and Elanor his delight. Had an outsider pointed out his future wife's propensity to worry, her short temperedness, her reluctance to leave comfort, her pride, or her lack of patience in certain matters, he should have stared blankly at them and, in love-blind honesty, replied, "Of what, exactly, are you speaking?"
Truth be told, he was as smitten as a century-old ellon, rather than a seasoned campaigner. Her worries made him chuckle behind his hand; her propensity to speak sharply and be filled with contrition moment's later was rather endearing. She might be a home-body with a love of luxury, but she was so generous with sharing comforts that he could not fault it.
Erestor should say I have grown soft, he thought, ruefully. The thought drifted aside as he discovered the flower he sought and plunged into the garden bed to retrieve it. He emerged a moment later, bearing bud-like white flowers.
"Elanor," he called, smiling. She glanced up from a study of a rose—they had intrigued her since she discovered they were quite different to her home-world—and returned his smile, moving to greet him.
"Yes, dear?"
He held out the flowers.
"Baby's breath!" she cried, hurrying forward with a look of utmost pleasure. "Glorfindel, where did you find it!" She grasped it in rapture. "Oh, Mum used to grow this! I haven't seen it in months!"
Glorfindel's lip quirked as he watched her turn them over in her hands. "I know not what the people of Gondor call such plants, but I suppose 'baby's breath' is an apt enough name. I merely thought they should look well in your hair."
"Oh, would you put it in?" Elanor breathed, holding it back out to him. She whirled and presented him with the back of her head. "Please! I always—" She broke off, as if embarrassed.
"Yes?" he asked, surveying her curls. They had been loosely pulled back into an arrangement at the nape of her neck, with several wisps loose in a maddeningly lovely fashion. Reaching out gently, he began to tuck in the tiny flowers, weaving them with gentle fingers. "What did you mean to say, Elanor?"
She gave a little laugh. "Only that I always dreamed I should have these flowers in my hair at my wedding. It's silly, I—"
Glorfindel's face was lit with amusement. Finishing the floral arrangement, he turned Elanor by her shoulders and kissed her upon the lips before she could continue. Surprised only for a half-second, she reached out and grasped his shoulder with one hand and his neck with the other. He began to tug her closer when someone pointedly cleared their throat nearby.
Elanor broke the kiss off hurriedly, and they turned in their embrace to face the source of the disturbance. A messenger stood there—Barhador, Glorfindel realised.
"Yes?" he inquired mildly, conscious that Elanor was blushing in his arms.
"Lord Glorfindel; King Aragorn sent me to summon you, saying that Lord Elrond hath arrived."
Glorfindel tensed, his whole great frame filled with a sudden burst of elation. "They have come at last! Where shall we meet them?"
"The King shall journey downwards from the Citadel, my lord."
Elanor gave one of her sweet laughs. "Oh, thank you Barhador! Come, let us go," she continued, turning to face Glorfindel again, her eyes alight. Being reunited with the party from Rivendell meant as much to his betrothed as to himself, he realised.
For they are the only family she now has, save Georgia. This is the day she has longed for all along! The beginning of her home-coming.
"Yes, jewel of my heart, let us go!" he cried, seizing her and whirling her around before he consented to hurry off.
As they neared the entrance to the gardens, Elanor jerked to a stop.
"Glorfindel—my clothes! They shall never do to welcome the Elves!" she cried, looking in distress at the silver-grey gown; it had none of the stiff finery that the ladies of Gondor wore to formal occasions, but was soft and flowing, more Elvish than human.
"Do not trouble yourself," Glorfindel smiled, running a thumb down her cheek. "You look simply lovely; it is merely your foster-family and the household of Rivendell who come! Your sister shall be wed. At least you shall wear 'baby's breath' in your hair for one wedding."
Elanor grinned. "Thank you. Now I shall feel a Queen, dressed in all splendour!"
BREAK
The pair hurried back to the Citadel, where King Aragorn waited ready to set out. He appeared stately and regal, dressed in ceremonial armour. Elanor had long possessed a historical interest in armour, but was disappointed she had no chance to study this particular set.
And, thought Elanor, Aragorn looks quite strange with his face clean and his hair neatly trimmed!
There was nothing of the gruff and grizzled Ranger about Aragorn son of Arathorn in that moment. As Glorfindel and Elanor approached to join his retinue, he smiled. His grey eyes were still deep in wisdom, yet his stone-like countenance had been bathed in the fountain of youth. Elanor could not help but grin back as she and her fiancee curtseyed and bowed respectively.
"My lord King," said Glorfindel, his tone light with amusement which might have been insubordination in anyone other than the Noldorin Elf. "To a wedding, I believe?"
Then Aragorn laughed, and Elanor was rather startled; it was a nice sound, deep and hearty.
"Indeed, Glorfindel; and in many ways I am Estel of old, ere troubles came to haunt me. 'Tis a joyous day, and all those whom I love here to share it!"
And as Elanor glanced about, she realised that the remainder of the Fellowship had also gathered; Merry, Pippin, Sam and Gimli, Legolas, Gandalf, Boromir and her own Glorfindel. They made a merry party, alongside Faramir the Steward, Georgia, and several other of King Aragorn's advisors.
Seized by an impulse, Elanor laughed and met Aragorn's grey eyes. "I am very happy for you, your Majesty," she said simply. "And for Arwen."
The Ranger-turned-King smiled back, and leaned down to take Elanor's hand and kiss it. "You warm my heart, Lady Elanor; as family you shall be to me henceforth!"
Then, in a flurry of activity, those gathered began the descent to the gate of the City. Elanor, her stomach fluttering with excitement—for all of her foster-family should now have returned to her, and she was elated—walked in stately fashion on Glorfindel's arm, whilst he held Georgia on his other side. Her spirit longed to skip and hop and jump and flitter about—more like Georgia than yourself, Elanor!—but the Elf's steady pressure upon her hand kept this exuberance in check. They wove down to the lower levels of the city with painful slowness, and at last came before the Gates of Minas Tirith.
There they stood for some minutes, as a company approached; Elanor's heart nearly burst out of her ribcage, so full of joy.
Finally! it sang. Finally, finally! All is well, and Elrond here, and Aragorn and Arwen to be married… and we shall be engaged! And then…
What then?
Back to Rivendell, her spirit purred.
Then the fair company was amongst them; first rode her foster-brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, in fine raiment and bearing a banner of silver. Their countenances were smooth, but Elanor could see the sparkle of joy in their eyes. She was pleased to see them, though they had only left Minas Tirith six weeks before. Next came Erestor, his face like a gust of Rivendell's sweet air after so long away. Elanor's breath caught in her chest as she observed the rest of her foster-father's household behind them, all beautifully dressed and so perfectly familiar. There was a trilling in her mind that would not go away; wordless yet exuberant, and she had to prevent herself from fidgeting in her ecstasy. Georgia, standing on the other side of Glorfindel, seemed to notice her exhilaration, for she glanced over with a grin.
Then came a surprising sight; two magnificent white horses, bearing two Elves, and Elanor was afforded one of the magical shocks which had begun to peter out over her time in Middle-earth—her first sight of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of Lothlórien.
Well they're… perfect.
Both Lord and Lady of Lórien were very tall—why, she's got to be almost Glorfindel's height!—and fair of face. Galadriel's hair was blonde, yet it was not the rich golden of Elanor's and Glorfindel's. Instead, it was a silvery-blonde, closer to platinum. Celeborn's hair was true silver, and both were very fair to look upon. Elanor had not had such a pleasant surprise since she had first become acquainted with Elrond's household. Soon, however, she was distracted by other folk of the Golden Wood, wearing grey cloaks and with white gems fastened in their hair—which was, unlike the Rivendell contingent, largely blonde and silver.
As the final members of the party came into Elanor's view, she wanted to jump and weep all at once.
Master Elrond rode his magnificent black horse, and beside him on a grey palfrey was Arwen—the Evenstar. Her foster-father's face was like the culmination of her joy. So often she had seen it's likeness in the twins, yet it was not the same as being reunited with Elrond himself, mighty amongst both Elves and Men. Here was the one who had drawn her in and taught her to love this Middle-earth, who had nurtured her despite her tantrums and treated her with all the compassion and generosity he possessed.
Ada, she longed to cry.
Then Georgia was afforded her first sight of Arwen; glimmering in the evening, with stars on her brow and a sweet fragrance about her, and Georgia's face was moved with great wonder. She slipped past Glorfindel and spoke to Elanor in a low voice:
"You know Ellie," she said, whilst the latter continued to watch the proceedings with shining eyes, "a lot of the characters didn't have a standard to live up to. Like, you don't see Glorfindel in the movies, so though he's delightful, I don't compare him to movie-version. And now here's Galadriel, and Arwen—and they're more perfect than Liv and Cate, if that's manageable," she breathed, joining Elanor in a study of the new arrivals. "I just—I can't—"
"Lost for words?" smiled Elanor, glancing down at her sister. "I know the feeling. I want to run and hurl myself at Elrond, but I know I have to wait; this is Arwen and Aragorn's day, not mine."
Georgia studied her sharply for a moment, a searching look full of understanding.
"Don't worry," she whispered back a moment later, a flash of mischief returning to her eyes. "I'm sure they won't want to waste too much time in the ceremony. There are more important things for afte—"
Elanor gave Georgia a sharp nudge, for Aragorn lifted his voice and called out in greeting to the Elves. Elrond alighted, and brought forth the Sceptre of Annúminas—the final token of the King of Gondor and Arnor—and gave Arwen's hand to her beloved. Elanor watched carefully, noting the barely-concealed grief beneath the happiness on Elrond's countenance as Aragorn took Arwen and led the procession back to the High City for the wedding.
Why does sorrow always have to mingle with joy?
Because to say yes to one thing, you're saying no to something else. Yes to Glorfindel, no to Tim. Yes to Middle-earth, no to home.
Home. Funny, that the word should suddenly bring to mind pictures of Rivendell, and not of my apartment, of Mum and Dad and…
It's not home anymore. You didn't have to almost give your life up to save Australia, or Brisbane. That makes a lot of difference.
I guess it does.
Well, that's 40 chapters done, and around 175,000 words! Wow. Did not think I'd ever get this far. Anyways, here's just a little bit of what I'm thinking, as this helps me to get my thoughts in order...
You have several things to look forward to very soon.
1. Elanor/Glorfindel's official engagement
2. Elanor's catch-up with Elrond
3. The return of the Rivendell party back northwards, away from Gondor
I'm hoping to get all of the plot stuff happening fairly quickly. I feel like I've kind of lingered in self-gratifying character scenes lately, just enjoying having Elanor and Glorfindel romance one another, and stuff like that. This chapter, I wanted to resolve the friendship between Boromir and Elanor, as there was a bit of awkwardness there because of the drunk-kiss incident. Boromir esteems her as a fatherly-brotherly kind of person; he's seen her go through a lot and he finds her nice to be around as someone who isn't twittering and manipulating and flirting.
I wanted to get Elrond and Arwen's arrival in, but keep things moving. So that happened at the end (sorry it's so mish-mashed!) and next chapter I'm going to include the aforementioned 3 steps (or at least the first 2!) and then move on. The story doesn't stop here, because life goes on after the initial declaration of love. :3 As Aragorn's wedding to Arwen is barely mentioned in Return of the King, I struggled with how to picture such a ceremony. Aragorn doesn't seem one for pomp and I reckon he'd have gotten the wedding down with Elf-fashion - PM me if you want and I can send you a link to one of Tolkien's texts which talks about Elven marriage, etc. It's interesting, and it's what I'll be basing future events on. :D Anyway, I think Aragorn probably would've gone with that, because it involves the Elven families (and explains why both Elrond and Galadriel would have come). I couldn't imagine just how the ceremony, etc. would have gone though, so I left it up to your lovely imaginations. :)
Hope you're still enjoying this exceedingly long, laborious work haha. Trying to keep my characters consistent (which can be tricky across such a *mass* of text) but doing my best. Comments/criticism/corrections are helpful!
As always, I love to get reviews. :) - Finwe.