IT IS PRECIOUS TO ME

Elrond looked up from his book at the sound of light snoring. On the chair next to Sam, Bilbo was dozing. The healer was not surprised that he had nodded off. It was very late and the room was warm and quiet.

Sam collected a blanket from a heap at the foot of the bed and draped it over the sleeping figure of his former master then returned to take the hand of his present master.

His movement caused the candles on Frodo's bedside table gutter slightly, sending flickering shadows across the room and distracting Elrond from his book once more.

00000

Elrond looked up from his paper, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes against the flicker of the candle flame. Elven eyesight did not need the light to read the documents but Elrond liked the golden glow of the tiny flame . . . usually. Tonight he was beginning to find it annoying, although he suspected it was not the flame that was responsible for his present mood. He licked his finger and thumb, reached out and snuffed it . . . a pale column of smoke rose for a moment and then, even that dissipated and the room was lit only by starlight. He looked back at his transcription.

"……. It is precious to me, though I buy it with great pain."

He rose from his desk, crossing the small study and opening the long windows to step out onto the small balcony. Below was Celebrian's rose garden and, sitting in the arbour her mother and father had shared so often, was Arwen. Her eyes were fixed on the heavens and Elrond followed her gaze to find, as he knew he would, Earendil.

Was she thinking of her grandsire? Or was she, perhaps, thinking of two other lives that had been bound up with the Silmarils . . . Beren and Luthien? Was she hoping that Aragorn, too, was looking at that same star?

Elrond looked down at the deep blue dome of Vilya, bound in gold to his finger. For two thousand years he had waited for the ending of the Rings of Power. But now he wished that it had been another two thousand before the One Ring had been found. Then Aragorn, Heir of Isildur, would be long dead, and Arwen would be free of her vow.

"……. It is precious to me, though I buy it with great pain."

Elrond had longed to be free of Vilya, free to cross the Sea and leave this Middle-earth. It was indeed a dream precious to him. But if he were to have that dream the price was to be the life of his only daughter. Was he prepared to pay such a ransome? If Sauron were overthrown, and Aragorn made King he must hand over his daughter as bride to a mortal. And the golden light that she had shone into her father's life for so many years would be snuffed out.

His eyes drifted out across the garden once more, to find Arwen looking up at him, her eyes filled with sadness and understanding. Tears slid slowly down her cheek and Elrond found his own face damp with silent tears that he had not even known were there. He tore his gaze away and turned back to the darkness of his study, intending to go on with his work.

At his desk his eye fell on the cold and lifeless candle.

"……. It is precious to me, though I buy it with great pain."