Author's Note: For those who did not know, 'bronwe' means 'faith'. I figured it would be fitting for my new little character. Oh, and for those who might wince at all my little mess-ups, I don't know what an elvish formal greeting would look like. So I simply made it as I envisioned it.
----------------------------------------------------
"My Lord, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel have been sighted. They will be here in a few minutes."
Elrond looked up from the backlogged reports he was still trying to finish and sighed tiredly. It was all very well returning home, but he wished sometimes that he had gone instead to Mirkwood or Lothlorien for a few months. He still felt so very weak and coming back to Imladris meant he could not, in all conscience, shirk the work that awaited him.
"My Lord?"
He nodded and stood, cradling the still stinging cut in his midsection. It was healed enough that he could walk but it still hurt! "Erestor, could you?"
"Of course, my Lord," Erestor said smoothly, offering his shoulder to be leaned on.
Elrond groaned in frustration at not even being able to walk under his own steam. But though he grumbled under his breath and shook his dark head, the way to the entrance of his house continued to be long, tiresome and frankly comparable to a long trek to Mordor!
"Refrain from lecturing yourself about seeking help, Elrond," Erestor warned, "Or I will drop you where you stand! You know it only makes you feel worse, and truly there is no shame in it."
"I have had worse wounds and I have fought battles before this," Elrond hissed, keeping his voice down as they neared the public places of the Last Homely House, "Others have been fatally wounded and recovered in less time. Why am I alone so weak?"
"You have given birth in the back of a wagon in a forest only three weeks ago! Did you expect to not feel the consequences?" Oh, but Erestor was tired of this! Not only had he had this conversation just the day before, but he had had many like it only a few millennia ago. "You cannot expect to be as strong as before in such a short time."
"I cannot think why. Women do it every day!"
"And you, mellon nin, are hardly a woman. That I have ascertained while sharing a tent with you on a battlefield! Elrond, I am happy to help and you know you are this weak only because of the torment you have suffered while you were most vulnerable. No one blames you for it, and no one thinks less of you either."
Elrond stayed silent this time, knowing Erestor was right but unable to help the way he felt. Actually having the child had been bad enough; having her in such a thoroughly dramatic way and ending up as he had was the worst shock to him. And now to confront the understandably cold eyes of those who would judge him as well as those responsible... he clenched his jaw over the bitter taste of mingled apprehension and anger.
Elladan and Elrohir were already in attendance, their faces uncertain and moody as they waited in formal robes. Arwen had schooled her features to a pretty mask of bland welcome. And Elrond could sympathize with that; his children no longer knew how to address those they had thought of as their grandparents. He wished this hadn't happened but he could only hope they would weather this turmoil.
"Elrond, they are here," Glorfindel whispered.
Elrond nodded again and tore his eyes from his children's faces. Bronwe was asleep and so was excluded from the welcome party. Everyone preferred it that way, not willing to parade her until they were sure of her treatment. And, Elrond added to himself bitterly, there was no one to blame for this mess but himself.
"Lord Celeborn, Lady Galadriel," he greeted, walking forward with a slow and careful step. "Mae govannen and welcome to Imladris."
"Mae govannen, Lord Elrond," Lord Celeborn returned, bowing slightly to his host, "May the Valar bless you and your house."
Lady Galadriel was a little less formal than her husband, taking the Elf Lord's hand and smiling warmly up at him. "Mae govannen, Elrond. You are none the worse for your ordeal?"
He smiled back ruefully. "Nothing that will not mend, my Lady. I owe you both much thanks for your assistance."
Glorfindel eased a careful hand under the Lord of Imladris' elbow as he stumbled. Celeborn took the other arm with a concerned frown. "I am certain you should at least be sitting, Elrond. Why are you not doing so?"
"Because he is stubborn," Elladan blurted out. Father and son glared at each other but the hasty words broke the tension in the elegant foyer.
Galadriel laughed- the high, sweet laugh of the younger Peredhil generation's childhood- as she shook her blond head. Glowing with the ethereal light of wisdom and grace, she took Arwen by the hand and looked to each young face in turn. "I think there is much we need to talk of, and it is best to do it sitting. Celeborn, perhaps you can settle Elrond's mind about the trials? Oh, and Lord Glorfindel- Haldir will bring our eleven prisoners to your hands by Wednesday."
Elrohir muttered something under his breath that sounded like hope that orcs would attack and kill them on the way. But he left meekly enough as the redoubtable figure of the Lady of the Golden Wood led them off to a private sitting room.
Elrond let out a sigh of relief at the sight.
Celeborn observed him with a small smile and gently let go of his arm. He judged it safest since Glorfindel was already supporting the half-elf and Elrond was clearly apprehensive of his guests.
"Come, Elrond. We need to talk for a while on the proceedings for tomorrow." He waited considerately for the distressingly worn Elf Lord to precede him and then followed.
Seated in his study, Elrond got the almost irrepressible urge to kiss his seat in joy at their speedy reunion but decided against it; he sat on it instead and invited Celeborn and Glorfindel to be seated where they wanted. Celeborn being Celeborn, he sat before the window so that he could safely observe everything while his own controlled countenance remained in shadow. Glorfindel respectfully seated himself out of the close circle of the two Ruling Lords, though he himself had as much right to their prestige as they did.
And then the door opened and Elrond's knight in shining armour stepped inside without an invitation and a very determined look in his blue eyes.
"Mae govannen, Lord Celeborn. Elrond, what are you doing out of bed when you are so clearly tired?" Legolas demanded, hands on his hips and barely a glance for any except the one he had sought out.
Glorfindel hastily hid his smile in a raised hand and Celeborn watched the domestic scene between Elf Lord and Elven Prince with not a little amusement.
"Legolas, there is much to discuss about the upcoming trials for next week," Elrond reminded him, expressively warning him not to make a fuss. But without thought, he held out a hand to the blond to offer a reassuring squeeze of his fingers as had become habit.
Legolas pulled up a chair beside him, calmly took the proffered hand and raised a sweetly innocent smile to Elrond's suspicious look of enquiry. "You are tired and those sons of Morgoth almost killed you and our child. I have as much right to be here as you have."
Elrond sighed, but didn't argue. Instead he turned to Celeborn in the hope that they could start without further interruption.
Cekeborn cleared his throat and leaned forward. "You are right, Prince of Mirkwood. I apologize for not remembering that earlier." Legolas blushed and tweaked absently on a long fore-finger in his grasp. "With your consent, Galadriel and I will judge Aurief ourselves, as the ruling Lord and Lady of Lothlorien from whence he hails. We would call on you to bring charges against him and we would listen to your evidence in objectivity and fairness. Any will be allowed to make a statement to the court on behalf of either of you. This is, of course, only with your consent."
"Of course," Elrond agreed, "I would be honoured. And truthfully, it will shield me from being too punitive."
"Excellent! Then that will proceed as smoothly as possible. We shall try to make it as quick as we can. There should be no trouble."
Legolas promised himself that indeed it wouldn't. He already had a very clear idea of what he would say to the judges- "Lord Celeborn, I give you fair warning that I mean to ask for the reclaiming of honour on behalf of myself, Lord Elrond and our daughter."
There was silence in the room as all turned to stare at the youngest elf sitting proudly in their midst. Elrond felt his stomach lurch- which did not much good for his stitches- though Celeborn and Glorfindel were more surprised than horrified. The practise of reclaiming honour was not commonly seen anymore in the Third Age, having its traditions an antiquated form of Sylvan lore that was no longer used even amongst the Wood Elves themselves, let alone the Noldo.
"That is something that I cannot advise," Celeborn tried to say, "I can certainly arrange for an apology to be made in open court, and your, eh, loss of honour will be taken into account against him but..."
"Forgive me, my Lord, you have not understood me. If you find Aurief guilty of the charges brought against him, I will ask the court for the right to settle his fate myself and reclaim the honour and trust that he has abused with the ruling family of Imladris."
"Legolas, what you are proposing is madness," Glorfindel snapped, not willing to be quite as diplomatic as Celeborn, "We can understand your desires, but what you demand is a method of punishment that will not serve as useful purpose! And while I might agree that Aurief deserves to be brought low for his crimes, you are giving him a way out by pitting yourself against a very worthy opponent."
"He was a worthy soldier, young Greenleaf," Celeborn put in, shaking his silver head in warning, "He is no easy opponent. And honour dictates that he will choose the weapon. You are notoriously skilled with the bow, but he is a master of the sword."
"I cry insult, my Lord Celeborn, at the news you think me unable to hold my own in a sword duel," Legolas commented chillingly, "I have spoken to my father of this matter. He supports me. Elladan and Elrohir offered to take my place on behalf of their father but I would not have it. As for the punishment not being useful, I warn you now that the fight will end in permanent conclusion. One of us will die and none but the striking hand may stop that death blow."
"No!" Elrond found his voice is a sudden rush of fear. "No! I forbid it! Celeborn, you must refuse such a mad scheme. It is not even to be considered, surely!"
"This is not your decision to make, Elrond," Legolas informed him quietly, "It is mine alone."
Again, Celeborn was forced to agree, and he wished very much that it did not have to be the Prince of Mirkwood. For he knew the passion that shone from those blue eyes; and to him it spelled trouble. "I am afraid he is right."
Elrond shut his mouth with a snap and shivered as if the slowly departing winter had intruded into his study. Rising, he made for the door without further ado. "If I have no say in it, I will not stay to plan a potential death in my hallways. Pardon me, my Lords, Prince Legolas; I have a three week old infant to care for and must go to her."
Glorfindel stood to intercede but a strong hand pushed him back down, reminding him with furious grey eyes that no matter how frail the body was, it was still possessed of great strength. He sat down with a glimmer of understanding and let his Lord pass him by.
Elrond shut the door very quietly and made his way to his rooms. He pulled his robes tighter around him as the chill travelled from his neck and shoulders down his spine to settle with an uncomfortable throb in his lower back. However, he was not destined to be left to wallow in his morbidity in peace, for a familiar figure stood waiting patiently for him out of his doorway.
"Galadriel. Is there something I can do for you?"
"I think perhaps there is something I can do for you, Elrond Half-Elven. But first you shall drink this."
Too late he noticed the cup of aromatic brew in her hands and resigned himself to having company in his misery. "As you wish," he sighed reluctantly, inviting her into the sitting room that thankfully preceded his bedchamber.
"How is your strength, Elrond? From one healer to another, and be truthful!"
He smiled wryly and took the seat opposite her. He accepted the brew and sipped cautiously while contemplating his answer. While Galadriel could never read his mind, it was best to give her straight answers for then she never used devious means of interrogation. "I am not so well. I have been starved, drugged, frozen and deprived of solace and hope for three months without ceasing. All the while I underwent a most difficult pregnancy which would have worried any healer in a female, let alone a male. Yes, I am not so healthy at the moment."
Galadriel's unblinking gaze was filled with compassion and sympathy as he dropped the masks he usually donned for those he loved. She did not pity him, for there was nothing about him to pity. But she did grieve for the pain of one who was a friend and somewhat of a family member. She held her tongue, knowing he would speak if his heart so desired it.
He clearly did not desire the choice of topic. "Are my children well?" he asked abruptly.
"They are confused and a little upset," she remarked, "But they will adjust. It has been a shock."
"Yes, I imagine it has," Elrond sighed, rubbing his tired brow, "They thought they had lost their mother so tragically, only to discover that she wasn't their mother to begin with! I would take their pain if I could, but they will not speak of it with me. I try to explain, but they say nothing and take pains to change the subject. I imagine they will talk when they have something to say, but that does not make the waiting easier."
"No, it does not," the Lady agreed, "And you have always preferred taking action to waiting."
Elrond's eyes narrowed at the tone of the words. He knew that artless gentleness very well by now, and the look of companionship in her eyes was even more displeasing. The Lady of the Golden Woods was planning on of her probing interrogations! "Galadriel, if this conversation is done?"
"I desired to ask your opinion on the Prince of Mirkwood's plans to reclaim honour from Aurief. He does it for you."
"He does it because he feels guilty," Elrond corrected, snapping because he truly did not want to discuss Legolas and their relationship with Galadriel, "I have nothing to say about it."
"Celeborn thought otherwise," she rebuked quietly.
Grey eyes met grey eyes and both locked into a contest of wills. There was no chance for Galadriel to read his thoughts because the half-elf had never allowed it; even as a youth he had kept watchful guard over himself with an obsessive unconsciousness.
She commented on it, watching a smile tug at his lips. "It says much about the trust you placed in Aurief," she continued blandly, "For you never heard his approach before he assaulted you."
Elrond stiffened and stood, desperate to end such a strenuous conversation. He was genuinely fond of the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien, but they could certainly be very exhausting. "Could this not be discussed at the trial next week?" he asked, panicking when the elf-maid gave no sign of intention to move.
"It will," she promised composedly, "Now do not change the subject. What of Legolas? How much trust do you place in him? Enough to never notice his approach?"
"A herd of oliphaunts make less noise," Elrond growled, "Galadriel, please! All I want is a few minutes to myself to think and if I do not get that, there is no telling what I will do. I trusted Aurief; he betrayed my trust. I trust Legolas; I have yet to see him do anything but uphold my confidence. Well?"
Galadriel nodded and rose, a suspiciously triumphant gleam on her lovely face. "Very well," she smiled, "I will leave you to your rest."
Elrond waited only until she had left before making his way through the door on his left to the room next door. Though previously used as a personal retreat when Celebrian was no longer there to use it as her study, it was now filled with all the necessities of housing an infant only three weeks old. He nodded to the nurse and bade her take the afternoon for herself.
His daughter, he was thankful to see, still slept on like an angel, cocooned in the warm blankets and wraps that an over-anxious family had bestowed on her. He ruffled the little fringe of dark hair on her head with the lightest of touches, not wanting to wake her but wishing that she would anyway. Her eyes were blue and glazed in sleep, her innocent face relaxed in her repose.
"Your father, my Bronwe- by which I do not mean myself- is being a fool," he whispered to her, "And I might well knock him on the head myself if he doesn't soon come to his senses."
In answer, she yawned, blinked, whimpered and then went back to sleep, clearly of the opinion that she couldn't care less.
----------------------------------------------------
"My Lord, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel have been sighted. They will be here in a few minutes."
Elrond looked up from the backlogged reports he was still trying to finish and sighed tiredly. It was all very well returning home, but he wished sometimes that he had gone instead to Mirkwood or Lothlorien for a few months. He still felt so very weak and coming back to Imladris meant he could not, in all conscience, shirk the work that awaited him.
"My Lord?"
He nodded and stood, cradling the still stinging cut in his midsection. It was healed enough that he could walk but it still hurt! "Erestor, could you?"
"Of course, my Lord," Erestor said smoothly, offering his shoulder to be leaned on.
Elrond groaned in frustration at not even being able to walk under his own steam. But though he grumbled under his breath and shook his dark head, the way to the entrance of his house continued to be long, tiresome and frankly comparable to a long trek to Mordor!
"Refrain from lecturing yourself about seeking help, Elrond," Erestor warned, "Or I will drop you where you stand! You know it only makes you feel worse, and truly there is no shame in it."
"I have had worse wounds and I have fought battles before this," Elrond hissed, keeping his voice down as they neared the public places of the Last Homely House, "Others have been fatally wounded and recovered in less time. Why am I alone so weak?"
"You have given birth in the back of a wagon in a forest only three weeks ago! Did you expect to not feel the consequences?" Oh, but Erestor was tired of this! Not only had he had this conversation just the day before, but he had had many like it only a few millennia ago. "You cannot expect to be as strong as before in such a short time."
"I cannot think why. Women do it every day!"
"And you, mellon nin, are hardly a woman. That I have ascertained while sharing a tent with you on a battlefield! Elrond, I am happy to help and you know you are this weak only because of the torment you have suffered while you were most vulnerable. No one blames you for it, and no one thinks less of you either."
Elrond stayed silent this time, knowing Erestor was right but unable to help the way he felt. Actually having the child had been bad enough; having her in such a thoroughly dramatic way and ending up as he had was the worst shock to him. And now to confront the understandably cold eyes of those who would judge him as well as those responsible... he clenched his jaw over the bitter taste of mingled apprehension and anger.
Elladan and Elrohir were already in attendance, their faces uncertain and moody as they waited in formal robes. Arwen had schooled her features to a pretty mask of bland welcome. And Elrond could sympathize with that; his children no longer knew how to address those they had thought of as their grandparents. He wished this hadn't happened but he could only hope they would weather this turmoil.
"Elrond, they are here," Glorfindel whispered.
Elrond nodded again and tore his eyes from his children's faces. Bronwe was asleep and so was excluded from the welcome party. Everyone preferred it that way, not willing to parade her until they were sure of her treatment. And, Elrond added to himself bitterly, there was no one to blame for this mess but himself.
"Lord Celeborn, Lady Galadriel," he greeted, walking forward with a slow and careful step. "Mae govannen and welcome to Imladris."
"Mae govannen, Lord Elrond," Lord Celeborn returned, bowing slightly to his host, "May the Valar bless you and your house."
Lady Galadriel was a little less formal than her husband, taking the Elf Lord's hand and smiling warmly up at him. "Mae govannen, Elrond. You are none the worse for your ordeal?"
He smiled back ruefully. "Nothing that will not mend, my Lady. I owe you both much thanks for your assistance."
Glorfindel eased a careful hand under the Lord of Imladris' elbow as he stumbled. Celeborn took the other arm with a concerned frown. "I am certain you should at least be sitting, Elrond. Why are you not doing so?"
"Because he is stubborn," Elladan blurted out. Father and son glared at each other but the hasty words broke the tension in the elegant foyer.
Galadriel laughed- the high, sweet laugh of the younger Peredhil generation's childhood- as she shook her blond head. Glowing with the ethereal light of wisdom and grace, she took Arwen by the hand and looked to each young face in turn. "I think there is much we need to talk of, and it is best to do it sitting. Celeborn, perhaps you can settle Elrond's mind about the trials? Oh, and Lord Glorfindel- Haldir will bring our eleven prisoners to your hands by Wednesday."
Elrohir muttered something under his breath that sounded like hope that orcs would attack and kill them on the way. But he left meekly enough as the redoubtable figure of the Lady of the Golden Wood led them off to a private sitting room.
Elrond let out a sigh of relief at the sight.
Celeborn observed him with a small smile and gently let go of his arm. He judged it safest since Glorfindel was already supporting the half-elf and Elrond was clearly apprehensive of his guests.
"Come, Elrond. We need to talk for a while on the proceedings for tomorrow." He waited considerately for the distressingly worn Elf Lord to precede him and then followed.
Seated in his study, Elrond got the almost irrepressible urge to kiss his seat in joy at their speedy reunion but decided against it; he sat on it instead and invited Celeborn and Glorfindel to be seated where they wanted. Celeborn being Celeborn, he sat before the window so that he could safely observe everything while his own controlled countenance remained in shadow. Glorfindel respectfully seated himself out of the close circle of the two Ruling Lords, though he himself had as much right to their prestige as they did.
And then the door opened and Elrond's knight in shining armour stepped inside without an invitation and a very determined look in his blue eyes.
"Mae govannen, Lord Celeborn. Elrond, what are you doing out of bed when you are so clearly tired?" Legolas demanded, hands on his hips and barely a glance for any except the one he had sought out.
Glorfindel hastily hid his smile in a raised hand and Celeborn watched the domestic scene between Elf Lord and Elven Prince with not a little amusement.
"Legolas, there is much to discuss about the upcoming trials for next week," Elrond reminded him, expressively warning him not to make a fuss. But without thought, he held out a hand to the blond to offer a reassuring squeeze of his fingers as had become habit.
Legolas pulled up a chair beside him, calmly took the proffered hand and raised a sweetly innocent smile to Elrond's suspicious look of enquiry. "You are tired and those sons of Morgoth almost killed you and our child. I have as much right to be here as you have."
Elrond sighed, but didn't argue. Instead he turned to Celeborn in the hope that they could start without further interruption.
Cekeborn cleared his throat and leaned forward. "You are right, Prince of Mirkwood. I apologize for not remembering that earlier." Legolas blushed and tweaked absently on a long fore-finger in his grasp. "With your consent, Galadriel and I will judge Aurief ourselves, as the ruling Lord and Lady of Lothlorien from whence he hails. We would call on you to bring charges against him and we would listen to your evidence in objectivity and fairness. Any will be allowed to make a statement to the court on behalf of either of you. This is, of course, only with your consent."
"Of course," Elrond agreed, "I would be honoured. And truthfully, it will shield me from being too punitive."
"Excellent! Then that will proceed as smoothly as possible. We shall try to make it as quick as we can. There should be no trouble."
Legolas promised himself that indeed it wouldn't. He already had a very clear idea of what he would say to the judges- "Lord Celeborn, I give you fair warning that I mean to ask for the reclaiming of honour on behalf of myself, Lord Elrond and our daughter."
There was silence in the room as all turned to stare at the youngest elf sitting proudly in their midst. Elrond felt his stomach lurch- which did not much good for his stitches- though Celeborn and Glorfindel were more surprised than horrified. The practise of reclaiming honour was not commonly seen anymore in the Third Age, having its traditions an antiquated form of Sylvan lore that was no longer used even amongst the Wood Elves themselves, let alone the Noldo.
"That is something that I cannot advise," Celeborn tried to say, "I can certainly arrange for an apology to be made in open court, and your, eh, loss of honour will be taken into account against him but..."
"Forgive me, my Lord, you have not understood me. If you find Aurief guilty of the charges brought against him, I will ask the court for the right to settle his fate myself and reclaim the honour and trust that he has abused with the ruling family of Imladris."
"Legolas, what you are proposing is madness," Glorfindel snapped, not willing to be quite as diplomatic as Celeborn, "We can understand your desires, but what you demand is a method of punishment that will not serve as useful purpose! And while I might agree that Aurief deserves to be brought low for his crimes, you are giving him a way out by pitting yourself against a very worthy opponent."
"He was a worthy soldier, young Greenleaf," Celeborn put in, shaking his silver head in warning, "He is no easy opponent. And honour dictates that he will choose the weapon. You are notoriously skilled with the bow, but he is a master of the sword."
"I cry insult, my Lord Celeborn, at the news you think me unable to hold my own in a sword duel," Legolas commented chillingly, "I have spoken to my father of this matter. He supports me. Elladan and Elrohir offered to take my place on behalf of their father but I would not have it. As for the punishment not being useful, I warn you now that the fight will end in permanent conclusion. One of us will die and none but the striking hand may stop that death blow."
"No!" Elrond found his voice is a sudden rush of fear. "No! I forbid it! Celeborn, you must refuse such a mad scheme. It is not even to be considered, surely!"
"This is not your decision to make, Elrond," Legolas informed him quietly, "It is mine alone."
Again, Celeborn was forced to agree, and he wished very much that it did not have to be the Prince of Mirkwood. For he knew the passion that shone from those blue eyes; and to him it spelled trouble. "I am afraid he is right."
Elrond shut his mouth with a snap and shivered as if the slowly departing winter had intruded into his study. Rising, he made for the door without further ado. "If I have no say in it, I will not stay to plan a potential death in my hallways. Pardon me, my Lords, Prince Legolas; I have a three week old infant to care for and must go to her."
Glorfindel stood to intercede but a strong hand pushed him back down, reminding him with furious grey eyes that no matter how frail the body was, it was still possessed of great strength. He sat down with a glimmer of understanding and let his Lord pass him by.
Elrond shut the door very quietly and made his way to his rooms. He pulled his robes tighter around him as the chill travelled from his neck and shoulders down his spine to settle with an uncomfortable throb in his lower back. However, he was not destined to be left to wallow in his morbidity in peace, for a familiar figure stood waiting patiently for him out of his doorway.
"Galadriel. Is there something I can do for you?"
"I think perhaps there is something I can do for you, Elrond Half-Elven. But first you shall drink this."
Too late he noticed the cup of aromatic brew in her hands and resigned himself to having company in his misery. "As you wish," he sighed reluctantly, inviting her into the sitting room that thankfully preceded his bedchamber.
"How is your strength, Elrond? From one healer to another, and be truthful!"
He smiled wryly and took the seat opposite her. He accepted the brew and sipped cautiously while contemplating his answer. While Galadriel could never read his mind, it was best to give her straight answers for then she never used devious means of interrogation. "I am not so well. I have been starved, drugged, frozen and deprived of solace and hope for three months without ceasing. All the while I underwent a most difficult pregnancy which would have worried any healer in a female, let alone a male. Yes, I am not so healthy at the moment."
Galadriel's unblinking gaze was filled with compassion and sympathy as he dropped the masks he usually donned for those he loved. She did not pity him, for there was nothing about him to pity. But she did grieve for the pain of one who was a friend and somewhat of a family member. She held her tongue, knowing he would speak if his heart so desired it.
He clearly did not desire the choice of topic. "Are my children well?" he asked abruptly.
"They are confused and a little upset," she remarked, "But they will adjust. It has been a shock."
"Yes, I imagine it has," Elrond sighed, rubbing his tired brow, "They thought they had lost their mother so tragically, only to discover that she wasn't their mother to begin with! I would take their pain if I could, but they will not speak of it with me. I try to explain, but they say nothing and take pains to change the subject. I imagine they will talk when they have something to say, but that does not make the waiting easier."
"No, it does not," the Lady agreed, "And you have always preferred taking action to waiting."
Elrond's eyes narrowed at the tone of the words. He knew that artless gentleness very well by now, and the look of companionship in her eyes was even more displeasing. The Lady of the Golden Woods was planning on of her probing interrogations! "Galadriel, if this conversation is done?"
"I desired to ask your opinion on the Prince of Mirkwood's plans to reclaim honour from Aurief. He does it for you."
"He does it because he feels guilty," Elrond corrected, snapping because he truly did not want to discuss Legolas and their relationship with Galadriel, "I have nothing to say about it."
"Celeborn thought otherwise," she rebuked quietly.
Grey eyes met grey eyes and both locked into a contest of wills. There was no chance for Galadriel to read his thoughts because the half-elf had never allowed it; even as a youth he had kept watchful guard over himself with an obsessive unconsciousness.
She commented on it, watching a smile tug at his lips. "It says much about the trust you placed in Aurief," she continued blandly, "For you never heard his approach before he assaulted you."
Elrond stiffened and stood, desperate to end such a strenuous conversation. He was genuinely fond of the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien, but they could certainly be very exhausting. "Could this not be discussed at the trial next week?" he asked, panicking when the elf-maid gave no sign of intention to move.
"It will," she promised composedly, "Now do not change the subject. What of Legolas? How much trust do you place in him? Enough to never notice his approach?"
"A herd of oliphaunts make less noise," Elrond growled, "Galadriel, please! All I want is a few minutes to myself to think and if I do not get that, there is no telling what I will do. I trusted Aurief; he betrayed my trust. I trust Legolas; I have yet to see him do anything but uphold my confidence. Well?"
Galadriel nodded and rose, a suspiciously triumphant gleam on her lovely face. "Very well," she smiled, "I will leave you to your rest."
Elrond waited only until she had left before making his way through the door on his left to the room next door. Though previously used as a personal retreat when Celebrian was no longer there to use it as her study, it was now filled with all the necessities of housing an infant only three weeks old. He nodded to the nurse and bade her take the afternoon for herself.
His daughter, he was thankful to see, still slept on like an angel, cocooned in the warm blankets and wraps that an over-anxious family had bestowed on her. He ruffled the little fringe of dark hair on her head with the lightest of touches, not wanting to wake her but wishing that she would anyway. Her eyes were blue and glazed in sleep, her innocent face relaxed in her repose.
"Your father, my Bronwe- by which I do not mean myself- is being a fool," he whispered to her, "And I might well knock him on the head myself if he doesn't soon come to his senses."
In answer, she yawned, blinked, whimpered and then went back to sleep, clearly of the opinion that she couldn't care less.