Chapter Thirty: Calm Before the Storm
Mélanyë sat back and sighed as the water flowed over her face, enveloping her in its soothing warmth. After she'd unpacked and said a quick hello to her friends, the first thing she'd done was draw herself a bath, wishing nothing more than to wash away the past few months. Just being home began to heal her in a way that she never could in another land. She felt the heat soothing her tired muscles and slowly began to feel like herself again.
Soon her mind began to drift, going over all she'd done since she'd left home. Many of her memories were unpleasant, even frightening, but she was able to face them and at last accept her losses. On loss her thoughts dwelt for a long time, and again she felt the fullness of her grief for all those she had left behind. But in all the pain those memories caused her she never once felt regret over her decision to go and fight, rather than to sit and wait quietly for the storm to come to her. True, it had been a terrible journey, but as Galadriel had told her, great reward would soon follow.
She smiled and looked down as her hand rested on her stomach. Although she felt she was not ready to have a child, her heart pounded in excitement at the thought. Already she dearly loved this little person she'd never seen and vowed to give him the best of everything. She wondered what the child would look like, whether it was a son or daughter, and what she would name him. At that moment she heard a soft knock on the door. She jolted upright in the water, surprised. Only then had she realized that she had been drifting off to sleep.
"Mélanyë?" Elrohir's voice came to her from the other side of the door. "Mélanyë, are you alright? You've been in there for hours," he said.
"Yes, I'm fine," she said, quickly getting out of the water and wrapping her robe about her. She opened the door and found Elrohir grinning at her.
"If you stay in there much longer you may dissolve," he joked. As soon as it had come, however, the smile on his face faded. "My father has been looking for you," he said softly. "He wants to talk with you as soon as you're able." Mélanyë looked up at him, eyes wide with panic.
"Elrohir, I can't talk to him!" she said. She brushed past him to her room and began searching through her clothes. "What will I say? He must be so angry with me." Elrohir shook his head.
"He's not angry with you," he said. "He's glad you're back, as we all are. He-" Elrohir paused, as if he were about to let a secret slip out. Mélanyë looked up at him and he sighed. "I was not supposed to say, he wished to tell you himself."
"Tell me what?" He smiled and cupped her face with his hand.
"You'll find out. Now hurry, get dressed!" She disappeared behind the dresser and he waited until she said she was ready. He turned around and had to hide a grin with his hand.
"It's a little tight," she said. It seemed that while she'd been away more than just her stomach had grown. She was several inches taller than when she'd left, and so all her old clothes were too small for her.
"Perhaps you should wear your clothes from Lothlorien until something can be made for you," he said. Her silver and grey outfit had been made recently, and so was the correct size. She reached for the small pile of washed and folded clothes on her bed and went again to change.
Elrohir then led her through the familiar halls towards Elrond's study. He was seated at his desk with a small stack of papers before him, but yet he seemed lost in his own thought. Mélanyë looked behind her and saw that he was gazing thoughtfully at a painting on the far wall, one that depicted Beren taking the hand of Luthien before the throne of Thingol, her father. Mélanyë looked at it curiously for a moment before sitting across from Elrond and silently waiting for him to speak.
He looked at her then, as one coming out of a waking dream and he smiled, though his eyes remained somber as if a great pain was in his heart that may never heal. He then told Elrohir that he could go, and the door was shut softly behind him. All was still for several moments.
"It is good to see you, Mélanyë," he said. She looked down at her folded hands, suddenly embarrassed. "No, do not feel ashamed for running away," he said softly. He stood and looked out the window beside him. "What you have done, although against my wishes, was meant to be. I could no more alter your path than that of your mother's, or my daughter's…" he trailed off then and was silent for several moments. He turned to look at her and his expression seemed to be one of sadness mingled with joy. "And now I hear that you are to be a mother." He shook his head and sighed. "All the world is changing around me and I feel powerless to stop it." He looked again out the window and silence again hung in the air.
"Elrohir tells me that many have left for the Havens," she said. Her voice sounded small in the stillness. "Imladris has become so quiet, it feels that there is scarcely anyone left."
"Yes, many have gone," he said without turning. "Middle-Earth is no longer safe for us. This war will spread, and there will be no escape from this shadow once it comes."
"The shadow does not hold sway yet," she replied quietly. Elrond turned then, giving her an odd, almost alarmed look before turning back to the window. "We must have faith that the Ringbearer will finish his task." Mélanyë watched as Elrond slowly bowed his head.
"There is little hope he has lasted this long. A hobbit is no match for the forces of evil." Mélanyë shook her head, suddenly feeling a surge of confidence in her heart.
"Not if our hope lay in strength of arms, but ours rests in speed and secrecy. Frodo may be small, but in the end he is the only one able to fulfill this task." Elrond then lifted his head and looked up at her, and very slowly, as the melting of snow in the spring, the despair faded from his eyes. He paused and considered her words as a faint smile spread across his features.
"I spoke those same words to your mother before you were born," he said.
"Were they true?" she asked. His smile became a grin as he looked on her.
"Yes," he said as he rose from his chair. "You have given me back the hope I thought I'd lost. Many others have tried and failed." Mélanyë shook her head.
"I didn't give anything back, Lord. I just reminded you of what you already had."
Several days later Mélanyë watched from her window as, like lightening Arwen raced in through the gates on Asfaloth. She stood as she watched her jump from his back and run to the garden where Elrond sat in thought. Mélanyë knew she should stay and let them talk alone, but her curiosity was piqued and so, against her better judgement she followed. She took care to stay hidden from them as she watched the scene unfold before her.
"What did you see?" said Arwen. Elrond turned to look at his daughter and his face bore deep lines of emotion.
"I looked into your future and I saw death."
"But there is also life," she breathed. When her father turned away she followed. "You saw there was a child. You saw my son!" Mélanyë barely had time to absorb the information before Elrond responded.
"That future is almost gone." The full weight of his despair rested in those words and Mélanyë felt her heart grow heavy. Arwen moved closer to her father.
"But it is not lost." He looked up at her then and Mélanyë thought she saw his eyes glisten with tears before he looked away again.
"Nothing is certain anymore." Arwen knelt before him and took his face in her hand. She whispered so softly to him that Mélanyë had to struggle to hear her.
"Some things are certain. If I leave him now, I will regret it forever." He looked into her eyes, and even from afar Mélanyë could see the love he had for his daughter in them. "It is time, Atar," she said, "give him the sword of the King." For many long moments he looked at her, trying to decide what he should do. She knew he was wrestling both with his desire for her to live, and also to be happy. He knew then that she could only have one, and in that moment he finally accepted her choice. Slowly, he nodded. They stood together and hand in hand, left the garden.