CHAPTER TWO: The illness of Grimordel

Exactly seven years to the day after the day that Thelandan and Grimordel toasted Gerontius with Mithrandir, Grimordel was taken sick. By now she was 185 years old, and, although of Elven stock, she had chosen the mortal life in order to wed her dashing young Dúnedain warrior, Thelandan. It was uncommon for an Elf to wed one of another race, as Elves are extremely long-lived and will out-live any such mismatched partner. Special dispensation was needed of Lord Elrond before they could be married, and to do so, Grimordel had to become as mortal as a Dúnedain. Thelandan was just 18 years old, and Grimordel only 16 when they met. He was with a party of Dúnedain warriors that took shelter in Imladris during the Long Winter that spread it's snows throughout the entire year of 2758, and through into 2759. Food was scarce in those days, many died from lack of sustenance, and the people of the city welcomed the strength of extra bows to go hunting in the frozen wastelands beyond the Bruinen, despite the extra mouths to be fed. Thelandan, though young, was a marksman of renown, and Grimordel could see that he would be an excellent provider for their family. They were wed in 2760, with Elrond's blessing, and moved to the once grand city of Dale to start a new life together for themselves. Two years later their only son, Thorandan was born. But dreams of a peaceful family life were shattered for them just ten short years after they were married. For in the year 2770 a great golden dragon descended out of the sky, belching fire, and the city of Dale was destroyed. In the chaos and confusion that followed, their ruined home was the least of their concerns. Their son Thorandan, who was on his way home from lore classes, a child of just 8 years old, was amongst the first to be killed when Smaug the Dragon attacked. His body was never recovered from the cobblestones, as none could get near to the city for fear of Smaug.

Thelandan and Grimordel led a small group of survivors from the ruins of Dale back to Imladris, the home of Grimordel's youth. There they lived and thrived for over twenty years before the War of the Dwarves and the Orcs began in 2793. Thelandan was called away as a Dúnedain warrior to fight in secret beside the Dwarves. Grimordel, having been robbed of her son, did not take the seeming loss of her husband too well, so she too joined the fray against the Orcs. She learnt the bow, and became a mighty she-elf warrior, with a reputation for never wasting a single arrow. Her fame grew so wide that she was hand-picked by the Dwarf King Thráin II to become one of his closest personal bodyguards. Grimordel followed Thráin and his son Thorin, and, long after the other Dúnedain had departed at the end of the War in 2799, she remained with the Dwarf King in the South of Ered Luin. There she stayed for some 40 years, and became as one of the Dwarves. She even was taught to speak Khazâd, the hidden language of the Dwarves, and learnt much of their lore, more in fact than any other Elf had known of them previously. Grimordel again was hand-picked by Thráin II when he set out with a small party in 2841 to return to Erebor, a chance that Grimordel would not miss for the world, for it was Thráin's intention to take vengeance on the great wyrm that had taken up residence in the tunnels under Erebor, and who had stolen the treasures of the Dwarves, even the Arkenstone, their greatest treasure. This was Smaug the Dragon, of whom Grimordel had a right of vengeance against also, for the death of her son Thorandan. It may well be that it was for this very reason that she stayed with the Dwarves so long, and she may have even had a part to play in stoking the fires of Thráin's wrath against Smaug to this end None will ever know, for Grimordel never speaks of that time now. Thráin's purpose was foiled when he disappeared from their camp under the eaves of the Mirkwood Forest. He was abducted by night. Grimordel's vehicle, as such, of vengeance against Smaug died too at that time, and so she returned home to Imladris.

On hearing that her husband Thelandan had made a home for himself in Bree after the Battle of Nanduhirion, she sent word to him and they were reunited again in Imladris in the year 2850, when she was 108 years old, and he 110. There they remained for the rest of their days. Adjusting back to life amongst the Elves of her own race was difficult for Grimordel, as they are naturally not too well disposed towards Dwarves, and at first treated Grimordel as a spy, sent by Thorin, son of Thráin. However, Grimordel won the respect of Lord Elrond, master of Imladris, by revealing to him much of the secret lore of the Dwarves that she had gleaned from her time amongst Durin's folk. He bestowed on her the title of Emissary of the Elves to the Dwarves, as a sign of the turning of the tide in relations between Dwarves and Elves. Grimordel and Thelandan were given a disused inn on one of the main streets of Imladris for their home, and all Dwarves that had call to stop by Imladris found a bed and comfort in their home. Grimordel was also appointed by Elrond as a teacher of children, of the part of their learning related to lore, and particularly to that of the Khazâd.

Over the next 70 or so years, Grimordel and Thelandan spent more and more time in Imladris, with occasional visits together to Bree or the Shire of the Hobbits. Thelandan still had the wanderlust of the Dúnedain running in his veins, and would often wander afar in search of adventure. But for Grimordel, her travelling days were over, and she settled to a routine of homely chores, teaching lore, and hospitality to stray Dwarves. Her friendship with the Dwarves still earned her some distrust amongst many of her neighbours, but High-Elves of learning, such as Elrond and his sons, were grateful for her knowledge. And so with the blessing of Elrond upon her, her neighbours came to begrudgingly accept her as part of their community in Imladris.

It was the year 2927 when Grimordel fell ill. Thelandan was with her in Imladris, as it happened, and he feared for her life. She was now 185 years old, and showing her age as only an Elf made mortal can. Thelandan himself was now in his 187th year, which is considered quite elderly for a Dúnedain, yet he still had the vigour to pull a bow or to mount his horse and travel for days across the expanses of Arda.

"Dear sweet Grimordel, my love, I have no medicine or potion, or herb from afar, that seems able to cure your aching stomach. Would you have me fetch Lord Elrond to your bedside, for he is wiser in these things than I am?"

"Do not leave me, Thelandan", she mumbled, "I do not know how much time I have left, and I would not want to leave for the Fair Havens without your face being the last thing I see."

"Then I shall go to the window to hail an errand-boy to take a message to Elrond, I shall only be away briefly. Do not leave without me, my dear. Be strong."

At that, Thelandan did as he had said and returned only a few moments later to her bedside. There he found her with her eyes closed. "I am too late, my dear Grimordel, you have departed from me. I am undone!"

"Do not fear, my husband, I am but resting. I pray that Elrond comes swiftly, for I cannot bear this pain much longer."

After only a short time there came a knock at the door. "He is here, my love. Stay with us, while I let him in."

Thelandan welcomed Elrond to their home and showed him swiftly to Grimordel's bedside.

"Leave us for a while, Thelandan", said Elrond as he took a seat beside her bed, "And get some rest yourself. She will not depart from you while I am here. I promise. Now go!"

Thelandan reluctantly left the room and went into the Great Hall, where there was a long wooden table and chairs that could easily seat twenty hungry Dwarves if needs be. For now he sat alone in one of the chairs at the table, and placing his elbows on the table and holding his head, he began to cry.

"It's not fair!" he thought, "She chose to become mortal so as to be with me, now she is departing ahead of me. That is not right. It should not be. Why, oh why did I ever let love grow between us? If only I had stayed with my hunting party and continued on with them to Forochel at the end of the Long Winter, then fair Grimordel would still be as strong and whole as her kin."

"Do not despair, Thelandan", said Elrond, who had quietly come up behind him.

"How much time does she have left?" Thelandan asked, without turning to face him.

"As much time as you, maybe more."

"So, you know what is wrong then? What is it that ails her? Can you make her well again?" asked Thelandan in a hail of questions as he stood up from his chair, feeling somewhat relieved.

"There is nothing that I can do for her", replied Elrond, a reply that caught Thelandan off guard, and instantly renewed his doubts and fears.

"But… so… what is wrong with her then?" asked a confused Thelandan. Emotion is not easy for a Dúnedain to express, and this over-hill-and-through-valley ride was wearing him out.

"She needs to see a specialist. I will send for Amarahel."

"Amarahel? But she… she..." Thelandan was finally lost for words.

"Yes, Thelandan, she is the one we call on to help with birthing. Your wife is about to have a baby! There is some powerful magic at work, and I will be asking some questions of your friend Mithrandir while you celebrate with your new family. Go, be with her now. She needs you."

Thelandan was awestruck, and he may not have even heard anything that Elrond said at all after the name of Amarahel was mentioned. He walked in a daze back to Grimordel's room, not even thinking to show Elrond the courtesy of the door.

"Isn't it wonderful news", said Grimordel, looking much more alive than when Thelandan had last seen her just a few short minutes before.

"It's amazing! It's just fabulous. I don't understand how this could have happened", replied Thelandan. The shock of it was still working through his system, and hadn't really hit his brain yet. "At our ages, to be parents, it's just unheard of."

"Yes, we'll be the talk of the town", said Grimordel, beaming.

"The town?" replied Thelandan, "News of this sort will reach fair Lórien faster than any horse can ride!"

Amarahel arrived soon after, and Thelandan was present at the birth of his second, and totally unexpected son. They named him Thoréandan, in memory of their first son.

It took Grimordel a long while to regain her strength from the ordeal of birthing at her age, and because of this Thelandan was more involved with the early years of Thoréandan's life than a Dúnedain father normally would be. They were visited by Arwen, daughter of Elrond, who nursed the baby, and who took up semi-permanent residence in their home for the first year of his life. Arwen normally lived in Lothlórien with her mother, so it was a pleasant opportunity for her to spend time with her father also.

When Thoréandan was two years old, Thelandan was called away to a wedding feast for the son of his friend Arador, the Chieftain of the Dúnedain of the North. This Arador was the Heir of Isildur, who's son Arathorn was to wed Gilraen the Fair, daughter of Dírhael. The feast was to be held in Annúminas, City of the Kings of Arnor, beside Lake Nenuial. By this time Grimordel was back on her feet, as sprightly as if she were 50 years younger. She took up the responsibility for Thoréandan in all ways, and also kept her home, taught, and hosted many of Durin's folk. But always her primary concern was in the raising of her son.

From this point onward, until the child is in his 10th year, a Dúnedain child's mother and the other womenfolk have the main responsibility for raising and teaching, and this includes lettering, languages, lore, flora and fauna, and geography. Between the ages of 10 and 13, the father and other men folk take the primary role, and act as a "finishing school" for the lad, teaching him the art of war and other more practical skills, such as tracking, how to handle a boat of paddle or sail, how to find or make shelter, finding food, and starting a fire. Much of this latter training is done on shorts trips, or quests, sometimes with the child's own father present, and sometimes with him or one of the other men folk shadowing the youngling.

When Thoréandan was 3 years old, his father was once again called away, this time to battle with hill-trolls who were threatening the northern reaches of Imladris, in a place called the Coldfells. Thelandan fought beside his friend Arador the Dúnedain Chieftain. This battle ended in tragedy, for although the hill-trolls were defeated, Arador was taken captive and slain. It befell to Thelandan to ride for Annúminas with haste to tell of the loss of his friend. There he stayed with Arathorn, son of Arador, until he was celebrated properly as Chieftain. Thus Thelandan unknowingly played a part in the history of Arda, being witness to the inauguration of last Chieftain of the divided Kingdom of Arnor.

The next year, Thoréandan's fourth, his father went back to Annúminas for the celebration of the birth of Arador's grandson, Aragorn. Thoréandan did not see much of his father in those days, and was already starting to learn the meaning of being a Dúnedain, a Ranger.

Two years later, when Thoréandan was six years old, his father received an urgent call to make haste for Annúminas once again. This time it was the Lady Gilraen who summoned him, and Thelandan was therefore all the more concerned to make good time, as he felt a foreboding chill at this call. When he arrived in Annúminas, he met there Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond, and his fears were justified.

"The Chieftain is dead", said Elladan.

"How did this happen?" asked Thelandan.

"We were riding with him against a band of Orcs near Fornost. He was slain by an orc-arrow that pierced his eye."

"What can I do?"

"Go, take Lady Gilraen and her son into your care, and bear them to my father's house in Imladris, you must do this quickly and quietly, for the Enemy is seeking to discover the Heir of Isildur, if any remains upon the earth. This boy is the last. We shall stay behind and see that Arathorn is properly buried."

Elrohir passed him a tightly wrapped bundle. "And take these, the heirlooms. Father will know what to do with them. Do not speak of this to anyone, even your wife."

And so Thelandan accompanied Lady Gilraen and her young son Aragorn (who was by then three years old), by secret ways back from Annúminas to Imladris. The trip took many days longer than it normally would have, and they only travelled by cover of darkness. They stole into the city and went straight to Elrond's house, where he was waiting on the doorstep for them.

"Quickly, bring them inside, Thelandan", urged Elrond.

When they were inside, Elrond charged Thelandan again to speak of this matter to nobody, for the life of last Heir of Isildur depended on it.

"Father, when can I come with you on a quest?" asked Thoréandan one day.

"You are not yet ready for such a venture, young lad. You have much to learn yet from your mother before you are ready to travel far like a Ranger. It is best that you stay in the safety of Imladris for now. Your mother tells me you are doing well in your studies."

"But Estel gets to travel, and he's only three years old. I am twice his age!"

"Who is Estel? I have not heard of him before", said Thelandan, taking a keener interest in what his son was saying.

"That's Lord Elrond's new son. They're going to Bree next week, and they might have to fight orchids on the way."

"Ah well, orchids, is it? Yes, well, they can be dangerous, no doubt about it", replied Thelandan, trying to stifle the laugh as he pictured a bunch of giant flowers attacking Lord Elrond and his party, "But they are not Dúnedain. Lord Elrond is an Elf, like your mother."

"But Estel looks more like a Dúnedain than an Elf", complained Thoréandan, "He looks more like a Dúnedain than I do, for I have the pointy ears of my mother."

"Yes, and that is why you need to use them to listen more carefully to your mother's lessons. Heritage comes not only from the bloodline, but also from the lore you are raised with. Take your mother for instance. Does she look like a Dwarf?"

"No way! She's an Elf, just like Elrond and Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir, and Lúmarahel, and Rúmavien" replied Thoréandan.

"But you know that we have a lot of Dwarves come to stay with us. Do you know why they always stay at our place?"

"Because mother is the memisary", said young Thoréandan with pride.

"And why did she become the mem… the Emissary?" asked Thelandan.

"Because she lived with them for a long time, and knows all about them, and all my friends have to come to our house to learn about Dwarves from her, even Pelain does."

"That's right, so although mother is an Elf, and looks like an Elf, she knows the Dwarven lore and is accepted by the Dwarves as one of their own."

"Pelain is a Dwarf, and he's only four years old, and not long ago his father Dwalin took him all the way to Moria, and that's a long way away."

"Dwarf children learn things at different times to Dúnedain or Elven children", explained Thelandan patiently, "and places from their history are very important to them. Khazad-dûm is very special to the memory of the Dwarves."

"Where is Khazad-dûm?" asked Thoréandan. He was clearly losing the plot.

"You need to ask your mother. Remember, she's the one who teaches about the Dwarves, not me."

"Thelandan, my good friend, we have need of your services again", said Elladan, "The eye of the Enemy is toward Imladris, and we need a decoy to draw off the scent. Would you be willing to travel by night to Minas Tirith, carrying nothing more of interest than a child's doll wrapped in a blanket, so that the Enemy may see the Heir of Isildur being spirited away? It is a deadly dangerous quest, one that of course must be kept veiled in utmost secrecy."

"I will go", said Thelandan, "But I must return by yestarë for in the New Year my son will be in his tenth year and my services are required at home."

As he returned home from the house of Elrond, Thoréandan and Joktan were playing outside with Karn. "Father, your purposeful stride gives you away. Where are you bound for?" asked Thoréandan.

"It seems I can no longer keep secrets from you, my son, for your eyes are keen. Yes, I am setting off again. I have a quest of my own for Lord Elrond. Whence I go I cannot say."

"But you will be back before yestarë won't you?"

"Of course I will. I wouldn't miss our first lesson for anything."

"Joktan and I have come up with a good idea for that first lesson. He's bound for Tyrn Gorthad that very day, for by then he will be 13. We could go with him", ventured Thoréandan.

"We'll discuss it when I get back", promised Thelandan, "But I don't think Joktan would be too pleased to have me come along with him, for the quest of Tyrn Gorthad is the quest of manhood. He does not need an adult companion with him. And I'm not so sure about you going without some proper training first."

"Joktan's already been teaching me to fight, so I'll be able to look after myself."

"Oh, has he just? Joktan, get over here!" barked Thelandan.

"Yes sir. I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean any harm. I've just been showing him a few moves that my father has been teaching me", stammered the poor frightened boy.

"You boys should know better. Thoréandan is not to learn how to fight until he knows whom to fight. That is the way of the Dúnedain. He must finish his learning properly with his mother first. Lore is important, for it not only teaches you the history of the races of Arda, but it teaches why one race is at war with another, and over what, and what their specific strengths and weaknesses are. Geography is needed to know where he stands and what his surroundings are. He must learn of flora to know what cover is available. From these places of knowledge, only then can you decide which side of a battle, if any, you should join. You have completed that part of your training, Joktan. Let Thoréandan complete his too."

"I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again", said Joktan, with his head downcast.

"Now, draw your weapon and show me one of those moves that your father has been learning you", Thelandan ordered. Within seconds of Joktan's first thrust he was weaponless, and with his face in the dirt. "You see, boy, knowing how to throw a blade through the air doesn't make you a warrior. There are many other factors, like being fast on your feet. You came at me with a sharp blade, and me totally unarmed and elderly. I merely stepped out of your way, then continued your own momentum beyond where it was aimed, extending your stretch too far for you to keep control of your weapon. You have much to learn yet boy. Don't presume to teach my son when your own learning is incomplete. Now off you go."

Joktan picked himself up off the ground with a look of wonder on his face, "Yes sir, thank you sir, I'll go home and practice that now!"

As the boy skittered off towards his home, Thoréandan turned to his father, "I wish you hadn't done that, father. I have a test tomorrow in Certar, and Joktan's mother is my lettering teacher. She may go hard on me for it."

"Good!" replied Thelandan gruffly, "That way you will learn two lessons from your foolishness. Is your Certar test in Sindarin?"

"Nay, I am doing my lettering tomorrow in Quenya. I have already passed the Sindarin test, both in Certar runes and in Tengwar script."

"Good for you boy", said Thelandan approvingly. He was very proud of how well Thoréandan was doing in his studies, and word was filtering back to him from his fellow Dúnedain that their wives, some of whom were responsible for teaching, were highly impressed with Thoréandan's aptitude for lore, languages, and geography. Grimordel had been pushing him hard, and was secretly giving him extra teaching in all areas, where normally she would only be responsible for one or maybe two topics, and would share the workload with the other womenfolk. Her efforts were paying off.

"I leave at sunrise for the South. Before I go, I want to see a Valaquenta of the Maiar on my desk in your own hand, written in the Quenya Certar runes. That shall be your punishment, and suitable it is, for taking learning from your friend Joktan when you had no business to."

"But father, I had promised Lúmarahel that I would take her down to the river this evening. There will be singing and poetry, and Elrohir is reciting the poem of Tinúviel", moaned Thoréandan. He was quite fond of Lúmarahel, and she of him. The poem of Tinúviel is the poem of young lovers.

"Your shadow is only getting longer standing there boy. I suggest you get started writing now so that you will still have time for your maiden."

"Very well, sir", replied Thoréandan, and resignedly went inside. Karn, feeling dejected, returned to his favourite spot on the porch. Thelandan did not approve of his son's choice of maiden, for he knew from his own experiences that a matching of Dúnedain and Elf was fraught with trouble. Lúmarahel was a dainty Elven girl with a long, very long life ahead of her. She reminded him of Grimordel when they had met, when she was not that much older than Lúmarahel. That fateful meeting cut fair Grimordel's lifespan short, for she had chosen mortality and betrothal to Thelandan. It is a heavy burned for Thelandan to bear, and he would that he did not have to see his son carrying that same burden.